DATELINE DENTURE!

      I’ve reached this venerable or is it vulnerable age, when I’ve had to come to terms with the fact of decaying teeth! Therefore this necessitated me trotting off to my dentist and accepting her advice that I can no longer hide behind the myth of managing mastication of old age culinary fancies with decayed stumps of grinders which were sadly beyond recourse of saving. Hence it was the only option to have them extracted while there was still some visible protrusion, so as to avoid intrusion like gum cutting, and thereafter settle for a denture to replace six uppers, four on the left and two on the right! Thankfully the remaining teeth are my own, though needless to say, some are capped.

     It’s not that I’m an octogenarian or even septuagenarian yet, the age bracket of folks with whom I always associated dentures. I’m a mere sixty six or ‘clickety-click’, to use ‘Housie’ parlance! Now even more, I figured, after acquiring my new dental device.  I was under the impression it would be just that; a misfit in my mouth which a close friend reminds me, never remains closed and goes ‘yakety yak’ with garrulous advancing age. My fears thankfully were allayed I must admit, as the denture is light and easy and a perfect fit. Vastly different to the clumsy set my dad used to term  his ‘take out teeth’, shoving them in and out of his mouth with alacrity, almost akin to a party prop on special celebratory family occasions, with a view to amuse his grandchildren!  Bless you dad for managing uncomplainingly half a century ago as my denture contrastingly, is comfortable to wear, has not interfered with ‘That Certain Smile’ and poses no problem when I eat, nor affects the taste of food. At times though, I must admit if I try to eat and converse simultaneously I do feel a sense of choking. Older, more seasoned denture adventurers reassure me that it is nothing more than a fear or phobia that I’ll overcome with regular use of the appliance.

    Interestingly, one hurdle I faced while dear dental doc with her genteel and gentle manner was demonstrating to me the technique of insertion which I accomplished with aplomb, was surprisingly, the challenge of removal of the prosthetic. This proved to be my bugbear. Being arthritic, with deformed fingers that are miserably incapable, totally lacking in strength and restricted to use of my right hand alone which fortunately reaches up to my mouth, but not able to seek support of my left as it is incapable of stretching similarly, owing to restrained elbow and shoulder joint mobility, I was trying to coax her to let me ease out the denture with the obtuse rear end of a tweezer. She considered this the weirdest suggestion ever, but I convinced her it would work without damaging either my gum or the denture. Eureka, it did!

     We Persons with Disability (PWDs) are innovative, especially in India, forced sometimes as we are into unforeseen situations requiring ways and means of quick thinking to grapple with  challenging circumstances that confront us, and many a time to even to seek out solutions to tough subjective daily requirements of living, with a view as well to have these heeded.

Glad to mention anyway, that within a few days of use and trial to extract the denture with my single finger, albeit awkwardly, I’ve mastered the art and mustered the necessary strength; hence discarded the tweezer…

     In the final analysis I’d like to advise that daily dental care is preferable to a situation of dealing with dentures. Dental treatment is relatively pain free compared to the past, is sophisticated and implants are available today for lost teeth, but entail time consuming dental sittings and pinch the pocket. Truly, there is nothing like preserving original teeth perhaps for an entire life span. Regular care and check ups are the answer! I’ve been careless, and now in old age I cringe that it’s an absolute must to take double trouble over denture protocol and care.  Dear Readers, please don’t lose your teeth to a slothful attitude…

LOGANATHAN, LADY LUCK & ME!

LOGANATHAN, LADY LUCK AND ME

     It was off to the bank as usual one morning a couple of decades ago. On the way I was preoccupied with thoughts of the ensuing half yearly closing, and deposit targets not yet reached.  The shortfall was Rs.10 lakh and I was wondering where on earth I could tap this amount.  Being the Manager of a prestigious branch in Bangalore, my superiors presumed that money simply flowed in at my command. But that wasn’t the way it worked.  Even my efforts with the regulars who helped me at this time every half year were unsuccessful.  They pleaded lack of surplus funds owing to a ‘tight situation’ year.

     I was a worried person when I entered my cabin, and not in the best of moods. To crown it all, I found Mr.Loganathan there.  He was a small borrower, always with a despondent face and even more so when he came to request a temporary overdraft. I suspected this was the case today and wasn’t up to tackling his problem as well as mine. “Why couldn’t he be a well-heeled depositor instead?”,I thought to myself in irritation.  But I managed to muster up enough politeness and asked what I could do for him.

     Mr.Loganathan waved a lottery ticket at me.  Irritation turned to anger as I imagined that he now wanted to use our finances to gamble. And then - this man who seldom smiled and never looked me in the eye when making his financial requests, excitedly shoved a newspaper under my nose.  He pointed to the results of the Karnataka State Lottery – the bumper prize number in particular, and set down his ticket next to it.  He was mumbling in a state of shock that he had WON, yes WON! WON! WON! - Rs. 22 lakh!, and could he please deposit the amount with our branch. COULD HE???!!  I couldn’t believe it!  I would have hugged the man, but restrained myself, knowing he would squirm with embarrassment, and I didn’t want any rival bank manager getting hold of him.  So, calming down, I bundled him into my car and drove him to Vidhana Veedhi.  We didn’t budge till the ‘powers that be’ finally decided that Mr.L was the authentic winner and issued him the prize cheque.  Needless to say, both of us went laughing all the way back to the bank!

      I got my reward too, for surpassing my target – the Best Managed branch in Karnataka Region.

(Jacqueline Colaco is a former executive of Bank of Baroda).

MY MINISTERING ANGEL!

MY MINISTERING ANGEL

By Jacqueline Colaco

     If ever there was one, this is she – Mini Jacob!  With her gentle persuasion and her winning smile, Mini is able to coax the most reluctant muscle or joint (read: stubborn patient!) into greater mobility.

Sensitive, but strict!  No lame excuses hold water with her.  The ‘I can’t’ syndrome does not work either.  Her ready repartee smashes all verbal attempts to escape. Like when I say, “I am too old now – leave me alone” she retorts, “But life only begins after 40!”  She works on every stiff and aching joint of mine (rheumatoid arthritis).  Be it fingers or toes, her skilful manipulations make them dance.  A few tweaks (from her) and shrieks (from me) won’t harm, says she.  Be it knees or hips, the quads and hamstrings must perform.

    “How else will you walk properly?” she asks me.

    “But I’m disabled” I tell her, “I don’t need to walk like Miss World!”

    “No,” she comes down heavily on me, “you are not disabled and yes, you can, so practice getting rid of that limp.” And she shows me how I should walk.  And then she takes me walking up the stairs. “Hips forward, back erect. Look up.” And once I’m up, it’s time to walk down.  She stands on the landing below – patient as ever, while I dither in making a descent.

     “No, don’t look at me.” “But you’re so pretty,” I demur, trying to delay that first plunging step.    She pretends not to hear.

     “Look forward, bend your knee and just step down,” - (sternly now) - “you can do it.”  As if it is the easiest thing in the world.  And then – a spark of ego inside me dictates that I should accept her challenge.  My eyes sparkle with defiance and I try to do my best.  She has me hooked.  It’s not so difficult after all, I find.  And she nods in approval.  I feel so great that at last she’s satisfied with my performance. This was the result of our hard work together, day in and day out. I know from the look on her face that it hurts her as much to hurt me, but she does it for my good. 

    When people tell me: “You are walking so well now”, I say a silent prayer of thanks to this ministering angel – my physiotherapist, my psychotherapist, my friend.

_*_*_*_

(2012 - When Mini suffered from breast cancer a couple of years ago I was able to reach out to her in support. She is now well again.)

LAZING IN STRAWBERRY FIELDS...

LAZING IN STRAWBERRY FIELDS

Jacqueline Colaco    

One of the pursuits I enjoyed during my years in the US during the mid eighties was to go fruit-picking in the summer. Once, a group of us friends drove out of New York City for about two hours before we reached our destination – a strawberry farm in New Jersey.  Having grown up in Bangalore where strawberries are a rare treat, and even more so in a family of seven children, I had not seen more than a few dozen strawberries during my thirty odd years - and eaten even fewer! It was an absolutely exhilarating sight therefore, to suddenly behold these endless rows of strawberry plants appearing as a riot of dark green dotted with bright red fruit. Immediately, the Beatles song ‘Strawberry Fields Forever’ came to my mind.  That’s just what they looked like, stretching into the horizon.  After collecting empty baskets at the reception counter, we let ourselves loose in the fields.

Strawberry plants grow to a very small height and therefore the leaves and fruit are often covered with soil.  Well, muddy or not, we indulged ourselves with mouthfuls of tasty, luscious strawberries.  What euphoria!  We ate ourselves sick.  Our group consisted of a few adults and a couple of kids, crouched on our haunches a few feet from each other, picking our strawberries. We chatted and gossiped and enjoyed the easy camaraderie of friends spending the day outdoors together.  After an hour and painfully stretched muscles, we returned to weigh our packages, which were ours to take home at a nominal price.  We planned on eating them with cream, making jam and freezing them for winter months.  We even dreamed of growing them in hanging baskets in our city apartments!

But what happened was this.  We lost our way home in the maze of expressways that is the US of A, and our two-hour journey ended after seven tedious hours.  It was the height of summer, the car was a compact one and the strawberries began to ferment.  By the time we reached home, we were overpowered by the smell.  We could not bear to take them into the apartment, so down the garbage chute they went, just like that!  But we really couldn’t have cared less at that point – we’d had enough and more of strawberries…

Sitting in Bangalore now, decades later, I dream wistfully of all those strawberries we so callously threw down the drain – their overpowering smell which I still remember, now seems even inviting! In Bangalore, strawberries are still rare and expensive…

CUBBON PARK IS STILL A CLOSE GETAWAY!

CUBBON PARK IS STILL A CHARMING GETAWAY

Jacqueline Colaco

     Cubbon Park has been a place to visit and enjoy throughout my life, and each of my six decades evokes different memories and experiences of happy times spent there.

As a little girl on summer holiday at my grandparents’ home on Grant Road, now renamed vital Mallya Road, walking across with siblings and cousins every morning to play in the park for a few hours was a regular feature. The Bamboo Grove lay amidst a wealth of rocks one could scramble over, and stagnant pools gave scope to trap tadpoles or sail empty silk cotton pod ‘boats’ that fell in plenty to the ground. Tapping rubber and rolling it over a stone to make a ball was another thrill. And if the ball was somewhat round and bounced, that was an achievement!

     During our early teens, we explored the park a bit more, learning to ride bicycles and climb up trees to knock off their green mangoes, kirks, guavas and tamarind. We would play ‘hide’n’seek, ‘twos and threes’, ‘holly colly’ and whatever. ‘Gilli dandu’ too perhaps, or seven tiles. Boys became more polite and tolerant of girls as we grew older, and were even quite eager to give the fair sex a spin on the front crossbars of their bicycles! 

    Enter our twenties and Cubbon Park suddenly turned into a romantic paradise for us, offering undisturbed little cosy nooks for a Rendevous. Early morning scooter rides would take us to the KSTDC restaurant near the Central Library, for a sumptuous South Indian breakfast. Picnics too were the order of the day, and as marriage and parenthood took over in the next decades, gangs of us families and friends who lived in Fraser Town, would take off with home made fare for lunch and tea, to spend an afternoon in a quiet shady spot. The older folks merited the benches and the rest sprawled out on bamboo mats on the ground. Energetic games like French cricket and Throwball would later give place to ‘dumb charades’, ‘coffee potting’ and housie, post lunch and a laze. The kids of course would indulge in delights similar to the kind we enjoyed when we were their age. They fortunately were still not yet victims of the ‘instant’, ‘readymade’ generation as is the case now. We would carry a guitar, make our own music and create our own fun.

     I do remember once riding on my scooter during my lunchtime from my job at Bank of Baroda, K.G. Road, to watch a bit of the Davis Cup match at the KSLTA stadium in this park. With the thrill of watching greats and handsomes like Premjit Lal, Jaideep Mukherjee and Ramanathan Krishnan in action, I forgot the passing afternoon, and realized it was beyond bank closing time before I rushed back and begged my boss to forgive me for my truancy.

     On many an evening we would drive to the park for a cotton candy or bhutta and to give the kids some rides and spills in their play area. For a while there were Sunday concerts too which we’d enjoy at the bandstand.

      Presently as well, I sometimes sneak a drive on a Sunday afternoon to an area beyond the Press Club, where my favourite pani puri and kulfi man hang out. Recently four of us at a loose end on a Sunday morning, enjoyed an impromptu mini picnic there, carrying along some Beer and Biryani. We so enjoyed the peace and quiet, the shade and the relaxation from our frenzied pace of life, that we vowed to revive the larger family picnics of the old days. Though we are now the senior most generation, we are still game for a go!

MY GOLDEN DAY REALLY GLITTERED...

MY GOLDEN DAY REALLY GLITTERED... 

It was a date I’d been anxious about - 23^rd October 1999. The day I turned fifty.

           Ever since my 49^th birthday I had been visualising this day.  Wondering how I would face it - with joy or apprehension?  Then I started thinking about how I would celebrate it.  At first I fantasised about giving myself a royal birthday treat with a holiday in Australia. That way I could also spend the occasion with my closest friend who lives in Melbourne. However an unexpected surgery in June put paid to that plan – both my health and purse went on a downslide! As an alternative, I then planned to arrange a big bash for my near and dear ones.  When numbers came to over two hundred, I had to give that idea the go by.  While I was thrilled to count so many among my ‘near and dear’, the thought of organising a celebration of such magnitude, not to mention the lack of space in my home, almost gave me a seizure.  So I finally let things drift and decided to tackle the day when it came.  Perhaps in my usual annual tradition, I thought, I would just keep open house for whoever remembered to drop by.

            A few days before the golden day, greeting cards started drifting in.  Some were from contemporaries who were slightly behind me in age, rubbing it in that I could now look forward to faltering steps, failing eyesight and falling teeth. Others who were slightly ahead of me, consoled me with the fact that one acquired a maturity and mellowness not experienced before.  I would cease being the firebrand I had been hitherto - I would learn patience, tolerance, sensitivity in greater measure. Well, these were certainly attributes I looked forward to acquiring.  My other more diplomatic friends just wished me well!

The big day finally dawned.  I must admit I did have a somewhat restless night before, wondering how I would feel when I woke up ‘fifty.’  Fortunately I did not get a chance for this, as I received a very early morning call from a friend of forty-one years acquaintance, who now lives in the USA.  A truly pleasant start to the day!  Thereafter calls kept pouring in from friends in other parts of the world as suited their time zones, and from local friends too. By the middle of the morning, floral tributes started streaming in. One was accompanied by a card almost as big as I!  The flower arrangements were exotic, consisting of a variety of artistic creations. With each incoming arrangement, my house looked more beautiful and colourful, and my heart thrilled at the sight, which lasted a whole week thereafter. I was also so touched at being made to feel so special.   Personal well-wishers dropped in all day and through the evening.  I was showered with good wishes, flowers and gifts – among them loads of chocolates, reminding me that a sweet tooth was a sign of old age?! At 10 pm the last of my guests left.  I lay in bed after the excitement and thrills of the day, revelling in my own sweet thoughts of gratitude for the greetings, gifts and flowers I had received from fifty one personal callers and others from near and far.  I felt so rejuvenated on that day, surrounded as I was by so much warmth and affection.

 If this is the way milestones in one’s life are celebrated, I just can’t wait for the next –only a few months away. And so when I turn 60 coming October, health permitting I plan a ‘BIG BASH’, to say ‘thanks’ to all the wonderful people in my life, who  encourage me when I’m down and uplift me when I’m back on course. Till then, I shall savour the memories of my Golden Birthday.

HOW LEGS 11 LEARNED THE GAME OF LIFE!

HOW ‘LEGS 11’ LEARNED THE GAME OF LIFE

by Jacqueline Colaco

     My family used to fondly call me ‘Legs Eleven’ because I played hockey. Little did I imagine then, that I would have to substitute the hockey stick for a walking stick in later years, when I was struck with Rheumatoid Arthritis.

     I started playing hockey at the age of thirteen in 1962, with a ‘hand-me-down’ stick from a friend of my father, Rev. Fr. Pat Aranjo. By fifteen, I was selected to join the Mysore State team in the company of such greats as Elvera and Rita Britto, the late Heather Faville (former Miss India), Dr. Patricia Rathnaswamy, Shirley Briggs, Nirmala Mandanna, Durdhana Gill and Joyce Browne to name some teammates. This was in 1964 and Mysore were national champions continuously from 1960 to 1968. Our theme song was ‘Five Pennies’, which we sang as we ran on to the field for a match. I played for Mysore till 1968, during which time I captained the State Junior and Bangalore University teams. Thereafter I went to Mumbai to work with Bank of Baroda and was selected to the Mumbai team and moved on to represent India in 1971.

     It was fun playing hockey in Bangalore, where there were three main clubs – Bangalore Sporting (to which I belonged), Eagles and ‘I’ club. Most of our tournaments were conducted at BRV ground (now Chinnaswamy Stadium) or the beautifullt maintained Sullivan Police ground. There was keen competition among the teams and to get selected for the state team was tough. The KSWHA was managed by the late Mrs. Gool Tarapore, who would reward us with a sumptuous party at her regal residence on Spencer road, after every national win. The late Mrs. Britto and Mrs. de Conceicao, were the other grand ladies who motivated us by their motherly prodding. The veteran dapper now eight plus years old V.V. Naidu, as full of beans as ever though partially visually impaired was our coach, (as strict as Shah Rukh Khan in ‘Chake de India’). He was ably assisted by the late V.J. de Cruze and Alan Macbride (umpires). Mr. A.B.Eswar, the late Sait brothers, Jani (umpire) and S.M. and Mr. Adams of Richards Square (Russel Market) fame, were also major presences in our hockey circles during that time, as were Mr. and Mrs. Anderson.

     We played the game of hockey for the sheer love of it. Even when representing the State, all we were given was one pair of shorts and shirt, and perhaps a stick. God help if we had to play matches on consecutive days – our clothes would be starched with perspiration. If a stick broke, hopefully one of the substitutes would lend hers. One shining treat after state practice was the trip on our cycles to ‘NILGIRIS’ for a tall glass of cold milk. When we won a tournament, we would celebrate at ‘HOTEL BREEZE’ also located on Brigade Road. The winning cup would be filled with beer and sipped by all, as we munched on masala dosai topped by a cup of coffee.

    

    

   

 

-2-

      We practised twice daily and I cycled to and from Fraser Town, with another trip to college sandwiched in between. We often had practice against the boys of Royal Hockey Club or the officers of Army units. Tea parties at the army mess after practice were something to look forward to, with handsome young army guys dancing attendance on

us. These were the thrills and frills for us – no money nor endorsements; but what I learned from those days has stood me in good stead through life –

To be a Leader as well as a Member of a Team

To be Competitive, but not Cut-throat

To be Sporting and Gracious both on and off the Job

And to Play the Game of Life for the sheer Love of it!

     This was re-written in 2007 with the following opening paragraph and entitled:

‘The Chak de Girls of Fraser Town’ -

     The film ‘Chak de India’ made waves this year, but little is it known that it was the Fraser Town girls who were in the spotlight of Indian women’s hockey during the 60s’ and 70s’. Led by the famous Elvira Britto who captained both Mysore and India, and flanked by her sisters Priscilla,Rita and Mae, also in the team from the area were Gabrielle Pinto, Joyce Browne, Julianna Kurien, Rajiney Chainaney, Margaret de Conceicao, Shirley Titus, Tara Jani Sait, Shoba Sreedharan, Usha Naidu and Jacqueline Colaco, to name a few .Mr. V.V. Naidu our then coach is now 88  years old and we ourselves are either senior citizens or on the verge thereof. Mysore State at that time boasted of at least six of it’s team representing India, with Elvera as the Indian captain.

     In 2012 Mr. Naidu, though over ninety now, is still as full of beans as ever though really lacking in eyesight. He loves to talk about ‘those days and his girls’ as I do too at age sixty three myself! Most of us players are still around and maybe we’ll organise a Veteran vs.Youngsters Exhibition tie soon to raise funds jointly for The Association of People with Disability where I am Hon. Treasurer and The Jude Felix Hockey Academy Charitable Trust! We’ll invite Mr. V. V. Naidu to be the Chief Guest!

WHEN I MADE IT TO THE US OPEN!

WHEN I MADE IT TO THE US OPEN!

by Jacqueline Colaco

     ‘STRAWBERRIES and CREAM’ time at Wimbledon is over, and the US Open is in full swing…

     My thoughts drift back to September 1986. The US Open was going on at Flushing Meadows – a short stroll away from where I lived during my posting at the Bank of Baroda branch in New York. One evening friend Wendy, nieces Claire Ann and Premila and I (all ardent tennis lovers), decided to go across from Flushing where I lived, and watch a few floodlit matches. We could only afford the lower priced tickets, and consequently ended up with a bird’s eye view of the court from the highly elevated rear stands. However it was thrilling enough to actually be in the midst of what we had been watching for years on television, thousands of miles away in India. I remember Yannick Noah was in exuberant form, playing more to the gallery with his clownish antics than concentrating on his match. In stark contrast, was the serious invincible Ivan Lendl, with court manners as boring as the saw–dust in his pocket. Brad Gilbert who later coached Andre Agassi, was also playing that evening.  All in all we had a very memorable experience, making a picnic of it as well, with a six pack of wine coolers and a bucket of KFC.

     A year went by and it was US Open time again. One morning while I was at work at the bank, my sister Isobel called me. She lived in New York too. She offered me a ticket to join her family for the afternoon matches, courtesy a friend of hers who couldn’t make it. I jumped at the offer, knowing that I would be returning to India a few months thereafter, perhaps never to come back. My boss, a great sport who sensed my excitement at this special chance offered to me, generously let me take off for the rest of the day.

     On reaching the venue, I was stunned when we were ushered right into the grandstand – a courtside box!  The rows where the TV camera men zoom in on celebrities and the kith and kin of players – was this really happening to me? Wow! I felt like a celebrity too. The players were just across the railing – an arm’s stretch away. I watched Martina Navratilova demolish her doubles partner Helena Sukova in the singles.  Martina is my all time favourite – always vibrant both in her play and rapport with the spectators or expletives at a missed chance. Steffi Graf (my second favourite) also played that day – elegant, dignified and athletic – silent in comparison with her grunting peers; Monica Seles and Martina Hingis, if I remember correctly. Stefan Edberg was another great I saw in action that exhilarating afternoon.

     Now to the present. While the still debonair and charismatic Vijay Amritraj continues to lend a dignified Indian dimension to tennis, it is unfortunate that a clash of egos between our Lee-Hesh combine, saw their legendary doubles potential fall by the wayside. However Martina made a comeback not long ago, to thrill us once again, by pulling off some splendid mixed doubles titles with our own Leander, then just half her age. Somewhere down the last two decades, Steffi and Agassi, matching in titles, decided to hitch in marriage as well. One hat’s still going strong.  Martina on the other hand, separated amidst much acrimony and claims for palimon(e)y, from her longtime girlfriend Judy, but despite cancer, after a cure, made a historic and spectacular comeback with Leander to win a mixed doubles in a grand slam not many years ago. This is some legendary pair! Truly sad though, about the Indian ego fiasco before the Olympics this year that brought us to our national tennis doom!  

     Yes, the US Open has come around again and we have old stars and new on courts that do not have traditional surfaces of old, who face challengers that are tougher in both mind and body than ever before! Federer and Nadal do not call the shots these days as much as Djokovic and

Andy Murray. I have a soft corner for the hulk Tsonga, who gives all a good fight but is yet to make his mark.  The Serbs, Russians, Chinese, Australians have showed their toughness in the games, backed by their glamorous costumes and good looks. Serena is indefatigable while Venus has succumbed to age though she still keeps up a brave fight and appears each year. Kim Clijsters had made a stunning comeback to win a few years ago but has now retired.

Lee and Hesh have partnered others in the mens and mixed doubles finals, and have enjoyed their wins and suffered their losses. We miss this doughty partnership for sure!  Sania Mirza, a ‘never say die’ kid struggles on bravely despite plaguing injuries, and has done us done us proud in doubles. We pin hopes on Som Devraman in singles and Rohan Bopanna for the future.

     For the past twenty five years I am back to watching the tournament on television from far away India, pinching myself sometimes to make sure I am not dreaming that I was twice present there. So to reassure myself, I go and dig up my souvenir collection and pick out the photographs, the ticket stub and the tiny teddy bear that sits in a little carry bag bearing the words – US Open.

    And I reproduce this piece annually…

CHAK DE! OLD CHAP!

CHAK DE! OLD CHAP!

(A TOAST TO MY HOCKEY COACH!)

by JACQUELINE COLACO

     At age ninety four, he is still a person to be respected, regarded and recognized as someone special. I speak of Mr. V.V. Naidu, the Mysore State Women team’s hockey coach during the sixties. This was the decade when our team led by Elvera Britto ( of no less renown herself), snapped up every trophy in the tournaments in which we participated, right upto the National Championships, a coveted title which we won continuously from 1960 upto1967.

     Mr. Naidu, also an international men’s coach and umpire simultaneously, was there to guide us with his sense of spotting our individual talents on the hockey field, and moulding them into gaining victory for our team. He was a disciplined and disciplining man. For him principles came first, and punctuality and good behaviour was paramount, complemented by neat grooming and smartness both on and off the field. Turned out in impeccable whites himself, Mr. Naidu or ‘Venky’ as he was fondly called by his peers (though we girls dared not go beyond a respectful ‘Sir’), trained by our side. He would not just shout out instructions, but actually demonstrated moves and tactics, cajoling at times, and thundering at others when he felt we were not doing our best. He ran the endless rounds of warming up alongside us and did the exercises too. He would  emphasise that our foolishness or selfishness could lose us a game, and therefore responsibility and teamwork in our every move was the only sure ‘shot’ to winning a match. No flimsy excuses for lapses would be acceptable. “And remember“, he’d instruct”, the umpire’s decision is final, so definitely no arguments on this score”.

     When we won a tournament, Naidu was not one to go overboard in saluting our victory, as it seemed it was the least he expected of his team. Celebrations were kept to the minimum – a party thrown by our President, Mrs. Gool Tarapore at her residence, or an outing to ‘Hotel Breeze’ on Brigade Road, for a masala dosai and coffee. The winning cup would be filled with beer and passed around to each player for a sip. Coach Naidu’s appreciation though, showed itself in other more important ways. He gave us that sense of being able to depend on him to do what was good for us, a fatherly figure despite his strictness, especially to a few of us who were still schoolgirls when we represented the State. When we would often travel back unreserved by train, from stations up north, and in the chill of winter, Mr. Naidu would do his utmost to get us what berths he could, so we’d be able to take turns to snatch some sleep on the long journeys home. As we huddled around a ‘chulha’ on these stations, awaiting our train at odd hours of the night, Naidu would first look disapproving, and then quietly turn the other way when he caught us passing a cigarette or two around, to gain some imaginary warmth. He realized I guess, that this was all a passing phase of behaving ‘adult’, and no harm done.

    Home again, and it was back to the routine early morning and evening practice. I myself cycled to and from Fraser Town daily with another trip to college in between.

     Mr. Naidu and captain Elvera Britto, along with the wise elder ladies and gents who managed the Mysore State Women’s Hockey Association, were instrumental in teaching us to play the game of hockey for just the love of it. Even when representing the State, all we were given was one pair of shorts and a shirt, and perhaps a stick. God help if we had to play matches on consecutive days – our clothes would be starched with perspiration. If a stick broke, hopefully one of the substitutes would lend hers. Yet no one cribbed and we enjoyed ourselves in this sports discipline. There were no exciting thrills and frills for us – no money nor endorsements. Yet, what I learned from those days and imbibed from coach ‘sir’, has stood me in good stead through life –

To be a leader as well as a member of a team

To be competitive but not cut throat

To be sporting and gracious both on and off the job

To play the game of life for the sheer challenge of it!

     A bunch of us former players met Mr. Naidu a couple of years ago. He graced the occasion of the launch of  my autobiography in 2010. Still commanding centre stage among ‘his girls’ team’, he captivatingly goes on to recognize each one and reminisce about our special traits. This man who leads us by a mile today with his still fit condition and zest for life, goes on to humbly and finally concede, “How can I forget you girls who made me so proud”!

DOCTOR IN A FIX!

DOCTOR IN A FIX

By Jacqueline Colaco

It all started with Doc’s idea that he would FIX ME - and for sure, he did!

The story goes like this. We were childhood acquaintances living in Fraser Town, Bangalore, each the youngest of several children and were contemporaries in age, as were our siblings. He studied in a boys’ school and I in a girls.  We would meet at the occasional birthday party, picnic or family get-together.  Then we went our separate ways – he into medical college and I into banking.

Later he left for the USA and our paths did not cross for a long time.  Till one evening, about twenty years ago, while he was holidaying in Bangalore, we met up again at a common friend’s wedding.  He asked me for a dance.  I declined.  He was taken aback, and seemed to wonder at my high and mighty attitude. I could see him mentally deciding to FIX ME. He did not realise how true his intentions would turn out, but not in the manner he might have thought!

 I could not dance because I had severe rheumatoid arthritis.  He did not know this until I told him so a little later, as he saw me struggling to get up and serve myself dinner. And then immediately, his Orthopaedic surgeon’s concern came to the fore and we discussed my problem.  The next day, x-rays in hand, I went to consult him.  He told me I would need a total hip replacement in due course. He was building a hospital in Bangalore and hoped to have it operational in a year. Joint replacement surgeries would be one of his specialties and he would perform my surgery here.  In the meantime he would visit Bangalore every quarter to supervise the local project and I could have a periodic check-up too.

After 18 months, my problem became acute and surgery was necessary.  As the local project was delayed, Doc asked if I could come to the US.  I gaped at such an impossible suggestion.  He offered to keep the expenses as low as possible and invited me to be his house guest during recuperation. My employer Bank of Baroda stepped in to help me meet the medical expenses and my sister Isobel accompanied me.  Soon I was in Oklahoma and fitted with a new ‘silver hip’, as my brother-in-law Alan wouend!  My new found mobility took me places.  I could dance again!  Alas, three years later, one knee needed to be replaced.  Again it was time to FIX ME.

This time at the newly opened hospital HOSMAT in Bangalore, I was the first patient to undergo a total knee replacement surgery. All went well, and four years later it was the other knee that needed to be replaced, and back was I at HOSMAT. By now a veteran, seventeen years down the line in November 2008, it was my other hip that needed to be replaced. Once again, I’m moving successfully and painlessly on the quartet of my replaced leg joints, thus enabling me to dance my way through the walks of life again, because Doc FIXED ME! The added bonus was when I did indeed dance with Doc on his 60^th birthday in October 2009.

Thanks, my dear friend Dr.Thomas Chandy and your caring CLAREMORE & HOSMAT team! 

'FINISHING SCHOOL' WITH GRAN!

‘FINISHING SCHOOL’ WITH GRAN

 by Jacqueline Colaco

     It was the month of January, 1965. I had just completed my ISC exams and looked forward to a six month sojourn before joining college. In true schoolgirl fashion and with drooling envy, we had all been enamoured by novels of Jane Austen and Georgette Heyer which described the high society women of their time, who were sent to ‘Finishing Schools’, when they ‘came of age’! Our Finishing Schools by contrast, during these months, were ‘around the corner’ ones in the shape of dingy one room enterprises that taught shorthand and typing, sewing and tailoring or whatever else caught one’s fancy. Not to say there was much else to choose, as is the case today. Now, the variety on offer is endless if you have the money -  infotech, media, bartending, adventure and sport, personality development, gymns and spas, music and dance, and other event hosting courses to name a very few! And of course exam preparation courses by the score are a must, which were unheard of in our day. If you went for tuition then, you were labeled a ‘dull’ one. If you don’t now, you are considered to be ‘missing out’!

    For us though, our other skills, especially cooking and girlie stuff such as embroidery/knitting/crocheting and the like, were mostly learned at home - on the job, so to say! Sewing machines were actually put to use. So also (more out of fascination, I must admit!), did I learn to use the traditional Mangalorean ‘vaan’, a granite grinding stone used for preparing masalas (mixed spices). So also, an ‘adaalo’, which was a long wooden stool with a sharp curved knife attached at one end. Squatting legs astride, one cleaned and cut fish or meat. Similarly was one attached with an oval shaped serated knife to scrape a half coconut. For relaxation we would spend time with or cycle around with friends, read, listen to the ‘wind up’ HMV gramophone, or attend piano lessons. Otherwise we’d get immersed in a personal hobby or two. Indoor games were found in plenty at home. So also did most homes like ours have a piano, maybe a violin too, and we learned to sing and dance and enjoy the good old classics at family parties. Guitars were just about making their appearance on the local scene, and these were carried along on picnics. To own a Record Changer/Tape Recorder those days, meant that you either had foreign connections or that you were rich! Most of us made do with the good old radio. Radio Ceylon’s Binaca Hit Parade was one of our favourite radio stations, and we vied to collect the little bracelet charms that came with every tube of Binaca toothpaste. I don’t think Television had made its entry into India by then.

However back to my story…

     On the 6^th of January1965 I went to spend a week at my grandparents home – the magical ‘Oorgaum House’ on Grant Road, Bangalore now renamed Vittal Mallya Road. No sooner was I installed, when Granny Rose sent me off to buy a notebook from S.R.Grant & Co., located opposite the Bowring Institute. Gran promptly put my new possession into action by inscribing my name and the date on the first page, with the title‘Cookery Book’. On the next page, she made me copy ‘Tips on Efficiency’ and on the next, ‘How to be a Lady’. Her tip to ‘clear clutter as you go’ is most effective and one I still try to follow in every task. Then began the absorbingly interesting process of the

actual writing of recipes - some by her and some dictated to me, or copied from one of her books. I still have this recipe book and it is one of my treasures. It contains recipes from far and wide, written in the hand of a variety of people whose particular culinary offering pleased my palate. My own mother Matilda, eldest of Gran’s seventeen children, dashed off quite a few ‘Tilly specials’ in this same book, to equip me, her baby daughter,

when I left home in 1984, to live for the first time on my own, in New York City. My recipe book contains some legendary Mangalorean recipes like Cecil Bai’s ‘Bafat Powder’ and   ‘Indaz of Fish’ by Miss Angela Pinto – classified as ‘excellent’ by Gran! These special notings are to be found alongside the recipe titles! And so on and so forth…

     Whatever recipes I have tried, one will find traces of some ingredient on the page, mostly butter or flour - by far the easier ones! Incidentally, I lost a few pages of the book along the way, to the infant inventiveness of my then around three year old nephew.  One morning I chanced upon him deeply absorbed in it; no not like the ‘wonderkids’ of today who may be quite capable of planning the noon menu – unfortunately it was not so! Instead, little Kittu was earnestly engaged in pulling out some pages and cheerily putting them into flight over the balcony, proclaiming, “I making aeroplanes, Aunty Jackie”! Well, probably some Bombay peanut vendor later sold channa in those discarded pages - and hopefully a curious buyer would have got hold of one of Gran’s priceless recipes…

     In the mid eighties when I was coming back on vacation from NY, a doctor aunt requested me to carry bottles of ‘baby food’ for Gran who was then around 95. How I’d have loved to pamper her palate with a dish from ‘our’ recipe book, but it was not to be. I still however look lovingly at this treasure of mine and remember this grand lady, my Granny Rose. She, despite being grandmother to 64 grandchildren, yet made the time and a special place to devote to each one of us. For me, it was this one week of a ‘Finishing School’ at her hands that I could never have found elsewhere, where I learned from her own practical example ‘How to be a Lady’!

PASSERS BY!

PASSERS-BY! 

by Jacqueline Colaco

I’m fortunate to live in a bungalow near Bangalore East Station which boasts a ‘tuck away’ portico in the rear, from where I can observe the world but am not that visible to it, seated among my hundred plus potted plants which nestle ‘neath the spread of a large mango tree. Viewing passers-by therefore comprise an interesting pastime for me…

Daily in my front yard around 7 am, I first wing a prayer upwards in thanks for the night that has been and for a good day to be, while simultaneously admire the sky. If lucky, I spot a flock of birds flying around! Thereafter I greet the flow of exercise enthusiasts and canine walkers from across my wall, as I go through my own form of fitness routine. Within this half hour comes along the flower garland seller balancing his large bamboo basket expertly on his cycle carrier, followed by the milkmen alerting us with their special horns or thumps on the gates, and the newspaper delivery boys flying past on bikes flinging these like missiles, though without a glance at where they’re aiming. Once my lot thumped me straight in the chest! Rushing too are weary parents dragging reluctant youngsters hauling backpacks as large as themselves, to catch school buses at the nearby circle as also IT folk off to work, identifiable by trademark laptop bags. Public buses and school vans vroom by like kings of the road, halting at will and with no consideration of pedestrians, while many thoughtless two wheelers and four, similarly treat this road as a race track and often sadly ignore the one way rule as well. On a lucky day, the garbage collectors do make their appearance, but it is disturbing to observe rag pickers precede them to rummage in the bags for an odd find of plastic or metal discards…

     Mid morning as I move to the portico to read, write or chat with visitors I notice a different variety in the passers-by. Vendors struggle to push carts peddling loads of vegetables or other eatables. The fish seller cycles the rounds and expertly weighs, cleans and sells his produce in a jiffy, leaving no traces of scales or offal behind under our strict instructions. Offers from others range from carpets (still can’t figure why anyone would buy this item off a roadside hawker!) to colourful plastic ware, toys and thingummies, vessels and potted plants. Often the seller is lost under his wares, so loaded are they on his cycle! For repairs, the mattresswallah and the knife sharpener expert deliver at your doorstep; and to help clear clutter, the raddiwallahs pass by in plenty. Sophisticated salespersons, in looks and smart attire at least, are in no dearth, and if I have time invite them in to recite their spiel, trained as they are with that special US of A accent but naturally blended with the local! I did thus pick up a set of Oxford dictionaries once for a song! Sanitary napkins of course are not up my street at age 64, but the young ladies are so turned on like machines, that undiscerning, they spit out their sales talk into every ear that listens to them.

    Occasionally I spy a camel or a horse and jutkas too, enjoying these sights which are rare nowadays. The ‘holy’ bull and bell is regular to bestow blessings followed by an outstretched hand for an offering. Last Christmastide I witnessed a brace of ducks being led past, ending up probably to grace some festival dinners! Cows amble along in abundance foraging in banquets of garbage dumps that dot the road.

Funeral processions are passé, this being the route to the cemetery, ranging from sombre to noisy with bands, fireworks and dancing; sometimes with intoxicated mourners swaying in tow, obviously having drowned their sorrows. At times too I observe ostentatious corteges with the deceased mounted on a truck bedecked with colourful floral garlands, while in striking contrast one cannot help glance at funerals of the poor huddled in a BBMP hearse around the corpse.

    Neighbours pass by too through the day and look out for me to exchange a nod. Such a mix and match of passers-by that keeps me in thrall!