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.

    

    

   

 

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      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!