Dr. Chandrika Murli Kamath

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By Mohan Shenoy with active participation of  Dr. Chandrika

I have been an absolute traditional housewife. I was married when I was 19 and was yet to complete my degree. Within  one year I was a proud mom of a baby girl.

          I had done my practical exams for my psychology paper but delivered the day after and hence couldn't complete my written exams. But I completed my degree in the next year. with the second child I did my masters in literature  and with my third I did my doctorate. Let me remind you that I was every bit of a house wife all the time.

          At a certain time my grand mother in law was with us. So four generations lived together with different gastronomic likings. But I loved it all. I cooked non vegetarian for my husband and kids. Put by the vessels and soaped the kitchen and prepared satvik food without garlic and onions for the rest of  us.

          My father in law was a great devotee of the Ramakrishna mission. So many Swamijis stayed with us. I consider it a great fortune that I had the luck to serve them. By and by my in laws grew older and I served them with love. In fact my brother in law and his wife and a sister in law of mine too had grave health issues and I am glad I had the chance to take care of all of them.

          Given my three kids all the affection and warmth I could. I am proud to be an absolute traditional housewife and still managed so many things with no help at home...just a matter of time management, I think.

          My viva was done and I was awarded the much awaited doctorate. I was relieved  that everything had gone smoothly. I was  driving my guide Professor Mansur back  to his house. He said," You were good with your defense. I am proud of you. So what are your future plans? " I  said, " Nothing much sir. Will just go back to home and hearth." He then suddenly asked me if I would translate his father's autobiography. I thought for a while and guardedly asked him if I may I know who his father is.

          Now when I think of that moment, I wonder why the earth didn't swallow me. There was a long silence from his end and then he said , he was a singer. Suddenly bells clanged in my head. I blushed with embarrassment and I realised albeit a little late,  that he was the son of Pandit Mallikarjun Mansur. I too sing, he added rather amused. I am sure all his good opinion created by my viva, must have got smothered by the shroud of ignorance and stupidity I displayed.

    

          Let me tell you why I never saw the connection. First of all sir was a man of few words. Normally i  talk  dime to a dozen but I was forced to be  reticent partly due to sir's silence and partly due to my  own commitments. My visit to the university was a pilgrimage of sorts. So many people were inconvenienced to make this happen. Every time I went to submit a chapter, I was in a hurry to get back home to my ailing mother-in-law. A relative of ours  was kind enough to come over for a few hours to be with my mother in law.  Most of the time I carried my youngest son to the  University. My best friend would come along and take care of him when I went up to the department. Sometimes he would begin to cry and then it would be beyond my friend to manage him.

          So the uppermost thought was to hurry back. When I knocked and went in, sir almost always just said , leave it on the table and come back next week. I plead guilty that I did not know much about music and musicians. Moreover the name Mansur made me think of Mansoor Ali Khan Pataudi so naturally I thought sir also was a Khan. His beard added to my misconception.

          I know I am portraying myself not only as a culturally ignorant person but also one with a stereotypical narrow mindedness. I was!

          My three children, my husband and in laws and the stream of guests were my four walls. I was too embarrassed even to apologise for my ignorance. Thankfully we reached his house and he quickly brought the copy of Rasa Yatra, a sheaf of xeroxed papers tied together.  I took it and drove off sheepishly.

          A few days later, I took out the sheets and began to read. It was as if the writer held my hand and led me into his world of music. I cried when his mother died in Shrishaila. It was as if my world had shattered when his guru Burji Khan saheb died. In fact I lived and relived every single word in the book.

          Six months later, I  had completed the translation. Sir asked me to bring it over. He said every  sentence would have to be compared with the original to ensure that it was faithful to the original. I pleaded my inability to leave my mother in law. So one day sir came over to our house. He was moved and said the translation was brilliant. He  asked me if he can pay me for my efforts. I shook my head and said that I have been more than rewarded. The book had transformed me. He then said, "Alright, if you don't want the money, I will give you a raga. I said I don't know how to sing.

          My father in law who was a connoisseur of music, said don't turn away Saraswathi when she is at your door.  So I obediently brought a durry and lay it on the ground. I prayed to the proverbial 33000 gods to sing through me.

          It was 6 in the evening and sir taught me Nand. I just opened my mouth. Then the Gods seemed to hold my hand. My father in-law and sir, who later became my Guruji, were so happy. And thus began my journey in music.

          My dad was proud that I had done a PhD even after being a mere housewife and a mother of three little ones. He was also very excited about my topic- the post colonial theory. So I guess he boasted about me to none less than Mrs S. M. (a prominent, rich and very popular lady in Karnaataka, in India and probably in the world.) She showed keen interest in my research and called me up a few times to know more about my research. An honour indeed!

          But I was a mere housewife with innumerable duties. My two kids came home from school at 12 with just a half hour break.  Lunch  had to be ready by then. My mother in law had a hip fracture and I had to help her bathe. My little fellow was still hankering to be in my arms and would follow me, fretting and crying. In this scenario, I would unexpectedly receive the million dollar call. We had no cordless phone in those days. Just a land line placed far away from the kitchen.

          When Mrs S. M. called, my rice would be just getting ready to be strained. But I couldn't tell her that,could I? And being a busy person that she is, she would have to attend to other calls, in the middle of our conversation on 'post colonial impact.' So the call would take a little longer.

          And my rice had a mind of its own. It didn't stop cooking for a call. By the end of the call, my rice would be like post office gum.   My family seeks perfection in every grain. And here was a paste with no grains at all. When the girls came back, I served them a bowl of conjee each. Fortunately they spooned it down quietly.  But the final test would be when my father in law and husband would come for lunch. I would have to make fresh rice. But alas what would I do with this mash! Four times Mrs Murthy called me. Once I made sandige with the mashed up rice. The next time I ground it with raw rice and made Akkii rotti next morning. Once. I quietly threw it away. And the fourth time I served it to my shocked family members as Chinese sticky rice!

          Then one day Mrs S. M. told me to meet her at ten thirty at BVB Engineering College as she was there on some work. I was excited. But I also knew the juggling I had to do. Cook and keep the lunch ready. Return by twelve. Carry my little son with me. Bathe my mother in law before I left and plead with her to stay safe in bed till I return.. Things seemed going fine.  After her bath I helped my maai to the God's room, so that she could pray before I left. She used a walker but had just begun walking after her physiotherapy. I didn't dare leave her alone.

          I saw the clock.. I still had time. So I waited till she chanted her stotras. But suddenly my mother in law collapsed. She hit her head against the door and lay in a pool of blood. She was unconscious. I called my friends for help. My husband and his father rushed home.

          Thank fully, Maai got up after some time. We got first aid and bandaged her wound.  I had missed my appointment with Mrs S.M. I had no means of telling her why I missed a golden opportunity. But that was the last thing on my mind at that time.

          Many years later,I was invited as a chief guest to school run by Mrs S. M. I left a letter for her, explaining my situation that day. I am sure she wouldn't have remembered either me or  the incident but I wanted to assuage my conscience. The principal handed over the letter to her.

          And you won't believe this! Mrs S. M. called me to say she emphathised with my situation. (That's what makes her great!!!)

I felt relieved albeit a little late - after a lapse of 16 years!!

 When your amma cooked she wanted to serve meals to all. When she sang she wanted all to listen and feel. Especially she made sure to follow policies laid down by her husband. A complete family woman. Never tried to come under the limelight. Kept to limits set by her own wisdom. Fortunate to have been a loving daughter, a partnering wife, a teaching mother and a restrained mother-in-law. Left like she walked out of the door and we could not stop her. She didn't become a burden to either herself or to her companions when she left. One who will be missed even in death. She gave so that she could receive. You can't help but cherish her memories all your life.