My online friend, Susan Marguliesh Kalish, NY read my stories and send her comments.  And her review was published on the wrapper of my second book of stories, titled "Nippula Toofaa", fairy storm. My online friends, educated me, enlightened me and finally made me a responsible author. For the last six years, I have to say proudly that I have authored and published five books of stories. I rremember them with gratitude and love.

"Rao’s writing is redolent of the old Grimm’s fairy tales, I read in my childhood; they were upsetting to a youngster who had never been exposed to pain and suffering.  A child could put the book down with a sigh of relief and feel safe in his reality’s assurance, that it’s “only a story”.  In effect, the old fairy tales were like a roller coaster ride: the reader knows terror but also knows the ride will be over and all will be well.

But the difference here is that Mr. Rao’s allegories, replete with moral messages and the same Grimm horrors, do not quite release the reader back to safety.  They dump us on the road in the middle of unspeakable poverty, illness and suffering and they demand to be addressed.

Mr. Rao speaks to the members of his society and his culture and in doing so, addresses all peoples.  He asks for acknowledgement of the imbalances and injustices that progress has wrought insensitivity toward the aging, corruption in politics, society, and even in religion.  In his own way, Mr Rao challenges the reader to act. 

He is saying in effect, “Look at this! How can we allow life to be this way?”

SUSAN MARGULIES KALISH

Author, “The Cerebral Jukebox” A Collection of Urban poetry, New York, NY, USA

Nippula Toofan, 2^nd book, published 2012

Tags: Telugu, books, India, stories

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The Hindu, India's leading news paper, today reviewd my III book of stories "Intimeeda Duppati". I am glad to share with my loving freinds.

----

The Telugu book under review is a collection of stories with a conspicuous difference. The very name, Intimeeda Duppati (Blanket over the house) sounds distinctive. Further, the author S. Ganapathi Rao in the tag to the title cautions: “(The book) is meant for those who think in terms of tomorrow.” The purport is the book is not for a pleasant read, as the stories are highly thought- provoking. In his prefatory note, he predicts, in his inimitable style and acidulous diction, the reaction of the readers on completion of reading the stories: “You will souse your nibs in seething blood and hone your cogitations positioning them in flames. Each home holds a pen and every hand produces a story. You will be the leaders of the nation, turn into the Discus ofLord Vishnu and pounce upon corrupt and wicked people.” Obviously, the author is restive and much agitated over the conditions prevailing in society like corruption, domestic violence, rape, tyranny, exploitation of the poor and soon. He wields his pen as a potential weapon to wage a battle against such evils.

He chooses topics with diligence and weaves stories around them with emotional spur. The same tenor he adopts for captioning the stories in the book. ‘Yuddhamlo Bodduthadutho’ (Withumbilical cord in war), ‘Bonulo Judgegaru’ (Judge in witness box), ‘Bhaggumanna Boggu’ (Coal that blazed), ‘Boochadochchdu’ (Came the hobgoblin), ‘Biyyamlo Raallu’ (Stones in rice), ‘Ammalaku Ammalu’ (Mothers of Mothers) and ‘Venuka Benchi Ammayi’ (Back bencher girl) are among the 12 stories included in this collection. Each title is preceded by a two-line gloss in poetic form giving the basic import of the theme. Though the themes are short, the structure is invigorated with intense techniques comprising satire, sarcasm, magic realism, post- modernism, stream of consciousness, symbolism etc.

He does not hesitate to give an effective solution for the issue dealt with in the story and invariably he conveys a message. Despite the lucid and idiomatic language, the tone is vehement and the flow torrential. At times, there are traces of impulsive eruptions in the narration. In ‘Yuddhamlo Bodduthadutho’, an infant still carrying umbilical cord vanquishes an army and challenges its Chief for a fight. This story in magic realism technique gives a call for a total battle by girls from the very nascent stage to end atrocities perpetrated by men. ‘Bhaggumanna Boggu’ tells how an honest officer is mercilessly manhandled in public for bringing to light the coal scam. The heroic episode of Malaala of Afghanistan is the basis for ‘Malaala Allah’ and propounds education of girls. The lopsided justice dispensed in ‘Police and Justice’ department is portrayed in ‘Biyyamlo Rallu. In ‘Intimeeda Duppati’ a labouer Sahu is killed due to collapse of water tank. His master tries to hush it up. But Sahu’s wife Savithri boldly publicises the crime. A corrupt Judge seeks bail in ‘Bonulo Judgegaru.’ Surprisingly a score of English quotations are inserted in the book. Despite their indirect contextual relevance in some cases, that measure does not seem to be prudently justified. The book is a must read for thinkers with a reformist mindset.

GOVINDARAJU

RAMAKRISHNA RAO

Intimeeda Duppati

By S. Ganapathi Rao

Price: Rs.100/-

For copies: Visalandhra Book House all branches.

Tags: Story, Stories, Books,Telugu, India

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The Telugu book under review is a collection of stories with a conspicuous difference. The very name, Intimeeda Duppati (Blanket over the house) sounds distinctive. Further, the author S. Ganapathi Rao in the tag to the title cautions: “(The book) is meant for those who think in terms of tomorrow.” The purport is the book is not for a pleasant read, as the stories are highly thought- provoking. In his prefatory note, he predicts, in his inimitable style and acidulous diction, the reaction of the readers on completion of reading the stories: “You will souse your nibs in seething blood and hone your cogitations positioning them in flames. Each home holds a pen and every hand produces a story. You will be the leaders of the nation, turn into the Discus ofLord Vishnu and pounce upon corrupt and wicked people.” Obviously, the author is restive and much agitated over the conditions prevailing in society like corruption, domestic violence, rape, tyranny, exploitation of the poor and soon. He wields his pen as a potential weapon to wage a battle against such evils.

He chooses topics with diligence and weaves stories around them with emotional spur. The same tenor he adopts for captioning the stories in the book. ‘Yuddhamlo Bodduthadutho’ (Withumbilical cord in war), ‘Bonulo Judgegaru’ (Judge in witness box), ‘Bhaggumanna Boggu’ (Coal that blazed), ‘Boochadochchdu’ (Came the hobgoblin), ‘Biyyamlo Raallu’ (Stones in rice), ‘Ammalaku Ammalu’ (Mothers of Mothers) and ‘Venuka Benchi Ammayi’ (Back bencher girl) are among the 12 stories included in this collection. Each title is preceded by a two-line gloss in poetic form giving the basic import of the theme. Though the themes are short, the structure is invigorated with intense techniques comprising satire, sarcasm, magic realism, post- modernism, stream of consciousness, symbolism etc.

He does not hesitate to give an effective solution for the issue dealt with in the story and invariably he conveys a message. Despite the lucid and idiomatic language, the tone is vehement and the flow torrential. At times, there are traces of impulsive eruptions in the narration. In ‘Yuddhamlo Bodduthadutho’, an infant still carrying umbilical cord vanquishes an army and challenges its Chief for a fight. This story in magic realism technique gives a call for a total battle by girls from the very nascent stage to end atrocities perpetrated by men. ‘Bhaggumanna Boggu’ tells how an honest officer is mercilessly manhandled in public for bringing to light the coal scam. The heroic episode of Malaala of Afghanistan is the basis for ‘Malaala Allah’ and propounds education of girls. The lopsided justice dispensed in ‘Police and Justice’ department is portrayed in ‘Biyyamlo Rallu. In ‘Intimeeda Duppati’ a labouer Sahu is killed due to collapse of water tank. His master tries to hush it up. But Sahu’s wife Savithri boldly publicises the crime. A corrupt Judge seeks bail in ‘Bonulo Judgegaru.’ Surprisingly a score of English quotations are inserted in the book. Despite their indirect contextual relevance in some cases, that measure does not seem to be prudently justified. The book is a must read for thinkers with a reformist mindset.

GOVINDARAJU

RAMAKRISHNA RAO

Intimeeda Duppati

By S. Ganapathi Rao

Price: Rs.100/-

For copies: Visalandhra Book House all branches.

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These are the comments on my second book an reproduced in my third book

Nippula Toofan

The title,”Nippula Toofan”,the fiery storm,itself  indicates the fire within.The whole book is a pungent and soul-searching commentary on day to day evils that pester the society.Unfortunately,all these evils are man-made.In Ganapathi’s imagination all other beings are more just and reasonable than  so called evolved creature ,human being.

Rao’s stories are not conventional stories with a beginning ,a middle and an  end.They do not adhere to any narrative technique except spontaneity.In Ganapathirao we have  a writer who can set his own rules and set his own trend.Whether it is stream of consciousness or magic realism or combination of both or mere impressionistic revelation no one can vouch  for sure.There is certain rawness about approach and presentation - - no disguise,no mincing of words,no suggestive remarks.The writer is like a valorous hero of the yore who wielded his fiery sword to fight the monster to the end.The monster appears in many garbs gobbling everything that is good and humane in society.May Rao’s creativity reach new heights to bring forth more such fiery storms.

Dr J.Bhagyalakshmi,New Delhi

Tags: books, stories

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Hi friends, kindly spare your precious time to read my (Indian) story in translation and write your comments. I am brining out my third book and your views will be published along with my original story. The main character of the story is Savithri, from country side she comes to a city with her child in arms in search of her husband.

Shroud over the Roof

story by: S. Ganapathi Rao

(copy rights Reserved)

Characters:

Jagannatha Sahu – Gatekeeper. Savithri: Wife of Jagannatha Sahu

Builder: Varun Kumar

Police Officer

Places: Koraput, Malaput in State of Odissa

She patiently waited for an hour and long at the reservation counter;and at last got her ticket. Depositing it safely within the folds of her sari, near the navel, she heaved a long breath.

The train was too overcrowded. It was more like a lorry carrying the olden bullocks, one over the other, to the other parts of the country for final disposal. Travelers direct to Howrah, for Odissa and some other intermediate stations in Andhrapradesh have already flooded over their unreserved seats and berths. Each takes care of his/her own comfort and none has the least concern for the other. They would not allow another passenger get into the train once they themselves got in.

Green signal given, the train pushed off the platform with all the meek and hapless passengers within.

She looked around for the first time. There were two or three persons roughly resembling her own husband, it seemed to her for the first look. They were young, not above twenty-five or so. They were endlessly chewing the gutka-tobocco powder and improving the poisonous contents in their blood cells. One not accustomed to such strong and pungent smells would indeed vomit out his stomach and easily swoon. Highly irritable scene all around the environment and no wonder if one prefers death to this.

A child-in-arms, but that invoked no pity among the co-passengers whatsoever. The upper berths, though intended for heavy luggage, also took in seven to eight men hugging each other. The corridors, the space in front of the latrines too were packed with light luggage and men seated over them. While some were at the entrance, some more were over their heads and shoulders!

The train, the inanimate animation, had no concern. It moved on picking up speed as it progressed.

She picked out her water bottle in great difficulty, gave a sip of it to her daughter and gulped some herself quenching the thirst of the throat. She packed some pea-nuts on the way to the station and now began munching them. She looked again around, particularly at those who resembled her own man. But now, she does not feel the resemblance at all, they were dissimilar. None had the ‘snubbed-nose’, which is unique with her man.

The child-in-arms too was looking around, askance at all the new faces. Perhaps she needed to be fed, the mother thought and opening her breast up brought the nipple to the child’s lips and quickly covered herself in secure.

Then the child moved into the past, when the child had a woman who fed her on breast, the three times a day, while at Koraput, Maalapet. She would arrive exactly the same minute when the baby felt hunger, open up her breasts well, filled her stomach to full content, kissed her and went back after cradling comfortably after a lullaby. Minutes before she would re-arrive, child would feel the thirst making all sorts of noises. Mother would, no doubt, give her solace, but alas, why she not unable to breast-feed herself?

II

The rusted iron girders giving out and the full-watered tub falling down over his head, Jagannatha Sahu, broke dead on the spot. His blood, added on to the water, streamed out into the street turning to awful red.

Far off there was a police officer and his ears, being sharp enough, caught the death-scream of Sahu. He rushed on to the spot by police car.

‘Your negligence was the sole and the only cause for the poor man’s death. I shall file a case and you are finished , lost for all. Avoid getting into the case. Pay me rupees one lakh and purchase peace, or else”--‘ he need not have to complete the sentence. Police officer was adamant and firm on his stand.

Varunkumar, the proprietor of Varun Builders, too was no lesser a guy. “Had I arrived here a minute before you, then there would be no trace of the accident at all. No need to bribe you too” – was his response and he did not agree to pay anything beyond a simple rupees 1,116, that too as mere gratis for the police officer’s seeming accommodation. Both the parties made all they could in contacting their higher-ups, present their ignorance, grace, innumerable arguments - for and against - and finally it was settled that Varun pay off rupees fifty thousands in cash and get rid of the rigmarole. Pocketing the currency notes safe in his trouser pockets, the police officer , as a mark of fore-warning, said while leaving, ‘If only someone comes in search of this awfully dead fellow, the case would reopen to take a bad turn.’ He then remembered Udayalakshmi, his wife who appeared to show her face early in the wee-hour as he got up, and thanked her for the good omen.

The car knows his mind and moved on without any quick-start, perhaps to hawk at some other place that would gather more money.

The Mahatma gathered the nation as ‘one Soul’ and paved way to win the Independence from the foreign forces, some sixty five years ago; but the poor Sahu laid down his life for nothing, unlamented. Constitution helps those who turn everything to their own convenience. Poor have no solace whatsoever in any of its clauses and contents.

Varun purchases all the vacant lands of in the city, thanks to the lots he makes of the unaccountable profits in his many trades, at cheap/distress rates. Vacant sites become eye-sore for the organized garibs and mafias; and this uncomfortable situation forced him compound each space and employ janitors in safeguard. For one such vacant, well compounded site, Sahu, unfortunately, was the gatekeeper. The poor fellow was happy that the owner had some working knowledge of his own language, Odissa and he thus felt security more for his livelihood.

‘Sir, the iron girders in the bathroom are thoroughly bad. Any moment the roof would come down---‘ Sahu reported hesitantly to Varun. The response he got was alarming: ‘So what? If the roof falls down, would you die? Your death would make the world more grieved and lamented?’- half-baked words of Varun made Sahu shudder and silent. He came all the way here to make a living, that too a more comfortable way. His snubbed nose was a hindrance for his marriage. The maternal uncle dared to give his daughter in marriage to him, out of sheer affinity. His snubbed nose, a matter of heckle for others, but his wife shut every one’s mouth when she said, ‘It was only my love for that snubbed nose that made me marry him.’

‘I shall first go there, settle things well and then take you,’ said Sahu to his pregnant wife and kissing her many times to the content of both,  left the village for good..

III

An old trunk was the only luggage for Sahu when he arrived here from Malapet. Opening the trunk emits all sorts of sweet scents and the whole village visualized before him. Those men, trees, the earth, ant-hills – all that rural atmosphere give him immense pleasure and unequalled emotion. The wonder the Pandora ’s Box brings him makes the  pointing figure get up the nose!

The sheets over the terrace had very many holes. No wonder they ground themselves one night. Girders in the bathroom are ever signals of danger. He was wondering how he could safely land his wife into this unworthy and unseemly space.

The owner Varun knows his language but that was no consolation. He could never speak in sweet and smooth words, would only howl and bark. No human language or touch. When would men learn to speak well, not spitting out their indecent venom and vulgarity?

Varun owns a big and lofty car which he uses when meeting higher ups and on major jobs. For minor and negligent jobs there is a junk-car. When on still worse jobs he uses a rickety scooter. The need alone fills the wants. No crow caws on his terrace, even a cat caught on the hot roof never approaches. A beggar for alms receives only blows. His ‘philanthropy’ has many stories. There was a friend, twenty years or more with him, who by sheer misfortune lost his job. His wife wanted him approach Varun to seek help. She sold away a silver dish to prepare cheese in token of their friendship and sent the husband with great hopes. He could not first get entry because of his bad demeanor but somehow Varun came out, ate all the cheese presented and sent away the friend empty handed. ‘No job now. Go home, I shall arrange something soon.’ When the friend got home back, a packet of government sponsored food stuffs - costing one hundred and eighty five rupees only - was awaiting him.

Varun builders, a prosperous construction company there, builds fallacious palaces, shopping malls, multi-storied complexes and the like. Corporate companies and filthy rich people seek his services readily and unhesitatingly. He employs good architects, engineers and makes well planned designs. Rooms and halls will be spacious and wider. Halls resemble parks. The balconies will be playgrounds.

When workers’ quarters are to be made all miserliness surrounds his plans. Rooms will be within three square foot width. Children and older too should accommodate themselves within that short space. Terrace will be of zinc sheets. Latrines and kitchens will be side by side and together. Workers should never be happy or contented, is his theory. He patiently lectures to those who feel sorry for them. Yet, his construction company is the craze for one and all.

Now, Sahu was caught up with him. Varun would not spend a pie on repairs or renewals.

On a rainy day, Sahu made his appeal once again. But Varun simply dismissed his words. ‘What if there is rain? Have a good quilt, cover the terrace and sleep on.’ He checked his belongings and assured of their safety ran off on his scooter.

When Sahu heard about the quilt he remembered his uncle - father-in-law - earlier gifted him. He gave two quilts and asked him to use them sparingly. When Savitri is there, one quilt would suffice. Both took shelter cool and calm under that one.  She used to smoothen and cajole his snubbed nose in all possible ways. They enjoyed life well. When she was laid with fever he carried her for five miles to a doctor and got her medicated. His love was that great and that was the reason the maternal uncle was extremely comfortable with him.

Sahu opened the Pandora’s Box. Sweet scents overpowered him. What were the contents therein?

A photo along with his beloved Savitri. He picked the photo and gave a kiss to her. Another photo. The uncle in his large form.  Another photo where he was swinging on a cradle along with Savitri under a banyan tree.

He felt humiliated by Varun. He blindly believed his tall promises. The poor are meant only to be pawns for the rich folk. He picked up the quilt from the box, unfolded it and covered the zinc sheets with that. Rain stopped for a while and yet winds were too harsh. The quilt could not withstand them and like a kite moved on to the skies. He remembered the magician’s story and ran on the ground to hold back the quilt into his hands when it comes down.  All his effort proved fruitless, the quilt vanished once for all.

Sahu cursed himself. His helplessness overpowered his mind. He drank all his grief alone. That day he could not swallow even the liquid food. If this be the situation, it seemed he would never Savitri to live on with him here. His anger knew no bounds. But a poor man’s anger is confined to his own lips. The outer space too brought him more anguish. He wept and wept for long and non-stop. That was the only recourse for him. No end to this suffering. The winds fiercely moved on and the tub over the head was oscillating like a cradle. The girders loosened. The death-scream of Sahu entered the ears of the police officer.

IV

Savitri alighted at the station. Early morning, yet the sun was too hot and severe. The little money she held by a knot to the sari-end got stolen on the train by some miscreants.

The child was shown the father’s photo. Mother promised to show the father- in -real. Now, the child-in-arms was looking too disturbed.

‘World is now a global village’. Where is Sahu? She brought in the address-chit to the notice of everybody she came in contact. The mother and child were roaming on the roads, no food or thirst-quench, no response from anyone.

The place the address had shown was as far as five miles from the station. It took them two days to cover the distance.

The child looked to her like a galloping superspeed train.Where and how to catch the father here? Dark nights are too dangerous.

In such a pandamonium of things the child is desperately tensed in the frightening thought of how to locate her father. And this was the very first thought that passed in the mind of child in this puzzling confusion.

That fateful night the woman experience the most unimaginable hell. A bunch of brutish men gangraped her in the most attrocious and ghastly manner, one man holding her hands, and another pressed down her head down with his heavy boots. As the gang of the people left the scene after the crime the child, innocently not aware of the seriousness of what was happening, goes to the road and brings back the cast off clothes and drapes her unconcious mother.

Crowds of people who passed that way did not, even one of them, has the heart to stop and enquire about the plight of the victims. And how all that happend.

V

Savitri appeared to the people there as a queer woman with tattoos all round the face, rolling stone garlands over the neck, nose covered with rings on two sides and the middle, bangles around the long arms, legs with large rings --- she was a rank outsider to the city and is of rustic stuff.

A woman with an address-chit in Odissa language is on the streets. The news easily reached the police officer. Varun also got the whistle of the wind. The two cars again met on the road, one facing each other. In between stood up Savitri with the child-in-arms. Seeing the police car, Varun thought, ‘so the fellow is again here, to loot a million bucks this time!’ The officer stood firm with the baton swinging in his hands. 

At last, Savitri managed to reach the compounded space where Sahu was the janitor. The sheeted roof inside the compound felt like a furnace emmitting blazing waves of heat.

The Builder one side, the police officer on the other, and between them stood the widowed woman with her child-in-arms.  People were gathering not knowing what the sequence was.  College students, boys and girls. Passengers who got down from the local train – all were enjoying the show.

Child came down from her mother's arms and strutted on the ground that was once frequently trudded by her father.

The mother is not accosted by anybody. There is an address-chit written in Odissa language in her hands.

Ordering the people gathered around, the police officer and the builder contemplating to take away the mother and child from the site of others. It was due to avoid any one identifying the fact that her husband was brutally killed by being hit by water tanker, that fell from a height due to negligence of the builder and the case was hushed up.

Just then, Television companies's vans and cars to cover the Prime Minister’s visit to the city were rushing in post-haste on the road. When they stopped at the trafic signal, some gave the news to them. They knew that even if the PM wants to do anything now, it will not be possible for me. Some TV vans did turn towards Savitri. One cameraman of the crew happened to be from Odissa.

Standing before the hundreds of Cameras, waving the address-chit in her hands, Savitri cried aloud: ‘Where is my husband? Where is my Jagannath Sahu?

She was determined not to accept defeat. She was to go beyond to conquer and win. The rising sun bowed before her. The child was looking innocently to identify her father among those that gathered around.

The cameraman was asking questions one after the other. Her features were being described in detail. He was translating her answers into Telugu and English the same time and pushing the bullets into the cameras and projectors.

The child caught the cameraman’s hand tight, perhaps that atlast she met a man, now who could be of solace to her and her mother..

XXXXXXX

Tags: story, book, fiction

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I am glad that a friend in NEW DELHI, read my second book, "Nippula Toofan" and sent her views/comments after reading the book.  Now, I am working on my third book.

Nippula Toofan

 "The title,”Nippula Toofan”,the fiery storm,itself  indicates the fire within.The whole book is a pungent and soul-searching commentary on day to day evils that pester the society.Unfortunately,all these evils are man-made.In Ganapathi’s imagination all other beings are more just and reasonable than  so called evolved creature ,human being.

Rao’s stories are not conventional stories with a beginning ,a middle and an  end.They do not adhere to any narrative technique except spontaneity.In Ganapathirao we have  a writer who can set his own rules and set his own trend.Whether it is stream of consciousness or magic realism or combination of both or mere impressionistic revelation no one can vouch  for sure.There is certain rawness about approach and presentation - - no disguise,no mincing of words,no suggestive remarks.The writer is like a valorous hero of the yore who wielded his fiery sword to fight the monster to the end.The monster appears in many garbs gobbling everything that is good and humane in society.May Rao’s creativity reach new heights to bring forth more such fiery storms.

Dr J.Bhagyalakshmi,New Delhi"

Tags: book, stories

0 comments View Entry

India is known for the respect to its women, but ...

The news of a 35-year-old woman allegedly locked up in a room by her parents for about five years who was rescued by the police from her house in Bangalore on Tuesday shocked the IT city.

Neighbours alleged that the woman was put under "house arrest" as her parents were opposed to her marrying a person of her choice.

A Commerce graduate, the woman was found in a traumatised condition when police visited the house after receiving a tip-off.

The woman was found lying on the floor looking unkempt and not even properly clothed, a police official said.

She was later shifted to National Institute of Mental Health and Neuro Sciences for treatment.

Rebutting the allegations that his daughter had been illegally confined, her father said she had a rheumatic problem but was not taking medicines.

Her brother said said she was not under 'house arrest' and had health problems for which she was undergoing treatment.

Health Minister UT Khader, who visited the woman, said the priority was to get her treated and restore her health.

Tags: women, humanity

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It is sad, how our civilization making old people to suffer. This news  came to light just a day back.And this is similar to my story, "Twilight Zone", (pl. view my blog) published one year back in my book titled "Nippula Toofan" (Storm of cyclone).

Banglore, India: Anantaiah Shetty lay on an old mattress, a steel plate and tumbler lying beside him, his ankle bound in a dog chain. Above him were water tanks; below, his sons and their families lived in his palatial home. At 93, a small enclosure on the terrace was all he could call home.


A second story of human cruelty in Bangalore came to light on Wednesday, when cops in the upscale JP Nagar rescued Shetty from the little shed, after neighbours tipped off a Kannada TV channel. It came a day after Hemavathi's dramatic rescue from her Malleswaram residence, where she was confined for five years by her father.

Shetty was chained and locked up by his sons in the makeshift shed on the terrace of the three-storey building he owned in south Bangalore.

The elderly man would be taken to the terrace every day by his third son, Suresh Kumar, and chained there for the entire day. This was going on for more than a year, neighbours alleged. He was forced to spend the day on the 4-ft long mattress covered with old bedsheets. At night, his son would take him down again.

Suresh Kumar and his wife Kalpana were arrested and produced before a court, and released on bail.

Father of six children - four sons and two daughters - Anantaiah Shetty lived with Suresh Kumar and Girish Kumar, the younger siblings.

"It's difficult to look after my father as he has no control over his body and dirties the house," said Suresh Kumar.

"How can we keep cleaning up the entire day?" asked his wife Kalpana.

On Wednesday, following a tip-off, JP Nagar police led by DCP South HS Revanna rushed to the house and rescued Shetty.

"Please save me, shift me to any old age home," Anantaiah Shetty repeatedly requested police.

He was admitted to Victoria Hospital, where doctors said his left leg appeared to have weakened due to the continuous chaining. Later in the day, he was shifted to Sanjay Gandhi Hospital in Jayanagar, where doctors have kept him under observation.

DCP Revanna told TOI they had taken Suresh Kumar's statement and are awaiting Anantaiah Shetty's statement. "Let Anantaiah recuperate first. He appears to be in shock over the way his sons treated him," he said.

A widower, Anantaiah ran a grocery store in Kalasipalya which he sold in the late 1990s. Elder sons Venkatesh Kumar and Sanath Kumar lived separately after a rift with their younger siblings Suresh and Girish. In 2005, Anantaiah's wife Nagaratnamma died of a prolonged illness.

Tags: old, humanity, people, society

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"The Twilight Zone"

This is my story in translation, kindly read write your opinion

Chapter: 1

A nonagenarian with a condition of health that can stop his breath any moment, chose to be ruthless without any concern for his imprisoned son and who mercilessly drove away his daughter-in-law and grandsons from his house unmindful of what would befall to them.

It was 10:30 in the morning. The District Collector was discussing important administrative matters with his subordinate officers including the Deputy Collector, Mr. Perugu Pernadham, in his office. A Circle Inspector of Police gate crashed into his office with the speed and ferocity lightening bolt of brushing aside the staff outside who tried in vain to stop him from entering. The Circle Inspector had the guts to announce that he had come to arrest Mr. Pernadham.

He rushed towards Pernadham and flashed the arrest warrant and ordered him to accompany him. Mr. Pernadham who was seated close to the Collector with a very confident look, suddenly felt his heart beating faster. It happened so quickly that the Collector had no time to react to what was happening. The man arrested, was none other than the only son of Mr. Viswanadham, an I.A.S officer, who retired as Chief Secretary to the Government Andhra Pradesh, some years ago.

There was huge back ground to this unusual daredevilry on the part of the Circle Inspector.

Chapter: 2

The Abids Road police station: One of the people who happened to be inside was so thrilled that the Inspector was able to arrest one of the top bureaucrats within hardly 30 minutes since he filed the complaint. He stood up and shuffled towards the Inspector shook him by his hand and congratulated him for the unusual alert and efficiency and profusely thanked him.

Just the previous night, this nonagenarian was rudely roughed up by his son in his house during some excited exchange of words and was so severely hurt that he landed unconscious on the floor. His servants superficially examined him and took him for dead. At his master’s bidding they carried the body to a large dust bin a few streets away from his house, and deposited the body was in a sitting posture.

The early morning sun had started flashing its rays, graciously dispelling the darkness of the night.  Raju, a rag picker, with his bag on his shoulders was rushing to the dustbin to pre-empt other rag pickers to take away any  salvageable things from it.

He pushed his hand inside the bin in search of some waste material such as broken plastics and liquor bottles. Very shockingly he felt something like a nose, hair, a face, fingers, and when his hand had dug deeper; he was able to identify a human being.

Hurriedly he cleared the rubbish covering the object and with all his might pulled out human body which he laid out the body near by a payment and it is still dark. God’s ways are strange: Raju had pulled out an elderly man who was still breathing; he wondered how he survived.

He stripped him of all the dirty material gathered on his body and then his clothes, whatever was left. He brought water from a nearby tap, and washed him as best as he could. After a little while Viswanadham started moving as he was gently bathed by early morning rays of the sun about to appear. Raju took out his own shirt and covered a good part of the old man’s body. He went to a nearby shop and brought a cup of hot tea and fed it to Viswanadham. After consuming the tea Viswanadham appeared slightly rejuvenated and managed to raised his head slightly and asked Raju, “where the nearest police station”?

Chapter: 3

This was the man seated in the Police Station after he had filed a complaint with the police against his son’s atrocious encounter with him the night before. It took the Inspector in the police station a little over half an hour to figure out fully what had happened. He then immediately rushed to the complainant; and asked, “Are you Mr. Viswanadham?”

“Yes” replied the complainant, who once served the State as Chief Secretary for four years.

Viswanadham also asked the Inspector, whether he had the guts to arrest a person of the rank of Deputy Collector against whom he filed the complaint. The Inspector got infuriated and he could not fathom how a person of that calibre could commit such an unimaginable and unpardonable crime against his own father.

Viswanadham once again asked him whether he would dare bring such a senior ranking man to book.

As if in reply the Inspector with a hurt and provoked look left the station post haste.

The Sub-Inspector who was totally flabbergasted  having witnessed all these happenings, went outside and brought a hot cup of tea and placed it before Viswanadham.

Viswanadham with his characteristic commanding voice then asked the Sub-inspector to bring in Raju who was waiting outside the station. He went out and nervously patted the waiting Raju on his back and asked him to come on in.

Viswanadham motioned to Raju to take his seat in the chair next to him and pushed his tea towards Raju. Viswanadham told the Sub-Inspector pointing to Raju very appreciatively in English, “It is this young man that saved my life” he added, “ if I am alive, it is entirely because of him.”

Chapter:4

“What should we do now?” asked Viswanadham, back in the usual get together of six of his friends including a woman, retired as a senior medical officer from a government hospital. They were all aged ranging from eighty-five to ninety years. Actually this group of friends of Viswanadham would meet periodically once in two or three months, just for fellowship and for discussing any matters of mutual interest, including an occasional condolence references to those who passed away before the day of meeting.

All these octogenarians and nonagenarians each had a problem with their sons and daughters who had little patience or care for their aged parents who they thought were of no earthly use to them in any way. They felt relief in sharing their woes and freely exchanging their thoughts.

Viswanadham got up and gave a detailed account of his own unpleasant experience with his son. He had to fight back tears, as he related an incident. Then he gave details of an event when he had passed a motion involuntarily in his pants resulting in a minor chaos in his house and outburst of his daughter-in-law over this

He continued, “One day last week, she returned from the college where she is working as a lecturer and as soon as she entered the house she encountered an odour and assumed its cause. She was terribly upset and crashed into my bedroom when I happened to be fast asleep.

She awakened me violently by hitting my forehead and demanding an explanation for what had happened. She physically forced me to clean the entire room after darting a broomstick towards me. And I had no choice except to obey although I did not have the energy for it. Later in the night my son returned and after being told of what transpired, instead of sympathizing with me, loudly yelled at me using foul language. And in a fit of rage he forcibly pushed me to the wall, hitting my head in the process; he continued shouting, “You are not allowing us to live in peace even for a day.”

It is this incident he was narrating to his friends, also expressing frustration that he was not even allowed even to hug his grandchildren.

The stories of other friends’ lives were not very different. They also poured out their own miserable experiences with their family members. They were now trying to explore a solution to their common problem. Viswanadham suddenly stood up and blurted out a plan when others were silent and unable to discover a remedy.

He said, “Look, we were all big officials at one time. We all earn hefty pensions of at least thirty thousand rupees or more and we engage servants such as nurses, cooks and others. We will live harmoniously in the new setup independent of our children and without any mental agitation.

By this I would also suggest that after we establish ourselves in the new environment.  We will also take up the rehabilitation of a few destitute elders and also a few orphan children in order to provide an opportunity to become  useful citizens of our great country.  We need not regret for bequeathing what we have earned to children who never bother to take care of us in the evening of our lives”.

As soon as Viswanadham concluded his speech the rest hailed his project clapping their hands loudly.

They said, “This would surely help us live peacefully and with self- respect”.

They also expressed optimism that the society would endorse the concept with empathy.

Chapter: 5

Later, as Viswanadham was having dinner with his family, he brought up the subject and plan he had discussed with his friends. He asked his son for his cheque books and pertinent documents and deeds. He was determined to join his colleagues in the new living arrangement.

He said, “I do not want to be of any annoyance to you any more in any manner.”

Unable to control his temper over his father’s proposal he got up and slapped his father with such ferocity that it sent the old man into a state of unconsciousness; he dropped on the ground. Though it might look incredible the servants under instructions, removed the body, taking him for dead, and dumped into a dustbin in a far away place, three to four streets away from the house.

Chapter: 6

The plight of the elderly friends was tragically similar with their own families. They also demanded the bank books, etc. from their children after telling them about their decision to lead the rest of their lives with a group of friends in a separate residence.  But their children were least prepared to endorse the idea, so, all these elders were cleverly, but inhumanly disposed off in a manner that people bought the stories of natural deaths. One of them died in sleep. Another fell down in the bathroom, fatally injured. Yet another just collapsed while about to take a cup coffee due to massive cardiac arrest: like it is said ‘there is many a slip between the cup and lip.’ Still another suddenly stopped breathing as he was narrating to his children about the earlier days of his life. And so on. No one had the slightest notion that they were all murdered in cold blood, but the facts were camouflaged by their advanced years and no doubt was ever raised.

Chapter: 7

Viswanadham reached his house after filing his complaint against his son. He called his daughter-in-law and demanded that she should leave the house forthwith, with her children, reminding her that the house was his property and that she immediately forfeited her local standing in the house. The old man demanded his pension money which he had given to her; she returned it without a word. Viswanadham, who got his son behind bars, left no doubt to the daughter-in-law that the old man meant what he had said and she had no choice except to do as ordered. She left the house with her children,  never to return.

Then, he brought Raju inside his house and got him bathed and cleaned. They drove to Raymond’s shop and Viswanadham bought Raju a beautiful new dress. Later they drove to a five star hotel for a sumptuous lunch. Both of them had visited 5 star hotel Oberoy the entire atmosphere looked so strange and unfamiliar with Raju to an extent of being confused. He was not able to take the food served,  over  powered with a sort of fear and complex. Then Viswanadham assured him that there was no need to feel diffident since after all we are friends and paying for the food.

After lunch they returned home and as they were nearing the threshold of his house Viswanadham could not control passing a motion, dirtying the hall as it happened earlier. Raju helped Viswanadham change his clothes and wash to render him fresh enough to relax on his bed,then personally cleaned up the hall without any compunction. A little later perhaps exhausted and strained  Viswanadham slipped on the floor and fell down causing himself some injury. Then Raju after seeing the condition of Viswanadham took him on his shoulders to a hospital.

Then Viswanadham, traversing the memory lane, recollected an incident when his father carried him in an identical manner to some hospital for necessary attention.  He felt so happy and grateful that he embraced Raju very heartily and tightly as he brought him memories of love and affection he was showered with by his parents.

Tags: story, society

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