Soma Purana

When I was in middle school (7th grade) and high school (9th and 10th grades), I used to travel to another village 3-4 miles away to attend school. Several of us from my village Munganahalli including my older brother Radhakrishna walk together to the school in Batlahalli. My father would give us small change for buying lunch on some days; other days, we would carry lunch in a box. The money that our father gave us was not sufficient to buy enough food in a local restaurant to fill our stomach. We used to buy idli or dosa. Radhakrishna now recalls (I don't remember) that I used to tell him before going to the restaurant, to ask for chutney as many times as the server would allow us to have without getting upset. Chutney was the side supplement with idli/dosa and there was no charge for it. But, the server would get upset if we played this trick too many times. This is nothing extraordinary but shows how kids devise ways of surviving.

When I was a small kid, other kids, particulalrly, from lowest class used to call me "Doni kodapoda, doppi chowloda" in Telugu. They would call me this way and run away. In English, it means, "the guy with big belly, elephant ears." This would upset me; that is why they were calling me this way - it was fun for them. I remember, I did have a big belly; I was small and thin, but my belly was big. My left ear is strange, it looks big, because it has no flaps like that of an elephant. I inherit this feature from my mother. None of my siblings have this feature. Thinking of this, it just amuses me now. I was not pure either; I would participate in name calling others too. I remember calling my younger brother Gopala "moogu nisuu, mooru gulle." My other brothers and my sister Lalitha would constantly call him so to taunt him. The phrase means, "smooth nose, and three bubbles on the nose." I remember, for a long time, Gopala had three tiny bubbles on t

Since the time I was four or five years old, I played alone for many years (even when I was in college) building dams across a little stream that flowed over a small stony hill into our reservoir in our farm. I was crazy about this. I spent several hours during weekends and summer days when I was in my village with this activity. I was amazed at the force and nature of water flow. I would use little stones and mud I could gather and build a dam. It is not easy to build a dam across flowing water. As you build, some of it gets washed up. The size of stones and the way they are placed while building the dam is also important. Otherwise, the water forces out the mud and sand leaving huge holes through the stony dam making it useless. No matter how big the dam that you build is, eventually, the water from the stream fills up and overflows. So, you have to make arrangements for overflow without damaging the dam. It is such a thrilling experience to build a dam that is virtually impenetrabl

My father had a small farm. It was about 5 acres, about 2 acres were wetland and the rest dry land. The wetland was irrigated by water from a small dam my father had built. The dam trapped sizable amount of water due to the nature of the terrain. The rocky bottom held water for months. The wetland were fine, but there was something terribly wrong with our dry lands where we primarily grew peanuts. We grew rice in the wetland. One activity I remember we always did unceasingly was picking up stones in our dry land and throwing them outside the cultivated part. My oldest brother whenever he came to the village was doing just this - picking up stones. And, we joined him. For several hours a day we did this. The dry land seemed to have infinite collection of stones coming in the way of peanut growth. But, we were unstoppable. It was like a fight with nature. We must have literally picked tons of stones over the years. If we had stayed back in the village and never left the village, I am sur

I was born in my village Munganahalli at home and stayed there until I finished 3rd grade. Then I went to live with my uncle until I was finished my 6th grade. Then I was in my village with my parents again 7th through 10th grades. My 1st through 3rd grade school was in my village. 7th through 10th grade was in a neighboring village Batlahalli. During these Munganahalli and Batlahalli school days, I had one classmate who was also from Munganahalli. His name is Narayana. He was my friend and enemy. I hung around with him and fought with him constantly. He would initiate the fights. He was much bigger than me (that is what I remember) and stronger than me. He would beat me to pulp unless my other friends came to my rescue. Then, I went off to 11th grade in Bangalore and off to various colleges until I got my Ph.D in engineering. In the meantime, Narayana never left the village, stopped education after high school and took up farming in the village. He does not do farming now - he ha

I don't remember how the tree and the leaves of a sagade tree look like, but I remember climbing a sagade tree frequently when I was in Belathur and eating the sagade fruit. I don't remember how the sagade fruit looks or tastes like either. One day, I climbed up a sagade tree with my my few friends and I slipped and fell. I was screaming and someone went and told my uncle. He came right over and beat me up for doing such a stupid thing. Fortunately, I didn't suffer a fracture and recovered fully in a few days. I always wonder why do some things remain in memory and others not. Is it because of the intensity of the pain (mental or physical) of the incident or because of the strength of association with objects or people in the incident? When I read this blog, I wonder what is so special about the incident I wrote here about; nothing as I can see it. But why does the memory linger around in me for many decades now? Is it important to me, if not for others, in some way, perhap

I don't remember how the tree and the leaves of a sagade tree look like, but I remember climbing a sagade tree frequently when I was in Belathur and eating the sagade fruit. I don't remember how the sagade fruit looks or tastes like either. One day, I climbed up a sagade tree with my my few friends and I slipped and fell. I was screaming and someone went and told my uncle. He came right over and beat me up for doing such a stupid thing. Fortunately, I didn't suffer a fracture and recovered fully in a few days. I always wonder why do some things remain in memory and others not. Is it because of the intensity of the pain (mental or physical) of the incident or because of the strength of association with objects or people in the incident? When I read this blog, I wonder what is so special about the incident I wrote here about; nothing as I can see it. But why does the memory linger around in me for many decades now? Is it important to me, if not for others, in some way, perhap

A few years ago when I visited Belathur, I was in for a big surprise. The village was no longer where it was when I lived there! Yes, it moved a mile up north. This brought another setback to my attempt to bring closure to my constant childhood memories. The place where I lived as a child no longer existed and was consumed by the relocated Belathur. I had said earlier that my uncle's restuarant was along the bus road and the actual villae of Belathur was a mile south of us. There was a river (Kabini) a little south of the village. A couple decades ago, the Government of Karnataka decided to build a dam to Kabini many miles downstream, but that project was expected to submerge all of Belathur only leaving a mile north overground. So, the Government also decided to relocate the village. A few establishments that lined up the bus road were demolished and the property used for the village relocation. I was heartbroken, I wanted to see my restuarant, the little footpath that I used to w

I was constantly bullied at school in Belathur. I had onely one strong friend Shashi who always came to rescue me. He was not a brilliant student but took upon himself the duty of stopping anybody bullying me as his sacred duty. Without him, my life at Belathur would have been hell. I vividly remember Shashi. So, a few years ago, when I visited India I visted Belathur and inquired about him. This is after almost 40 years! I found out he had moved out to Mysore. His two beautiful daughters were visiting their relatives at Belathur at the time I went to Belathur and they asked me me to go with them to their house in Mysore. So, I returned with them to Mysore that day and saw my friend. Of course Shashi was not like I had visualized him from my school days. He had no recollection of our friendship. But, he and his wife were magnanimous in their hospitality. Shashi was running a store (like 711) in Mysore. I am glad I saw him; these childhood memories were gnawing at me and I had to see B

One night, when I was fast asleep (I am not sure what time it was, probably midnight), my uncle woke me up and asked me to follow him very very quietly. We did not have electricity in our home/resturant and he didn't light a kerosine lamp. I wasn't sure what he was up to. He took me to the front door, opened it just a little bit and asked me to look outside. I WAS SHOCKED! I saw a huge tiger walking majestically along the bus road. It was only 15-20 feet from me. I could see it very well since the night was brightened by moonlinght. Our home/restaurant was situated along the bus route and was adjoining the famous Kakanakote forest. I knew there were elephants and tigers and other wild animals in the forest but this was the first time I was shown a tiger. I have wandered into the forest for a few miles during the day alone but never came across a wild animal. I was afraid that the tiger would dash into our home and eat us alive. It probably smelled us. There were a couple other

I have had a pretty lousy experience when I lived with my uncle. He abused me - he beat me up frequently and basically used me as a worker to run his restaurant. I looked for any love from any quarters. The only love I received was from a few of my classmates. I was not universally accepted by my class. I was a pretty weak and meek. For some reason, Leela who was my classmate really expressed affection towards me. I walked to my school a mile south from my home in the main village. Leela walked also a mile and half from another villae called Karapura. We usually met half mile from the school and walked together. She was very friendly towards me. Distraught from the teatment I received from my uncle the previous night, I always looked for Leela's company to even things out a little bit. Leela was taller than me, bigger than me and was very beautiful. She always supported me. For some reason that I cannot recall, most of my classmates did not like me and usually mean to me. Leela sup

Come back for the following stories which I will post soon. My affinity to Leela My uncle shows me a tiger, a REAL forest TIGER, a few feet from me! Falling from the sagade tree Shashi for my rescue at school I threaten my teacher and get into trouble

My life at Belthur school was not a pretty one either. First, let me tell about the evolution of my name. My parents decided to name me Somashekara. Soma in Sanskrit means moon. Shekara is one who dresses. So, Somashekara means one who dresses moon as his decoration. That is, of course, Lord Shiva. Our family goddess is Lord Shiva, specifically, Nanjundeshwara - the principal god in the town of Nanjanagud. The protocol in our part of India was to have two initials, the first for my village and the second for my father's name. So, my name at birth was M. A. Somashekara, i.e., Munganahalli Aswathanaraya Rao Somashekara. Munganahalli is my village - that is where I was born (I was born at my home). Aswathanaraya Rao was my father's name. The last part Somashekara was my grand name. When I was admitted to elementary school in Munganahalli, the headmaster did two critical things that affected me without informing me or my father. First, he changed my date of birth since I was not le

When I lived with my uncle, my early morning job before the customers started coming in for coffee and breakfast at our cafe, was to bring milk from the village. The village of Belathur was really about a mile away from our cafe. The main bus route didn't pass through the village instead a mile north of the village. At the bus stop, there were only a few businesses and a couple of resident families including my uncle. Our cafe and home was the same small hut. It had only two parts. One was about 10 ft by 15 ft eating area and another was a tiny kitchen. Outside, separated from the hut was a tiny toilet. This hut was our living space too. At night, we slept in the area where customers ate. While bringing milk from the main village one day, hungry and sleepy and tired, I sat down midway under a tree and dozed off. I am not sure how long I slept. But, the next thing I know, my uncle was over me beating me with a stick to pulp. He was upset I was not back on time and customers' wer

When I was about 6-7 years old, my uncle (my father's younger brother) took me to live with him to Belathur in Heggadadevana Kote taluk in Mysore district in Karnataka. It was a small village pretty far my village in Kolar district (~200 miles about a day's travel by bus). His wife was separated from him and had taken their two sons. My uncle was a crazy man - he was very emotional and very abusive, I found out. He put me to work rightaway serving people, cleaning dishes in his small cafe. From morning 6am to 8pm, I would work. In between, I would go to school but he wouldn't allow me to study after school. My school education for three years when I was with him was dismal. I never wrote my parents to come and take me away, I just stayed on suffering the abuse and sacrificing my childhood. Only my uncle decided to take me to visit my parents three years later, I was freed from his clutches and my parents after hearing my story decided not to send me back with him. I will wr

It has been over a year since I posted my first blog. I decided to recall and write some events of my childhood life. This is not going to be any chronological sequence - will write them as I remember