8th Cross Ganapathi Day-10

Bombay Lakshmi Rajagopalan presenting vocal recital accompanied by C.N. Tyagarajan on Violin, A. Radhesh on Mrudanga and S. Manjunath on Ghata.

By S.R. Krishna Murthy

She has tagged her name to the place she was born and is a child prodigy. She is Bombay Lakshmi Rajagopalan. She is a commerce graduate and a CAIIB. But her first passion is music, which she inculcated from her mother, Radha, from the age of three. She has also undergone a five year course in music from Bharatiya Music and Fine Arts, Mumbai, apart from a two years rigorous training in Raga-Tana-Pallavi singing. She is an ‘A’ grade artiste of Akashavani.

Lakshmi is relatively new to Mysore and hence evoked sufficient curiosity, as she was invited to perform in the prestigious platform of 8th cross Ganapathi, of Sri Prasanna Vidya Ganapathi Mahotsava Charitable Trust of Vontikoppal, on its fifty second Ganapathi music festival. Accompanying her were C.N.Tyagarajan on violin, A. Radhesh on mridanga and S. Manjunath on ghata.

I would rather delve first on the RTP she rendered at the end. Though it was not very elaborate, it contained all the ingredients of an RTP and more. These days, rendering an RTP in four Kale has almost become obsolete. The control required to present a four Kale Pallavi requires a high order of disciplined practice. Lakshmi took up her RTP with an Alapane and Tana in Shankarabharana, neatly. The Pallavi line Maam Pazhani Malai Adhipane Nee Vaa was sung in Chaturashra Rupaka, that too in four Kale, which makes twenty four beats to a cycle. However, further in the Neraval she switched over to Vilamba Kala or the Two Kale. Since nobody expected that she would sing a four Kale Pallavi, initially it was difficult to place the Tala. The elaboration of the Pallavi line in different speeds was just right. She also resorted to a Raga Malike in the Swara Prasthara in the ragas Athana, Kalyana Vasantha, Behag and Revathi.

Earlier, she launched her concert in a serene way with the Bhairavi Atta Tala Varna Viruboni composed by Pachimiriyam Adi Appaiah. She included a short Swara in the next Maha Ganapathim Manasa Smaraami (Nata-Chaturashra Eka-Muthuswamy Dikshitar) apart from the inbuilt Chitteswara. Marivere Gati Evvaramma in Ananda Bhairavi composed by Shama Shastri was pleasing.

So far five krutis had been rendered without an alapane! By this time a shadow of disappointment had started to cloud my mind. Then emerged a not so elaborate, but enjoyable Alapane in Maya Malava Gowla, leading to the Kruti Deva Deva Klayami of Swati Tirunal. There was a good Neraval too at Jaata Roopa Nibhachela Janmaarjitam, followed by a short Swara. Bantu Reeti Kolu (Hamsanandi-Adi-Tyagaraja) was quickly taken. A Shloka Raamam Lakshmana Purvajam lead to Bhajare Re Maanasa (Abheri-Adi-Mysore Vasudevacharya).

Varali as a main Raga has appeared in this platform, during this season, for a second time. Lakshmi’s Alapane in Varali was short but neat. She had selected the Kruti Maamava Meenakshi Raaja Maatangi of Muthuswamy Dikshitar, set to Khanda Chapu. There was another piece of Neraval at Shaame Shankari Neeve Dayaakari, followed by a Swara Prasthara, though not a superlative one, but plausibly good.

In between another two Purandara Dasa Kruthis were sung, before the Tillana and conclusion.

Title : The Family from

Padma Vilas

Author : Padmini B. Sankar

Pages : 181

Price : Rs.220

The narration is a true story spanning three generations of a Tamil Brahmin (Iyers) family, the author herself belonging to the fourth. It unfolds with a stunning yet brief vignette of her great-grand father, whom she describes as a herbal healer, upon whom the sprawling family tree has been presented. Its branches get inter-twined to such an amazing complex that going by the large number of names of her relatives of all descriptions (parents, aunts, cousins and so on) the author has taken meticulous care to bring them at appropriate places, one is reminded of Srimad Bhagavatha of Vedavyasa.

The journey of the members belonging to the three generations before the author’s own begins from a small village (Tenkasi, situated at the foothills of the Western Ghats in Tamil Nadu, five kilometers from the famous Kutralam falls) moving to the august offices of South Block in New Delhi, spanning the last century. The author’s grandfather, a doctor, and father, a former officer of Indian Air Force and later a senior bureaucrat are the major dramatis personal of the middle-class family traced to ‘Padma Vilas’, the dwelling that the doctor built, since demolished.

Although the work gives the impression that it is a memoir or family history, it gives a peek into the lives of past generations of a then typical middle-class Indian family, done in a literary style of a high quality, easy on the reader. The many photographs and graphics of documents add to the value of the work as an authentic chronicle of a bygone era. The recall of names of the large number of ‘leaves’, ‘buds’ and ‘flowers’ of the gigantic family tree and recounting of episodes associated with them by the author is bound to spur many to undertake a similar but arduous task.

Nobody can disagree with these words that are said in the foreword; there is no greater understanding in the literary world than the setting down of a family history. How can any of us know who we are if we don’t know from where we came? — BRS

Sudipto Das (second from right) is seen with the staff of Just Books, Mysore (from left) Poornima Murthy, Bhanu, Sarali, Pallavi (MC) and Karthik.

By Sujata Rajpal

Not many years ago, an investment banker-turned- author set a trend which many have followed successfully or unsuccessfully. Irrespective of whatever critics say about Chetan Bhagat’s books, the fact that he is India’s highest selling author is a testimony of his success. Sudipto Das, the author of The Ekkos Clan is the most recent addition to the coveted league of IIT/IIM grads- turned-authors.

“Chetan Bhagat is definitely a role model for authors like me. If an extremely busy investment banker can find time and inspiration to write, why can’t others?” says Sudipto, who is on his way to becoming an acclaimed author.

In less than a fortnight of its release, The Ekkos Clan was at third position in the bestseller list in Flipkart in the Literature and Fiction category. Set against the backdrop of ancient India including pre-partition Bangladesh, the plot of this fictional historical thriller spans across hundred years where the bed time stories narrated by protagonist’s grandmother lead to hidden secrets and discoveries. The reader unearths one clue after another while soaking in the enriching elements of ancient history, Vedas, music and linguistics.

Sudipto Das was in Mysore recently for an Author’s Meet at Just Books, Mysore. He speaks to Sujata Rajpal in a freewheeling interview about The Ekkos Clan, publishing industry, ebooks and much more...

What inspired you to write a book?

Sudipto Das: I always wanted to do something which would stand me out from the rest. As children, my younger brother and I wanted to become music composers like Shankar Jaikishan. Though that dream died in its womb, it got me interested in playing the violin. After twelve years of corporate experience I decided to take a break. I was 33 then — just the right age and stage to take risks. The thought of writing a book came up during that period. Though so many people have written books, this particular book only I could write. By penning this book, I have fulfilled my dream.

As far as the style of writing is concerned, I have been influenced by the writings of Jhumpa Lahiri, Khaled Hosseini, Amitav Ghosh and Dan Brown. There are many books available on Christianity and other religions but there is not much literature on Rig Veda and ancient civilization. I wanted to write about Rig Veda in an interesting way which is not only a gripping story but enriching too.

How long did you take to finish your book?

Sudipto Das: The entire project took more than five years to complete, starting from June 2008 till July 2013 which includes four years of writing and the rest in editing and finding a publisher. My book is a historical thriller, it required lot of research as the facts cannot be tweaked. A major chunk of the time was spent on research work.

These days, many small vanity publishers are mushrooming and the market is full of books in below average English.

Do you think such publishers are spoiling the literary scene?

Sudipto Das: Literature can neither be spoiled nor glorified. It has its own life cycle and evolution process. If the below average English works are selling more, and if those are what public wants to read then that’s literature. Fifty Shades of Grey would have been called soft porn few years ago but now it’s displayed respectfully in all book stores. The good and bad should always coexist. Tagore, in his last novel, which incidentally he started writing in Bangalore just few years before his death, says that if there’s too much of good, the good becomes mediocre. So you need to have the bad things too, to make the good look better.

Will your next book be also based on history?

Sudipto Das: I’ve already completed the first draft of my second book, which is not a sequel of The Ekkos Clan, but I do have a plan to make a trilogy with Afsar-Kratu-Tista and linguistic palaeontology, of which The Ekkos Clan is the first book. My yearning to make my alma mater IIT Kharagpur (KGP) as a part of my literary creation is so strong that I want to write a KGP trilogy too, a set of three unusual love stories, all originating in KGP. My second book named Prembajar would be the first book of this trilogy. KGP to me is like a miniature world; everything compressed and contracted within the confines of the walls that enclose the campus. My attempt in writing the KGP trilogy is just a humble effort to talk about this world, of which, it was my privilege to be a part.

What is most challenging in writing a book – a unique storyline, writing, finding a publisher or marketing?

Sudipto Das: To a large extent, the success of a book depends on aggressive marketing. Finding a publisher is very difficult for a debutant author but marketing the book is the most challenging part of an author’s journey. Social media helps to a great extent but Facebook and twitter are not the only media. The author has to invest time and money, and find innovative ways to reach out to the intended audience. Even established authors need to market their books well.

Writing like any other creative profession is a lonely journey. One has to take out time from daily chores, sit at the corner of a table month after month, sacrifice family time and compromise social life. After the writing is completed, the lonely process of getting a publisher and running around to promote your book begins all alone. In spite of everything, my debut novel is a dream come true and I am really enjoying it. What do you think is the future of e-books?

Sudipto Das: Not sure about e-books, but the book stores all over the world have a bleak future. 50% of the books are sold through Flipkart. e-Books are a better bet from cost, convenience and storage perspective. e-books have still not made much foray into India; the printed books are still preferred by the generation of our parents.

Many good authors are unable to find publishers whereas some poor quality books get published. Why does this happen?

Sudipto Das: Ideally the publishing houses should be run like corporate enterprises. The big publishers want to publish only tried and tested authors. Amish’s book was rejected by all the publishers but ultimately when the book came to the market, it proved to be a phenomenal success. For sure, failing to tap a potential business will be disastrous in the corporate world.

Tips for wannabe authors?

Sudipto Das: Reading helps tremendously in writing. Those who aspire to write a book should read a lot as it not only ignites imagination but also improves writing.

How often do you come to Mysore and what do you like the most about Mysore?

Sudipto Das: Mysore is on the way to most places I visit from Bangalore — Kodagu, Ooty, Kerala, etc. I go to Mysore almost twice or thrice a year. Every time I am passing by Mysore I stay at Brindavan Gardens Hotel. Till few years ago, public was allowed to walk on the dam; that was one of the most amazing things.

By Dr.K. Javeed Nayeem, MD

In response to my small write-up about our Police Band last Friday, many readers have written to express the view that it should receive more public exposure than what it generally gets these days, with many people hardly knowing that such a unit exists in our city. Mr. Gauri Satya too, who is himself a treasure trove of information about our city, has written from San Francisco to say that the melodies played both by the English and the Karnatak band should be preserved on CDs and made available to the public. I always tell him that he should write a book on his association with the city and he does the same to me! I hope we listen to each other’s advice before it is too late.

He has recalled how in the past the Police Band even used to play at weddings and private functions on payment of a fee of about a hundred Rupees which then was not as small as it looks now. He has recalled that even at his cousin’s wedding the band was in attendance somewhere during the sixties. I had a classmate in high school whose father was the driver of the Police van that used to ferry the Police Band members to different locations in the city. He used to always tell me a couple of days before where the band was scheduled to play on the coming Sunday and if the place was close to my home I would reach there to listen to the enchanting music.

This chap was exceptionally fond of drawing pictures of vans, buses and trucks from different and very unusual perspectives and this used to be his secret preoccupation even during classes. Not surprisingly, the result is that he now drives a Police van like his late father! I sometimes bump into him, thankfully not when he is at his job, and spend a few moments chatting with him and recalling our schooldays. I always invite him home for dinner or at least a cup of tea which he always declines saying that being a doctor I should socialise with people who are better placed in society, which makes me very sad and angry too.

On the day I left Gulbarga for good, upon completion of my studies and internship, I rode to the railway station from my room on my bicycle. To make things easy for me, my friends had taken my luggage in a cycle-rickshaw a little earlier and were waiting for me on the platform. As I entered the platform and approached them I saw uniformed men of the Police Band standing in formation a little distance away. Before I could ask someone the reason for this, one of my friends told me that an important Police Officer was arriving by the train and the band was there to receive him.

The train soon arrived and we waited for the alighting passengers to get down before I could board it. But I saw no sign of any VIP getting down which seemed rather strange. All my friends loaded my luggage into the compartment and expecting the train to start any moment, when I started bidding farewell to them, they asked me to get down with them for a moment, which I did.

All of a sudden there was the sound of crackers bursting and as if on this cue the Police Band started playing and to my utter confusion and consternation my friends grabbed me and tossed me into the air in a series of bumps. All the people on the platform and in the train were as confused as I was over this unexpected commotion when the station master, Mr. S. Tuppadauru accompanied by the chief ticketing clerk Mr. Sunder Raj arrived on the scene.

While for a brief moment I thought that they had come to discharge their official duties and disperse the boisterous group of medicos, the station master shook my hand vigorously and congratulated me on becoming a doctor while Mr. Sunder Raj thrust a peda into my mouth, stifling any word of protest from me. Ghani, the over-aged porter who had always carried my luggage over the last six years of my stay at Gulbarga appeared on the scene from somewhere with his toothless grin and garlanded me before bowing down to grab my feet.

Before I could dislodge him in embarrassment, Khan, the canteen contractor who used to always make the bread toast and omelets to the perfection that I expected, during every one of my visits to his joint over the years, grabbed me in a rib-cracking bear hug. Very soon Pandurang, the postman, Rajanna, my dhobie and Syed, my errand boy were there too, holding back their tears behind their smiles. I am not a person given to shedding tears easily but on that occasion I simply could not hold them back. I never expected that I would get such a warm and emotional farewell from so many people after my six-year stay at a place which many people here had warned me would be comparable to hell.

A few bits and pieces of memorabilia from my past may be of interest here. Mr. Sunder Raj the ever-smiling chief ticketing clerk I have mentioned served at the Gulbarga railway station for many years and he was one of the most obliging persons I have seen in my life. He would somehow manage to find and arrange a berth or at least a seat on all the out-going trains for all the medical and engineering students who had to go home at short notice in an emergency. On the few occasions when he failed in his efforts he would accompany them to the compartment and request the TTEs to make some arrangement to see that they travelled in safety and comfort. And, all this he did without expecting anything in return except a smile.

Whenever anyone exhibited even the faintest trace of anxiety or impatience, his stock phrase was “zara aaram se, zara aaram se. Hojayega” without the slightest hint of irritation. I discovered during a subsequent visit to Gulbarga that Ghani, the porter died a few years after I left the place and now his son Haneef has donned the red shirt, toiling on the same platform. Khan is no more too but his family still runs the canteen at Gulbarga station as it has been doing over the many years before I went there.

The Raleigh bicycle I rode all through my high schooldays into medical college and out of it was bought for me by my father from a small bicycle shop just then opened by his cousin Umar at Aldur, our native village in Chickmagalur District. It came to Mysore in a semi-knocked down state riding in the boot of our Dodge car to be immediately assembled by my father in a night-long job to meet my expectation and exuberance of riding it to school the very next day. On the day I rode it into St. Philos College for my PUC I was approached near the cycle stand by a puny man in a torn shirt and a once white dhoti who offered to engrave my name on its handle bar for a rupee. I immediately agreed to the proposal and before the slightest risk of my changing my mind I saw him hammering away with a tempered steel nail and a flat iron bar. In almost no time at all I saw my name adorning my bike in beautiful flowing letters. I praised his workmanship and found out that he was Subramani from Chickmagalur.

He in turn was happy that I too was from his place and he offered to engrave my name on my fountain pen for just twenty five paise. Now, before he could change his mind I placed my still unused blue ‘Mendoz’ pen which I had bought the previous evening for seven rupees, in his hand. I was so fascinated by his deftness that I started meeting him every morning at the cycle stand to watch him at work on other students’ bikes and pens. Not satisfied with just watching Subramani at work, I started practicing his art at home with a set of self-made engraving tools much to the chagrin of my parents who felt that I was wasting precious time on useless pursuits.

But I soon discovered that I had a knack for this work too and continued perfecting it. Soon after my marriage, when my wife and I started our life together in a story-book rural hospital on the desolate edge of ‘Veerappan Territory’ I managed to make her very happy by engraving her name on all the pots and pans we bought! This only goes to show that none of the ‘useless’ things we learn as we go along in life are completely useless! They rarely go waste and even if they do not earn us any money they certainly may earn us much admiration. And, if this admiration happens to come from someone we admire, the effort certainly becomes supremely worthwhile!

e-mail

kjnmysore@rediffmail.com

By Dr.K. Javeed Nayeem, MD

In response to my small write-up about our Police Band last Friday, many readers have written to express the view that it should receive more public exposure than what it generally gets these days, with many people hardly knowing that such a unit exists in our city. Mr. Gauri Satya too, who is himself a treasure trove of information about our city, has written from San Francisco to say that the melodies played both by the English and the Karnatak band should be preserved on CDs and made available to the public. I always tell him that he should write a book on his association with the city and he does the same to me! I hope we listen to each other’s advice before it is too late.

He has recalled how in the past the Police Band even used to play at weddings and private functions on payment of a fee of about a hundred Rupees which then was not as small as it looks now. He has recalled that even at his cousin’s wedding the band was in attendance somewhere during the sixties. I had a classmate in high school whose father was the driver of the Police van that used to ferry the Police Band members to different locations in the city. He used to always tell me a couple of days before where the band was scheduled to play on the coming Sunday and if the place was close to my home I would reach there to listen to the enchanting music.

This chap was exceptionally fond of drawing pictures of vans, buses and trucks from different and very unusual perspectives and this used to be his secret preoccupation even during classes. Not surprisingly, the result is that he now drives a Police van like his late father! I sometimes bump into him, thankfully not when he is at his job, and spend a few moments chatting with him and recalling our schooldays. I always invite him home for dinner or at least a cup of tea which he always declines saying that being a doctor I should socialise with people who are better placed in society, which makes me very sad and angry too.

On the day I left Gulbarga for good, upon completion of my studies and internship, I rode to the railway station from my room on my bicycle. To make things easy for me, my friends had taken my luggage in a cycle-rickshaw a little earlier and were waiting for me on the platform. As I entered the platform and approached them I saw uniformed men of the Police Band standing in formation a little distance away. Before I could ask someone the reason for this, one of my friends told me that an important Police Officer was arriving by the train and the band was there to receive him.

The train soon arrived and we waited for the alighting passengers to get down before I could board it. But I saw no sign of any VIP getting down which seemed rather strange. All my friends loaded my luggage into the compartment and expecting the train to start any moment, when I started bidding farewell to them, they asked me to get down with them for a moment, which I did.

All of a sudden there was the sound of crackers bursting and as if on this cue the Police Band started playing and to my utter confusion and consternation my friends grabbed me and tossed me into the air in a series of bumps. All the people on the platform and in the train were as confused as I was over this unexpected commotion when the station master, Mr. S. Tuppadauru accompanied by the chief ticketing clerk Mr. Sunder Raj arrived on the scene.

While for a brief moment I thought that they had come to discharge their official duties and disperse the boisterous group of medicos, the station master shook my hand vigorously and congratulated me on becoming a doctor while Mr. Sunder Raj thrust a peda into my mouth, stifling any word of protest from me. Ghani, the over-aged porter who had always carried my luggage over the last six years of my stay at Gulbarga appeared on the scene from somewhere with his toothless grin and garlanded me before bowing down to grab my feet.

Before I could dislodge him in embarrassment, Khan, the canteen contractor who used to always make the bread toast and omelets to the perfection that I expected, during every one of my visits to his joint over the years, grabbed me in a rib-cracking bear hug. Very soon Pandurang, the postman, Rajanna, my dhobie and Syed, my errand boy were there too, holding back their tears behind their smiles. I am not a person given to shedding tears easily but on that occasion I simply could not hold them back. I never expected that I would get such a warm and emotional farewell from so many people after my six-year stay at a place which many people here had warned me would be comparable to hell.

A few bits and pieces of memorabilia from my past may be of interest here. Mr. Sunder Raj the ever-smiling chief ticketing clerk I have mentioned served at the Gulbarga railway station for many years and he was one of the most obliging persons I have seen in my life. He would somehow manage to find and arrange a berth or at least a seat on all the out-going trains for all the medical and engineering students who had to go home at short notice in an emergency. On the few occasions when he failed in his efforts he would accompany them to the compartment and request the TTEs to make some arrangement to see that they travelled in safety and comfort. And, all this he did without expecting anything in return except a smile.

Whenever anyone exhibited even the faintest trace of anxiety or impatience, his stock phrase was “zara aaram se, zara aaram se. Hojayega” without the slightest hint of irritation. I discovered during a subsequent visit to Gulbarga that Ghani, the porter died a few years after I left the place and now his son Haneef has donned the red shirt, toiling on the same platform. Khan is no more too but his family still runs the canteen at Gulbarga station as it has been doing over the many years before I went there.

The Raleigh bicycle I rode all through my high schooldays into medical college and out of it was bought for me by my father from a small bicycle shop just then opened by his cousin Umar at Aldur, our native village in Chickmagalur District. It came to Mysore in a semi-knocked down state riding in the boot of our Dodge car to be immediately assembled by my father in a night-long job to meet my expectation and exuberance of riding it to school the very next day. On the day I rode it into St. Philos College for my PUC I was approached near the cycle stand by a puny man in a torn shirt and a once white dhoti who offered to engrave my name on its handle bar for a rupee. I immediately agreed to the proposal and before the slightest risk of my changing my mind I saw him hammering away with a tempered steel nail and a flat iron bar. In almost no time at all I saw my name adorning my bike in beautiful flowing letters. I praised his workmanship and found out that he was Subramani from Chickmagalur.

He in turn was happy that I too was from his place and he offered to engrave my name on my fountain pen for just twenty five paise. Now, before he could change his mind I placed my still unused blue ‘Mendoz’ pen which I had bought the previous evening for seven rupees, in his hand. I was so fascinated by his deftness that I started meeting him every morning at the cycle stand to watch him at work on other students’ bikes and pens. Not satisfied with just watching Subramani at work, I started practicing his art at home with a set of self-made engraving tools much to the chagrin of my parents who felt that I was wasting precious time on useless pursuits.

But I soon discovered that I had a knack for this work too and continued perfecting it. Soon after my marriage, when my wife and I started our life together in a story-book rural hospital on the desolate edge of ‘Veerappan Territory’ I managed to make her very happy by engraving her name on all the pots and pans we bought! This only goes to show that none of the ‘useless’ things we learn as we go along in life are completely useless! They rarely go waste and even if they do not earn us any money they certainly may earn us much admiration. And, if this admiration happens to come from someone we admire, the effort certainly becomes supremely worthwhile!

e-mail

kjnmysore@rediffmail.com

By Rtn. Pius Saldanha,

Rotary Club of Mysore Royal

Centenarian Brijita Lobo with her daughter Philomena Lobo.

This doctor neither has a medical degree nor has she gone to any school but she was an expert in herbal medicine. Meet Brijita Lobo, who celebrated her 101st birthday recently.

Born on Sept. 30, 1913 in Betolli village of Virajpet taluk, and settled down in Beppunad (Kedamullur village) after marrying M.P. Lobo (late), who was a Shirastedar in Virajpet court, she celebrated her 101st birthday on Sept. 30 at Bangalore. Many joined the celebrations which included a Thanksgiving Mass and prayed for her good health.

Like a Kannada saying goes, ‘Aadu muttada soppilla,’ there is no ailment that she did not handle and was an expert as Gynaec. The nearest town, Virajpet being six kilometres away, she was often disturbed for midnight emergency. Any difficult delivery, she handled with confidence. She was fondly called as ‘Badavara Bandhu’ (Messiah of the Poor) by the villagers.

I was her neighbour and in the summer of 1977 came down on holidays from Haryana. Following day, I was relaxing under a tree, talking to my neighbours. I saw her coming down from a hillock, situated a kilometer away. On seeing me, she came and enquired fondly, ‘how are you my son!’ (kosuasaiputa?). I said, ‘Moushe, (O Aunt) I can’t lift my right hand, a dozen boils under my arm due to the heat of summer. On examining me, she went back to the hillock, and returned after 45 minutes and treated me with her herbs. Next day, I could lift my hand with ease and on the following day, I was cured totally.

My cousin Trecilla, a teacher delivered a baby girl in a hospital, and was suffering with acute stomach ache. After a week, this ‘doctor’ treated Trecilla with her herbal medicine, the dead twin baby was flushed out. Trecilla is enjoying her retired life with good health now. Her first twin girl is a mother of two now.

The grand-mother, Brijita Lobo is living with her children in Bangalore. Last year, well-wishers and friends wished her for her 100th birthday. She can be contact on Mob: 9482220399.