By Girija Madhavan Mysore has always been home to the arts; classical music, dance, painting, sculpture and more. Music was a prized accomplishment for girls in Karnataka. Lessons were started for quite young children. When at seventeen, I fell under the spell of music in 1955, it was considered a late start. But to my…
By Girija Madhavan Memories are like faded flower petals in a ‘Pot-pourri’ jar; once vibrant blooms, their colour now dimmed, their life over. Yet, when the jar is opened, a faint fragrance still wafts out. Old memories too come to fleeting life again when revived. Apart from my personal recollections of early childhood, I also…
LOOKING BACK…By Girija Madhavan Story-telling is a treasured bond, knitting the family together; familiarity and repetition being the key to success here. A friend’s grandson often asks her to tell him the Kannada story of Punyakoti, the cow that kept her word to the tiger and went back ready to be killed. Small children love…
By Girija Madhavan Diplomats, who witness a historical event with international ramifications in the country of posting, are very lucky. In 1989 my husband, A. Madhavan and I, saw the Fall of the Berlin Wall (9 November 1989), a potent symbol of the Cold War. The event changed relations between the States of Europe, their…
By Girija Madhavan Flowers, birds or animals are contemporary national emblems; the Royal Bengal Tiger is India’s representative animal. Indonesia honours the Komodo Dragon, the largest and fiercest lizard on earth [featured in a James Bond film, killing his armed adversary instead of Bond]. But some ancient symbols, like the Swastika, are an integral part…
By Girija Madhavan Looking back on my thirty-five years as an Indian Foreign Service (IFS) wife, memories come flooding back; some happy ones, some of wonder, some of stress and tension. Holding an Indian Diplomatic Passport, I was a member of the Embassy, the official hostess of my husband A. Madhavan. I ran the house,…
By Girija Madhavan Reading about student life now in newspapers and magazines, the mind harks back my own days in Maharaja’s College in the University of Mysore in 1955-58; and how different it was for women then. We joined the institution as students, equal with the young men. But the social rules were very different…
Browsing through the computer some days ago, I found a photo of a lost painting which caused me a pang of regret. Many years ago, wanting its broken frame to be repaired, I took the painting to a framer in Mysore city’s Devaraja Market [now threatened with demolition]. After paying the shopman, I carelessly left…
By Girija Madhavan A far-off memory of gold and green domes glittering atop white cathedrals, is now overshadowed by images of present day Kyiv; shattered apartment buildings, billowing smoke from missile strikes, courage in the face of devastation. Posted to the Indian Embassy, Moscow, during the days of the erstwhile Soviet Union, my husband, A….
By Girija Madhavan The Past is over, you cannot get back to it. Live each day anew,” was written in the Autograph Books of our school days. In these days of uncertainty and menace, it is a comfort to reach back in memory to the lovely old Mysore of my childhood and briefly revisit the…
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