Swami And I Narasimhan Vijayaraghavan It was a Friday. It was around 17.45 hrs. In late 1990s. This tall gangling lawyer

 

 

Swami And I
Narasimhan Vijayaraghavan

It was a Friday. It was around 17.45 hrs. In late 1990s. This tall gangling lawyer colleague met me at the Madras High Court compound gate. I was about to board 3A – PTC Bus- to go home to Gopalapuram. He told me to wait for a few minutes, so that he could take me somewhere, he would love to. He hailed an auto rickshaw. The two of us hopped on to it. Within a few minutes, it parked in front of a huge Mercedes Benz showroom. We both got out.
And I got a sense that something dramatic was about to happen. Happen, it did.As the two of us walked in, the entire showroom staff rushed out to welcome us. We got a garland each. And sweet meats were served which both of us avoided. And then the General Manager or whoever was in charge of showroom came down the stairs with a huge Car key.

They were happy to sell their costliest model till then, and were delighted to do so as an ‘all cash affair’, unique in their experience, the world over. Yes, the entire Rs.46 L was paid, I believe in cash, and formalities over, the latest Benz variant now belonged to my friend. He passed on the key to me and requested me to start the vehicle and drive it to my house to get dropped. I was standing awestruck and bewildered at the sequence of events, as we literally had no exchange till then, in anticipation.
I told him what I had to. That I did not even know cycling and how was I drive the car home. He got on to the driver’s seat with a bevy of onlookers as I hopped in, next to him. He insisted I indulge in the ‘starting’ retinue, for the sake of sentimental value, and the engine revved, as I got home on a Benz car drive.

I am not the kind who is enamoured of such material acquisitions. I was never ever after them.For me, it was akin to the auto ride, I had just had- a means of transport from somewhere to home. But I was conscious that the ‘outside’ was watching. And when we reached home, the entire family was on the road. I took my lawyer friend in and he drank sugarless coffee. My sister in law and my brother’s car driver whispered into my ears whether they could ‘drive’ the car.My friend overheard and readily obliged.

My sister in law Ms. Bhooma Mukund and our car driver Jayachandran – got on to the driver’s seat and took us on a spin, one after the other. When one of them was at the wheel- know not who till date, we had a stop over at Gangotri , the chat shop on Cathedral Road, to buy a packet of sweets to my lawyer friend for his new acquisition and generosity.

Well, he dropped us back home and as he was about to start the vehicle, our driver noticed a lengthy scratch on the occupant’s side. It was obvious while we were on a spin- a cycle had ‘accidentally’ come too close and left the ugly mark.

My friend was unfazed. Surely, I was not either. That is me. Then and now. But those around us were profusely apologetic that ‘they’ had caused this dent ln the new,shiny costly beast. But my lawyer friend was unperturbed. He apologised to us that we had to feel sorry. That was him.
The anecdotal journey is not over yet. The piece de resistance is yet to come. I requested him to drop me at British Council Library, on his way home to New Avadi Road. He obliged.

He stopped the car on Mount Road, outside the District Central Library – Devaneya Pavanar building, and got out to drop me. A policeman came running from Anand Theatre signal to say this. “ Dey, You are a Benz Car driver. Don’t you have basic traffic sense. How can you stop here at this peak hour? If you are driving such a costly car, for which you must be lucky, you should cultivate better discipline”. Then he turned to me and said, “ Sir, as the proud owner of this expensive car should you allow your driver to do this. Why can’t you ask your driver to drop you where it is permissible. Why should you be so lazy?Let this not happen another time”.

OMG, it was a laugh riot for me. My friend was ‘my driver’. He looked the part. That was he. Always had an unkempt hair and untucked white shirt, yellowing as ever, hanging loose. He too joined in the laughter. He was not one bit ruffled. He enjoyed the moment. That he had a lawyer’s sticker thoughtfully displayed on wind shield of the car saved us from further embarrassment, as if the embarrassment to my ‘driver’ was more than sufficient.

A wonderful human being. Financially, he was far more successful than the Salves, Sorabjis, Narimans and Narimans. But it never went to his head or even up to his feet which was so far down and grounded to earth. He was practising in a jurisdiction where money alone spoke and money spoke a lot for and with him. Yet, he was a simpleton like another I have never seen. He was possibly the first one to buy a Mercedes Benz in the High Court campus, to my limited exposure.

I asked him Why did he buy such an expensive car? He told me this. “ I remember my old and infirm father soundly castigated once, by a rich farmer in my Virali Malai village, near Tiruchirapalli, for having caused a scratch on the side of a new shiny car- driven down from Chennai, with his old god-forsaken shaky cycle, in public gaze. My father was humiliated and terribly shaken and never recovered from the uncouth bashing.

I resolved then to myself that if ever I succeed in life I would buy the most expensive car then available, as a homage to my poor father. I accomplished it. And when the car got the scratch from the cycle, the day of its delivery, I thought it was my father’s way of sending a divine blessing from above.”.

That was M.Swamikannu, my advocate friend who passed away peacefully, on 27th Nov, 2020 at Virali Malai. Swami and I were great friends, though we tangled ferociously hard in courts, on a daily basis.

The anecdotal tales I can reel off from our experiences, can fill a book as R K Narayan’s Swami and Friends. But I refrain, for I am no RKN, and who would care to buy my Swami and Friends, and therefore I stop with this simple homage to my simpleton friend. Om Shanthi.

(Author is practising advocate in the Madras High Court)

 

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