My First Morning Walk with Airpod Pro

Yes, everything has a first time. And my date with ‘Airpod Pro’ is no exception. For the uninitiated (if there is any, that is), the device is one of IPhone’s high end wireless listening pleasures that my son bought for me. He presented one already to Aunt. Until now,  in the morning walks she would pass an occasional  side glance at me to convey her one-up feeling. Not any longer. Today I inaugurated mine.

One begins such things with something auspicious. What can be better than Lalitha Sahasranamam. The advantage is two-fold. One, starting on a good note. Two, if I listen to it every morning, I will no longer be a back bencher in the Vedic Chant group back in Bangalore. For most it is just brushing up. For me it is starting from scratch. Who knows when I render it at 120 words per minute on return in six months, my peers would not look at me with open-mouth awe – Sundaram, of all the people!

It being day one with Airpod, I didn’t confine myself to one item all through the morning walk. I meddled with podcasts as well. I clicked The Stories of Mahabharata, by Sudipta Bhawmik. His narration was good; dramatization could have been on a lower scale. Shanthanu, the great king is walking along the riverbank, is floored by the beauty of Ganga who appears from nowhere; proposes to her, she lays down pre-conditions one of which was no questions asked on her actions, if violated she would disappear, he agrees, she bears him seven children but drowns each of them in the river; unable to take it any longer when the eighth was born, he asks her why, and she disappears… Years later on the same riverbank he meets Satyavati, daughter of a fishermen’s tribe king, is attracted to her and proposes. This time her father lays down conditions….

More later perhaps, I said, as I switched to another. This time it was Ponniyin Selvan (son of Ponni) – a 70-year old all-time great Tamil fiction – the story of the early days of Arulmozivarman who later became the great Chola emperor Raja Raja Chola. The Brihadeswara (Shiva) temple in Tanjore should stand permanent testimony to his love for art and architecture. The geologists, archeologists, or whosoever is competent to talk about the grandeur of this and other monuments (the Shiva temple that was carved on a single rock starting from the top in Ellora, in another era, yet another example), have often wondered if those who selected the Seven Wonders of the World missed these for their architecture marvel and the monumental task involved in erecting them.

Anyway, back to Ponniyin Selvan. The story appeared in series in the Tamil magazine Kalki from 1950 to 1954, authored by “Kalki” Krishnamurthy.  Kalki was a popular weekly of yesteryears. The story was woven so well that week after week the housewives of the villages would wait for the next edition. Alas, there were other magazines too, known for something or the other. And the poor ladies could not afford to buy all the magazines. So, one would buy Ananda Vikatan, the other Kumudam, yet another Kalki and so on, and they would exchange with one another. My own role in this as a lad of 10 was to act as an errand boy – pick one magazine from one Mami and give it to the other. Occasionally they would hand me to eat something that they had freshly prepared, I didn’t time my visit though.

Many leading film personalities of South – from the yesteryear Sivaji Ganesan and MGR to the present day Kamala Haasan – had seriously contemplated making Ponniyin Selvan into a movie. But the sheer magnitude of the project kept them away. Now Mani Ratnam is all set to release his magnum opus in two parts – Part 1 in September. Our two cents to his investment would be that Aunty and I will watch it in theatre, and not wait for it to descend to OTT platform.

“Oh God…, here I am – I have reached home.” Till yesterday the pronouncement was, “only a few more yards, and I will be home,” at each of the six turns. “Thank you, AirPod Pro,” I whispered as I placed it carefully onto its case. “After all, it has cost half of what I paid for my first flat in Delhi in the 1970s,” I told myself, but not loud enough, because I have strict instructions from my son not to convert everything into rupees. “You will then go back to India empty handed,” he would remind me often.