11, సెప్టెంబర్ 2026, శుక్రవారం
తలకెక్కని చరిత్ర పాఠాలు – భండారు శ్రీనివాసరావు
I Am a Big Zero: Bhandaru Srinivasa Rao
SIR
30-06-2026, Midday
“How Do I Get to Your House?”
The call I had been waiting for since nine in the
morning yesterday finally came at noon.
“You said you were near the NTR statue, right?
Look in the direction the NTR statue is pointing. You will see the RBI
quarters. It will take four minutes on foot, and less than a minute on a
motorcycle. There is a Hanuman temple next to our house. That is the landmark.”
Even after I gave him such detailed directions,
he arrived half an hour later, carrying a bag in each hand.
He had come in the scorching heat. When I placed a can of Coke in front of
him and asked him to have a cold drink, he politely declined, saying he had a
sore throat.
As soon as I gave him my EPIC (Electors Photo
Identity Card) number, he switched on his mobile and was about to check it when
a call came in. As soon as he answered that call, another one came. For the
next fifteen minutes, he was busy answering a stream of calls.
“You saw that, right? All these calls are from
voters like you. I have been going from one doorstep to another all morning. I
left early, and I haven't even covered three houses yet.”
As he said this, his phone rang again.
“I am somewhere nearby,” he said, giving the name
of our apartment complex. “It is my superior. He is checking whether I am
actually working.”
Before my own voting status could even be sorted
out, his superior arrived at our house with another person. The person
accompanying him took photographs of all of us with a camera. He probably
uploaded them too, as proof that they are on their job.
The superior handed the junior a list and sternly
said, “This many households are still pending. When are you going to finish all
of them?”
Meanwhile, the superior received a call from his superior,
who told him to come immediately for a review meeting.
As soon as they left, the junior who had come
first also placed two papers in my hands. While packing his bags, he said,
“Fill these out and keep them ready. I will come back after three days and
collect them.”
When I asked, “What about the photograph?” he
hurriedly picked up his bags and said, “The black-and-white photograph is fine,
isn't it? You need a new one only if the photograph isn't clear.”
When I
asked, “What about my daughter-in-law?” he replied, “Next time,” and hurried
out.
He works as a supervisor overseeing municipal
sanitation staff. Yet, thanks to this unexpected additional duty for SIR
(Special Intensive Revision of Voters), he has to go door to door from Ameerpet
to Krishna Nagar.
They had been there for more than forty minutes.
Answering phone calls alone seemed to keep them occupied. At this rate, who
knows when this whole exercise will ever be completed! The cups of green tea
that I had asked our watchman to bring and prepare for them, and they are lying
on the table, in a completely cold state.
After they left, I calmly took out the papers and
looked at them.
Both belonged to me. At the top, they carried my
black-and-white photograph, the same one on my voter card, along with some
details, my address, the name of my constituency, my part number, and so on.
I thought it would all be over after one round,
but apparently there is another round.
Still, watching the difficulties they were going
through, I felt sorry for them. If their hard work produces the results it
deserves, what more could one ask for? Instead of complaining that this was not
their job, they were doing the work. That deserves appreciation.
I had thought I would sit and talk with them for
a while, draw out some details, and write something that might prove useful to
others. I even took photographs with the people who came to my house, hoping to
write a few worthwhile lines. But I myself do not know whether my own work has
actually been completed.
Now, however, I feel it would be better to keep
their names and photographs confidential.
He said he would come back after three days to
collect the completed form. Looking at the workload they are carrying, I wonder
how long these papers will have to take rest in our house.
Postscript:
I thought they would remain here for at least
three nights. In fact, the bundle of papers stayed in our house for many more days, even after the draft electoral roll
was published, like the weapons of the Pandavas hidden in a jammi tree.
While they remained there, one day the junior
officer came to our house and said, “You have to submit another form. For that,
you have to come to such-and-such place at such-and-such time.”
Seeing my exhausted condition and noticing that I
was eighty plus years old, he took pity
on me.
He spoke to his superior, took my signature on a
form, photographed himself receiving it from me, and left happily.
So, it seems this serial is still continuing. But
I did understand one thing, at least vaguely. Ever since I became eligible to
vote, I have voted in every election up to the last one, except for the five
years I spent in Moscow. I may not have that opportunity in the elections to
come. I may not get the great opportunity to take a selfie with the black mark
the polling officer puts on my fingernail and post it on Facebook. Looking at
the slow pace of this SIR process, it seems increasingly likely that my prediction
may come true.
(To be continued)
10, సెప్టెంబర్ 2026, గురువారం
విశ్వనాధ జయంతి
పిలవకుండానే పలికే డాక్టరు లేకుండా పోయాడు : భండారు శ్రీనివాసరావు
5, సెప్టెంబర్ 2026, శనివారం
అయాం ఎ బిగ్ జీరో: (357) : భండారు శ్రీనివాసరావు
1, సెప్టెంబర్ 2026, మంగళవారం
I Am a Big Zero: Bhandaru Srinivasa Rao
The
importance of language becomes clear when we are in distress
Like me,
both my sons also married for love. The difference, however, is that their love
was genuine, unlike mine. I never cared for my wife and children with the same
love and affection with which they cared for their families.
Bhavana
was determined to marry our elder son, Sandeep. So her father, Mr. Srivastav,
came to Hyderabad by air from Ranchi with his wife, Indu Srivastav. They stayed
at some five-star hotel and, without informing us in advance, came straight to
our house the next morning to say that they wanted to give their daughter in
marriage to Sandeep.
We lived
in a two-room flat with no second bedroom. Their home in Ranchi, as we learned
after the wedding, was enormous. It had lawns in front and behind, much like a Raj
Bhavan, swings, a Gurkha guarding the gate, two drivers, and a domestic worker
for almost every household task. They lived in royal comfort. Until the
wedding, even our son knew nothing about all this.
As soon
as Mr. Srivastav entered our home, he looked around carefully. He seemed to
understand our circumstances immediately. Yet, with his daughter insisting on
the marriage, he gathered the courage to tell us that they had come to discuss
the alliance.
I
immediately said, “I have only one objection to accepting your daughter.”
Both
husband and wife were stunned when they heard those words from me. I called my
wife and asked her to explain everything I said so that they understood every
word exactly as I intended. Even a slight misunderstanding could make them
interpret my words differently.
My wife
knew a little Hindi.
I told
them:
“Your
daughter does not know Telugu. When everyone is happy, we can manage with any
language. But someday, if our family or our son causes her pain, whatever the
reason may be, she should know our language so that she can share her feelings
with us and find comfort. We should be able to console her. That is why
language matters. If she says, ‘I will learn Telugu somehow,’ then Bhavana will
no longer be your daughter. From this moment, she will be our daughter.”
My words
left the Ranchi couple speechless, and tears welled up in their eyes.
They held
my hands and said, “From this moment, Bhavana is your daughter.”
That was
how Bhavana entered our home as our elder daughter-in-law, stepping in with her
right foot first.
At the
time of the wedding, she did not know even a word of Telugu. Whenever everyone
at home spoke rapidly in Telugu, the poor girl would sit there looking
completely lost.
Once,
when we went to America, Bhavana recalled those days and told me:
“At that
time, Attayya stood by me. Every week, she would take me to watch a Telugu
movie. She would explain the story to me in Hindi and ask me to tell her what I
understood in Telugu. That was how she slowly taught me Telugu. Kala, the girl
who worked in our home as maid, became another Telugu teacher for me. Santosh,
though he was my brother-in-law, treated me with great affection and helped me
a lot with Telugu, often calling me ‘bahurani.’
“When I
was pregnant with Sakhi, I suffered badly from morning sickness. During those
days, Attayya took care of me as though
I were her own child. She would feed me and say, ‘Do not wait for your
father-in-law or anyone else. Eat your meals on time. They can eat whenever
they are free.’
“If
Santosh even sensed that my legs were aching, he would somehow figure it out
and, without the slightest hesitation, massage my feet. He was as precious as
gold. Even today, I cannot believe that he is gone. My mother-in-law, who was
like a goddess, is gone. Santosh, who was like a diamond, is gone.”
As
Bhavana said these words, tears filled her eyes.
The tears
in my own eyes had dried up long ago.
When I
got married, I had never seen my future in-laws. I met them in Madras only a
day before the wedding. The very next day, we were married in Tirupati.
In this
respect, my daughters-in-law had a slightly better experience. Before their
weddings, they had met and spoken to my wife, even if they had not met me.
Perhaps they gave their approval to marry our sons only after meeting her. I
sometimes wonder what might have happened if they had met and spoken to me
first.
Imagine a
mother’s state of mind when her son, studying engineering at Ramtek near
Nagpur, suddenly arrives home in an auto at the crack of dawn with two young
women. This is what happened.
One of
those two young women, neither of whom knew Telugu at the time, was Bhavana.
This is how she recalls it:
My first
memory of Attayya :
“I once
travelled from Nagpur to Hyderabad by train with my friend Swathi to take the
GRE. I did not know that Sandeep was travelling on the same train. At that
time, I knew nothing about him except that he was my college mate.
“Both of
us were new to Hyderabad. It was still dark when we arrived. Uber and Ola did
not exist then. So we asked Sandeep if he could drop us somewhere along his
route. While we were travelling, we realized that the place where we needed to
go was close to his home. So we decided to let him get off first and then
continue on our own.
“I
remember it very clearly. It was completely dark outside. It must have been
around 5:30 in the morning. The auto stopped in front of a house in Durganagar.
Sandeep got down and opened the gate.
“As soon
as he opened the gate, someone opened the main door. A woman appeared at the
doorway with a warm smile. The moment I saw her face, I sensed her affection.
Sandeep greeted her, saying, “Amma.”
“She must
have known that Sandeep was coming because she had already opened the door.
Then she noticed the two of us sitting in the auto. Sandeep introduced Swathi
and me to her.
“I
remember that she wore a beautiful green sari that morning. She warmly invited
both of us inside. She insisted that we freshen up while she prepared breakfast
and told us to eat before leaving.
“There
was so much warmth and affection in the way she spoke to us. Until then, I had
never seen a mother welcome two young girls she had never met, who had arrived
at her home at dawn with her son, invite them inside so affectionately, and
insist that they have breakfast before leaving.
“For some
reason, I felt an inexplicable desire to see her again. I also had a strange
feeling that I would meet her again.
“At that
moment, none of us knew what God had planned.
“We did
not know that I would spend more than the next twenty years under the loving
care of that wonderful woman, that I would enter her home as her
daughter-in-law, and that I would receive her affection as my mother-in-law.
“Even
though she is no longer physically with us, I believe that her blessings
continue to reach us from heaven.”
Bhavana
Photo
below:
The bond
between a mother-in-law and daughter-in-law
29, ఆగస్టు 2026, శనివారం
What a tribute?
A great tribute by Premamalini Vanam ( Prema, The Journalist)

