Ambika glossed over the menopausal symptoms nonchalantly, over several months, blaming inclement Trivandrum weather. At forty-five, hot flashes were typical but her physician’s assertions on the onset of perimenopause were indigestible. “You are plagued by worries. Undoubtedly you are far away from the median age of fifty-one...and healthy enough not to fret about the ‘end’ called climacteric,” contended her family doctor. But the whole thing made her go hot and cold, cold and hot every night. And, as every lunar month was about to end, she could not tell whether insomnia and night sweats were manifestations of unfolding saga of menopause or of her dread over the capacity it possessed to herald watershed changes in her life.
Despite diabetes and high blood pressure, at fifty two, Chandran, her husband, was robust enough. When he was home for the festival of Onam last year, he sought her out every other day. Ever since marriage, twenty years ago, this was the first time matters of bed obsessed her and the after-effects were too telling on her emotional state. Ambika considered her own powers of recall and retention as far superior to that of her bosom friend Susheela. But, while catching up on days of yore, last week, when Susheela pointed out Ambika’s amnestic symptoms, her disposition, genial until then, turned spiteful at once.
As Chandran’s arrival from Oman loomed, with Onam just months away, shudder of horror gripped Ambika. She prayed Lord Mahabali to effect deferment of his visit or, most expediently, cancellation. Couple of months was a prerequisite to shape up and to keep herself from the menopausal ignominy. She must be ‘useful’ to him when he is home. But, having never missed an Onam in seventeen years, she dreaded, Chandran might have firmed up his trip or, most likely, by now, might have bought a return ticket.
Chandran typically rang every other day but, these days, as menopausal symptoms turned perceptibly obvious, Ambika yearned to chat every day, every hour. She wished that he chucked his job and reached Pattom right away. She never felt this passionate even during her prime. In seventeen years, Chandran had scarcely spent seventeen months with her in the flesh; and whiled away fifteen excruciating years on speaking-tube. This was virtual estrangement and every passing calendar day lampooned at the misspent youthhood. “Why are spouses alienated by geography over livelihood? Can’t they find work closer home? Being posted in Bombay or Madras would have still constituted as being within a hailing distance; I could land there before a day,” Ambika asked herself, “But Oman was too far away and guzzled too much. Can’t they outlaw overseas employment? Such distant jobs spawned familial, social discordance. Too much of agony, despondency was in the air and many other allied ills tormented spouses, parents all over Kerala.”
These days, most young women were not stoical enough to keep themselves from being wooed. A month or two was tolerable but years were unbearable. Wolves were on the prowl all around to entice you, wolf you down altogether. Flesh had mind of its own, it never listened to your heart and it gullibly sinned beyond a point. It naively responded to overtures from others of its kind ignoring your rational warnings. Naively. Men reaching home, after spending several years in Middle East, discovered their spouses’ infidelity within days. In the name of overseas employment, newlyweds were rendered virtual singles within days of nuptials. She had witnessed many an extramarital affair wrecking families. In the most literate state in India, despite being espoused, young men and women frittered away their vigorous years agonisingly alone. And werewolves exploited their lonely hours of darkness. In fact, Rema, Ambika’s niece, whose husband reappeared from Bahrain once in two years, was embroiled in one such controversy; several in Pattom claimed to have spotted Rema going around with a younger man. Getting wind of her infidelity, Rema’s husband rushed home on ‘loss of pay’ leave and banished her unceremoniously. Rema is now subsisting on her own with her three-year-old daughter in her maternal Neyyattinkara. And the young man who courted her, citing overseas employment, melted away into millions of Malayalee expats in Middle East. And several such harrowing stories anguished parents. “This overseas employment is going to wreck our society to the point of no return soon,” Ambika often told Susheela who was at variance with such sweeping assumptions.
But Ambika was privileged enough to spurn whenever her flesh felt like sinning since she was surrounded by umpteen sisters, aunts and nieces all the time. There was not a moment when she felt lonely during all the fifteen years Chandran was away in Middle East. But ever since this menopausal mess unfolded, Ambika felt secure only during unaccompanied hours; she despised sisterly camaraderie and squabbled over inane stuff to snub them.
These symptoms terrified her as if her world was hurriedly destined for a doom. “Is it meaningful to be alive anymore?” she often asked herself. All of a sudden survival of her world seemed to be linked to this one issue and, certainly, it also appeared to her that he was coming home only for this. While she hated every menstruous morning all her life, these days, even slight delays irritated her. “Can I be same for him as before? Will he tolerate me? Will he disown me? In keeping with the Islamic tradition, of the place he toiled for fifteen years, will he seek a younger woman?” questions of this nature haunted Ambika. She felt like a physically challenged person. Though everything was intact, she felt as if one of her vital organs has been removed or perished. Many a time, she felt like confiding her predicament to Susheela but she did not; her friend was capable of disseminating any news faster than FM radio. Though Ambika and her friend were of same age, menopause had embraced Susheela a good three years ago. Though Susheela was more affluent, more educated and fashionable than Ambika, it was this aspect that Susheela envied in Ambika. Despite manifestation of clear menopausal symptoms, she kept everything from Susheela. Of late, the ‘envy’ thing had become the most enjoyable aspect for Ambika and she wanted it going as long as possible.
Now life seemed to be all about being useful to him; in bed. Will he be the same man sans ‘this’ aspect of life? Last year, when she was perfectly menstruant, a day before Chandran left for Oman, Ambika turned querulous, “How many more years you intend to work in Oman. In the name of livelihood, we have squandered precious years separated by seas. We have enough to spend rest of our lives more contentedly than many in Pattom or, for that matter, in whole of Travancore.” “Just five more years honey...we would have enough to acquire Kunjappi’s rubber estate in Punalur...and to construct a hotel on our piece of land in Thampanoor... so that we spend rest of our lives in peace...so that we are not at anyone’s mercy,” Chandran had beamed. “But we already have enough to live more peacefully than many,” Ambika had retorted. “Given the rate of inflation, we would be paupers in a couple of years...please be prudent, patient...life is not that easy,” Chandran had prevailed upon her.
“Of course a bread winner was more worldly than a mere housewife. After all he was struggling...spending lonely nights in Oman just for the sake of his family. And when such men come home, after a year or two, spouses have to go out of the way to please, comfort them,” Ambika told herself, “let alone comforting Chandran, my physical state is such that he would be instantly put off and may even regret having come all the way spending so much.”
She certainly had to do something before he returns for this Onam. It would be six months before he returned; enough time to medically reverse the symptoms. There were umpteen quacks, medical experts who claimed mastery in reversing delay or cessation of cycles. There was one specialist in Cochin who specialised in estrogen replacement therapy. Cochin was just five hours away but Ambika had to go all alone since she wished to keep everything from the newlyweds: her daughter and son-in-law.
The doctor said the full effects of the therapy will be perceptible in about six months. When Ambika griped that she had just a few months before he returned in Chingam August, the doctor comforted, “He will have no inkling of the therapy at all. Our experience in treating your kinds of patients is world class. Many Arabian women come here to get this therapy done.” Though the doctor pronounced the word as ‘mensuration,’ actually meaning menstruation, the Arabian thing indeed reassured her, if not any of his other claims. “Given your age...instead of estrogen therapy, I will treat you in a more natural way that would have no side-effects whatsoever,” said the doctor. The ‘more natural’ proposition enthused Ambika and the treatment began right away. “Your cycles will attain normality in two months time...do not worry...just relax...being relaxed is the key,” counselled the doctor.
Three months later, when the menopausal indications showed up with a vengeance, she rushed to Cochin by an early morning Venad Express. “You are too excited about the outcome...just relax. More importantly...I think you are leading a sedate life. Get a bit more active...in fact you have put on six more pounds since I saw you last,” said the doctor, “you are very far away from the climax...don’t worry.” Once again, the doctor’s ‘climax’ thing, in place of the word ‘climacteric,’ was nauseating. Ambika wondered whether she was consulting an ideal doctor. For a second time, the presence of few gaudily, scantily robed Maldivian patients settled her misgivings. “These Arabian, Maldivian patients would not fritter away their dollars unless the doctor is efficient. After all, therapeutic know-how is more essential than medical jargon,” she answered herself.
She was very reclusive since her last visit; no one, including her daughter, was to know anything about the medication. She started morning walks on the terrace. And soon, tenacious to attain fitness within weeks, taking everyone in Pattom by surprise, she began walking up to the majestic Legislative Assembly and back. A woman who drove even to the nearby Murinjapalam market was almost jogging even before dawn! With Nike shoes on, while she tramped, everyone, including Susheela, around SUT traffic circle nattered. And the spreading gossip scandalised whole of Pattom and, before long, snowballed as far as Statue, where Ambika’s well-heeled cousins lived.
And then the e-mail, that would have otherwise broken her heart, made her ecstatic. Her husband was, after all, not coming for this Onam citing pressing deadlines. It was an unusually long mail that enumerated several things for the cancellation of his trip. He narrated everything at length, linked unrelated things and tried to cite reasons for giving those reasons. Of all that the mail consisted of, one thing was glaring: incongruity. That was certainly strange. His cocksureness was missing. Ambika was agonized that Chandran, of all, was setting forth so much over such a trivial matter. “But why is he e-mailing? Chandran always preferred phoning. Nevertheless, a relieved Ambika called him to ask more about the decision. “My managing director wants me to go to Europe for a month on an urgent assignment. He has asked me to not to go India for the first time in fifteen years I have been working here. How can I say no?” asked Chandran. How can she say no? The cancellation has augured well and, now, there was enough time to get back into shape. And she thanked King Mahabali.
The Cochin doctor’s therapies were proving ineffective and she sought alternate therapies in Trivandrum. For over six months she tried yoga, aromatherapy, homeopathy, acupuncture and massages. She consumed, prescribed by a quack, evening primrose oil, ginseng, dong quai, black cohosh and raspberry leaf tea. She even tried aerobics as Susheela had proposed.
Two weeks ahead of his arrival, after a long while, she had her first period that was almost perfect. That was the most fulfilling one she had all her life. But she was advised to use jellies, creams. She had to toil and spend money and energy to get back this treasure. But how will she keep the messy jellies, creams from Chandran’s explore-happy eyes? Her doctor had an answer for such questions too, “ I would prescribe an odourless gel that would be unnoticeably wispy.” And a few weeks before Chandran’s arrival, she felt almost ready for him. But, given Chandran’s libido, being almost ready was not good enough. As a last resort, she doubled the dosage of every medication starting from primrose oil to black cohosh. Just a few days before his arrival she felt delightfully perfect. And then her world turned green, warm and, suddenly, even Susheela seemed trustworthy.
And then the d-day knocked. She had her best make-up on. She was nervous and drops of sweat were undoing all the make-up. She quickly slid into the car and sprayed her face and applied face cream, talcum powder. Just as she was about to come out, the driver spotted Chandran. He did not smile or hug her at the airport; Chandran just shoved his huge bags into dickey and, without returning driver’s salute, curtly gestured towards Pattom. But this was not an atypical behaviour on arrival and Ambika smelled nothing fishy; a night with her always cheered his normalcy back. Despite air-condition at full-throttle, her make-up was running down her cheeks, neck. Ambika, forgetting the hand kerchief in her handbag, started wiping sweat with the long end of her sari. She squinted at him, he too was sweating. “Might have aggravated his blood pressure and diabetes,” she surmised. Though he was sweating profusely, Chandran did not try to wipe the sweat and when she began wiping his forehead with the same end of her sari, he smiled. Within moments he was cheerful and everything seemed normal along the thirty-minute drive until they reached home.
He adored her Pookalams with Indian tricolour intricately sketched into them, but he did not appreciate her Pookalams this time. From Atham to Thiruonam, he was not his usual self all ten days. He neither commented on the preparation of Onasadya nor indulged in any of the dishes. Nor did he show any interest to witness Vallamkali the snake boat race on river Pampa.
It was twelve agonising days since he had landed and Ambika’s patience was wearing thin. On the thirteenth night, the moment he sat on bed, she switched the lights off; he always preferred to switch lights off just before. She tried to coerce him but he turned the other way. Then she tried to persuade him into a conversation. Unusually, despite her coercion, he was quiet. Then, with no other choice, using aggression and a few harsh words, she browbeat him to reveal the truth. He climbed down the bed, walked to the window and clutched one of the steel-iron crosspieces. And stood there for a while staring out as if beseeching the skies for help. Ambika ambled and saw the vehicular beams revealing melancholy on his face. Just before she asked a question more, turning away in slow motion, facing the traffic, he said heavily, “I am seeing a specialist for erectile dysfunction for over a year now.” She switched the lights on.
Ram Govardhan is currently scripting his second novel and a bunch of short stories. His first novel Rough with the Smooth was long-listed for the 2009 Man Asian Literary Prize. His short stories have appeared in Asian and African journals. He works with Hansa Research Group, Madras/Chennai, India. Email: ram.govardhan@yahoo.co.in
Despite diabetes and high blood pressure, at fifty two, Chandran, her husband, was robust enough. When he was home for the festival of Onam last year, he sought her out every other day. Ever since marriage, twenty years ago, this was the first time matters of bed obsessed her and the after-effects were too telling on her emotional state. Ambika considered her own powers of recall and retention as far superior to that of her bosom friend Susheela. But, while catching up on days of yore, last week, when Susheela pointed out Ambika’s amnestic symptoms, her disposition, genial until then, turned spiteful at once.
As Chandran’s arrival from Oman loomed, with Onam just months away, shudder of horror gripped Ambika. She prayed Lord Mahabali to effect deferment of his visit or, most expediently, cancellation. Couple of months was a prerequisite to shape up and to keep herself from the menopausal ignominy. She must be ‘useful’ to him when he is home. But, having never missed an Onam in seventeen years, she dreaded, Chandran might have firmed up his trip or, most likely, by now, might have bought a return ticket.
Chandran typically rang every other day but, these days, as menopausal symptoms turned perceptibly obvious, Ambika yearned to chat every day, every hour. She wished that he chucked his job and reached Pattom right away. She never felt this passionate even during her prime. In seventeen years, Chandran had scarcely spent seventeen months with her in the flesh; and whiled away fifteen excruciating years on speaking-tube. This was virtual estrangement and every passing calendar day lampooned at the misspent youthhood. “Why are spouses alienated by geography over livelihood? Can’t they find work closer home? Being posted in Bombay or Madras would have still constituted as being within a hailing distance; I could land there before a day,” Ambika asked herself, “But Oman was too far away and guzzled too much. Can’t they outlaw overseas employment? Such distant jobs spawned familial, social discordance. Too much of agony, despondency was in the air and many other allied ills tormented spouses, parents all over Kerala.”
These days, most young women were not stoical enough to keep themselves from being wooed. A month or two was tolerable but years were unbearable. Wolves were on the prowl all around to entice you, wolf you down altogether. Flesh had mind of its own, it never listened to your heart and it gullibly sinned beyond a point. It naively responded to overtures from others of its kind ignoring your rational warnings. Naively. Men reaching home, after spending several years in Middle East, discovered their spouses’ infidelity within days. In the name of overseas employment, newlyweds were rendered virtual singles within days of nuptials. She had witnessed many an extramarital affair wrecking families. In the most literate state in India, despite being espoused, young men and women frittered away their vigorous years agonisingly alone. And werewolves exploited their lonely hours of darkness. In fact, Rema, Ambika’s niece, whose husband reappeared from Bahrain once in two years, was embroiled in one such controversy; several in Pattom claimed to have spotted Rema going around with a younger man. Getting wind of her infidelity, Rema’s husband rushed home on ‘loss of pay’ leave and banished her unceremoniously. Rema is now subsisting on her own with her three-year-old daughter in her maternal Neyyattinkara. And the young man who courted her, citing overseas employment, melted away into millions of Malayalee expats in Middle East. And several such harrowing stories anguished parents. “This overseas employment is going to wreck our society to the point of no return soon,” Ambika often told Susheela who was at variance with such sweeping assumptions.
But Ambika was privileged enough to spurn whenever her flesh felt like sinning since she was surrounded by umpteen sisters, aunts and nieces all the time. There was not a moment when she felt lonely during all the fifteen years Chandran was away in Middle East. But ever since this menopausal mess unfolded, Ambika felt secure only during unaccompanied hours; she despised sisterly camaraderie and squabbled over inane stuff to snub them.
These symptoms terrified her as if her world was hurriedly destined for a doom. “Is it meaningful to be alive anymore?” she often asked herself. All of a sudden survival of her world seemed to be linked to this one issue and, certainly, it also appeared to her that he was coming home only for this. While she hated every menstruous morning all her life, these days, even slight delays irritated her. “Can I be same for him as before? Will he tolerate me? Will he disown me? In keeping with the Islamic tradition, of the place he toiled for fifteen years, will he seek a younger woman?” questions of this nature haunted Ambika. She felt like a physically challenged person. Though everything was intact, she felt as if one of her vital organs has been removed or perished. Many a time, she felt like confiding her predicament to Susheela but she did not; her friend was capable of disseminating any news faster than FM radio. Though Ambika and her friend were of same age, menopause had embraced Susheela a good three years ago. Though Susheela was more affluent, more educated and fashionable than Ambika, it was this aspect that Susheela envied in Ambika. Despite manifestation of clear menopausal symptoms, she kept everything from Susheela. Of late, the ‘envy’ thing had become the most enjoyable aspect for Ambika and she wanted it going as long as possible.
Now life seemed to be all about being useful to him; in bed. Will he be the same man sans ‘this’ aspect of life? Last year, when she was perfectly menstruant, a day before Chandran left for Oman, Ambika turned querulous, “How many more years you intend to work in Oman. In the name of livelihood, we have squandered precious years separated by seas. We have enough to spend rest of our lives more contentedly than many in Pattom or, for that matter, in whole of Travancore.” “Just five more years honey...we would have enough to acquire Kunjappi’s rubber estate in Punalur...and to construct a hotel on our piece of land in Thampanoor... so that we spend rest of our lives in peace...so that we are not at anyone’s mercy,” Chandran had beamed. “But we already have enough to live more peacefully than many,” Ambika had retorted. “Given the rate of inflation, we would be paupers in a couple of years...please be prudent, patient...life is not that easy,” Chandran had prevailed upon her.
“Of course a bread winner was more worldly than a mere housewife. After all he was struggling...spending lonely nights in Oman just for the sake of his family. And when such men come home, after a year or two, spouses have to go out of the way to please, comfort them,” Ambika told herself, “let alone comforting Chandran, my physical state is such that he would be instantly put off and may even regret having come all the way spending so much.”
She certainly had to do something before he returns for this Onam. It would be six months before he returned; enough time to medically reverse the symptoms. There were umpteen quacks, medical experts who claimed mastery in reversing delay or cessation of cycles. There was one specialist in Cochin who specialised in estrogen replacement therapy. Cochin was just five hours away but Ambika had to go all alone since she wished to keep everything from the newlyweds: her daughter and son-in-law.
The doctor said the full effects of the therapy will be perceptible in about six months. When Ambika griped that she had just a few months before he returned in Chingam August, the doctor comforted, “He will have no inkling of the therapy at all. Our experience in treating your kinds of patients is world class. Many Arabian women come here to get this therapy done.” Though the doctor pronounced the word as ‘mensuration,’ actually meaning menstruation, the Arabian thing indeed reassured her, if not any of his other claims. “Given your age...instead of estrogen therapy, I will treat you in a more natural way that would have no side-effects whatsoever,” said the doctor. The ‘more natural’ proposition enthused Ambika and the treatment began right away. “Your cycles will attain normality in two months time...do not worry...just relax...being relaxed is the key,” counselled the doctor.
Three months later, when the menopausal indications showed up with a vengeance, she rushed to Cochin by an early morning Venad Express. “You are too excited about the outcome...just relax. More importantly...I think you are leading a sedate life. Get a bit more active...in fact you have put on six more pounds since I saw you last,” said the doctor, “you are very far away from the climax...don’t worry.” Once again, the doctor’s ‘climax’ thing, in place of the word ‘climacteric,’ was nauseating. Ambika wondered whether she was consulting an ideal doctor. For a second time, the presence of few gaudily, scantily robed Maldivian patients settled her misgivings. “These Arabian, Maldivian patients would not fritter away their dollars unless the doctor is efficient. After all, therapeutic know-how is more essential than medical jargon,” she answered herself.
She was very reclusive since her last visit; no one, including her daughter, was to know anything about the medication. She started morning walks on the terrace. And soon, tenacious to attain fitness within weeks, taking everyone in Pattom by surprise, she began walking up to the majestic Legislative Assembly and back. A woman who drove even to the nearby Murinjapalam market was almost jogging even before dawn! With Nike shoes on, while she tramped, everyone, including Susheela, around SUT traffic circle nattered. And the spreading gossip scandalised whole of Pattom and, before long, snowballed as far as Statue, where Ambika’s well-heeled cousins lived.
And then the e-mail, that would have otherwise broken her heart, made her ecstatic. Her husband was, after all, not coming for this Onam citing pressing deadlines. It was an unusually long mail that enumerated several things for the cancellation of his trip. He narrated everything at length, linked unrelated things and tried to cite reasons for giving those reasons. Of all that the mail consisted of, one thing was glaring: incongruity. That was certainly strange. His cocksureness was missing. Ambika was agonized that Chandran, of all, was setting forth so much over such a trivial matter. “But why is he e-mailing? Chandran always preferred phoning. Nevertheless, a relieved Ambika called him to ask more about the decision. “My managing director wants me to go to Europe for a month on an urgent assignment. He has asked me to not to go India for the first time in fifteen years I have been working here. How can I say no?” asked Chandran. How can she say no? The cancellation has augured well and, now, there was enough time to get back into shape. And she thanked King Mahabali.
The Cochin doctor’s therapies were proving ineffective and she sought alternate therapies in Trivandrum. For over six months she tried yoga, aromatherapy, homeopathy, acupuncture and massages. She consumed, prescribed by a quack, evening primrose oil, ginseng, dong quai, black cohosh and raspberry leaf tea. She even tried aerobics as Susheela had proposed.
Two weeks ahead of his arrival, after a long while, she had her first period that was almost perfect. That was the most fulfilling one she had all her life. But she was advised to use jellies, creams. She had to toil and spend money and energy to get back this treasure. But how will she keep the messy jellies, creams from Chandran’s explore-happy eyes? Her doctor had an answer for such questions too, “ I would prescribe an odourless gel that would be unnoticeably wispy.” And a few weeks before Chandran’s arrival, she felt almost ready for him. But, given Chandran’s libido, being almost ready was not good enough. As a last resort, she doubled the dosage of every medication starting from primrose oil to black cohosh. Just a few days before his arrival she felt delightfully perfect. And then her world turned green, warm and, suddenly, even Susheela seemed trustworthy.
And then the d-day knocked. She had her best make-up on. She was nervous and drops of sweat were undoing all the make-up. She quickly slid into the car and sprayed her face and applied face cream, talcum powder. Just as she was about to come out, the driver spotted Chandran. He did not smile or hug her at the airport; Chandran just shoved his huge bags into dickey and, without returning driver’s salute, curtly gestured towards Pattom. But this was not an atypical behaviour on arrival and Ambika smelled nothing fishy; a night with her always cheered his normalcy back. Despite air-condition at full-throttle, her make-up was running down her cheeks, neck. Ambika, forgetting the hand kerchief in her handbag, started wiping sweat with the long end of her sari. She squinted at him, he too was sweating. “Might have aggravated his blood pressure and diabetes,” she surmised. Though he was sweating profusely, Chandran did not try to wipe the sweat and when she began wiping his forehead with the same end of her sari, he smiled. Within moments he was cheerful and everything seemed normal along the thirty-minute drive until they reached home.
He adored her Pookalams with Indian tricolour intricately sketched into them, but he did not appreciate her Pookalams this time. From Atham to Thiruonam, he was not his usual self all ten days. He neither commented on the preparation of Onasadya nor indulged in any of the dishes. Nor did he show any interest to witness Vallamkali the snake boat race on river Pampa.
It was twelve agonising days since he had landed and Ambika’s patience was wearing thin. On the thirteenth night, the moment he sat on bed, she switched the lights off; he always preferred to switch lights off just before. She tried to coerce him but he turned the other way. Then she tried to persuade him into a conversation. Unusually, despite her coercion, he was quiet. Then, with no other choice, using aggression and a few harsh words, she browbeat him to reveal the truth. He climbed down the bed, walked to the window and clutched one of the steel-iron crosspieces. And stood there for a while staring out as if beseeching the skies for help. Ambika ambled and saw the vehicular beams revealing melancholy on his face. Just before she asked a question more, turning away in slow motion, facing the traffic, he said heavily, “I am seeing a specialist for erectile dysfunction for over a year now.” She switched the lights on.
Ram Govardhan is currently scripting his second novel and a bunch of short stories. His first novel Rough with the Smooth was long-listed for the 2009 Man Asian Literary Prize. His short stories have appeared in Asian and African journals. He works with Hansa Research Group, Madras/Chennai, India. Email: ram.govardhan@yahoo.co.in 
