Mysore was once called the city of lotus eaters, meaning that the people who live there are usually relaxed not taking anything seriously, moving about on the streets or stretching themselves in cool parks under lush green trees and shady open spaces. People coming from busy towns, especially Bangalore, used to make fun of the people of Mysore as good for nothing.

While Bangalore was growing as the hub of business and industrial activity and the capital of the erstwhile Mysore State, Mysore presented an appearance of a city inhabited by lazy humanity. It was also called the pensioners' paradise, which welcomed with open arms those who had retired from government service. Time moved slowly here and the problem of its inhabitants was how to spend time, or, to quote them, how to 'kill' time, to which the Bangaloreans would say, "you cannot kill time; instead, time kills you".

Greek stories:
But why call them lotus eaters? To get an answer to this question, you must go back in time, to ancient Greece, to its stories. As we know, lotus is a tropical plant with white or pink flowers growing on the surface of lakes in Africa and Asia. But in ancient Greek stories it is depicted as a fruit that is supposed to make a person feel happy and relaxed when he has eaten it, as if in a dream. I remember an interesting episode described by Bertrand Russel, one of the most brilliant intellectuals of the last century. An American tourist visiting Rome went to see the famous Square which no foreign visitor should miss. He saw three people stretching themselves before the fountains unmindful of whoever came or went. The American visitor threw a gold coin into the pool and said, "This is for the laziest among you?"

On hearing this one of them sat up and looked in the directions in which the coin had fallen, but did not make an attempt to stand up and proceed to fetch the coin.

The second person turned towards the fountain and did not try to get up at all. The third one did not at all react to the tourist's words and continued to lie down in the same position, as if nothing had happened! Obviously the gold coin went to him, as he was the laziest of the three. The reaction of Mysoreans to all such digs at them is one of divine indifference. If you caught hold of a Mysorean on one of the streets and told him of what you thought of him as a Mysorean, he would first throw a benign smile at you, indicating that he is really proud of being so. That was a typical trait of a true Mysorean.

Hitler's armies:
It is said that when the second world war broke out, with Hitler's armies invading Poland, a Bangalorean who had come to Mysore on some errand was so excited by the news that he frantically held his Mysorean friend by his arm and exclaimed, 'My God, the world is on fire!' His Mysore counterpart coolly said, "So what?” The visitor retorted, "The world is moving on the path of annihilation". The Mysorean smiled and asked, “When is it coming?” “I don't know. But it is sure to come?” "So let us think about it when it comes. Don't you know poet Browning's famous saying? God is in his heaven and all is well with the world”. The Mysorean was justified in not violently reacting to his Bangalore friend's words. 'The world is moving as before in all its stupidity,' the Mysorean would perhaps be tempted to react today, if he met his friend.

One great advantage (and also disadvantage?) that the people of Mysore had was that of every moment of their lives they would beam with the smug complacency that he was fortunate in having a Maharaja who was a sort of insulation against the travails of a troubled world. This has carried him through thick and through thin and helped him preserve the image of the city as a cultural centre, and as the very picture of sublime serenity, far from the world's ignoble strife. The people of Mysore have never been overambitious in life. They have never been tempted into the web of the act of getting and spending. They have never allowed the world to be too much with them. In recent years this virus of a busy and overambitious life is spreading in Mysore also. A typical Mysorean would fondly hope that Mysore will never become another Bangalore. What is the use if you gain the whole world but lose your own soul?

The old city of Mysore had many pleasant spots. In those days Mysore was not quite big. It was said to be neither a village nor a city. According to Levin Bentham Bowring who was the British Administrator of Mysore province in the latter half of the nineteenth century, the city's population was just 73,000. Today its population is ten times that figure — not much, anyway. Whenever I think of the people of old Mysore city, I remember Linyutang, who, in his most popular book 'The Art of Living' gives a description of a happy and contented man. And this applies to Mysore's people. In those days the precincts of the Town Hall, which bears the ornate name of Rangacharlu Memorial Hall, were the fond haunting grounds of the easy-going Mysoreans, with the attitude of “Hail-fellow-well-met!” Here people of diverse lives would make strange friends, who would squat on the green and wornout lawns or sit on the surrounding compound wall and go on chatting till their heads were blown out. They needed some external agency to add pep to their talk. Their fond eatable was, of course, groundnut. Its name, 'Time Pass' came later to it. The hawkers would goad them through their musical voice to buy the nuts plentifully. Fried ground-nuts would go well with a piece of jaggery. One would recall Omar Khayyam's rubayyat, with a changed version:

“A handful of groundnuts on a kerchief, a piece of jaggery and a friend beside me to engage in pep talk, this wilderness is paradise anew!”

Attractions:
In those days the open space surrounding the Town Hall was open to all. There were no barricades preventing people from roaming across the grounds. You had several attractions crowding every inch of available space. The room beside the entrance to the Town Hall housed a gymnasium. You could see a number of young and middle aged men flexing their muscles and handling heavy dumb-bells. Even today I don't know why they are called “dumb” “bells”. They are dumb, of course. But bells do not jingle! Those who handle the dumb-bells are, I think, the most serious men on earth. I don't know why they should waste their time making a futile attempt to lift them. Carrying luggage may be more rewarding.

Just in front of the Town Hall stands a folk-singer with a drum in hand. He had an attractive figure, attracting crowds through his singing of ballads (Lavani) to the throbbing rhythmic drum-beat and narrating the story of the fall of Tipu and the treacherous act of the British. Or he would recite ballads probing into the future and telling you what is store in the future. He would sing sorrowfully the ill-treatment of the cow and the ox. His songs narrating harrowing stories of the fight for freedom would make the listeners resolve to jump into the fray. (But such resolutions were short-lived). One could enjoy and appreciate the rhythmic beauty and soul-stirring them of our folk songs.

By the side of the Rangacharlu Memorial Hall, the vast space was fully occupied by quack medicine sellers, snake - charmers, and so on. Often foreign visitors would flock to see the snake charmer blow his pungi (a wild instrument) and do the rope-trick. No such tricks, please! But his oratoric prowess would easily steal the minds of the onlookers. He opens his basket and takes out different kinds of snakes. He soon collects a crowd through the beating of the rattle-drum and the blowing of the flute.

Histrionic talent:
Exhibiting the snakes and playing the flute with the rattle drum as an accompaniment are only ruses to attract the crowd and sell his wares. He places a mango seed before him on the earth and covers it with an inverted tin box and promises to make the mango seed sprout and grow into a fairly big plant with a sweet mango fruit. The people willingly surrender themselves to him and patiently wait for the fruit. He describes the several kinds of snakes. It is a demonstration speech replete with histrionic talent and at the end he opens a box and takes out small balls and promises that they have the effect of curing serpent bite. People fall for those balls and readily pay the price and buy them.

Then what about the mango plant? It was only a ruse to attract the crowd. Having made money by selling the snake bite medicine, he stares beyond the crowd and at the street nearby and shouts, “Oh! What a pity! Terrible accident.” So saying he jumps on his feet and points his finger at the non - existent accident. People get up and rush helter-skelter, some running to the street to see what has happened. Apart from quack medicine seller, dealer in beads and various novelties, one could also see an open-air circus by traditional performers. They would erect two poles far apart from each other, tie a rope tightly between the two and erect another tall pole. You would be surprised to see even young urchins engaged in acrobatics on the tall pole as well as tight - rope walking. The acrobats earn instantaneous sympathy from the mob and also considerable amount of money.

As the sun prepares to set on the western horizon and the dusk slowly descends on earth, the whole area including the compound walls before the western gate of the Palace Fort as well as the string of parks along the adjoining road would be occupied by the regular occupants. The hawkers of several kinds of eatables would have hay - day everyday. The few cinema houses would be usually full and another attraction was that of frequent wrestling bouts. Mysore in those days had a number of garadis or training houses grooming the young aspirants. There was a healthy rivalry among the garadis and the winner of the weekly bout would sit on the top of a tonga and go in a victory procession along the sprawling agrahars.
The playing of the Palace band once a week at the Nishad Bag (park) was attracting large crowds of music lovers. The classical music concerts held at the Bidaram Krishnappa Ramamandir were very popular among the city's elite. There is a lot more to say about the city of lotus eaters. But the constraints of space force me to end my unwinding activity.

Sada Dosa:
One more great attraction must be mentioned before closing this write-up. It is that of the hotels, famous for “Sada Dosa”. The hot native cake would simply melt in your mouth when a bit is put into your mouth. The boardless hotel was most popular. It has earned its proud place in one of the novels of R.K. Narayan. People would patiently wait for a long time to get entry into the hotel and earn a coveted seat. Besides dosas, you could also taste sweet Kesari bath, crisp pakoda and so on. The people of old Mysore were connoisseurs of good food, sweet music, invigorating drama, thrilling wrestling bouts and road-side demonstrations. In short, the people of Mysore knew how to enjoy life. Can those days ever come back?

H. S. Krishnaswamy
Courtesy: Star of Mysore

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