Forty years ago, when cars were slower and the highways rougher than they are today, we thought it was time our daughters saw Mysore city—the delight of South India. We stayed at Hotel Metropole, its faded grandeur and high ceilings evoking a strong sense of a time when Mysore—not Bangalore—was the most important city of the region. I still recall how the flavour of Coorg presented itself in a tall glass of orange juice for just `12, how the cutlery was real silver and how the steaks were done to perfection.
We did the round of sights and sites: the palace, the art gallery, the zoo. Finally, we drove out to Chamundi Hill to see the great Nandi there, the symbol of Karnataka with its charming legend that with each passing year, the Bull grew fractionally bigger. Further up stood another key feature: the statue of the demon Mahisha (Mahisha-asura) gripping an upraised sword in one hand and a cobra in the other. The name Mysore comes from the old Kannada word Mahishooru, literally translated to ‘the village of Mahishasura.’
As we made our way down the steps, I spotted groundnuts being sold, and lingered there behind my family. I bought a large packet and was about to follow the others when a huge monkey from way across the road caught my eye. It was an extraordinary moment. He was atop an electric pole surveying the crowd, no doubt wondering about his next snack. Very purposefully, he slid down the pole, crossed the road and came up the steps, not once taking his eyes off my packet.
I must have taken one or two steps towards the car but did I want to lose my dignity by running from a monkey? Anyway, she who hesitates is lost. The monkey came confidently up the steps and I froze to a complete halt. He came right up to me, sat on the step just below mine, reached out and gripped the pleats of my sari. The challenge was clear. Meanwhile I heard the faint cries of my daughters and my husband’s advice: “Drop it!” I let go of the packet and as the peanuts scattered, I was free to move. Though it was so long ago, I can still feel that threatening tug. Not “Your money or your life!”, but “Your peanuts or your sari!”