<p>She is 58 and still as fit as she was in 1965. She was born in 1965—on January 11, to be precise. She started coming home in 1969, when we moved to Bengaluru, and has continued to do so ever since--every Saturday earlier and every Thursday now. The mornings of her arrival were the most anticipated by us --five siblings, and our parents. We all wanted to rush to the gate to bring her in.</p>.<p>We were in school then. On the day of her arrival, our duty was to bring her in, hand her over to my mother, and go to school. After all her chores, her mother would have the entire day with her. We were told what both did during that time at the dinner table. When Father got home from work, he too would sit with her before sending us off to do our homework. Sunday was the only day we could spend with her, and a fight would ensue, ending up with each of us sharing time with her. We settled into our routine by Monday, and the excitement would wear off.</p>.<p>She had something of interest for everyone. For children, it was a short story and for the slightly older a longer story. She would discuss in detail various topics--social, cultural, and health--in the simplest language. Her travelogue made us fully informed about many hidden places. For the movie buffs, she gave tidbits of what our stars were up to in sandalwood and Bollywood. The crisp and witty answers to our questions brought smiles to our faces. Her play with words would bring out new words from us. She shared recipes that would be made better by our mother, the best cook in the big family. She was wholesome for all of us. No wonder we eagerly awaited and loved her weekly visits.</p>.<p>We grew up and went our own ways. My sisters married, and I went to college to become a doctor. She followed me everywhere. My parents have passed. However, no week is complete without her visit, even now. Interestingly, she had two big, fat cousins who came home only twice a year for Ugadi and Deepavali. She turned 58 a couple of days ago, but her charm is undiminished, with the same features that captivate everyone. Are you wondering who she is?</p>.<p>Her name is <span class="italic"><em>Sudha</em></span>, the weekly brought out by The Printers (Mysore) Pvt Ltd in erstwhile Bangalore, now called Bengaluru. She has been nurtured by them ever since. She still has our good old Phantom comic strip going. The crossword often finds me wanting of my Kannada. She remains and will remain our favourite. I still run to the gate every Thursday to usher her in. So it must be with millions of Kannadiga fans all over the world. In this electronic age, let's hope that <span class="italic"><em>Sudha</em></span>'s parents will make sure she reaches us physically until we die. </p>
<p>She is 58 and still as fit as she was in 1965. She was born in 1965—on January 11, to be precise. She started coming home in 1969, when we moved to Bengaluru, and has continued to do so ever since--every Saturday earlier and every Thursday now. The mornings of her arrival were the most anticipated by us --five siblings, and our parents. We all wanted to rush to the gate to bring her in.</p>.<p>We were in school then. On the day of her arrival, our duty was to bring her in, hand her over to my mother, and go to school. After all her chores, her mother would have the entire day with her. We were told what both did during that time at the dinner table. When Father got home from work, he too would sit with her before sending us off to do our homework. Sunday was the only day we could spend with her, and a fight would ensue, ending up with each of us sharing time with her. We settled into our routine by Monday, and the excitement would wear off.</p>.<p>She had something of interest for everyone. For children, it was a short story and for the slightly older a longer story. She would discuss in detail various topics--social, cultural, and health--in the simplest language. Her travelogue made us fully informed about many hidden places. For the movie buffs, she gave tidbits of what our stars were up to in sandalwood and Bollywood. The crisp and witty answers to our questions brought smiles to our faces. Her play with words would bring out new words from us. She shared recipes that would be made better by our mother, the best cook in the big family. She was wholesome for all of us. No wonder we eagerly awaited and loved her weekly visits.</p>.<p>We grew up and went our own ways. My sisters married, and I went to college to become a doctor. She followed me everywhere. My parents have passed. However, no week is complete without her visit, even now. Interestingly, she had two big, fat cousins who came home only twice a year for Ugadi and Deepavali. She turned 58 a couple of days ago, but her charm is undiminished, with the same features that captivate everyone. Are you wondering who she is?</p>.<p>Her name is <span class="italic"><em>Sudha</em></span>, the weekly brought out by The Printers (Mysore) Pvt Ltd in erstwhile Bangalore, now called Bengaluru. She has been nurtured by them ever since. She still has our good old Phantom comic strip going. The crossword often finds me wanting of my Kannada. She remains and will remain our favourite. I still run to the gate every Thursday to usher her in. So it must be with millions of Kannadiga fans all over the world. In this electronic age, let's hope that <span class="italic"><em>Sudha</em></span>'s parents will make sure she reaches us physically until we die. </p>