MATHRUBHOOMI

                                                                        

                                                                      

On the eve of #NationalGirlChildDay two of my memories stand out. Both from TamizhNadu, a socially progressive and economically advanced state, relatively speaking. One a decade ago, another a couple more.

Circa 2009, at a mid-sized nursing home in Chennai where my very pregnant wife and I awaited a doc’s appointment. All of a sudden, we could hear excited voices and congratulatory messages echo through the hall. A couple had just been blessed with a baby girl. Both of us felt happy for those unknown parents. But that’s when things went South quickly. A nurse, with a puzzled expression remarked “It’s a girl, what’s with all the celebration?!”

For some unknown reason, this has stuck in my mind like a childhood scar in the skin that refuses to fade away. Probably because it was not an isolated event. I had heard some very educated women whine how they hoped their next child would be a boy after the first-born daughter, noticed sly discrimination or open contempt. One going to the extent of justifying that with that standard

“Who would take care of us when we are old?” (Boys? Yeah right)

“Eventually they will move away” (in the West parents chuck all children out at 18)

 “Who will do our last rites” (Donate your body for medicine)

But the universe always surprises you with its delicate balance. Thankfully the afore mentioned galling memory was surprisingly replaced by something sweet and inspiring. This was in 1997 when yours truly and daddy were sitting at the Anna University’s hallowed halls to select an engineering course using the first ever “Single Window Counselling” method. As small-town folk, it goes without saying that we were babes-in-the-woods.

Waiting next to us in the very well-organized system was a father-daughter duo. From the looks of it, they were from the hinterland, simple, guileless and from the lower economic strata. What was amazing was the man’s chutzpah, as is almost the case with people with rustic intelligence & drive. He was practically hounding every parent around asking about the courses, college, reservations, quality etc. Naturally he asked my father too. We were both quite bemused (and a little proud) seeing his enthusiasm and sharp questions.

I don’t remember what advice we doled out but the following is etched deep. “Saar, papa (child in Tamizh, how adorable is that) etho Kambuter padippu than padikkanum nu solluthu. Athu nallatha? Athu romba nalla padikkum. Irunthaalum neenga konjam paarthu sollunga” (She wants to study something called Computers. Is it good? She is a very good student. Nevertheless can you please advise”  

Mind you, this was 20 years ago, from an impoverished father who would do everything to give the best education for his daughter. Only now has our central government come up with “Beti Bachao and Padao”, of course you need to allow them to be born into this world before educating. In hindsight, never have I felt prouder as a Tamizh!

I will always regret not having daughter (may be still can!!). Granted they can be willful, too smart for their own good, moody and given the wretched state of our country, make every parent constantly anxious about their safety but will treasure a baby girl any day above boys.

Sadly India, especially the Northern states seem to be steadily regressing when it comes to the welfare of women. Many years ago, the 2003 dystopian classic “Matrubhoomi’ shook me with it’s searing depiction of rampant female foeticide that threatens the very existence of India. We have a sacred duty to ensure that it just remains a fiction.

( Ref: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Matrubhoomi)

That nurse's smirk shows the casual misogyny endemic to India. Remember economic backwardness is not the only reason. The male-female sex ratio is worse in relatively richer states like Haryana & Gujarat in comparison with the usual BIMARU states. A nation with a thousand goddesses has to acknowledge this sad reality. The #NationalGirlChildDay is not just symbolic. It is a clarion call for action.

To end on a hopeful note, blessed are the parents with daughters. Here’s to every doting father who would move heaven and earth to give the best to his little girl !  

                            

Essence of Life (Jeevarasam)- Kalki Krishnamurthy

JEEVARASAM

(ESSENCE OF LIFE)

-KALKI KRISHNAMURTY

A translation from the Tamil original by T.C.Venkatasubramanian

 

A long time ago I was an eighteen-year-old youngster, studying M.A. in an arts institution. Sadly, exams were approaching and I was someone who always desired to pass with first class honours. Much later did I realise the folly of this thinking.

A week’s holidays were given to the students before the exams so that they could study in peace. Based on my previous experience, I was pretty sure that the holidays would be futile if I remained in the city. One could stay in the city if the questions were about coffee houses, cinema, plays or card games but these ghastly exams always ask about Darwin and Shakespeare, don’t they?! So as I wondered what to do, a brilliant idea struck me.

I decided to stay at a village close to the city where I would thoroughly study all the subjects for my exams during the week. So, one fine morning, I promptly took a bath, dressed, packed my Darwin and Shakespeare along with some change of clothes and embarked on a journey. Reaching the railway station, I browsed the list of places to which one could buy a ticket. About four or five stations from the city was a village called “Thamaraiveli” (Fence of Lotus). The name was so beautiful that I immediately bought a ticket to that station and boarded the train.

As the train chugged along, my imagination too leaped ahead. Thamaraiveli! wow, what a lovely name! The village would be beautiful as well. The burble of a river flowing nearby, a large pond brimming with lotus and lily blossoms, coconut groves, mango trees, banana orchards, cottages, two small temples, ah! what a quiet place to study! It’s true that there won’t be any hotels but so what?! One could just knock on any door and ask for food in a village. Once I introduce myself they will be more than happy to feed me.

 The train thudded to a stop. I quickly got down and was immediately disappointed. My expectations proved to be just castles in the air. There was a river but it was dried out, a pond existed without any lotus or lilies. A coconut tree that must have been hit by lightning recently stood there bereft of any coconuts. There was no sign of any mango tree. Tamarind trees were aplenty. A solitary temple lay in ruins. Instead of gardens all one could find were garbage patches. A local arrack shop, a coffee bar, a cigar shop and a school where the master was teaching “Arrrrrithmetic” in the strongest possible manner. Even then I did not give up hope and decided to stay in the village until the next train came along. There was no other option either.

For all its faults it was still a village. What a wide open field! That lovely green grass, uniformly spread soil! And look here, where do we get to see such cactus?! It was wrong on my part to have hastily concluded that village life was a humbug. One could always sit on the grass in that field and study in peace for sometime. But need to quench my thirst before that, my throat was parched. A coffee club, err.. a coffee club in a village like this? Will ask for a glass of buttermilk from any house nearby.

I entered the village. A house tucked in the corner caught my eye. It was a small, dilapidated one. “It’s always better to go to a poor man’s house. One can ask for a glass of buttermilk offering quarter anna”, thinking this I reached the house. A board read “Lalitha Vilas”, the door was locked. Could see something written on the outer wall –“Attention: Royal Representative Lord Irvin, you need to remit the Rupees Two Lakhs owed by you to the crown within one week of the receipt of this notice, failing which a recommendation to dismiss you from your position shall be issued”. Another ruling informed about transfer of Chennai High Court judges to various parts of India. In between these notices were inscribed the words “Essence of Life”. I felt that my village sojourn wasn’t a waste. There was something strange about the place. With this feeling I knocked at the door.        

The door opened shortly. In order of appearance -A black cat, followed by a rabbit, then a dog and finally the face of an elderly man. Then his entire body stepped outside. Whoa! How old is this man? A long, flowing white beard; a knee length pristine white tunic; spectacles; Kumkum on his forehead; an imposing presence! I assumed that he was a yogi belonging to the Brahmagnana sect meditating here.

“Yes son, what do you need?” he enquired. “Apologies for the trouble, Sir. I am very thirsty. Just came here to ask if I could get some buttermilk” I said.   

“Butter-buttermilk? Oh, buttermilk! yeah buttermilk, right, sure, come in” he said.

I grew a little suspicious but followed him nevertheless. Just as I looked around the place my fears grew manifold. Because there was so much strange stuff lying around. An old almirah with countless glass jars; a broken desk upon which were devices like test-tubes; old, torn books strewn around in all corners; a pair of cats; four rabbits; a dog and a rat cage among others. The old man poured some buttermilk from a jar and gave it to me. I did not have the nerve to reject the offer, so drank it. Suddenly I hit upon an idea.

“Are you some kind of a chemistry expert?” I asked assuming to have unearthed his secret.

“What? What? Chemistry? No! Ha Ha Ha ! I am an Alchemy expert, alchemy! An alchemist, alchemy, alchemy, alchemy”.

Now I knew for sure that the old man was a lunatic and slowly took a step to escape from that house. But the old man caught hold of my hand, whispering into my ears as if letting me in on a big secret. What he said was,

“Do you know? I have found the ‘Essence of Life’! It’s the distilled life-source of one lakh life forms! Yes, one lakh life forms! Each life equals hundred years, one lakh lives is therefore one crore years, a crore years’ worth of lifespan is enclosed within this bottle!”

Saying this the old man took a small bottle out of his desk. Now I was wondering how to escape the clutches of this crazy person.

“Fine Sir, I need to catch a train. Thanks for the buttermilk, here’s some money….” I said haltingly.

“You are a good kid. Listen to me, take one bottle, it is the distilled power-source of one lakh life forms, a lifespan of one crore years” the old man started describing the ‘Essence of Life’.

It seemed the only way out of the conundrum. “How much?” I asked.

“It usually costs three rupees. You are a good boy, so for you, just two rupees”

Two rupees for a glass of buttermilk seemed like a good deal, right? Given the mental state I was in at that time, I would have given him all the ten rupees I had on me if he had demanded.

As I exited the house, my eyes caught something written at the bottom of the wall, “Looney old man”. My pace automatically quickened. I went straight to the station. People there gave the news that a train had just left and the next train would take another three hours to reach the station. “Oh dear God” I sighed and sat on grass patch in the field with some bananas I had bought from a shop at the station. The sky was overcast. Wanting to salvage something for the time spent, I thought of studying for a while. Before that just I glanced at the bottle. Then took a deep breath, kept it aside and started reading the book about Darwin’s theory. It was quite interesting explaining the evolution of species and origin of human beings from monkeys.

It was so absorbing that I started feeling pleasantly drowsy. “Damn! Should not fall asleep” I swore to myself rubbing my eyes just as I heard some footsteps and looked up. Who do you think stood there? The same Lord Anjaneya about whom I was reading in the book! The monkey was accompanied by a man. A harmonium hung on his neck. The monkey wore a shirt and a cap. “Did we originate from this animal? Darwin seems like a bigger lunatic!” I felt.

“Good Morning Sir” the monkey’s master wished me. He must have observed that I was somehow interested in his monkey.

 “Hanuman, salute the sir!” he ordered. The monkey obliged.

“Would Sir like to hear some music?” the monkey trainer asked

“No” I said emphatically. I hate the sound of harmonium. The same instrument from a house adjacent to my city hotel that used to ruin my studies is about do it in a place I chose to study in peace, really?

“Sir will reward Lord Hanuman with a quarter anna while I play the instrument” chimed the man.

“Neither would happen!” I exclaimed.

“In that case Sir will give half anna while I don’t play the instrument” the man retorted.

Saying that he gave a nudge to the monkey’s ribs that came running to me extending his cap.

Another defeat. I fished in my pocket for some change. By that time the monkey’s attention had been diverted to the bananas next to me. At that moment, a great idea occurred to me. Why not feed the old man’s miracle extract to this monkey and test it?!

Quickly I peeled a banana, poured some of that liquid from the bottle on it while the monkey’s master wasn’t looking and fed it to Mr.Monkey. Also threw half-anna into the cap. The very next moment the monkey landed on his master’s shoulders while the banana landed in his belly. The man left that place praising my largess. “Phew..that’s it ? nothing else!” I thought heaving a sigh of relief and getting on with my studies.

But then I looked up hearing the man argue with his monkey after only walking a short distance. Oh dear, what an odd sight? Where is the old monkey? Where did this large monkey come from? Did the monkey trainer do some trick and conjure a new one? No, that’s impossible. Because the man looked as astonished as I was. He lowered the monkey to the ground and started speaking something to it in Hindustani.

I rubbed my eyes and looked again. The new monkey had grown three times the size of the old one. It was growing by the minute and its appearance was changing as well. Now its height had almost reached the master’s chest. The back wasn’t bent anymore and its legs had started straightening. But the cap remained the same and so did the shirt. But when the body expanded, that shirt ripped apart. So, there was absolutely no doubt that it was the same monkey. I was looking at this miraculous event with my mouth agape.

Just as the monkey or ex-monkey grew to the man’s shoulder height and started looking at his face with a puzzled expression, he could not take it anymore. Crying “Oh Lord! Ya Allah!” he abruptly dropped his harmonium and started running, leaping across the station fence, rails, the nearby canal barely looking back. But I just sat there as if bound by some magic looking at this extraordinary event unfold right in front of my eyes. Once the trainer disappeared, the ex-monkey slowly walked towards me. He looked like a caveman now. His shirt had been torn to shreds and all he had was a cap on his head. 

This peculiar creature stood in front of me gazing intently. I felt that I had to please this thing somehow. Thinking that I gave him the entire banana bunch. The monkey made a noise “Up up  up”. Even though I replied “Is it? Good!”, I was terrified inside.

The monkey man sat in front me on the grass. He said “kick kick kick” and then “eck eck eck”. After that he made a sound “vak vak vak” as if trying to enquire something with me.

That’s when my mind started working. What is this strange happening? Utterly amazing! How did this happen? Is this the effect of that old man’s liquid extract? That essence could only extend lifespan. It is the distilled life-source of one lakh life forms. A lifespan of one crore years, Darwin’s Theory, oh! Got it! That old man was no lunatic, he was a great alchemist. This essence doesn’t just perpetuate life, it’s a potion that feeds life’s growth. One lakh years’ worth of growth in just quarter of an hour! Oh, what a miracle!

But my happiness in having discovered this miracle didn’t last long. Because the situation was evolving every minute, amazing me more and more. At that juncture, I understood that the monkey man was trying to speak.

He pointed at the vial containing “The Essence of Life” squeaking “in in in”

After some struggle he said “In in innum konjam” (some more in Tamil)

I remembered the claim of a Tamil aficionado that Tamil was the first language spoken by human beings in the beginning of time. And thought it could be the truth. But it wasn’t the right time to delve deep into that subject. A panic set in thinking what would happen if he drank some more of the essence. So I tried getting up taking the bottle away with me.

But my efforts proved futile. A strong hand held me in place. With his other hand the monkey man grabbed the vial and drank the remaining essence. Then he opened my suitcase, took some of my clothes, wore them and sat down. My mind was swirling like the waters of a temple pond during a festival. To save it from completely collapsing, I started thinking about the city, university, professors and the like. I suspected even my science teacher would not have been able to manage this predicament.

“That’s great” said the monkey man in chaste Tamil. Then he looked at me as if I were some peculiar creature remarking “Hey, you seem quite old fashioned”

I never imagined a dancing monkey would call me “old fashioned”. That remark completely flabbergasted me. That’s when the book about Darwin slid from my lap.

“Oh, that dead English language?” he noted. Every minute his appearance kept changing in tandem with my increasing amazement. His old caveman looks had vanished. His body had considerably slimmed and looked better. The head had bloated enormously. So were his eyes while his mouth had contracted significantly. Fingers had grown leaner and longer. The only remnant of pervious monkey existence was the cap that still adorned his head.

Immediately on remembering that fact, I started thinking for a minute. I understood that his growth was happening at a rapid pace. The monkey had become a caveman, the caveman into a present day human and from that to a futuristic man. Now on seeing him, an involuntary sense of awe and respect arose within me.

“My apologies” the words seem to slip out of my mouth by themselves. I myself didn’t quite understand what the apology was for.

The futuristic man lifted the book and claimed “Oh! Darwin belonged to the mechanical age. To some extent he did predict our growth. Still, people of that age were generally stupid. That’s why they fought and killed each other!”

“True, you’re right” I concurred. Amidst all this mental confusion, I felt a little happy. The reason being that in the future all humans would speak only Tamil language.

 In a flash a bright idea occurred to me. Wouldn’t it be a great to write down the things this advanced man tells about the future? By doing that I can even give the university professors a run for their money. Immediately I took out a notebook and pencil from my pocket.

“Oh, the art of writing! It’s been forgotten for over two lakh years, hasn’t it? wondered the man from the future.

At once, as if struck by a new thought he looked at me keenly and asked “Who are you?”

He started observing me the way scientists do with bugs and bees. A sudden panic set in me. Thank heavens, he is not a barbarian anymore. I can escape at the least.

I got up and ran. But after running a few yards, my feet stopped by themselves. I looked back reluctantly. The man from the future stood there. An invisible force caught me by the scruff of my neck and made me sit in front of him. Now I clearly understood the reason for his derogatory remarks about physical strength.

By that time his head and eyes had bulged much more. His eyes shone with a magnetism. He didn’t speak thereafter. But his commands made a better impression on my brain.

“Remove your cap and give it to me” he gave a telepathic command.

“No” I said aloud. But my hands gave him the cap. That quiet man placed the cap on top of his head that was big as a hall. Then he gave his monkey cap to me.

“Wear it on your head” came the next command.

I wore it, all the while saying no to him.

“Keep your hat on the left hand and salute me with your right hand” he ordered.

Oh dear, this is atrocious! He is training me the same way humans train monkeys and dogs!

“No way” I said gritting my teeth. Nevertheless, my left hand lifted the cap and right hand saluted him.

“Salute again”

Tears brimmed in my eyes. Yet I saluted.

“Get up and dance”

Shame! Shame! Lo and behold I got up and danced.

“Enough, sit”

I sat down. I wished his next command would be “Die now”. What a nasty surprise, the next command bellowed “Die now”.

Crying “ I will not” , I fell on my back. The futuristic man’s huge, terrifying face came near mine. His long, lean fingers lingered on my face. Utterly terrified, I closed my eyes.

After a long struggle, I slowly opened my eyes. The small monkey was sitting on my chest, giggling. I looked around. The monkey trainer was playing some notes on the harmonium that sounded like a buffalo grunting. Banana peels lay by the side. Oh God! Was this all just a dream? Swiftly I got up and sat there. The small monkey that fell from my chest chirped “kick kick kick”.

“Sir will reward Lord Hanuman with a quarter anna while I play the instrument” chimed the man.

“How long have you been standing here” I asked him.

“Sir, for almost 15 minutes! My rotten luck today, haven’t made a paisa since morning. Wasted almost an hour in that lunatic’s house. And you, you dozed off during the day”.

The moment he mentioned “lunatic” I looked nearby. The monkey had just about started to open the bottle containing “Essence of Life”. “Oh, no!” I cried, grabbing the bottle and throwing it away. Had had enough of the village life and hurried towards the station. The monkey looked at me intently and started shouting “vak vak vak”.

“No” I said sternly with a salute.

                                                             ***************************** 

Note:

Kalki R Krishnamurthy (1899-1954) is one of the greatest writers of India who wrote primarily in Tamizh. His historical epics Ponniyin Selvan, Sivagamiyin Sapatham, Parthipan Kanavu, social novels like Alaiosai, Thyaga Bhoomi, over 100 short stories and numerous essays continue to enthrall generations of readers. A patriot, who used his pen to fight the mighty British empire, he was a multi-faceted genius producing music & film criticism, travelogues, satire and plays in addition to weaving amazing stories based on historical and contemporary events. This short story stands out due to its science fiction elements, probably written in the 1930s or early 40s when the genre was 'alien' to many Indian readers, showcasing his effortless blending of the tropes with some biting satire and wry humour. I am yet to ascertain the exact year of publishing.  

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kalki_Krishnamurthy

30 AND COUNTING

Last October, 11th to be precise, I turned 30. If I may add a small tidbit for your information, somebody called AB a.k.a Amitabh Bachan also celebrated his 66th birthday. Ironically he is playing a 12 year old kid in reel life while I am now old enough to play dad to a 4month boy in real life ! 

My good friend for the last 5 years rues whenever we roam malls or see college kids that he feels grandfatherly! Not so long ago we were in the same league- fooling around, giggling at bald and grey heads, laughing at permanently pregnant men.. but what goes around comes around, does'nt it? A couple of days before a school girl in my apartment bumped into me and guess what she said? 

                               "Hi UNCLE" (grrrrrrrrrr...)

What could be every man's greatest fear? Failure of a venture, Job loss, Proposing love to a girl, found wanting in bed, .. But my guess is AGE. Time waits for none. Its an unforgiving master that takes no quarter and gives none. 

I feel that my entire life on this planet like a blip. From a precocious school kid to an awkward teenager, to a cocky twenty-something to a uncertain but hopeful thirty year old father, phew! it's been a lightning fast ride.

Who better than the Bard of Avon to put things 

in perspective so beautifully!

On this world stage we play our seven stages dutifully and before coming within a mile of understanding the meaning of life, we are kids again. 

Nevertheless I do feel that 30 could very well be the beginning of a balanced, measured phase of life. Its the age at which many guys get promoted to being  a husband and a father (Could'nt resist a pun on Peter's principle: Every guy gets promoted to his level of incompetence). A couple of extra packs in the abdomen, freshers reporting to you at the office (Hearing their "Sir","Excuse me", oh what a high..), new found fiscal prudence, envy on seeing young star-struck lovers, the little wisps of grey at the temples, trustworthy looks from young girls : "Cmon yaar, Kalyanam agi kutti potta kesu, no probs" (Ah, they should know better!)). All these, I take, are symptoms that one is finally growing up.

This may very well herald the birth of a new, improved version of oneself. The marital bond kickstarts the growth process while the birth of one's offspring is the catalyst. Sacrifice, patience and prudence, hitherto distant concepts start making sense. The excitement and challenge of raising a young family, increasing ambitions at the work place, tender shoots of social responsibility, a desire to something meaningful to the society.. um, the thirties does not seem that dull.

Lets see, if I have it in me to finally become a little responsible.
Bring it on, I am waiting.

CHILD IS THE FATHER OF MAN

Many a times I fell like Peter Pan, a boy who never grew up. I still watch Tom and Jerry, laugh at stupid jokes, dread to sleep alone after a horror movie, love Mathu and Cheenu , read Tinkle (remember Suppandi),throw tantrums and never am quite sure of myself. But yet on Aug 10,2009 I grew up or had to grow up. I became a father!

Akshath Chandra was born on a bright sunny August day at 9.15am, a week before the scheduled date. As usual I had been procrastinating the date for at the least trying to be responsible till the date of his birth but he jolted me by arriving a week early. Veteran fathers describe the moment with various terms : “Emotional”, “Divine”, “Unbelievable”, “Beautiful”, “Trance” or er.. “I have no words to describe it”. But strangely I felt none of the above, just a plain “it’s happened” feeling and broke the news amidst the con-call we were having in our office. It did take some time to sink in and then I must admit being a little overwhelmed. The feeling can be best described as one with a mix of happiness, anxiety, elation, fear, pride and failure (oh no! one more in the world like me!). To be frank I was expecting a daughter who would be beautiful, more confident and world-wise than I could ever aspire to be. Alas, strange are the ways of the Divine Will!

Here again, why should your son resemble you (God forbid!) and follow your aspirations for him? I believe the fundamental misstep parents make in raising a child is to bombard him or her with their goals, the ones they could never achieve or never made an effort to reach out. Khalil Gibran put it beautifully for any aspiring parent in “The Prophet”:

“Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.”

Well said Khalilji but you never had any kids as far as I know. But a common man often loves his kids too much thinking a well-trodden path is best for their happiness stalling the baby steps towards a road less taken. A recent ‘Puthukavithai’ in Ananda Vikatan brought out the mental violence we unwittingly inflict on children succinctly,
                                                         குறை ஓவியம்
                                                       யாரோ ஒருவரது
                                                       அதட்டலால்தான்
                                                       குழந்தையின் கிறுக்கல்கள்
                                                       கிறுக்கல்களாகவே  
                                                       நின்றுவிடுகின்றன

We nip the bud of creativity thinking it might wean them towards a bohemian life making them unfit for the ‘Real’ world. Money always looms large and clouds our thinking of the child’s future. In our times even free-thinking has become a rich man’s plaything. Should a middle-class man’s child forever be confined by a decent paying job, decent looking house, decent looking partner and decent death? Everything decent, nothing he/she aspires for?

These were the thoughts that ran through me waiting in the hospital counting the seconds to catch a glimpse of my son. Will I ever be a good father? Only guiding and mentoring never interfering or domineering, admitting things I do not have a clue about, always remembering the way I was at the same age, giving him the financial backup I received from my father ….. I do not know how I am going to accomplish even 0.001% of this. My parents have set the bar so high, giving me the best of everything. Will I make them proud atleast this time? Again answers are very hard. For that I will have to grow up, finally!
தம்மின் தம்மக்கள் அறிவுடைமை
said Thiruvalluvar. Hope he puts my achievements to shame quickly. That should’nt be tough!

North Vs South

This topic sprang to my mind because of two global events. One hopeful and another quite the opposite.

Thousand of miles away the great American election jamboree came to a historical if not totally unexpected end with Barack Obama becoming the first American President of African-American ancestry. Just when everyone had started losing faith in the economy and foreign policy of the world’s sole “Superpower”, Americans rose as a nation and voted for the man who vowed to put the nation back on track, packing off the dumb cowboy from the Oval Office. (It’s a great tragedy that no such leader is in sight for Mera Bharath Mahan but if Winter comes will spring be far behind!!).

While the Americans decided to pull down the cotton curtain (a term denoting denial of rights to Blacks) and bridge the race divide…..

A few hundred miles across the Indian Ocean the Srilankan Army decided to do a Hitler in the tear drop island (Perhaps nature knew that the emerald island would be drenched in tears). The Final Solution as imagined by the government thirsty for Tamil blood has seen millions of Tamils flee their already ruined homes and with nowhere to run, either fight in the ranks of the LTTE or die by jumping into the ocean. A whole new example for people caught between the devil and the deep blue sea.

The great North-South divide seems to be prevalent almost everywhere on earth irrespective of the nation’s size, geography, race or population. A nation as big as USA or one as small as Srilanka can be victims of this parochial mentality. The basal “US Vs THEM” thinking has been the root cause for every single conflict the poor little planet has been seeing and bleeding from. The Northern states of America that wholeheartedly supported the abolition of slavery and acceptance of equality of African-Americans had to fight a long and bloody Civil War with their slavery mongering Southern counterparts to realize the American dream. Even today in the final election tally, Northern, Eastern and Western states have formed the bulwark of Obama’s win.

A similar fight for survival and self-determination is raging in the lush green island’s northern parts. A tiny minority that alternately ruled and slaved in the land is fighting what seems to be a final battle. And the root cause, one of the usual suspects –Race!. Ever since the Bandaranayake clan announced the Sinhalese only policy, violence against the Tamil community started rising and reached its crescendo during the 1983 Venni Prison riots. The Tamil race had ruled the island either directly or directly during the reign of the Cholas and then started inhabiting the island as slave workers in the tea plantations of the British. Through sheer hard work and enterprise the Tamils formed a vibrant and peaceful community in the north, north-east and west of Srilanka apart from a sizable presence in Colombo, the capital. They played a key role in the Srilankan economy and cultural life. But the ugly face of race started rearing during the early 1970’s and the ethnic strife morphed into a brutal civil war in the 1980s.

Today the entire northern region is raging with air-raids and bombing. Not even women and children are spared. International aid-organisations have been banned from entering the area. The southern and central Sinhalese hawks see this as the final countdown to ending the reign of LTTE in the north. While I firmly agree with the international community that the LTTE should be brought to justice for the brutal slaying of Shri. Rajiv Gandhi, it neither gives the Srilankan army the right to kill innocent Tamils nor guarantee the silence of the Indian government.

It’s a tragedy of Himalayan proportions that the tiny nation lacks a statesman on either side who can unite the nation in peace and rid the parochial tendencies. The Americans have shown that if people unite under a just and fair leader US and THEM can become WE and OURS. Let us unite under the banner of Humanity! Lest we forget, Only the dead have known the end of war.

SCHOOL DAYS-HAKUNA MATATA!!

May has gone. The sweltering heat is slowly abating (Chennai is an exemption), the rains are coming in fits and starts (again, SingaraChennai is exempt), stock markets hope to shed a tepid summer of trading looking for the horned harbinger, M/s M.Singh P.Chidambaram & Madam Sonia await the rains as anxiously as an embattled Indian farmer to escape the ‘inflation’ trap, trains are bursting to capacity and kids are getting anxious looking at the calendar –fine, June is here!

It’s now more than a decade since I passed out of school yet the memories keep flooding back with the arrival of June. The crisp feel of a new uniform, the sweet smell of a virgin notebook, curious glances at the pictures in the history text, anxiety at the growing size of the books (Kid1: Dei, Science book 180 pakkamanda, Kid2: appa book cricket vilayada nalla irukkum), background check on the new class teacher (that’s how I ended up in Market Research), joy at the newfound status as a bigger boy and an indescribable excitement about the days ahead.

Growing up in a township all my school life remains my most cherished memory. Life-long friendships, fierce competition, devilishly clever pranks, great laughs, quiet truths, bloody fights, emotional unions and wonderful learning without ever losing the essential fun in the process. It is my firm belief that the age from 5 to 12 moulds a child’s character. The mind is relatively uncorrupted and resembles a sponge rather than a rock which it becomes later(atleast for some boys like me). The genesis of great men lies in the environment, friendships and philosophies they encountered in this period. Mahatma Gandhi & Harischandra’s story, Arjun & Dhrona’s tutelage, Kamal Hassan & his mother’s advice to be the best even if one were to clean toilets are a few that instantly spring to mind. The green-eyed monster is still asleep; girls are nothing but playthings albeit with longer hair and funny dress; stealing mangoes, gooseberries etc without getting caught feels better than winning gold medals and your kid brother/sister is nothing more than a punching bag. Life is simple and fun.

The age from 13 to 17 could very well be the most awkward and most decisive phase is shaping the future course of life for any boy or girl. The sudden awareness of one’s sexuality and growing changes in both the physical and emotional being can be quite jarring for all and daunting for many. It’s the beginning of the end of the age of innocence. As always girls outshine boys in this department too. Their physical and emotional maturity is quicker and can prove threatening to boys. One fine day in June 1993 I found many of female friends whom I had known since kindergarten suddenly look very different in their attire and behaviour. Gone was the buck toothed grin, bony pats and the quick temper. Strangely they hardly retaliated to my banter about their funny dress and hair which would have resulted in assault & battery the year before. Boys as always scratch their heads, stare emptily and drink the milk given by mom wondering what has become of their life. Slowly they too start developing funny symptoms of sexual dimorphism and begin to understand (slow…….ly) the reality. Now, envy is up in all its glory, sharing notes and helping your nearest academic rival becomes taboo, fear of a thing called future looms large, harmless giggles from girls carry a million imaginary meanings and comics are replaced by romantic novels. The first acid test comes in the form of 10th or shall we say SSLC (makes it sound more important). Then on life takes a singular course –score more than 90% select MPC with computer science or biology or commerce  slog for a year in +2  jump into the BE, MBBS, Bcom bandwagon  do an MBA/MS/MTech  IT job, marriage, kids and death. In a nutshell cease to live, learn to survive!

Probably the only time in life I remained true to myself was my childhood i.e. upto 13 years old, when the world seemed a better place. And I fondly remember my last day in school. After a nice farewell party couple of my friends and me went around the school –smelling the trees, caressing the benches we sat as kids, savouring the moments we had in the auditorium, reliving every ounce of our 14 year school life. At the end of the journey there wasn’t a single dry eye! Many summers have come and gone. But still the boy in me yearns for those wonderful days of June, the harbinger of hope and unbridled excitement! I will carry it to the day I meet my maker!!

N.B.
Those who are still trying to figure out the meaning of Hakuna Matata –watch The Lion King

From Boy to Man

Jan 27, 2008 changed my life forever. From an absolutely carefree bachelor life I stepped into the tough, unforgiving life of a married man. What cruel tricks life plays on an unsuspecting young, naïve boy (!!). Getting a house for rent, applying for a ration card, getting a cooking gas connection, buying furniture and home appliances, setting up a wardrobe.. bed, phone, computer, utensils, knives, provisions.. phew! the list is endless.

Getting a decent house in Chennai, Good Heavens! Let not such a suffering befall even my worst enemy. Greed is all pervasive, though it would be unfair to malign house-owners riding the wave of a “booming economy”. Crooked brokers, caste-clinging owners (if you ever thought India would become a casteless society, forget it) and above all ridiculous ads in media.

1. “IT Professionals preferred” - Meaning rents will be revised every 3 months
according to dollar fluctuations, onsite opportunities and quarterly company
results (House-owners are too net savvy nowadays).

2. “24 hours water supply” –Yes and you have a bonus offer too. The color changes
every hour and comes with added minerals and salt/pepper for taste, wow!!

3. “Vegetarians preferred” –Strictly for Brahmins with an IT tag. BTW I goofed by
asking whether eggs and milk belong to the vegetarian category and got thrown
out.

Saravana Stores became my second home so much so that the boys started asking me “innaku enna sir”. Rumor has it that home appliances stores in T Nagar employed goons with a sketch of mine to be given special treatment (c’mon how many times can you enquire about the prices alone without even buying a bulb).

But this has been a great eye-opener for me as a person. Respecting the opinions and tastes of your better-half (hi hi, often I just shake my head like a jackass and go by her choice), making friends and influencing people (God bless Dale Carnegie), patience and above all applying every ounce of my management skills (not that I have gallons of it). For soon-to-be-hooked-bridegrooms, a piece of advice from a recent entrant –Patience pays and managing a home gives you insights that a thousand management books can’t ! Be prepared for the ride of your life!!