Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Unfair comparison.


The skies over Chennai have been sprinkling water , non stop for the past several days. The plain and straight city has suddenly become as misty and mysterious as a town atop a mountain ! The entire city looks like as if it is enveloped in the cool spray ,of a distant water falls.

Capitulating to the pull of the magical climate , I ventured out with an parasol to relish it in the open .After an enchanting walk under green cover, I proceeded to the temple ,that is in the center of a road ,that witnesses steady stream of traffic.

A spry, middle aged beggar , a new comer [ the old timers, the toughies having long given up on me as 'Vellaikku avadhu'--hopeless ]stuck out her hand , which I ignored .On my way back this woman who was squatting on the same spot ,persevered . With a pathetic look ,contrived effortlessly , gestured towards my purse and said

'Nanum onna mari pombalai thane'?

Am I not a female like you ? In the fond hope of touching me for some amount.

I smiled at this comparison and envy.

If I were to sit on the slushy road side , inhaling the noxious fumes and exposed to the elements and this rain without a cover for even an hour I would definitely catch some infection or be struck by pneumonia and be hospitalised for a fortnight at the least.

No doubt she is a 'Pombalai' like me . Poorer ,in purse but richer in physical endurance and immunity!

Thrift.


The constant activity, dawn to dusk;

Flitting from one flower to another,

In quest of nectar and a mate,

The thrilling flirt, so fragile, I am aprehensive ,its alluring wings ,

Would turn powdery at my cautious touch!

The delicate darlings ,only a treat and a threat to none,

Has to eat ,find a mate and procreate,

All within a span of seven days!

Creators thriftiness at its best.

Sunday, August 22, 2010

Kitty parties.

All those cosy, weekend's chats in studio's are getting to be more and more like 'Old wives's tales'.

I thought, only I had become frumpy and fusty . Nay ,Nay ,I too have company!

Thursday, August 19, 2010

The Big Temple.


There are temples older than the Big temple at Thanjavur.There are temples that are so huge and sprawling that they occupy more space, have taller gopurams,,bordered by many more acres of gardens and much more magnificent tanks brimming with water scented by lotuses and lilies, all over India.

Then why does the temple at Thanjavur take the cake?

To answer this question one must actually see it,just as one can grasp the deep love of an emperor for his wife expressed in snow white marble ,only by setting one's eyes at the Taj at Agra.

The temple at Thanjavur has a hypnotic quality that seems to radiate the aesthetic and deep seated spiritual stirrings of a mighty warrior and ruler of South India 1000 yeras ago ----Raja Raja Chola.

Just as the architects shaped the longings of a emperor in marble to perfection , the Stapathi's have a good 500 years earlier, chisselled this temple with a timeless beauty, giving peerless shape to the ardent devotion of the Chola emperor to lord Shiva.

It is a flawless drawing in stone . Its beauty has to be seen to be believed.

Out of sync?

I was taken aback at the results of a sample survey conducted by a magazine,that majority of Indians regard the leader of a century old trading and industrial house as their role model.

I was all along of the view that Indians would have considered a scholar or a social worker or a philanthropist as a role model .If the preference of those who were surveyed is to be taken as representative of Indians aspirations at large , it is for money.And who creates maximum wealth is worthy of veneration and emulation !

A 17 th century bibliophile of England is quite in sync with my views when he deplores his people's apathy to scholars , philosophers [scientists]and poets and attacks a system that pays more to entertainers than to intellectuals.And points out that the ancient rulers of Greece and Rome had their favourites only men of learning.


[courtesy R.D and Bhavans journal]

Pardon.

Let a 1000 guilty escape if one innocent is saved is a well known maxim.

yet it seems illogical and at the same time perilous to confer [burden] the power of pardoning on persons heading governments ,who are not trained in the nitty -gritties of law and could be easily swayed by public opinion.

Judges are the best authorities in such matters . It makes sense to allow the court reign supreme in this matter.



The Indian penal code provides death penalty on those who commit the offence of murder.Persons trained in law , highly learned with vast experience and expertise in dispensation of justice and who come face to face with the accused are most competent to deliver the ultimate sentence.

When even such men think twice before pronouncing the death penalty,I have come across judges who have spent sleepless nights after sentencing a man to death,how can a government run by politicians unaware of the labour and at times pain behind seemingly cold impartiality of Justice and easily swayed by feverish sentiments gripping the public ,be conferred with the pardoning power?

The power to impose the death sentence or the power to grant or not to grant pardon is a bit too queasy for me .Thank god I am not a judge or a head of a state!

Mani

Two directors films, I never miss seeing in theatres are ManiRatnam and Bala.

So I didnt give Ravanan the miss.Wish, I had!

What is Mani ..trying to convey?That Ravana was good and Rama was bad?Or has he merely switched the roles and names?It is totaly confusing.

I was touched by Vikram's perfomance.The picturaisation of the mist ,drizzle and cool green nature and Prabhu's presence are the only saving graces.Ash's puffiness ,is a put off.

Mauna Ragam , Thiruda Thiruda and Dil -se are the films I rate as his best ever .

Should I give Mani's films a skip here after?

Treats


When the elusive black koel that is always hiding in treetops appears magically as it were flying right in front of me in the hush of a scented twilight in a tree lined street , cooing sweetly and gliding over my head , is a treat to be cherished forever!

A baby gurgling in sheer delight ,nearly falling off from a mother's arm in response to my smile is treat like none other!

Tricks? Oh yes several . Less said the better.

Foreigners?

In the early 80's we visited Kashmir, the Switzerland of the east ,the mandatory stop for newly married couples.

I have visited Ooty popularly known as the queen of hills and Kodaikanal several times. I have also traversed the Himalayas, seen snow capped mountains looming high and mighty and rivers flowing fast and furious in deep ravines and gorges, on my giddying way up to Badrinath.

Yet it is Kashmir that tops the bill!It is truly charming and ably fits the description ' Paradise on earth'.The rolling green meadows and the trees bordering them are not gloomy,snow covered mountains ,at hands reach are not scary, rapids on rivers that elsewhere seem to be in a rage ,appears to be docile and dancing merrily over pebbles and rounded stones. There is a beauty in its landscape that eludes one elsewhere.

I have no idea about the scenic landscapes of North Eastern India ,since I have not visited even a single state in the flock of seven sisters .A female co traveller in our train from Ranchi to Calcutta in 90's, a student of Delhi university who was proceeding to her home in N.E invited us to visit Arunachal Pradesh which she proudly called as 'Scotland of India' and was ready to wager a bet that no other state in India would surpass its natural beauty!

Now back to my unforgettable memories of my very first as well as the last trip to Kashmir.

In one of our trips to tourist spots in the out skirts of Srinagar, I found myself in the midst of a group of young villagers , wearing poncho like Khaki coloured over coats,seated on a row on a brick wall ,dangling their legs,and who asked in a chorus
"Kya aapp Hindustan se hai?"

I have lived in various parts of this huge sub continent, India and am used to fielding questions, on striking a conversation with classmates,neighbours, co -travellers and strangers as to which state I hailed from.If the questioner happened to be from my state ,then which was the city or town I came from further if the person was from the same community and caste,then details regarding my ancestral home ,the subsect, details of my family tree, kula ,gothra etc were sought as a matter of right.Our conversations and friendship proceeded to next level only after these initial queries were duly and mutually satisfied.

But this question 'Are you from India '? was jarring and is still stuck in my memory.

It made me wonder whether I had strayed into a foreign country. Didn't my maps in social studies text books at school show J&K as part of India?The question from those rough young rustics seemed strange and anomalous.

The group of laughing men suddenly appeared to be jeering ,menacing and hostile. And I was greatly relieved when I spotted a familiar turbaned head , unmistakably Indian , the butt of 'bharah baje' [ 12 '0' clock] jokes, ambling by, on his way home from work .I have never been so happy to see a Sardarji before in my life!

We quickened our pace to match his , and heeded back to our rest house in the city in his safe and comforting company.

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Soft targets?


The red tiled footpaths contrasts very well with the abutting greenery.The highly polished granite topped benches mirror the sky above and look sleek and inviting .But the profusion of metal chairs ,placed in every nook and corner,makes the newly renovated park look more like a railway platform. There are more faces to be seen than foliage.

Earlier this green space though situated right at the heart of the bustling metropolis had a charming privacy of its own,but now with the new clear cut design ,it has become another public place buzzing with activities.

The sculpture of a child showing his back greets the visitor. And the pride of the place is occupied by a granite tablet that trumpets the most notable achievement of the doctor whose name the park bears.

I am in the habit of reading every signboard that comes my way.And if it is a plaque or engraving regarding the history of a person or place or monument even wild horses cannot tear me away from them .

On my first visit to this park several years earlier I went up to the engraving beneath the bust of the personage, eagerly to learn about the noble deeds of the Dr ,whose name the park bears ,imagining them to be in the class of Dr Kotnis or Dr Albert Schweitzer . I was in for a rude shock.

The engraving very plainly stated, leaving nothing to imagination that the park was built in the memory of a man who was in the forefront of leading agitations in the last century ,hold on ,not against the occupation of the British but against the domination of Brahmins!

Now ,after renovation the words have been slightly altered .A plain reading suggests that Brahmins are not Tamils!

The deafening noise of an aircraft flying low has subsided but the droning ,continues!

Sands of time.


The sun had sprayed millions of diamonds in its path on the sea, whilst ascending the morning sky ,

That bewitching niche, on the grey sea glinted and shimmered with eye dazzling ,silvern lights ,

The gentle waves gathered these diamonds and wove them into long ribbons of zari ,that enticingly bordered the waves ,

On reaching the beckoning shore ,the waves frothed milky white and the shining foil was skimmed away and swallowed by the eagerly waiting sands ,

The sands of time!

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Acknowledgement.


I was standing at the window of the lodge at Tirumala looking out ,at the early morning dew rolling down as tiny crystal balls from the petals of red flowers ,on to the green grass carpeting the square , when my cell phone rang.

I answered it with resignation ,thinking it would be those persistent ads for caller tunes.I never check the callers identity.I was surprised to hear a gruff voice .

It was Muniappan ., the visually handicapped ,orphan student.He had not called me for the past several months nor did I meet him when I visited the Association .

He wished me a very 'Happy Independance day',sought to be excused for not calling me earlier and proceeded to recite a poem , that he said, had specially composed for me. I took it down .


aah yendrum ooiryezhuthil aavannikku [ulagam] yellam ooir thandhai

imm yendrum meiyezhuthil eemai [nalla] vazhvai kattru thandhai

maa yendrum ooirmeiyezhuthil mattram pala yanaku thandhai !

Vazhga vallamudan !

oongal ,anbu magan.


He then enquired off me and when I said I was at Tirumalai on the occassion of my son's 27 th birthday , he wished him a very 'Happy Birthday'.And as he hung why did my eyes go suddenly blind ?

An acknowledgement?

Friday, August 13, 2010

Role.




My dear son,Vidat

What is the role assigned to you by the creator ?


Is it colour? The greenness in plants or in the blueness of the sky?

Or in the orange of the sun or in the bluish green of the peacocks plume ?

If so ,I can spend my lifetime gazing at these colours and derive comfort that you are near.



Is it sound? Are you in the lullaby of the rain falling at night ?

Or in the the rapturous melodies , the koels suddenly burst out ?

Or in the gentle rustle of tree tops when a slight breeze ruffles them ?

If so I can spend my life attuning my ears only to these sounds .




Or is it in the sudden calm of the dusk when darkness descends ?

Or is it in the light of the stars that shimmer in the night sky ?

Or in the 'kindness' of a person helping a distressed stranger ?

Or in the indisputable honesty of a person who knows his end is near?



If only I had an inkling of the role assigned to you may be I can bear this void with a little more ease.



Happy birthday.



14 th August .

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Knock's.

`I read a lot of novels by English authors in my younger days,like Enidblytons,BarbaraCartland and graduated to P.G Wodehouse ,Somerset Maugham etc,writers of early 20th century.

I enjoyed the plot and the language but could not identify myself with their opulent lotus eaters life styles[a spin off probably , from the spoils of colonising 3\4th of the world].The 'High teas',,constantly dressing up for lunch and dinner and whiling away holidays and weekends in huge manors ,surrounded by sprawling lawns and lakes ,being attended by butlers and parlour maids,every thing in fine fettle and the common thread of ' stiff upper lip'running through all the novels ,were other worldly to me.

I also read novels by Russian authors of the same period . I could easily identify with them ,as they dabbled freely in emotions,didn't paint a fairy tale picture and showcased the abysmal poverty, illiteracy and ignorance in their villages and towns.

`Anton Chekhov a Russian physician and novelist has made the following observation regarding the poor in one his stories.He says the poor are in constant dread of never having a crust to eat . From dawn to dusk they grind away ,ill from overwork, fade in youth ,become old quickly and die in filth and dirt and their children also grow and die in the same way. Millions of people live worse than animals.

Hunger ,animal fear ,incessant work is their lot . But the horror of their position is that they have no time to think and contemplate about their souls.


In the Mahabharata whilst the the Pandavas were in the last year of their exile , all of them ,one after the other swoon near a mountain spring after quenching their thirst , unheeding the request of a Yaksha to first answers its questions. Yudhishtra anxious at the long absence of his brothers also reaches the spring though assailed by a terrific thirst ,pauses long enough to answer the questions of the Yaksha ,to his satisfaction and regains his brothers . This is embodied as Yaksh prasana in the great epic.

one such question posed by the yaksha is as follows.

What renders a person good as dead?

To which Yudhishtra answers

"Mritro daridhrah purushah "


He who is poor is good as dead!


He who does not have an assured and safe shelter , who does not know where his next meal is coming from becomes unsteady of mind , gait and speech . He stoops ,stumbles and stammers .His benumbed mind prevents him from performing even simple tasks.Abject poverty can reduce a person to a state of worthlessness. He may start feeling that he is nobody in this world.

The Mahabharata further says

"A person who has no wealth or possessions becomes dull ,just as water bodies become dry in summer."

Hence Yudhishtra concludes that a poor person is literally dead to the world and dead to himself as well.


Chekhov in one of his stories further states ,that the horror of life ,like poverty ,starvation ,illness , drunkenness goes on behind scenes. They are only statistics on papers . It doesn't touch happy people .The happy people are happy because the unhappy bear their burden in silence .

He says , no one can ever escape the claws of life and every one would surely be visited one day or the other by loss ,misfortune etc. Till then they lead a routine,happy life flustered only by petty cares , as no one knocks on one's door forewarning of impending crisis .


Sounds dark ,cynical and ominous? I would have thought so too,few years back.

He gently advises the young,the happy , the hale and hearty, to look around,and to be good and do good ,whilst they can .




[courtsey---Chekov and Narsimhapriya ]

Monday, August 9, 2010

Lost.

I saw and heard Hindi film songs that were popular in my teens on T.V the other night. It had me wondering .

Was I young once?Was I carefree once?Did I giggle ,banter and trade secrets with my friends?Did I preen before the mirror ?Did my heart leap at the keen look of another?

Isn't that some other person? It is not me . How can it be?

I barely look at myself in the mirror . I am lost in folds of fat and am sunk neck deep in a welter of experiences . I have no friends except my memories.

How true was that ancient young friend of mine --Adi Sankara who has observed


Lost in play is the carefree stripling.

lost in sweet hearts charms , the youth

Lost in memories and sorrow is the old man [ change the gender]

There is none alas,whose spirit yearns to be lost in ParaBrahman!

Support groups.

We are IT super stars. The industrial revolution passed us by but the IT revolution has taken us by storm . So on and so forth ,All our magazines ,papers and news channels are bursting with pride.

But when I searched the net desperately for a support group to share my feelings , gather courage to face life from the experiences of similarily placed people ,who have weathered it , I could'nt find a single site!The only one was Sneha , it wasnt of much help and with my bitter experience with the doctor duo's I wouldnt touch it with a barge pole.


Is this total absence of support groups because we are a closed society that stigmatises each and every deviance from the general pattern ?Or is it just plain lack of human touch?


I found scores of sites in U.K and USA offering support in every imaginable circumstances a person could find oneself in .There are support groups for parents bereaved due to accident or suicide or illness or murder . There are groups for people with disabilituies , depression ,addictions and obsessions.

Though some of thes sites give a religious colouring and collect donations ,ostensibly for the cause of the victims,there are several others who are geniuenly concerned with the distress. They offer tips to tackle and overcome it, share their traumas frankly,sound and let of on these sites ,give their addresses so that they may meet in person and help one another.

In my experience a support group is a must . A therapist may know the problem intellectually,but it is only those who have gone through the traumatic experience and have coped up with it and are kind enough to share it , who can pull another person out of the morrass .

I am sad to say that despite all this hype about being a I.T super power we are woefully lagging behind in harnessing it to help those in distress.

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Catalyst.


Thirumangai Azwar ,who has sung beautiful verses in Tamil ,enumerating the glory of Vishnu ,enshrined in deities all over India ,specially in Tamilnadu ,was a warrior and became the chieftain of places in and around Kumbakonnam ,in the 8 th century A.D .Either he was besotted by a beautiful Sri vaishnavite girl that he promised to feed 1008 devotees of Visnhnu every day for a year to secure her hand in marriage or seeing the Srirangam temples in ruins ,he being an ardent devotee of Vishnu sought to reconstruct it.What ever the cause, in doing so his treasury dipped and he resorted to looting wayfarers and rich traders in the nearby forests in order to fulfill his burning desire .

Legend has it ,that one day he accosted a newly married young couple . Try as he might with all his strength of which he was famed and was proud of ,he couldn't prise away a ring from the finger of the smiling young man. He at once became aware of his limitations and the company and soft words spoken by the radiant young man made him realise his folly to rob one to pay another!He there after mended his ways. He thence forward visited all Temples in the length and breadth of India and has sung verses in praise of the reigning deity in each and every Vishnu temple . These poems are more than a thousand in number!


Thondarapodi Azwar an exponent of Bhakti movement in the 8th century A.D was brought up ,befitting a orthodox temple priest.He was very good looking but was unaware of his appeal ,spending all his time tending the temple's garden and in decorating the deity with garlands. One day a dancer chanced to see him ,labouring in his garden .Attracted by his looks and manner she charmed him out of his pious life. One night he was thrown into the prison on charges of stealing the silver vessel of the temple , a sum to satiate the greed of the dancer's mother ,he wept and realised how low he had sunk and resolved then and there to lift himself up by seeking refuge in Ranganatha.He was freed the very next day and since then he devoted himself solely to worshipping the Lord and wrote several heart stirring poems in his praise .

The following is one his timeless popular verse.


Pachaima malaipolmeni Pavallavai kamala sengan

Achuda, amarar yere!Aayar tham khozhunde yennum

Ich chuvai thavira yaan poi Indira loka aallum

Ach chuvai perinum vendhen arangama nagarullane!


One ,who looks like hills wrapped in green,has mouth like corrals and eyes as red as a lotus,

Achchuda [krishna] Foremost amongst gods.The dazzling light of Yadavas,

Can I derive pleasure ruling Indra's heaven ,on being conferred with it?

Never.

The pleasure derived from chanting the names of the resident of SriRangam is much,much more!