2010.

As I look back to the year gone by ,some of the following impressions,articles,entertainment, stories take a precedence over others.

I read very few books and articles,heard few songs,saw few programmes on TV and went on few tours. I have selected the following out of my limited exposure to people and events , that have touched me one way or the other.

The most auspicious event : The kumbha mela at Haridwar.The year was inaugurated with millions taking a dip in the sacred waters of the river Ganga with the immense faith nurtured over the centuries that it would cleanse one of all accumulated karma's.

The Indian of the year: Aam aadmi and Aam aurat---To name a few,the Brahmin priests of temples in remote villages of Tamilnadu,the Fauji[ soldier] and his sons in the thick forests of Uttarakand ,and the teachers of Thirunellvelli [TN] .

The pleasant looking couples: The comely deputy CM's.

The well preserved yester year icons : Dream girl and Angry young man.

The best sports persons:The women wrestlers.

The best English news reader on TV : The host of India 'confuses' [the antonym] programme.

The best tamil news reader on TV : Hostess of morning news on 'King' [translate] channel

The best actor: Ravanan.

The best blog : The one on the hardships faced by an Indian soldier.

The best funny blog: The one on Gothranome.

I found the following articles on dailies and weeklies stirring.
'
The article on the agrarian crisis and the farmers suicide in Maharashtra in daily that is 'secular' but bears a 'communal' name.

The article on the need to respect the privacy of wild animals in wild life tourism in a daily that is a' trailblazer'[ the synonym]

The article on the travails and resilience of a post woman in the jungles of WB in a weekly which is a Desi answer to wikkileaks.

The lament and the pitiful song of the Red Indians in a Tamil weekly--'Pleasant humour' [translate]

The article in defence and in praise of the much maligned public servants by a reader in a daily.
''
The articles on history's immortals dying in the prime of their youth in a' journal' commonly associated with schools.

The best media practises is that of 'Desi wikkileaks' and 'Nerum' or 'Samaai' [translate] of Bharat [translate] on the net for, publishing comments reflecting all shades of opinions liberally .

The best comments on the blogs. :From the analytical to critical ,cynical to poetical ,statistical to whimsical,communal to regional ,lyrical to satirical , philosophical to practical,classical to colloquial,and most of all highly patriotical and democratical ,it would fill a library.


The worst scam , [I can't use the word'best' here canI?] : The 'exemplary'[translate] housing scam .I can see mouth agape in astonishment and hear the exclamatory 'Aah' at this choice of mine.Isn't it 2 G? Raja aur runk [ tax payers] ji? Haan ji . But hear me out.
Whilst the former scam is cursed by the blood of martyrs the latter is by the sweat of honest labour.To me, the former is far more serious.

The TV coverage that had me in its grips was : The one on the tumultuous events leading to the marriage of a Tennis player.

The most memorable court verdict was: The one on Mandir Masjid dispute.

The most memorable event was: The common[sans 'calamity'] wealth games.

The best programme I enjoyed on DTH was AIR Ragam and Retro---old Hindi film songs broadcast and telecast by the 'moon' [antonym] net work . It was abruptly stopped few months back.

The best programme I am enjoying now on 'winning'[translate] TV is the daily 1 hour concert of currently popular carnatic musicians.

The best short story I read was 'Over coat' . Sorry not by any latest author but by a 19 century Russian writer.

The most spiritual moment of all the religious trips I undertook this year was the dip in the icy cold raging waters of Ganges in pouring rain at Rishikesh..

Stare decisis.

There is a lot of hue and cry amongst politicians and and segments of legal fraternity over the trangression of powers by Judges who are seen as usurpers of legislative powers when they lay down the law when called upon to decide Public interest petitions or simply on the cases before them.

An good example of judicial law is Vishaka case.In this case the judges enumerated what constituted molestation of women in work place and laid down the guide lines towards their decent and respectable treatment in such places.This decision an landmark one ,was circulated in all offices. The judges came to the protection of women since there was no law to do so.

There is a raging debate that those who file these PIL's may actually have an inner agenda,to deride a party or govt in power and that it is not up to mark.

The important thing to remember is that Judges deciding them have no such agenda.They are not going to stand in elections or aspire for the Bharat ratna[[has a judge ever got one?]. They are just being human.

If the state fails to act or enact laws on issues staring at its face and it is brought to the precincts of justices what is wrong if men with impeccable credentials, with no bias or favour are stirred to alleviate the miseries of people knocking on their doors?

Judicial activism is nothing but a reflection of, humane nature . To extend help when it is not forth coming from other quarters.

Is it wrong to be human?

Vennu ganam

The crackle of silk sarees , grey hair dyed jet black and the fragrance of the queen of the night,jasmine,adorning short and long tresses filled the auditorium. There was a sprinkling of youngsters and Westerners in ethnic wear.

I have heard this young flautist, several times on my tape recorder. His music , one of my antidotes.Extricating myself from the web of the barrage of heated debates between and amongst verbose and loquacious politicians and anchors on T.V, I willed myself to attend at least one concert of this famous Marghazhi music festival and therefore here I was.

This young flautist is skillful, uses his intelligence to innovate on the usual battered patterns of decades and never let the audience's attention flay.

There is something spiritual in the notes of a flute. It unlocked the happier visions of my lost one as well as the actual debate that has been submerged in my wilful distraction through TV, dailies, magazines,literature,blogging,travelling, etc.

The accompaniments viz mridhangam and ghattam fell silent in a rendition and the notes from the flute flowed over me smoothly in creamy waves of sliced yellow butter. I could see the calves and cows lifting their heads and gazing with their large black eyes in wonder and the swaying grass, flowers , plants and trees stop still, to listen to the divine music breathed into the bamboo reed by the cowherd Govinda in the enchanting meadows of Brindavan.

Crow.

Hey crow, half the length of my arm,

Look at the din you make , thinking I will harm your young one,

When I am pacing the terrace up and down.

The space I claim for my own and you as your own ,

Is neither mine nor yours, oh the crowing one!

Nature.

Dear Lotus,

Do you swipe the rose of the sunset sky,
To brush it on your blushing cheeks ?

Dear Rose

Do you drink in the red setting sun ,
To darken your lips?

Is this your routine?To brighten up the life of the mundane?

Both of you are beyond easy grasp,
One in pond and other in thorn!

A message maybe,
Away thee,only this far,

Enjoy us from afar!

Money.

'O' money you are a gem ,

With you I can pander to all my whims,

I'll willingly be thy slave ,

Only, if you can buy me love ,

And the life of one in grave.

Silence of the lambs.

Yeh radiiaji ne mediaji kho bhakhra banadiya , na ji ?

City roads.

I thought that my mournful song 'City roads take me away' had stirred some soul to act.

The sickening street and 't'errible nagar became clean and neat ,like as if a magic wand was waved, overnight.

I was so overwhelmed by this burst of activity,that I touched wood several times and couldn't wait to shoot of thank you letters to the civic authorities and company.

Ironic isn't it?Clean streets and attending health and hygiene is every citizens birth right.
Do we have it?We cry ourselves hoarse in its pursuit and when it is deigned to be granted ,our gratitude knows no bounds and are besides ourselves with joy!This is what we have been reduced to.

The steady drizzle , unlike the usual cyclonic storms with its howling winds and crashing claps of thunder , was delightful.The school and college boys[tenement dwellers] on leave , played cricket happily in the picture perfect clean open space.My mood was so expansive that I viewed Cooum that is yonder as one would, the river Cauvery.I pondered whether Rishyasringa ,the pure soul, had stepped into Chennai ,since it has been raining intermittently the whole year through.It was all so enchanting that I even penned some poems!

I should have known better.Now every thing is back to square one.I should heed to Bhartrihari's advise when the legendary chataka birds that quenches its thirst only with rain drops cries ...

'O' most bountiful clouds , you are our only support,
Why do you wait for our cry ?

To which he says ...

Ah my dearest chataka, hearken attentively to my words,

There are many clouds in heaven . They are not alike .

Some pour their waters on earth, while others thunder and give forth no rain.

Do not cry and belittle yourself. [from neethi satakas].


But old habits die hard and I am back to singing the same old song.


Hold on, I just heard the whirr of the conservancy truck. Maybe, just maybe I may step on to garbage free ,clean streets.Hope bestirs in me but why should the following observation of Adi Shankaracharya taunt me, sliding through the enormous gap of years [centuries] between us..

Feeble has grown the old man's body'

Toothless his gums and bald his head.

But there he goes , upon his crutches,

clinging firmly to his hope! [ from Bhaja govindam].

The dependant.

Whilst I was residing in the suburbs my next door neighbour ,the owner of the house occupied the ground floor , leased out the first floor to a young man who lived there with his widowed mother and widowed sister.

She had been widowed in the first few months of her marriage,several years earlier, and was staying with her only support, her brother. She was fair , good looking ,frail and listless.

Her despondency vanished when she found employment in a nearby garment factory , that had sprouted everywhere in that area in mid 1990's. The servant maids from nearby cheri switched their plastic baskets to carry the leftovers to snazzy handbags and dandy hair clips on finding ready employment in these units.She was a supervisor of one such factory .

I could see the spring in her steps . She started wearing colourful polyester sari's with zari bordered jackets .

Meanwhile the neighbours wife of 20 long years died of cancer,leaving behind teenaged children .Within 4 months ,he married her younger winsome sister and lodged her proudly in his house.The entire neighbourhood looked askance at the urgency of this replacement . But all attended the marriage with sealed lips.The young widow commented wistfully,"See how this man is allowed to remarry , after such a long married life and with grown children without any murmur of protest from the society. Will I be allowed to remarry?I have to swallow my frustrations and fade away."Her heart wrenching words still ring in my ears.

Her brother soon got married to a woman drawing a very decent salary. All three left their homes to work every morning..

Then a child followed .Then only two left the home for work. The brother and his wife.I soon learnt from the sister ,who spoke in anguish and bitterness that it was decided for the general welfare of the family she should quit her job and look after her brother's child. I hardly saw her outside her house. In the rare occasions when I did, she had grown thinner ,had developed a permanent scowl and slouched around in drab saree's.

Soon another child followed . I scarcely saw this frail women there after on the street but I constantly heard her voice that was growing shriller by the day from the next house.They were however soon drowned by even more shriller voices of her wards.


P.S. Amongst my extended family and friends I have come across widowed women with children marrying men ,very few though,who are eligible bachelors and not widowers or divorcees.These women were young, well educated and holding jobs with a decent salary.

Widowers raise eyebrows only if they marry in haste ie within a couple of months of their wife's demise ,without waiting for a cooling period of 2 or 3 years .How ever a widows remarriage ,after lapse of several years of spouses death ,continues to be a juicy topic for gossip and tongues wag to eternity.

Have things changed?

Sam and jerry.

The U.S and Wikileaks.......Fix tricks! Fix tricks!

Tax.

My eyes were always riveted on the ethereal snow white facade of Ripon building ,whenever I happened to pass it by.

Today I was actually entering this building to sort out some discrepancies in actual payment of tax and what the computer was demanding . It dates back to early 1990's!

The building , the seat of municipal corporation ,at close quarters was quite different. At several places the plaster was peeling off, the heads of pillars were crumbling down,the walls were dented here and there and plants were sprouting in many a crevice.

A major part of the high ceilinged inner office was occupied by files and documents resting on rows upon rows of metal and wooden shelves, apparently undisturbed for ages. There was an inch thick ,brown dust ,coating all the tattered covers and frayed pages of the documents..

I was struck by the historicity of the dust . I t could be as old as British rule in India!

As the ancient computer sputtered out , the officer disappeared in the labyrinth, muttering that it would take an hour to fix it.We the petitioners a fistfull,did what all do here when compelled to wait ,fell into a fitful doze,in our chairs and stools, in the cool interiors ,to the comforting lullaby, of the cranking of a monstrous ceiling fan.

When the computer spurted back to life ,the glitch was ironed out ,in matter of minutes ! Since
all my old bills and orders have been well preserved.Had it been otherwise I would have had to cough up the sum, since 'Computerji' presumably is unaware of the statute of limitations.

Aam aurat.

I read a blog of a leading media network denouncing Social media --viz blog, twitters etc ,in India as purely reactive unlike the proactive main stream media.

I am in this 'Social media' due to a twist of fate.Whilst women of my age in my circle are knitting sweaters for their grandchildren or queuing up outside the American consulate to wrest a tourist visa I am tapping the keys of this computer.The coinage 'Social media' is perplexing . Isn't blogging akin to diary writing. A platform to let off ?

Flamboyant anchoresses and authoresses lament loudly ,at the drop of a hat ,about sexist remarks that come their way.Even a simple Jane like me ,with the tag --senior citizen looming just around the corner ,is often at the receiving end of porn insinuations.

More over I am not a professional journalist drawing a fabulous salary , clinking glasses with the high and mighty or perpetually soar in lofty heights in the company of elitist intellectuals. Nor do I have the backing of any organisation or the attention of millions of viewers[ mine, only a handful] .Neither do I belong to any of these camps...Jolla wallahs or Khakhi's; or Ghandhi topees or their opponents;or the veshti's or money bags.I am a lonerangeress, singing , solitary songs.

Or in other words I am only an 'Aam aurat' ,proud of her 'Bhukha Nanga' Bharat's rich heritage and observant of matters around me,just like any other Indian.

Yet I detect the reverberations to my musings and birds eye view on matters around me, in the 'proactive mainstream media'.My cache' of ideas is repeatedly raided.My every single expression on the doings and misdoings of Westerners is greeted with caustic reaction in print. Some are vicious and their target is obvious.

The tables are clearly turned upside down.

I am concluding with these lines ...I pity the notion that mocks and puts fetters on the freedom of expression of an Aam aurat.