And Sreesanth Wept

What a fall was there my country cousins
When you and I and all mallus fell down
When shameful tears flourished over us
(Quoted with due apologies to Mark Antony for the distortions)

We have seen him dance in the middle; and yell and bicker and make faces and even pray - and we were indulgent even tho we thought he went overboard sometimes.

But when he wept like a ----?! Sreesanth should have contained his tears, like Kapil Dev should have during that famous interview with Karan Tarpar, I felt.

But then why shouldn't he weep? Why shouldn't men weep? Does weeping unman you?Which Scriptures say so? Which scientific treatise establishes this?

It's all part of that patriachal discursive notions which created an order and attitudes from time immemorial with the help of certain controlling images of what a woman and a man should be - images which conditioned societal thinking about the do's and donts for both sexes.

I remember a sentence in Leon Uris's EXODUS which had a terrific cathartic effect on me when i read it as an undergraduate student. It went like this: ARI BEN CANNAN WEPT. The tough guy who fought in his own way for the creation of the state of Israel wept - but not out of self pity. he shed tears for his people and instantly enhanced his stature in the mind of the reader. And then there is that great scene in King lear where Lear comes carrying Cordelia's body in his arms, with tears streaming down his face, and uttering "NEVER, NEVER, NEVER, NEVER, NEVER". I didn't grudge those men their tears. But when Kapil Dev and Sreesahth shed tears, I felt let down.

Why? Cos we have been taught to think that when men cry, it should be for causes greater than personal. Crying out of self pity is unmanly behaviour. Sreesanth confessed that he got an sms from a friend in the US chiding him for his tears. "you are a man and should not have wept", it read. I have seen men fight back their tears during funeral services of their dear and near ones. My son, who was barely twelve, refused to weep when my mother passed away - and ended getting severe stomach ache during the funeral. The doctor to whom we rushed him after the service told us that he'll be ok after he cries his heart out!

When we think rationally - we never do it when it comes to the role of sexes- we will realise that men and women are not made of different clay. And both have tear glands and ducts for the use of which Nature has made no stipulations. The norms are purely cultural.

I think just as we women resent being controlled by stereo typed notions, men too resent it. But they haven't got their act together to start a liberation movement or Masculinist theory.

My Mother and My Son

It was great watching them together. Amma was 75 and my son, 6. They could carry on serious conversations for a long time in the most casual fashion. I used to love coming home to that sight of the two of them in the cane chairs in the veranda, so comfortable with each other, engaged in conversation.

One day, I came home from work and saw amma sitting in the veranda and laughing helplessly. The chair next to her was empty. I sat down in that chair and she told me this:

‘Mathan was telling me about his dangerous adventure in the school today. He and a group of students were throwing stones at a snake. It was a very big snake. When the snake turned and looked in their direction, his friends ran off but he remained there looking for more stones. Just then, the PT teacher came rushing and took him away, dragging him by the hand. I tried telling him that snakes are dangerous things and he shouldn’t ever provoke them. He insisted he was not afraid but I drilled it into his head that a snake bite can kill in a matter of seconds.

“Ok ammamma” he said, “I won’t do it again”. Hardly were the words out when two passers - by on the road called out to me, pointing to something creeping in from under the front gate. I saw a large snake easing itself from under the gate into the compound. It was a rat snake. So I relaxed and turned to mathan to see if he will keep his promise made just a second ago. His chair was empty! I was terrified. Thought he had gone to look for something to attack the snake with, as the cemented compound did not provide stones. I rushed into the house and----saw my brave grandson, the snake killer sitting on top of the dining table, crossed - legged, looking petrified! I tried to explain to him that rat snakes are harmless. But he refuses to budge. Says he’ll get down from the table only after his papa comes home!’ concluded amma, wiping the tears of laughter streaming down her face.

She laughed even more when I told that the snake he was talking about was a python, safely imprisoned in a strong concrete and steel mesh cage in the corner of the school playground.

Strange, how even at that tender age, little boys imaginatively re-enact the St. George feat!

Bringing up a Nazrani Girl Child

I do not know if all young nazrani girls born in mid 1950s were brought up like me. I was the last but one in a family of more than half a dozen male children. As a very young girl, I enjoyed climbing trees, chasing dogs, throwing stones at squirrels and playing cricket(I made up for the shortage of players in both sides!-was a left hander) or Kili(our diluted version of kabadi). My hair, neatly tied up in a pony tail in the morning, would be a terrible mess in no time. Whenever amma caught me running around with my hair looking like a golliwog’s, she used to summon me immediately and tie it up again. This happened several times during the course of the day. On certain days, when it crossed the decade mark, I would get a sound spanking but I would always manage to wriggle out of her grip before she had her fill of spanking.

Of course, she often made remarks about my gender, reflecting her anxiety about my unladylike behaviour. But it was that eventful day, when I squeezed through the window bars of a room on the first floor to get on to the tiled roof of the verandah adjacent to the kitchen, that changed my fun filled vacation routine drastically, tragically. I still remember how I achieved that feat. I worked my way carefully down the sloping roof and reaching the edge, sat down dangerously, with my feet on the metal water drain. I remember feeling literally on top of the world seeing the kitchen backyard in a new perspective. Amma came out to the backyard for something, and I called out to her with all my love for her in my voice. She looked around, not knowing where my voice came from. Then suspicion dawned on her and she lifted her eyes slowly to the roof. I can never ever forget that look of horror? terror?, panic? or all rolled into one? that spread over her face. Then, a slow strange, weird smile spread on her face while she spoke sweet nothings to me. In the meanwhile, our odd job man arrived with the ladder and brought me down from my perch in the heights. Amma’s expression changed the minute she realized that I was out of danger and I saw red lights which warned that I had better bolt. I tried to but she was quicker. What a thrashing I got!! but as usual, I managed to get away when she was only half way through and ran for my life, but not before turning back to look at her and do a little jig to show her I had outsmarted her once again.

That jig did the trick. I was so unrepentant that she decided that it would not do for a girl to grow up like a tomboy. From the next day onwards, I was sent to a convent in the neighbourhood, where I learnt running stitch and hemming and chain stitch and French knots and satin stitch and lazy daisy and and and . I also listened to the lives of saints. The nuns taught me the prayers that would help me to become a saint. I refused to say those prayers because I didn’t want to become a saint. They threw the scare of the devil into me about the devil and hell; told me how beautiful it’d be to go to heaven and sing “holy holy’ day in and day out!

From nine to four, during every midsummer vacation till I reached the fourth class, I went to the convent. After that, we shifted to a different locality where there was no convent within walking distance. Anyway, by then, I had begun to think in a gendered fashion.

The Evolution of a Nazrani

Wonder how many people in this world have heard of Syrian Christians aka nazranis. Well I guess not very more than the nazrani’s themselves and a few more who have had anything to do with them. But the way these nazranis swagger about with inflated chest, one would think they have a pair of horns(ooops! manglish?) and are among the seven wonders of the world!.

Actually they come in all shapes and forms – jacobites, orthodox, catholics, marthomites, malankara, chaldeans, knanayas( this last type swear they are a better breed but nazrani’s pooh pooh that claim).

I am a nazrani myself. I became conscious of my Syrian identity, probably during that blissful period spent in my mother’s womb. I too have gone around for more than a quarter of a century of my life strutting around like chanticleer – all because I was a nazrani!

I think even as a toddler, I knew I was a Syrian-whatever that might have meant to a child of that age. I really don’t remember when I acquired that proud knowledge that my ancestors were namboodiris(that Brahmin of brahmins –yes that very caste into which Adishankara was born!!), and they were converted by none other than St. Thomas, the apostle himself. And I grew up thinking, that in this God’s own country, nazranis were the almighty’s favourites, the aristocrats and the nobility. We were a superior race, the inheritors of a proud parambaryam .

Then something changed – or did it? I don’t know, ‘cos identity is not something that can be sloughed off like the skin of a snake. It’s more than skin deep. It’s in that shared thing somewhere deep in the mind, called collective unconscious? So there is no escape from it. nevertheless, at some other level(the rational level?), I realized the existence of a huge grey area in this body of ‘knowledge’ I had inherited.

And I realized that this nazrani pride is not about being converted by that revered Apostle, or about a long tradition of Christianity practiced by our ancestors or about the jewish/Syrian heritage. It is all about laying a claim to the upper caste. Caste is at the bottom of it all.

More about nazranis later

End this rowdyism, please!

Kerala cannot take a single step in the direction of progress until this Goonda Raj is overthrown. It appears to be the order of the day for party workers or party youth wing to take law into their hands. They disrupt entrance exams for which thousands of students prepare for more than two years, for the conduct of which huge amounts are spent. They get university exams postponed if they want to attend some party convention, putting into immense trouble thousands of students, and the universities which are grappling with the massive problem of conducting exams on time. Destruction of public property appears to be their birth right. What happened in MACFAST recently is but one of the many many incidents of free indulgence in violence and public/private property destruction. And a few days back, a team of party workers barge into Forest Inspection Bunglow and forcefully release nine accused of smuggling an endangered tree species (NIE April 5).

A party which either cannot control its workers or has let them lose to lynch, or destroy public property, has no right to rule. What kind of governance can be expected from a political party which has a trouble shooting department to cast protective cover over their supporters who indulge in the worst type of violent and unlawful activities?

The only solution is to ban the party altogether.

Building a New Kerala - can we dream?

The New Indian Express has launched a BUILDING NEW KERALA initiative as part of its cekebrations of 75 years of fearless journalism, to which i sent my views. Needless to say, my contribition was not published. So here it is. Why waste the effort?

Congratulations to The New Indian Express for this valiant effort to salvage whatever is left of Kerala from its own wreck.

But to be hopeful of your success, requires optimsm of Himalayan magnitude. Did your recent anti-hartal initiatives prevent the hartal?

Nevertheless, we are grateful that you are not giving up. If you can sustain this never-say-die attitude, we, the people of Kerala, are with you.

But how to go about building a new Kerala?

I am glad you are talking in terms of building a ‘new’ Kerala and not renovating the old. The old has to be razed to the ground and we have to start afresh, careful not to make the same mistakes.

Where do we start?

From the scratch. Start, perhaps, from the schools -from the very primary level. We need to revamp our education system. Create a new system where the young ones are taught
· to love the country above the leaders and political parties;
· to love the environment;
· to cherish secular values,
· the concept of excellence
· the dignity of labour

Kerala is weak in all these departments. Serious studies must be done to get to the root of the problem, to understand why and how this situation came about. Sociologists’ help must be sought to diagnose the malady that has this state in its grip. In the meanwhile, behaviour therapy can be initiated. Begin with the schools. Catch them young and in eighteen years we will have a clean generation with the right values, capable of putting in place the right political dispensation. Set the remedial programme afoot by teaching the young ones, our future citizens to think clean, think healthy, think positive. Kerala needs to be cured of the cynicism, the mediocrity, the arrogance, that pathologically compulsive obsession with rights and that incredibly shameful deficiency in duty consciousness.

Equally urgent is the need to improve the work culture in the state. Kerala cannot wait for the new generation to emerge from the schools. Is it naïve to suggest that this problem be therapeutically addressed.

The next essential step to be taken is to deal with the culprits who have bought the state to this mess – the ruthless, selfish politicians. How this can be done, we hapless citizens have no idea. These politicians are always outsmarting us. This, I guess, is where a concerted effort on the part of the media can help. If you can do something about keeping politics out of school and college campuses, Kerala will make the Gods turn green with envy. For that is where the wealth of the state lies.

Can you bell the cat?

Kochuthresiamma P J
Changanasserry

Waiting for the Mahatma

It's been a long time since i blogged about Gandhiji. Guess it's on account of someone who told me that i'm overdoing the 'gandhi bit'. But he has never been absent from my thoughts. He intrudes everytime i pick up a newspaper or watch news. When violence rocks tiruvalla and kannur and karnataka and tamilnadu and kashmir and Iraq and the world-- I think of that messanger of peace who showed that non violence is a more powerful weapon than violence. Non violence is control. Control is power. Strength. He taught us truth is God, that truth will set us free - free from fear. Truth therefore is the source of strength.

He made it all look so simple. He translated these ideals into mass action. He proved it could be done. But why is it that we, as a nation in the grip of violence, corruption and fear, have ceased to look up to Gandhi?

My theory is that this is because we have driven Gandhi out of schools. He should not have been sidelined by syllabus setters. He should figure in a major way right from KG to the University level. Someone might argue that this would amount to indoctrination. So what? If indoctrination can bring about peace on earth and goodwill among men, why not?

Commenting on the success of Lage Raho Munnabhai, my daughter wrote "Maybe in all our hearts ,there is much more of the Mahatma than we think there is!"

What a wonderful thought! The more i think of it, the more i feel she is right. But then, why is this Gandhigiri hiding itself? Why this dormant existence for so long? 'Cos it is struggling to find its way out of the darkness of ignorance. Introduce Gandhiji into the schools with a vengeance and Gandhigiri will see the light of day.

Let's hope someday it'll surface and become a collective force once again .

No Money. So Set the Prisoners Free

Was reading a novel the other day. There was this incident where the army decides to release a prisoner 'cos it was proving to be too expensive to keep him a prisoner - he had to be fed. So he is released, which the army authorities feel is a greater punishment, as he would have to beg for food. The place being a frontier territory in the middle of a desert (an oasis settlement), the prisoner cannot leave the place. So he would be sufficiently humiliated, begging for food, from people he once governed. Incidentally, the prisoner was the magistrate of that frontier territory at the time he was taken into custody.

I was quite taken up by the ingenuity of the authorities who killed two birds with one stone - released a man both to spare the state the expenses as well as to add insult to injury by forcing him to beg. But i thought such things happen only in novels - till i read this news item today:

PROVIDENCE, R.I. - Lawmakers from California to Kentucky are trying to save money with a drastic and potentially dangerous budget-cutting proposal: releasing tens of thousands of convicts from prison, including drug addicts, thieves and even violent criminals.
Officials acknowledge that the idea carries risks, but they say they have no choice because of huge budget gaps brought on by the slumping economy.

The officials are aware of the dangers of letting criminals out, but they are still contemplating it as the state cant afford to keep them. Unlike the situation in the episode i mentioned earlier, the community pays for this decision, not the prisoner.

This news item is disturbing. It shows a shift in priorities - money over community/human well being. The implicatons are dangerous. Imperceptibly, a change is creeping into the values that inform governance/policies. Fatten the excehquer at any cost - at the cost of the safety of the community("You're talking about victim safety. You're talking about community member safety," she said. "You can't balance the budget on the backs of victims of crimes."), at the cost of the farmers, who go under, under the impact of the mindboggling "economic growth", at the cost of the marginalised who get still more marginalised as a result of the structural adjustments which aim only at an "economic growth" - at any cost.

This is a global phenomenon which manifests in different forms in different parts of the globe.

i

Kuttanad - ravaged by rain gods and diabolic unions

A terrible tragedy has struck kuttanad. The summer showers played havoc with the crop- which was excellent this year.
being an urban bred creature, i allowed myself to enjoy the welcome summer showers which cooled the scorching earth - till i saw my friends with kuttanaad connections start panicking. there was this person whose father- in- law had 20 acres of paddy, and it was a bumper crop this year. and there was this very close friend who looked at me with despair and something else in her eyes, when , without knowing the implications of the unexpectedly torrential nature of the summer showers, i expressed my bliss about a cool night to look forward to. With deadly calm she told me she got information that kuttanad paddy fields(hers included) , with a bumper produce this year , have been submerged. Harvesting would have been over long time back if they were allowed to use the harvesting machines. The quiet in her voice and that strange look in her eyes were scary.

the local newspapaers told the rest of the story next day( i couldnt see TV news that day)- with pictures of men and women with something like death in their eyes.

man cannot gnash his teeth against the weather gods. But against those crude, brutal, ideology crazed, vulgar , mindless, vicious muscle flexing of the organised labour unions which refused permission to use the harvest machines? How are we to deal with these no good labour forces which have been calling the shots in kerala for , oh, God, how long?

And the Agriculture minister has rushed to the rescue of the labour unions with the dog in the manger policy, which this time has led to an unprecedented disaster. Are we, the people of kerala, going allow those irresponsible poisonous rowdies to get away with this scot free?

I know all these frustrated rantings will end up in a whimper while these power crazed, heartless forces continue with their mission of destroying hope and demoralising the the farmers in kerala.

What can we humans do when forces of both evil and good gang up against us?

Anonymity

I found a book of quotation lying around and was thrilled. I think I was in the third standard, and I needed a sentence everyday to fill two pages of transcription writing (my handwriting was worse than Gandhiji’s - so I was asked to do two pages while one was the normal burden). Strange- the only thing I knew then about that great man , other than his role in our independence struggle was that he had a very bad handwriting. And in all my childhood innocence, I thought that was truly the surest road to greatness. Till sister kevin’s ruler came down sharply on my knuckles.

And so there I was, falling over my transcription book every evening after school, repeating loudly, word after word, as I carefully formed them between the four lines. Ok. to come back to the subject in hand – that quotation book revealed a great truth to me: the most prolific ‘quotation writer’ was Mr. Anonymous. I remember Sr. kevin’s laughing face with tears streaming down her face, when I asked her who this poet was!

True, anonymity is a blissful state. I have found that every time I have had to relocate from my native place for brief stints. If you are traditionally sari-wearing types, you can get out of that cumbersome attire into more comfortable ones, under the cover of anonymity. I knew a cheduthy, who used to live very close to us. I had seen her only in thuniyum chattayum. One day, her grand daughter brought a photo of that cheduthi taken in Florida; she was in a –hold your breath (‘cos it knocked the breath out of me)- in jeans and T-shirt!!! Another acquaintance of mine showed me a picture of herself in a two-piece swimsuit taken on some beach in the US. She was young with a well-toned body but something was wrong. It took me some time to realize what it was. Either she looked uncomfortable in that unfamiliar outfit or the outfit felt uncomfortable on her. You know, that confidence to carry it off was not there. Then, why on earth did she get into it-and why on earth did she take a picture in it? still worse, why on heaven and earth did she show it to me, carefully keeping her eyes on my face to see how I reacted? God. It was really difficult- keeping a dead pan expression and and then looking up with a stupid grin and tell her that she looked great, with my smile confining itself to my lips. In spite of all my efforts, it refused to travel to my eyes. And why on earth did she have to tell me with a pout: “you know what? You are jealous!”
I have capitalized on anonymity myself on many occasions. I always wanted to look chic and I thought the easiest way to achieve that was to chop off my lifeless hair and style it. Back home every attempt to do that was sabotaged by my near and dear ones who threated to do terrible things (kick me out, disown me, disinherit me---) if I did that. as luck would have it we had to relocate to Mumbai. I should have chopped off my hair the day after I landed there. Instead, I waited for a couple of months – by then I had lost my anonymity and couldn’t muster up enough courage to do it!

But this anonymous business can be quite annoying sometimes. You know when that sometimes is? When you see a response to a blog written by that prolific writer “anonymous”

Why does a comment to a blog need that fig leaf called anonymity?

My Maiden Encounter with Four Letter Words

We were too young to know one must behave with propriety towards the mentally challenged woman who stood on the other side of the raod, outside our gate. My brother and I(6 and 5 years) clung to the gate provoking her. And then-- she uttered that four letter word in Malayalam. and she repeated it –over and over and over again, as tho’ it gave her some relief. This got us curious. What could that word mean? Of course, we knew it had to be an expletive but didn’t realize that it was the most forbidden word in Malayalam.
So off I went, looking for my mother who was my mobile dictionary. I came to the veranda off the kitchen. Three or four professional palaharam (snacks)makers were working full swing, making muruku, achappam, cheeda, laddus, mysore pak etc. we children were not allowed entry into the verandah because lighted stoves were kept on the floor of the veranda. Also we’d bring in dust and sand in the cooking area. And so there I stood in the backyard, at the bottom of the steps of the verandah, calling out to my mother.
Amma soon appeared on the verandah, warning me to stay away from it. I told her I wanted to ask her something important, and she asked me to go ahead and ask from where I was standing. Needless to say, I had to shout while I was talking to her on account of the distance between us.
Amma, amma, what does ---- mean?
All froze. The men busying themselves with their work and my mother. Yes. On that hot mid summer afternoon, they froze. all of them!
and the silence? it was deafening.
I knew something was amiss but didn’t realize what it was. Then amma stirred and started coming down the steps with a strange expression on her face. She walked towards me with a deadly calm, took my hand firmly, turned me around briskly and oh god, --I saw more stars than heavens could hold.
And to date, I have never ever uttered that word.

Cicily Thaathi

She was part of out large household, and used to do hand embroidery as also assist the tailor with hand work. Her time schedule was from 8.30 to 5 o lock. We children used to be ecstatic when she had to stay over. ‘Cos she was a wonderful story teller.

Her father was a small time fish vendor whom amma patronized. One day he asked amma whether she could give some employment to his daughter. The only skill she knew was hand embroidery. Those were days of famine and amma, with her compassionate nature and strong aesthetic inclinations, asked him to bring his daughter over. She thus became part of the household for more than two decades.

As she embroidered delicate designs on the fabric, she would tell us stories. She was a voracious reader (I remember, on the days she stayed over, she used to ask us to get all the magazines and whatever books we could lay our hands on and would read, oblivious of the surroundings. while we hung around with excitement, waiting for her to tell us the story she had read just then). She must have had access to books too. It is from her that I first heard the various episodes from The Song of Roland. I still remember the excitement with which my brother and I listened to that episode where Roland, as a small boy, snatches a dish from Emperor Charlemagne, not knowing that the latter is his uncle. I still remember the expression of distress on my brother’s face as I stole a look at him through tears, as thaathi gave graphic description of how the wounded Oliver was put in a salt well by the Saracens. Cecily thaathi used recite the verses and then explain the lines in the language we understood. And she had this habit of switching over to the recitation at the climactic moment, thereby sustaining the suspense for a few minutes longer. I remember, when a few references came from The Song of Roland in our PG lectures, I could nod intelligently and call out a few names of characters and episodes, much to the surprise of both my teachers and classmates, for I was, as a rule, the silent one in the class. Looking back, I think thaathi must have had access to the scripts of chavittunadakam which was a popular Christian art form. Whatever her source, she could fire our imagination and cause our small horizons to widen. Both my brother and I have a love for history and I think we can give the credit for it to Cicily thaathi.
She told us the story of the good and virtuous Pulomaja. I don’t remember where the story was set or any other details; but I remember that the story was so captivating that we were 15 minutes late for lunch, and got spanked royally- both for coming down late and for slowing down thaathi’s work. But we went back to her, time and again to hear the stories - fables and myths, story of Maria Goretti and Alexander and and - - -. After we heard Maria Goretti’s story, we began to suspect that our ironing man Alexander was the reformed Alexander who killed Maria Goretti. One day, my brother and I decided to confront him with the big question, making sure there were enough people around to protect us while we sprang the question “are you the Alexander who killed Maria Goretti?” The audience comprising the cook and the domestic help went into peals of laughter while Alexander did not seem amused. “yes” he thundered, his white eyes staring fiercely at us from his ebony face, and we ran to Cicly thaathi with the confirmation that the Alexander of the story was down there ironing clothes. How thaathi laughed. Tears streamed down her face while she told us that the villain Alexander, though still alive was in ‘uuuuurope”. “But he has admitted killing Maria Goretti” I insisted. “He was only trying to fool you’, assured thaathi.

I have a lot more to tell of the spinster Thaathi who lived a life of extreme dignity till the grand old age of 85, sewing(though almost blind) till the moment she got up from the mat on which she sat, in her own tailoring shop, to cross the road and got fatally knocked down by a speeding vehicle.

Teachers, Beware!

it was a shocker-with just a few months to go before I take voluntary retirement, my student who is now my colleague tells me that as a teacher I was a terror!!! and I always thought that I was the sweetest and most amiable person on earth!!

she tells me that the story that is still doing the rounds about me is that once, during my lecture, a fly buzzed around my face. and I looked at it once and it vanished. they don’t know how the vanishing act was achieved. probably got charred, the students still say.

and she remmbers each occasion when I blew my lid off- and the strangest thing is, I don’t remember any of them! in fact I don’t remember ever getting angry with that particular batch. I used to like them and enjoy my lecture sessions with them!!!!!

I had half a mind to withdraw my decision to retire and go on so that I get sometime to repair my image.

no use , my student turned colleague says, too late. there’s a gulf between the person I know as my colleague and the person who was my teacher.

I have just a few more months in service and I have made up my mind that atleast the present batch of students will take home pleasant memories about me.

and so I have started damage control operations.

last week I entered the class room smiling broadly. tried to sustain that countenenance throughout. did I catch the students exchanging furtive glances? am not sure but I certainly do hope I did not over do it. don’t want them to think that I’ve become soft in the brain overnight.

but I intent to keep at it.

in the meanwhile, teachers, be careful how you conduct yourself in the lecture rooms. you are on the wrong side of the desk from where a a perplexed expression will appear like a scowl, a sneeze like a tornado, and silence like an iceberg.

Are Indians getting to be intolerant?

The UP government has banned Jaishree Mishra's book 'Rani' on the grounds that it shows Rani of Jhansi in poor light. Well. True that Rani Lakshmibai of Jhansi hailed from UP, Jodha Akbar from Rajasthan, Bose from Bengal, Sarvarkar from Maharashtra.But none of these states have any proprietory rights over these personlities with regard their depiction in a work of art. they cannot dictate how an artist or a film maker should portray them. a novel or a film is a work of art, and artists have poetic license which society should respect. One can understand if all this fuss and banning is about a documentary which is expected to abide somewhat by laid down 'facts'-but a film and a novel? art is all about the creativity of the artist and is bound to be different. art is art precisely because it can accommodate a plethora of interpretations.



Why have we Indians become so intolerant -and parochial? And why do we brandish history as an alibi to our irrational reactions ariising from unhealthy possessive, parochial claims? We live in times when history is no longer considered factual or autoratative. The so called 'indisputable facts' of history are constructed by the historian whose perception is shaped by his location in particular historical/political/cultural/ideological site. In other words history is no longer considered god's own truth but a discourse in which the 'truth' is only a view point and it is supported by selected facts. this makes history a very unreliable alibi.



i would say the same thimg about people going livid over religious issues too. What harm can a Da Vince Code do to Jesus Christ, or a few Paintings do the deities or a novel do to the Prophet? isn't faith above the representations and perceptions of artists?

like Russel said, if we are sure, we will be unaffected by a different point of view. if our faith is strong, we'll not fly off the handle. Gods can survive blasphemies. they do not want us to take up their cause by banning, burning , breaking or blood letting.

Dangerous game again

The rath yatra has begun and issues best left to oblivion are being raked up again. A couple of decades ago it was Ram janmabhoomi. The profit was reaped by the BJP and the loss, by the country. it divided the nation.

Now the issue is terrorism. And the UPA appears to have no intention of ignoring the issue which they ideally should. Instead what they do is this.

(this is from The Hindu e paper)
What is your record in curbing terror, Congress asks Advani

First set your house in order: Singhvi

Afzal Guru was arrested and let off under NDA rule two months before Parliament attack

Why did NDA government capitulate to hijackers?

and then

“What is their record when Mr. Advani was Home Minister and later Deputy Prime Minister? The nation wants to know what transpired between the Deputy Prime Minister and the then Foreign Minister [Jaswant Singh], on one side, and the Taliban diplomats, the Afghanistan officials and the hijackers of IC 814, on the other, between December 24 and December 31, 1999,” asked Congress spokesman Abhishek Singhvi.

well. the nation wants to know nothing of the sort. we just want to be left alone to lead a peaceful life.

a plea to genetic engineers- is there some way of cloning that extinct species called honest politician/statesman?

Salwar Revolution in Kerala

The government of kerala has permitted school teachers to wear salwar kameez to work. it'll soon be extended to college teachers too.

we must hand it to the various govts of kerala for coming out with such landmark and citizen friendly orders once in a way. and i like the argument that the unwritten law that women teachers wear sarees to work is a gendered one as there are no restrictions on men.

congratulations and thank you, kerala govt. it really required a govt order to change the fossilised mindset of the people.

Cricket woes: Diarrhea in Australian media over indian 'money power'

This story is from TOI .

The Australian national newspaper, in an article headlined "Cricket's Day of Shame," quoted an unnamed Australian player as saying: "The thing that (annoys us) is that it shows how much power India has. The Aussie guys aren't going to make it up. The players are frustrated because this shows how much influence India has, because of the wealth they generate. Money talks."

India has become the financial powerhouse of world cricket, generating massive broadcasting and sponsorship revenues which support the international game.

The International Cricket Council has been seen to have bowed to Indian pressure in several recent decisions, including the removal of umpire Steve Bucknor from the recent test series when his rulings angered the Indian team.

Cricket commentator Peter Roebuck, writing in the Sydney Morning Herald , said India's threat to fly its players home if the appeal failed was "amongst the most nakedly aggressive actions taken in the history of a notoriously fractious game." "If this is the way the Indian board intends to conduct its affairs hereafter, then God help cricket," Roebuck wrote. "All around, it has been a bad business. Over the years, India have often been represented by gentlemen with high principles and a strong sense of sportsmanship. Australia have not been so fortunate. But it seems that power has corrupted."

A poll conducted by the Sky News television network showed 57 per cent of respondents disagreed with the appeal decision while 43 per cent supported it. The number of participants was not available.

In The Australian newspaper, Peter Lalor wrote that Indian had "pulled out every stop" to ensure the ICC and Cricket Australia "caved in" to its demands. "India, the team that bleated about the spirit of cricket after being beaten in Sydney, has again held a gun to the game's head and had its demands met," he said. Australian governor general Michael Jeffery, the British queen's representative in Australia, appealed in a radio interview for a return to courtesy on the cricket field. "While we should be playing the game tough and hard and all of that sort of thing, I think there's also a need to really take care of the fundamental courtesies and good manners," Jeffery said.

My take on this issue:
This indeed is a strange statement : Over the years, India have often been represented by gentlemen with high principles and a strong sense of sportsmanship. Australia have not been so fortunate. But it seems power has corrupted. What does this imply? because Aussies are not gentlemen, they have the license to be abusive, and 'cos indians are gentlemen, they should grin and bear their abusive language? oh come on now. that is real real cockeyed logic. and to say that when team India reacts, it has been 'corrupted' by power(!!!!!!!!) is another way of saying that we (aussies)cant stomach it if the underdog rises above his station. And this digestion problem appears to be messing up the australian media!

As the sayings go 'every dog has his day' and 'the smallest worm will turn being trod upon'. But then, we are not talking about worms and dogs.if these lesser creatures can turn, how can anyone expect the tiger not to pounce?

The Harbajan-Symmonds exchange.

ok. the baaji - symmonds affair is sorted out and baaji is cleared of racism charge. but punished for abusive language.

what about symmonds who started the whole exchange by abusing baaji? how come he got away scot free?

are australians divinely ordained to use abusive language on the field?

DR. Aiyyappa Panikker (AP) : random, unforgettable, privileged memories

DR. Ayyappa Panikker’s first anniversary which was observed a couple of months back resurrected in me memories of my brief association with this great man.

After my first meeting with him( about which I blogged on the day I heard of his demise http://pareltank.blogspot.com/2006/08/dr-ayyappa-panikker.html ) I kept a safe distance from him. I like geniuses. I stand in awe of them and am totally tongue tied in their presence. So I prefer to admire them from a distance, and that’s how I admired Dr. Panikker. But there were times when that distance had to be collapsed - for official reasons, as he was the Director of the Institute where I did my research.

I remember the day I presented my synopsis to the doctoral committee which he chaired . I had given the synopsis to all the members of the committee earlier , except to Dr. Pannikker. He was not in at his usual time and I prayed that he wouldn’t be in during the presentation. But the gods wouldn’t have it that way. Pannikker sir walked in at the stroke of eleven when the presentatation was scheduled and I extended the synosis to him. He took it from my hand, his eyes running down the first page, and by the time he settled down in the chair he had turned over all the pages. And out came the remark ”This young lady seems to be very generous with her articles”!!! Without exaggeration, it took him less than half a minute to locate the slips in the language – and I was speechless –with admiration, fear. The rest of the presentation was a nightmare. He shot questions after questions which I couldn’t answer, even when I knew the answers – for fear they might sound inane - - so badly did he shake my confidence.

Looking back, I realize that that episode shook me out of my complacency and I instantly, without my knowing it, set high standards for myself - which manifested, ever since, in me going over and over again over a written piece meant for submission( I’ve let my hair down only after acquiring this web space for myself) and going to books, sources to make clear in my own mind , theories and concepts. I learnt that the golden rule for a researcher is that nothing can be taken for granted. And being intensely conscious of the huge gray areas in our mind, is actually the true beginning of wisdom.

I was not his student but as the director of the research institute, he kept himself posted about the performance of each research scholar enrolled at there. I was a consistently hardworking research scholar(that attribute of the average, I guess). But there came a period in my research tenure when work took a second place, with domestic inconveniences to be attented to. Being mortally scared of AP, I didn’t confide in him – cant think of anyone asking him for concessions on account of personal problems. One day, he sent word through my guide to ask me to get a grip on myself. He mentioned that I had started off well - had been a very earnest student – but of late I had been slackening my pace. I was astounded! and pleased too that my earnestness did not go unnoticed by the great AP.

Panikker sir’s quick and sharp wit was famous. Every day, some research scholar or other would walk into our common room with some delightful tale of his wit. There is this story of one of his lady students who put in an application for leave on account of her HUSBANDS’ illness. One glance at it and out came the remark from AP. “ My sense of propriety prevents me from asking how many and which one’.

There is yet another story of how he was in discussion with a Prof about the lull in publications at the centre, when one of the scholars at the research centre entered his office room and informed him that she was going on medical leave on account of pregnancy related discomforts. She was the second person that day who asked for leave for the same reason. Looking at the Prof who sat in front of him, he grumbled that “ people register for Ph.D here and produce nothing but children’.

Wish his students would get together and bring out a book on AP’s quick wit and sense of humour.

We, in India - - -

sometime back, i attended an international conference in bangalore. there were many many participants from abroad. a phrase i kept hearing as i moved through the crowd was " we in India " or ' in india, we---" or "we are this/that".

i evesdropped shamelessly

and overheard.

a person in mid forties with an exaggerated sandal paste streak on his forhead to a delegate from South Africa: we have idli sambar every day. you know that's the healthiest food. sambar is the indian soup. more nuritious and less harmful than the soup you have----(i refused to look at the face of the person at the receiving end of this harangue)

and there was this person from kerala: we were christians long before europe was christianised. st. thomas himself converted us. (one look at the incredulous expression on the face of the delegate from east europe and i ran for my life)

but the coordinator of the conference really took the cake. he was frantically running around, playing the model host with " here in India, our aging parents live with us" or "our classcal music is the most scientifc and advanced form of music", " the purest silk is woven in india". To a rather friendly britisher he thundered jovially 'your queen still has our Kohinoor!!!!!"

and just before the variety entertainment began, there he stood, beaming on the stage, wearing a scarlet silk bulky turban, green silk kurtha, off white silk churidar, saying ' yes, my friends. it's me. your very own Mr. G------------------. fooled you, eh? but this is our traditional dress(!!!!!!!!????)

the guy was from karnataka. i have never seen a kannadiga dress like that - except of course, chamaraja wadiar(in pictures) during the dussera celebrations. perhaps Mr. G belonged to the royal family---.

why do we indians do this? why d we showcase ourselves like this?

and why do we need foreingers' certificates to believe in the merit of our indigenous, traditonal way of life? why do we say with inflated chest and pride beaming from our eyes that:

bill clinton loves Indian chicken curry (the poor curry was blamed for his angeoplasty)

foreigners love kheer

tagore is a great poet. he was yeat's favourite poet (not true - yeates admitted later that he wrote that foreward in a moment of weakness)

kalidasa is greater than shakespeare

why this "it's all in the vedas" attitude?

this august, we will be celebrating 61 years of independence. it'll take more than another 60 years to cure us of this terrible inferiority complex.

The fickle blogger: Blogger response to India -Australia test series

I came across a lot of blogs after the Sydney test hinting that kumble&Indian team were being spoilsports – and doing the sour grapes act. The most critical of these bloggers were Indians. Were they trying to project an image of being objective sports lovers, ashamed of a crybaby nation? and in answer to one blog, I was provoked into defending our team thus :

Guess it must be pretty hard to be out there in the middle and see that every wrong decision was going against you-particularly when you have, for a change :--)), put your best into the game.

it almost looked as tho' the aussies had made some arrangement with the umpires to ensure that they equalled the 16 consecutive win record.

cant blame kumble. it can be quite frustrating to think that all your best efforts come to no avail on account of biased or wrong decisions of incompetent decision makers. i think kumble conducted himself with extreme dignity.

It is not unsporting to demand a level playing field.

Now, suddenly, after the perthe win, the bloggers have taken a U turn. The men in blue have become the geatest, the gentlemen of the game, the giant killers and whatnot.

how rightly is it witten ‘nothing succeeds like success.’

incidentally, looks like aussies cant win if they refrain from sledging ‘cos it is part of their winning strategy - & they are quite colourless without their characteristic insults and obscenities. let’s hope they go back to their evil ways.

New Rhetoric for damage control

Indian Express(Jan 19) carried the story titled NEW 'TERROR LANGUAGE'. The news item is as fllows:
The British Govt. seems to have embarked on a new strategy on labelling terrorosts and their recruiting agents, as security officials believe that directly linking terrorism to Islam is inflamatory and risks alienating mainstream Muslim opinion.

And the new rhetoric?
In future, fanatics will be refered to as pursuing'anti-islamic activity'

Another attempt at creating a new reality thru a new rhetoric.

Remember how secularism in India became pseudo secularism, ushering in a whole new trend in in Indian politics? http://pareltank.blogspot.com/2007/12/polarisation-of-indian-politics-search.html

Polarisation of Indian Politics & The Search for a New Rhetoric

The real attack on Indian democracy was not on December 13th, the day of the terrorist attack on the parliament. It began the day Sabarmathy Express was torched at Godhra and a carnage was let loose on Indian citizens by the state machinery. Shri. Narenda Modi, whose complicity in the post Godhra carnage is proved beyong doubt by the recent tehelka expose,, was re elected twice after the holocaust, with a resounding majority. All this leaves the people of India with few reasons for optimism and cheer. How, one wonders, could such things come to pass in a nation constitutionally bound to secularism?

One could, perhaps, begin by exploring how, in a nation, which holds up “secularism” as an absolute value, it has suddenly become a problemetised term, prompting even hardcore advocates who swear by it, to speak of it in a defensive manner!

“Language”, Ronald Barthes states “is the origin of man—it is the language which teaches the definition of man, not the reverse”. Barthes’ observation draws attention to the power of words to create reality. The story of man is one of struggle for domination between groups of people. In this power struggle, the warring groups construct modes of discourse, which soon gain the status of empirical truth and undisputed knowledge. In this power game, language is appropriated, and utilized to promote agendas. In this technologically advanced age, where television has invaded the homes, language has acquired another dimension – of images on the television screen. The reach of language is frightening. Today, its capacity to shape consciousness is instant, a fact to which can be attributed the phenomenal speed with which a communal ideology could translate itself into a political power capable of forming government at the Centre.

The last two decades of the previous century saw this happening in India. Of course, there had always existed certain ideological binaries in the subcontinent that had not matured into full-fledged rhetoric at the time of Independence; nevertheless the tensions between them prevailed and erupted occasionally into violent acts, culminating in the assassination of the Mahatma. In the nineteen nineties, Hindutva emerged (for political reasons which are not our immediate concern here) as a force to reckon with and today the nation is polorised between two ideologies – Hindutva and Secularism. Tragically, the casualty is peace, harmony and that minimum level of predictability in day-to-day life so essential for development.

The role of language or discourse in effecting this Volte-face from secular to communal ideals on a national scale ought be of more than mere academic interest. The past two decades saw linguistic or verbal formations being imperceptibly but systematically constructed to disseminate a certain communal discourse throughout the country, enabling the emergence of Hindutva as an alternative ideology to Secularism. History is replete with evidences of how the discursive formations of an era determine or construct ‘knowledge’ or ‘truth’, that is, construct a reality that tacitly buttresses the interests of the dominant group. What happened in India towards the close of last century is not dissimilar to the way, centuries go, white nations/cultures used language to appropriate Christianity to validate the imperial agenda of the European powers.

Christianity was born in the semetic soil. A particular semetic tribe was groomed through centuries for the nonviolent religion that Christ founded. On account of the political situation that prevailed in the Middle East at that time, Christianity spread to Europe. However the christianisation of Europe was, in effect, a superimposition of a religion of peace on a brutal race, ill prepared for it. The result was Christianity underwent a drastic transformation in Europe, bearing little resemblance to the fundamental concepts laid down by its founder. With Rome becoming the capital of Christianity, Europe asserted its proprietorship over this Semetic religion which soon became institutionalized, politicized, and a motif of the axiomatic concept of divinely ordained rights for the European people. In short, the religion, thus hijacked by Europe, developed a new face, and to take the analogy further, developed Stockholm syndrome. It sanctioned conquest, murder, genocide and brutality, which had always been integral to European civilization.

Language/rhetoric/ discourse was a principal facilitator in this process of ‘managing’ religion to legitimize and perpetuate the interests of European powers. Primitive Christianity (not an accepted term but I use it in analogy with primitive Buddhism ie, pristine Buddhism as taught by Gautama) was all about creating a casteless, egalitarian society bound by love and characterized by nonviolence. Christ’s message was as simple as that. This is the Kingdom of God he spoke about. But this kingdom would pose a challenge to the imperial intent of the European countries. So a new definition of Christianity- a new rhetoric or discourse was constructed to counter this challenge. The Imperial rhetoric projected all non- Europeans as pagans, hence uncivilized. The same rhetoric represented Christian Europe as the ‘divinely ordained’ saviour, destined to bring salvation to the rest of the world.
Terms such as pagans, infidel, Saracens, heretic, White Man’s Burden were part of this rhetoric. They enabled European practitioners of Christianity to violate every code of behaviour laid down by its founder, by providing spiritual rationale for plunder and murder, territorial violation and genocide. European literature subtly equated non- Europeans to sub-humans or evolutionary dropouts- a convenient turn of the rhetoric, for Christian love did not include nonhumans! Thus over centuries, the imperial rhetoric developed subtleties and nuances to ratify every unchristian deed that the imperial powers resorted to. This discourse had an internal consistency, and a durability, which made it a formidable fort of rationalism. The rhetoric continues to date, in new forms, though at long last chinks are beginning to appear in its walls-----.
This is, no doubt, a vast oversimplification of a very complex issue; nevertheless, it serves to illustrate how language defines and shapes reality; in other words, in human perception there is no reality other than what language creates.
Coming back to India, the first major victory of the Hindutva agenda is the construction of a discourse within whose framework was effected a gradual, subtle (initially), but a systematic destruction of the sacrosanct status of the term ‘secularism’. This was achieved again with language. Secularism was reborn in the Hindutva rhetoric as ‘pseuedo – secularism’. Questioning secularism would once have made any leader a political leper. It is no longer so. Dismissing it as an anachronism or as unpatriotic has not only become possible and legal but also a highly respectable position to take, so long as the term occurs as pseudo secularism, within the structured rhetoric of Hindutva. Hence, with great ease and elan, a politician can, at any public meeting or even in the parliament, ridicule this cornerstone of democracy called secularism and get away with it! The situation is similar to the systematic Calibanisation of nonwhite people in the imperial discourse in order to validate the imperial designs. Also, that great mother of religions, Hinduism, is also being appropriated by vested parochial agencies to legitimize the Hindutva programme.

Those political groups who do not subscribe to the Hindutva agenda have today rallied under the banner of secularism, but their discourse is suspect; for people, at long last, have learnt to distinguish between statesmen and politicians. Secularism is bandied about in a manner that lacks conviction; an effective counter rhetoric seems unable to be born. It therefore becomes imperative that, we, the people, who desire nothing more than a peaceful atmosphere for our children to grow up in, be on our guard when politicians and the media float catchy slogans like ‘secularism’ and ‘pseudo secularism’, ‘majority feelings’ and ‘minority rights’, for every rhetoric has an agenda.. When the government gives to minority groups sops that override court rulings, we need to realize that it is part of the rhetoric of vote bank politics. When carnage is officially glorified and is used as vote winning propaganda, we definitely need to cry for our beloved country. When a politician holding a responsible position, writing for the ‘middle’ of a reputed daily, cites the precedence of the post Indra Gandhi assassination violence to legitimise the post Godhra holocaust, we need to inquire into the agenda of the daily. When the same daily employs a journalist to regularly take up the cause of a certain community and indulge in secularism bashing, the time has come to beware. Remember, the media was responsible for Hitler's phenomenal growth into power. Forget the lessons of history and be prepared for the talibanisation of India!
Political and religious leaders, and those who wield their pens should get their priorities straight. Let them not shed tears for the Church of Nativity. Instead weep for the Palestinian and Israeli lives lost. Let them not weep for Babri Masjid, or Ram Temple destroyed by Baber. Instead, let us all hang our heads in grief and shame at the lives lost in the name of these structures.
“Is there no redemption?” is the question teasing the hapless citizen out of thought. Yes. There is. The need of the hour is a new rhetoric with public weal alone as its agenda. We, the people, look to the media for it. The freedom of speech it enjoys and the power of word that it holds obligates it to safeguard democracy and secularism. We are deeply concerned that the media, with its power and reach does not evolve that new rhetoric that will neutralize the rhetoric of polarization. We are concerned that the media does not take upon itself the role of the agent of resistance that can intervene to transform the dangerous political arrangements taking this country to a theocratic system. We expect it to dissociates itself from the various cantankerous groups and interests that are eating into the polity of the nation and carry out an all out war against this communalization of Indian politics.

Benazir Bhutto's Assasination - An Assasination of the Hallowed Concept of Secularism

Benazir dead is a greater threat to Gen. Mushraff than Benazir alive.

One does not know what the outcome of the elections would have been had this assasination not taken place - what with the recent hasty marathon constitution amendments , an ineffective election commission ad a controlled judiciary. But then Pakistan was never ready for democracy. Democratically elected governments never lasted long enough for anyone to vouch that Pakinstan is of the material that democracy is made of. There are many wno make loud and appropriate noises about democracy but who secretly believe that Pakistan without a strongman dictatorship would destabilise the subcontinent.

One wonders - how is this region, which was once very much part of the subcontinent known as the Indian subcontinent, so different from India?

Guess this is too complex a question for a simple answer. But one thing is clear - fundamentalism and democracy cannot survive under the same roof.

The bashers of Indian democracy and secularism had better learn a lesson from the predicament of our neighbouring country.

We cannot allow democracy to be sacrificed at the altar of extreme nationalism. Yes. The choice before us Indians is between democracy and nationalism ; and only democracy built on the rock foundation of secularism has any chance of survival.

Secularism does not become a pseudo value simply because it is so branded in a certain rhetoric. It's a fundamental human value for the survival of the race called homo sapiens. Let's make no mistakes about it.

Benazir's assasination was the assasination of the secular aspirations of a large section ofthe people of Pakistan.

Secular aspirations of India survived for over 6 decades in india on account of the fact that secularism is an integral part of the Hindu system of thought.

Let not the self-styled custodians of Hinduism make the mistake of driving out democracy from India in the name of some mistaken notions of patriotism.

Narendra Modi's victory

Narendra Modi's victory in Gujarat reminds me of Dryden's observation:
Nor is the people's judgment always true:
The most may err as grossly as the few.

Modi's victory is more than the victory of one party over the other.

it is the victory of Fundamentalism in Indian politics.

it is an emphatic vindication of the 2002 carnage.

it asserts that good roads, electricity and industrial growth are infinitely more important than human beings' right to life.

it exposes the tragic flaw in democracy.

the ceremony of innocence is dead!

It's a larger issue than Modi versus Congress

i find that my blogs on modi have generated a lot of interest and response. what comes below is my response to one of the comments:

@ -----don't get me wrong. am no great congress fan. all i am saying is when human lives and dignity are sacrificed at the altar of ideology and politics, all thinking citizens should pause and do some soul searching - and speak thru the ballots. only then democracy becomes a salutory, effective mode of governance and of ensuring equity.you have suggested the lesser of the two evils(modi and congress). no. that's not the answer. we should be thinking of options. like a fractured majority which will put brakes on such decisions that caused the post genocide killings. no government can justify that. godra is the mesdeed of miscreants. what followed is state engineered.

for a lesson from history, kerala was spared the atrocities of the emergency 'cos a coalition govt. was in place during that period. so much so, to a large extent, the state enjoyed only the benefits of the emergency. no wonder congress govt. was re-elected, and stray incidents (like the rajan case) were seriously taken up.we citizens should rise above political affiliations and ideologies (be it those of congress,left or extreme right) so that our ancient indian value of respecting life will be perpetuated in this nation.

hard core pragmatism sometimes blinds us to fundamental, indispesable human values.

by the way, i still havent got that definition for the term 'integrity' when used with reference to modi.

Gujarat Election - A Referendum on Moditva?

I watched the Big Fight on NDTV on the coming Gujarat elections – moditva or hindutva, I think was the issue. What appalled and distressed me absolutely was the open support given to Modi by a section of Gujaratis, apparently well educated and affluent.

They seemed to be enamoured of the man, his personality. But - - the values that a person represents – isn’t that a part of his personaliy? is this admiration for Modi extended to the pogrom he engineered? or is it precisely on account of it?

They seemed content that there is a congenial atmosphere for industrial investment and activity. But wasn’t that always there in Gujarat? Is it something new brought in by Modi?


They seemed blissfully happy about the Peace Modi has brought into Gujarat. Peace for whom? all sections of the population? peace at what cost? – at the cost of blatant violation and supression of human rights of a certain community? peace violently brought into the state by politics of exclusion?

They are either hoodwinked or pretend to be hoodwinked by the development card played so cleverly by their CM to hang on to power to complete the job begun during post Godra riots. Surely no one can be so blind that they cannot to see that Modi only uses development as a cover for communal politics?

Barkha Dutts said aloud what we fear - that the coming elections in Gujarat is a referendum on Moditva and that a favourable outcome could signal Modi’s yatra to Delhi. Are we Indians going to hand over the charge of this nation to a person who pooh poohs democratic values? who has loudly dedcalred that India belongs to one community alone? and has shown himself to be a ruthless ethnic cleanser? Will this nation dociley succumb to the slaughter of civilized politics?

Narendra Modi's Integrity

i was watching a discussion on Narendra Modi on NDTV. The participants were Kapil Sibal and Arun Jaitly.

Jaitly kept harping on Narendra Modi's integrity!! His concluding statement also was an emphatic assertion of his admiration for the greatest quality that Modi has - Integrity.

Will some one explain this claim? Has the term 'integrity' undergone a sea change?

Or does admission of the belief that you have the right to murder if you belong to a certain commuity earn you the label "man of integrity"?

Looks like we are headed back to the barbaric age!

The Burden of my Name

Till recently, I couldn’t forgive my father for naming me ‘Kochuthresiamma’(kochu=little/small; thresiamma=tresa; ‘little tresa’ to distinguish from the great philosopher saint tresa of avila). It was ok so long I was in kerala where it was a common name. But in tamilnadu where I did my high school and part of college education, it was too much of a tongue twister for the teachers . The most embarrassing episode related to my name was on the first day of my pre university education in a college in coimbatore. The roll call was common for all PUC students. There were more than five hundred students from all streams. Since I didn’t do my previous years of study in coimbatore, I had no friends on that first day, and being by nature a shy person, desired a very innocuous existence, at least on that day.

But it was not to be.

Not with such a huge baggage of a name. In fact, I was dreading the moment when a non keralite would confront my name on the rolls. Well, the event proved to be, to my horror, much more dramatic than I expected.

The teacher’s name was Dharmambal. She was a gigantic person. Those were days when people described me as a puny little person , and I did feel quite intimidated by Miss Dharmambal who seemed quite visibly hassled by the task of taking the attendance of a new PUC batch. She started calling out the names in the alphabetical order, snapping now and then at students calling out attendance softly and snarling at the whole class when it got noisy.

I sat there terrified at the prospect of her irritated eyes falling on my name. The “K” names began. My heart started pounding in my ears and then the moment came. She stared at the page, blinked her eyes several times and then started her valiant attempts to get her tongue around my name. KO—pause—KOKU—pause—kokut –he –ra, she said ---and couldn’t proceed. She lifted her tortured face from the attendance register with waat is that eh?? By now there was pin drop silence in the class. The girls too got curious about the name she was struggling with and were gleefully looking around for the owner of the name that had stumped Miss Dharmaambal.

‘Get up whoever it is’, she said. How I wished mother earth would open up and swallow me or a violent earthquake would bring the building crashing down on me and the girls and Dhrmaambal !!!! But no such disaster came to my rescue and I stood up sheepishly.

Waat ees your name? she barked. Kochuthresiama, I said slowly , sofly. ‘loud’, screamed Dharmaambal. I repeated as loud as I could. But that was not loud enough for Dharmaambal. ‘You come here’, she snapped and I walked up awkwardly, intensely conscious of the giggling excitement that was going on in the classroom . I went up to her and stood at the foot of the platform on which he gigantic Dharmaambal stood. She bent almost double, thrusting her diamond studded ear close to my trembling lips. Must have been a very comical sight, judging fro the strange sounds emanating from the class room. I repeated my name. She repeated after me but it did not sound anything like my name. By now the class was in fits but Dharmaambal soldiered on. She would learn that name to perfection, the determined expression on her face seemed to say. I coached her part by part and finally, she managed kochuthresiamma fairly decently.

The next day, I sat in the common attendance class, very tense. I called upon all the saints to come to Dharmambal’s assistance when she reached my name. Roll call started and my tension rose. I could feel dharmaamal’s rising tension too. The class was in high excitement and waiting expectantly for her to call out my name. And finally she came to my name. KO she said. KO she said again. Then paused for minute and with infinite determination burst out KOCHUTHRESIAMBAAL !!!!!!!!!! The class dissolved into laughter at her making an ‘ambal’ out of the ‘amma’ in my name – to rhyme with her name, some of the girls said.

The same scene repeated itself, day after day. Soon the students lost interest in this name fiasco but to the last day, both Dharmaambal and I continued to stiffen when the roll call reached “K”; I would continue to hold my breath and Dharmaambal would go ahead with a determined look on her face till she exploded into a KOCHUTHRESIAMBAAL. Then we would both relax and Dharmaambal would go ahead with her task while I experienced the bliss of released tension and the students talked and yelled, capitalizing on the bonding of electric tension between Dharmaambal and me which kept us temporarily oblivious to the immediate surroundings.

Tehelka Apocalypse

was reading tehelka, the issue on the sting operation on Gujarat riots. Feel numb with horror. Am horrified that humans can be so blood thirsty. Am horrified that human beings can gloat over their active role in genocide, and smack heir lips in glee at the memories of the gruesome details of mutilating and burning alive men, women and children.

On our part, othering the perpetrators of the horror in Gujarat reflects a misconceived complacency about ourselves having progresed from that predatory stage. have we, as humans, really left such primordial instincts behind us? are all of us potential predators? Surely the Gujarat rioters are not made of different clay. can all human beings be moulded into bloodthirsty human hunters?

are there dark regions in me lying dormant under the cover of civilization, regions that can be resurrected by a combination congenial factors?

The answer, I guess, is yes.

Scary thought!

How Amma made Appams

It never ceased to astonish my mother that I could make appam and stew twice or even thrice a week. I told her that mixies and shortcut methods have made this once considered delicacy a routine and common item on the normal menu of even a busy working housewife.

But, I asked her, are my appams anything like what u used to make, amma? Yours were incredibly delicious! Amma was not one for gloating over her culinary competence, and so replied that they were all the same.

But they were not the same. Starting from the process to the method to the final product, it was a very very different ball game.

In her days, making appams was an event. It was usually a breakfast item, though once in a way, it was served for lunch too. The event would start the day before with her announcement that the next day’s breakfast would be appam. Her helpers’ faces would fall and they would look at each other meaningfully. She would then take raw rice, measure the required quantity, put it in a muram (large bamboo tray) and give it to the youngest help in the kitchen – ‘cos her eyesight was the best - for cleaning. Amma would hover around her to see if she is doing a neat(literally!) job of it. Once the cleaning is done, amma would take the muram from her for inspection, and with her inferior eye sight would pick out small stones and black rice and put them one by one into the girl’s extended palm. Then it would be handed back to her to be washed thoroughly and soaked for 30 minutes and then drained. ‘Wash it well’ she would say several times while the maid would nod with a long suffering look.

Then the preparation would start for pounding the rice. The oral (stone with a hollow, used for pounding) cleaning would be ordered and amma would be around to see it was done properly. After the maid was done with cleaning, she would look at amma who would nod in approval but nevertheless take a clean towel and run it into the hollow of the oral – just for her satisfaction. The maid dared not snigger or make any remarks.

And then the pounding would start. Amma refused to leave the work area where this activity took lace. She’d hang around with a hawk’s eye to make sure the maid did not scratch her head or put her finger into her ear. The maids knew her well enough to grin and bear any itching or discomfort in those parts of their anatomy while she was around. When the first round(trip, as the maids call it) of pounding was over, amma sat on her low stool and would herelf sift the rice flour through a fine sieve. She didn’t like entrusting that to anyone else, cos none had her immaculate hands. I remember, as a small child, I once ran up to her asking if I cold sift the flower. She told me my hands were not clean enough. Promised to allow me the next time after she’d cleaned my hands to her satisfaction!!!!! I didn’t ask her the next time. Didn’t quite fancy the idea of getting my skin scrubbed off.

Once the pounding and sifting were over, amma would take over completely. She would make a porridge out of the rough rice flour left over after sifting, make a soft dough with it and the fine rice flour after heating the latter mildly, mix yeast and keep the dough overnight.

Next day, early morning, she would extract coconut milk from grated coconut, add it to the dough to make a thin lose appam mix, add sugar and salt to taste and keep it aside for an hour or so.

Then the preparation would start for the actual appam making. She had a quiet corner which she always used for the purpose. The kerosene stove was placed on the flor in that corner and she would sit besides it on her low stool, after she had taken care of details like the big steel tray to keep the hot appams, the lidded vessel to keep the appams after they cooled etc. The area was cordoned off with make shift objects to prevent people(particularly childrem) from coming too close to the stove. The appam manufacture would start – one ladleful of the mix poured into the paalappachatti(wok meant for making appam) giving out a hissing sound, the wok taken up, twisted round so as to spread the mix into complete circle and then replaced over the fire and closed with a lid to trap the steam inside the pan. After a minute, the lid is removed and, lo and behold! There lay the appam ready to be eaten with crisp lacy edges and spongy centre. The production was fast and soon appams would start piling up inside the lidded vessel ,on being transferred from the steel tray. And we children would help ourselves generously to them. How yummy they were! They simply crumble and melt in your mouth leaving behind a delicious aftertaste of coconut milk. I've never ever eaten such delicious appams after she stopped making them. I think, the best appams I ever ate were made by amma.

mallu hindi

I am a keralite who came to mumbai in my mid forties. i knew no hindi 'cos i did most of my schooling in tamilnadu at a time when anti hindi sentiments ran very high there- so landed up in mumbai with fifteen words. believe it or not I managed beautifully with them. with fifteen words and kathakali mudras, I could even gossip with my domestic help! but my first attempt at communication with my first domestic help was disastrous. wanted to tell her she isnt doing her job(cleaning the floor) well- so found out the word for’ dirty’ - gandhagi, my neighbour told me it was. i memorised it and waited for the help to come. she came late and i forgot the word but remembered the first sound. as she started mopping the floor, suddenly the word came to me and i blurted out - bahoot garibi, I said. should have seen the expression on her face!!!!!
u must b wondering how i got hold of 'garibi'? well, i grew up in the heydays of mrs indiria gandhi and her populist vote catching slogan - GARIBI HATAO! the term surfaced from somewhere deep in my sunconscious mind.i instantly realised my mistake but how was i to explain to her with my fifteen words?
she didnt come aftet that day.

Doctor or Engineer - by hook or by crook

Kerala is a strange place. rather, it’s truer to say that keralites are strange people. they carry certain mulish ideas thru their lives, and to whichever part of the universe they relocate themselves to. one such notion is : if you offspring is not a doctor or an engineer, you are a failure in life. thus it is that we have this hilarious scramble for medical and engineering seats. the other day, a friend told me her relative paid 25lakhs as donation to secure a medical seat somewhere in tamilnadu for his son who did not want to become a doctor!

I am a humanities person and an acqaintance of mine once had the temerity to ask me of what use my education is of to humankind? needless to say he is an engineer whose monthly salary is more than all the money I have ever earned, or will ever earn, even if I live for another hundred years.

with infinite patience, I used, initially to explain to those who posed similar queries that it takes more than docs and engineers to run this world. tried telling them life is not about science and technology alone – it also about philosophy and history and economics and commerce and logic and art, all of which which bring you closer to life and makes you understand this business of living. I couldn’t then quite guage the expressions on their faces when I uttered such sentiments. older and wiser, I have now learned the art of decoding human facial expressions. In retrospect, those faces which suffered me when I lectured on the relevance of a holistic approach to life mirrored their pitying attitude to a sour grape blabbering of a ‘woman’.

coming back to my acquaintance who questioned the utility of my existence, I now realize the crux of his attitude. be a doc or engineer and you can mint money. not that I don’t like money. I love it. but I am not prepared to bulldoze my children, or anyone for that matter, to become docs and engineers just because there is a mountain of currency waiting at the end of the road. nor am I willing to sacrifice everything I care for - like job satisfaction for one thing - for a huge bank balance. My take is this: if a person wants to become a medical practioioner, it is a great thing – if he has the competence, compassion and the dedication for this noble profession. if a person wants to be an engineer, it is a great thing, with the gigantic technological leap that the is happening now. but if a person doesn’t want to be either, please please leave her or him alone to explore and experience other areas. this big world is a land of opportunities, also for people other than docs and engineers.

I would like to tell all the fathers and mothers of kerala not o be heartbroken if your son/daughter does not manage to get a seat in a ‘professional’ college, or does not want to go to one. there are a huge number of people in this world eking out very decent living without an engineering or medical degree.

When Do You Wish

When do you wish
that life was not so beautiful
that your loved ones didn’t love you so much
or you, them
that music didnt transport you to regions of ecstacy
that the view from a high rise didn’t suspend you breath
that you weren’t intensely conscious of man made wonders waiting out there to be explored
that the world didn’t lie before you like a land of dreams?

When you suspect
that the moment you inhabit
might perhaps be your last.

What's the LDF up to in Kerala?

A few weeks back, in reply to a submission raised in the Assembly, the Law Minister replied on behalf of The Health Minister that “the Government would think of constituting a high-level team for conducting studies into the epidemic outbreak in the state”.

Hilarious? scandalous? outrageous? the appropriate epithet escapes me. With more than half the population of mid- travancore literally limping its way thru life, thanks to chuikingunya/strange viral fever, the govt is only thinking of setting up committees to look into the matter. What on earth were they doing all this time? Never has there been such a wide spread epidemic in Kerala, and when the govt should be talking in the past tense about the action taken to fight the disease, we get such perfunctory, inane statements in the indefinite future tense.

But then what else can we expect from this totally disoriented govt? The marxsist party which leads the coalition government, is a house divided against itself, and is led by a comrade driven by an obsolete ideology. The demolishing man fascinated children in Kerala who clamoured for JCB in toy form. But the thinking adult is still waiting for the man to rescue himself from the rubbles of his demolition feats, and get his act together..

Yes. Kerala is very patiently waiting for the government to address the problems weighing down on its day to day life - but the govt. appears to care two hoots about validating the trust placed in them by the electorate. While mosquitoes went on the rampage and the waste accumulated and diseases spread like wildfire, the CM went on a demolishing spree. While the people lived in fear of the epidemic and tourists fled or kept away from the state, the top man continued smacking his lips after the tearing down expedition,- like a predator replete after making a meal out of prey.

Then there is this education Minister hell bent on jerking the carpet away from under the educational infrastructure in the state – again all in the name of ideology.

These people seem to think governance is all about destruction. At all cost.

Hearing Keralites groan with pain from either the epidemic, or injured backs riding thru potholes filled roads, the Finance Minister came out with tall promises of repairing roads in a month.

The deadline is over. and the repair work? light years away from completion.

Nobody believes this bunch of jokers anymore . Why, the CM himself called his team of ministers a good for nothing lot!.

CAN KERALA DO WITHOUT A GOVERNMENT?

The hot topic discussed by the public through the Letters to the editor in the Indian Express is the imposition of President’s rule in the state/making it a Union Terrirtory. Can Kerala do without a govt? Yes. Definitely, I think. I agree with all those who strongly feel that the state is better off without a govt. What have successive govts done for the state? have they improved the infrastructure? have they created a good work culture? have they streamlined and cleaned up the administrative functioning? have they banished bandhs and hartals? have they been able to develop cities to cope with booming population? have they lifted the education in the state from mediocre to excellence? have they made day to day life, leave alone comfortable, bearable for the people?

the answer to all these queries is NO NO, NO and NO.

No governance is happening. But the people have survived and progressed - inspite of the nonperforming liability that have successively appeared in the shape of state government. Such is the lust for life and never say die attitude of the average keralite.

Then why have a govt. at all? WE can surely manage without these self seeking, double faced politicians who are clandestinely corrupting the youth, spreading rot in the system, infecting campuses with politics and and and - - - - -

unfortunately, there is no provision to bring the state under President’s rule for a longer period than 6 months. Would be ideal to have a referendum on the issue to see what the people want.

Guess it can be argued that the very suggestion of doing away with an elected govt. is an insult to democracy. But when democracy is misused, it ceases to become rule of the people - it becomes DEMONcracy. and that is what we have in Kerala.

DEMONcracy. Rule by demons called politicians who have been shattering the hopes and lives of hundreds and thousands of parents by using their children as pawns to achieve their demonic political ends. These demons have a system in place for trapping the youth. Catch them young, while at school and train them to be goondas to be used to kill, rape, loot, stone buses, destroy property and create artificial communal tension while the politicians backstage fish in the troubled waters of their own making with a demonic glee!

The state desperately needs to be exorcised politically.

Desperate and helpless people have begun clamouring for a radical change in the political dispensation that would deliver than from these irresponsible, ruthless, megalomaniacs who have completely ruined this state which had a head start over the others at the time of independence.

What ails thee, Malayalam Cinema?

Malayalam cinema was always substantial.It either had a strong story line or thematised sensibly and realistically on social issues. Or liike Srinivasan's films, faced the quirks of human peronality squarely and presented them with a strong comic/tragic flavour - something only a genius can do succesfully.

The appeal of malayalam cinema was the boldness with which it faced and tackled reality. For instance,when unemployment was a major problem in Kerala, it found its way repeatedly in the movies of the eighties. Corruption at all levels figured repeatedly on and off till the issue reached a saturation point.

Today, the film makers seem unable to identify the issues that trouble the kerala society - therin lies the failure of our cinema. And so they beat about the bush, coming up with inane stuff.

Art is more than commerce and box office. It is serious business. It should provide aesthetic experience which comes only from a genuine and honest effort at interpreting life.

Idea Star Singer contest - the bungling SMS

What does it matter if Isaac Williams got eliminated from the Idea Star Singer contest?

He is the true Idea Star Singer - though destined to be uncrowned as that.

The contestant who beat him to it dissolved into tears.
so did all the other contestants.
and the anchor person .
and – hold your breath- the judge too!! Usha Uthup was heart broken to see him out!
The male judges were struggling to maintain a grip over their emotions.

What greater recognition than the tears of the people on the show, and that of the viewers on the other side? What greater recognition than the disbelief of the judges and who followed the contest closely?

The loser is the winner in this case.

The final winner will win a flat worth 40 lakh, but Isaac’s victory is over the hearts of all.

But something went wrong.

This is the price paid for high tech intrusion into such contests.

The truly deserving candidates should not be left to the mercy of sms