Destination Pichavaram!

It was yet another christmas morning; I was lazing around rather aimlessly, which is what I have always done all the Christmases I have ‘celebrated’ so far. Well, this one I didn’t celebrate, thanks to evolution, which is happening a little late in my life (anyway, it’s better late than never)! Ok, I was lazing around wondering what to do with the rest of the day, and nothing but only sleep seemed delectably alluring, and as I was about to give in to it, when the little devil at home started one of her songs (this one was called, I will do everything in my power to irritate you into submission) about joining her to Pichavaram (the second largest mangrove forests in the world). So, just to shut her up and since a phone call also confirmed that I wouldn’t be doing much over the weekend (no one else needed me or my company you see, which is how it has always been, hither to…), I set sail on a journey to the mangroves, though with a heavy heart, since I will have to put up with 4 attention seekers! Imagine, giving attention to so many! Nevertheless, I set sail…

At CMBT, we boarded on to this government bus bound to Chidambaram. All of us managed a window seat, but two windows refused to open, and we had to make do with whatever images filtered through the dust-coated glass windows. Of course, the ECR ride was pleasant, filled with memories of other trips on the same road…we crossed Dakshina Chithra, the ECR dhabba, Muthkadu, Croc Bank, etc…by the time, we hit Mahabs, it was dark already and our bladders seemed to be bursting at the seams, and one of us even refused to move even a micro inch for fear of tipping over the bladder! Thankfully, the bus halted and we were relieved. After some stretching and walking, we got into the bus to resume the ride. Do you see the relief on our faces in this picture?



Then, the attention seekers started their own trip of antaksharis and what not; and all I could do was feign a sinus attack and snore. Intermittently, I was woken up by Deepan’s inimitable capacity to catch the most difficult of some Tamil ragas; in fact, he gave me a complex. (Ok, for those of who miss the satire...I can't sing like two lines to save my life. So, does the satire come across at least now??) It seemed like one unending journey, punctuated only by the hungry noises my stomach was making! Mercifully, the journey ended and we could finally grab something to eat. After some essential cleaning up and stuff, we slept, only to be rudely awakened by a radio that blared some gibberish at 6 in the morning! It took Sri some super human effort and ingenuity to figure out how to turn out the damn thing! Anyway, after some more inane things, our journey began…

First, I walked into the Chidambaram Nataraja temple. I must say it was truly a beautiful temple, though hidden under its beauty was untouchability and brahminical fascism. You can read about these here and here. I went around the temple talking to different people about what they felt about the government take over; each one had a different take. One thing that was common was the overall acceptance among people about the brahminical domination over a place of worship! Anyway, the issue is sub-judice. But, that doesn’t mean one should be quiet and let justice take its course, considering it's rather dismal record so far! What’s now necessary is a dialog or a debate on the temple, on who can conduct the poojas, on why one mustn’t sing in Tamil in that temple, on why it’s essential for the government to control the temple and its property! I walked out an agitated woman…wondering what is happening to the case and to the 10-year-old movement spearheaded by Arumugasamy, a Sivan Adigalar who's been waging a lone battle here. Quietly, I boarded the bus to Pichavaram, and as an answer to my various questions, a young man boarded our bus and started talking in clear language about the issue, making the ordinary people understand the importance of thinking, the importance of participating in the change process, and also contributing to making the change!

Rejuvenated, I embarked on the rest of the journey. The bus route from Chidambaram to Pichavaram is a picturesque one…vast stretches of green fields, cool breeze from the back waters, canals, birds, snakes, etc dot the road. A Muslim woman was my co-traveller who explained to me many more things about the area and of course even invited us for a fish lunch! Slowly, the green fields opened out to something that looked like a huge lake, but no! It was a bloody sea filled with trees! Check out the pictures that follow. Read here about what a mangrove is. I am stopping here so that you guys can enjoy the pictures…

Tis the season to be jolly…

It’s just another sleepy morning as I wait for the sleepy clouds to clear out and the bright sunny mood to come out. In fact, a colleague remarked that this is not the season to be snappy or even crabby, and as she said to those words, just to irritate her and myself, I started droning (in my besura voice) tis the season to be jolly, fa la la la…

In any case, the post is not about my mood swings, rather a collection of some thoughts that trapeze through me as I negotiate yet another day in this day and time.

Today, I managed to find the ‘right’ bus; an air-conditioned one, which plays FM radio and also provides nice view (the windows remind one of French windows). More about the bus in the next thought. So, as the bus negotiated a turn, where we (the metropolitan bus passengers) get a view of the moffusil buses, my eyes fell on a tall, dark, handsome guy. He had pierced his ears and had also grown his hair just a bit and perhaps was quite aware of the effect he had on women. One thing was writ large on his face though, and it was hope. I started wondering what that hope could be…and my mind whirled past to a rather disturbing article I had read in the Tehelka about many such beautiful young women who alight at this very bus stand with the same thing this young man had: hope! Read the article here to know what a terrible place this city could be for dreamers…
____

These AC buses are something of a novelty to the city. These buses charge 3 times the fare and have conductors and drivers in uniform! Imagine wearing a cap and all in this hot city! A couple of days ago, I had the opportunity to speak to a bus conductor, who shared his story of how terrible their working conditions are. They no more enjoy any kind of job security, or at least the kind ‘government servants’ are supposed to enjoy! In making things ‘better’ for the IT crowd, these buses are quickly replacing the ordinary buses that working class people take to go to work. For example, a construction worker just stepped into this bus only to be shooed away by the uniformed conductor, who anyway has a broad grin for the IT crowd! His grin of course hides all the actual grief and insecurities he has…and, we the IT crowd smile back, hiding our insecurities spurred by recession! At such a state, I can’t even articulate my thoughts…
____

Then, I come to office and my mail box contains an invite (only for people with Christian names; well, didn’t someone know that first freedom one is denied in life is choosing one’s own name!!) for a Christmas dinner! Coz, it’s the season to be jolly…yea, to be jolly! Let’s all be jolly, decorate our plastic Christmas trees (even if buying them means contributing to globalization), make and distribute cakes (even if it means workers at McRennet and other cake shops must overwork and be underpaid), attend our morning services (even if it means being sleep-deprived for the sexton and his family), and order Biriyanis (even if it means an exponential amount of goat slaughter and extensive, back-breaking work for the children who work for a pittance in catering houses!). Yea, let’s all be jolly!

So much for my thoughts, people, this jolly season…

For the Working People!

It was late morning when Dhatichiyani akka, our domestic help, came running to our house last Sunday, when most of our family had gone to church. She came to tell us that she wouldn’t come to work only on that day because a close relative of hers had had a fall. Her relative is a construction worker and so is her husband. They have all migrated into this city in search of jobs, fleeing perhaps caste oppression or agricultural labor, which is again unreliable thanks to the failing monsoons and of course land grab under the name of development! She had to make the arduous trip to another city, with the promise that she will return by the very next day so that she could save her job here, which anyway pays her a paltry sum. In any case, she returned one day late with the terrible news that her relative may not make it after all, or it would be tough to save his life. But, why did she return, if that’s the state of affairs? Obvious: to save her job and also to arrange for the money the family so dearly needed! It’s with a heavy heart, filled with anger, distress, sorrow, and helplessness I make this post, in the hope that we, the ones who have the means to read this post (we didn’t get here only by accident; there’s an entire class/state machinery that’s working continuously to keep us where we are) will think; yes, at least think when a entire generation of humanity is perishing under our very eyes as we surf channels, read the morning astrological predictions, match horoscopes, meditate on world peace, and shop at lifestyle to deal with our depressive episodes!

Why did this person have to fall? A skilled worker, who has experience in construction for the last 10-15 years, falls just like that and crashes his rib cage! This is how safe our construction companies are! And, the metro bridges crash in Delhi is of course not old news as yet. And, in this case, apparently the construction company, which must be grossing its profits in crores, has the murderous gall to say that the worker must have been drunk and so missed his step and fell! And, these companies will even be recognized with standrads adherence awards for their excellent working conditions (spit on you, you murderers!). In this case, I do not think the worker was drunk; even if he was drunk, why does he have to work under such high risk areas for such something as meager as Rs. 150 (or even less) for a day? And, our dear army personnel are paid in lakhs because they risk their lives every day; and, of course it is a separate matter that they also rape and murder women as part of their job requirements in Shopian and Meghalay! If it’s not bad enough that the worker had to fall in this manner when his management is distorting the case to save their skin, the civil society/government (the great welfare state that we are) doesn’t even have proper hospitals that can give him proper healthcare (where will our government have the time when it brings out stamps to commemorate the great service renedred to the uppermiddleclasses by private hospitals?). Of course, not to mention that the worker has been admitted in a ‘service-minded’ Christian hospital for better healthcare; the hospital apparently says they can’t do much, but please get a hefty amount ready, for which our domestic help rushed back!

Tell me, all of you, who is to blame? Is there a real way out of this capitalist mess? Is there any hope to redeem humanity? Can we really hope to make a new world? Can we break out of this tapestry of violence spun only by greed and selfish motives?

Only these words come to my mind; does anyone have any other alternative? (words in bold are my additions):

The Communists everywhere support every revolutionary movement against the existing social and political order of things.
In all these movements, they bring to the front, as the leading question in each, the property question, no matter what its degree of development at the time.
Finally, they labour everywhere for the union and agreement of the democratic parties of all countries.
The Communists disdain to conceal their views and aims. They openly declare that their ends can be attained only by the forcible overthrow of all existing social conditions. Let the ruling classes tremble at a Communistic revolution. The proletarians have nothing to lose but their chains. They have a world to win.
Working People of All Countries, Unite!
----The Communist Manifesto.

In the Eyes

Do eyes really speak a million stories?
Of the million moments
They traversed
Through the sandy waves of time

Of the smiles that lay buried
That refused to play
With the lips

Of the tears that lay heaped
That shied away
From the lashes

Of the wordless language
That communed to itself
And not you

Of the intoxication that spreads
Unslurred by reputation lords
Guarding the divine

Of the potent dreams that spin
Pain and poison and hope
In the grey tapestry of freedom

Welcome back, Sir

Yes, sir, welcome home
You must be tired.
After such a tiresome, fearsome company
With only your wall flower to accompany
You
In your partying with sashas and michelles
In their designer clothes
Sashaying to the melodious ringtones
Of our very own
Musical, global Indian.

Yes, sir, welcome home
You must be tired.
After such an eclectic, learned company
With only your few Ratans and Ambis to accompany
You
In your forking and corking with the fates of millions
Whose blood have reddened your fingers
And you think
Of liberation through your liberalized open-door

Yes, sir, welcome home
You must be tired.
After such a momentous, first-time affair
Or, should I say, a coitus forbidden
Only by the blood of millions before
Which you today spat on
With your spot-on deals and pacts
Of stealth, greed, and blood thirst

Like a ...

Like a clear cool stream that meanders on
Unaware of its trails
Of the puddles it created
The little moth houses it filled
The thirsts it quenched
Flows the never ending song of solitude
A song in search of its tune
A homeless bird in search of a nest

Like a gusty gale that rages on
Completely aware of its ravages
Of the houses it broke
The trees it uprooted
The seas it parted
Blows the east wind of passion
A flood in search of an unbuilt dam
A tidal wave shying at the shore

Like an innocent little bud that blooms
Oblivious to the fragrance it spreads
To the hopes it builds
The beauty it spreads
The dreams it spins
Plays the music on the harp of eternity
A note in search of a composer
A rain drop in search of its poet

Please don’t disturb; great mind at work

Sometimes, I wish I could hang that board around my neck or in a way that would tell the world not to mess around with me, especially when I am processing an important thought or trying to catch an intricate tune, not that I can reproduce the tune!

Ok, this post is basically about how people get irritated with some of my responses, especially when they startle me when all that they did was just a happy nudge or a warm hug!

Today, I was listening to the radio on my new, beautiful cell phone, and they were playing an old Illayaraja number (must have been a tame channel like Rainbow, for the tame and tepid souls like mine) as I got off the auto and my eyes beheld the beautiful clouds (shaped like two, smoky, pristine white monsters about to get into a cloudy fist fight) against a clear blue background, flood lighted by the sun! Can you guys feel the joy I would have experienced at that moment; the way my sense of being came alive with the miracle of the earth? Extending that moment blissfully, I trudged along, only to be brutally shaken out by a colleague! Well, she didn’t mean to be violent; she’s in fact one of the most soft, petite and pretty women in my office, who is also quite friendly with me (which is a rare combination; I steer clear of anybody who remotely looks pretty, fair, or beautiful...in the conventional sense; in any case, my friends are the most beautiful people on earth!).

Back to the episode: it was a brutal snuffing out of the moment, and understandably I was disoriented! And, I kind of collected my thoughts and tried to listen to what she was saying; nothing, just a hi and then she disappeared, because she had some work!

Heaving a helpless sigh at social etiquette, I trudged along, getting back to the song. And, in no time, I was lost in the ocean of music; how Illayaraja had knit one raga with another without any trace of a bump; a journey he had created to be enjoyed each time your mind and soul came together on that road. And, just when SPB was hitting a high note, my phone shrilled deep into my ears! It was a phone call…sigh! The world seemed committed to getting me out of my world! Well, and the world has the gall to call me an Attention Seeker, when the world wants my attention all the time!

Well…yet another morning…another bag full of goodies. :)

Another Morning

It’s another morning here, miles away
No, lifetimes away
Away from the evenings of shared smiles
As we straddled, haggled with the vendors

I see another row of neatly arranged boxes
No, cartons that carry food
Not just to exist, but survive
Survive the mundane conversations on right and left

Another sun here shines bright at my smile
No, a stifled sob, a swallowed grief
On the murder of throbbing life
Painted on the outside with hollow laughter and love

Yet another ride, high over the seas
No, over the highway of life
Only, I don’t fear the potholes of your tradition
Of love paid only through the needle of your sacred thread

It’s another evening here, dreams away
No, nightmares away
Away from the mornings of prayerful submission
To purified stone gods that putrefied the soul

I see another of row of bright yellow flowers
No, little love poems floating in my garden
Not just to cuddle, but live
Live to see the face of truth, face of pain, the face of God

Things to do while it’s raining cats and dogs outside

Basically, you must be in a room (preferably alone, an occasional company is also acceptable) with a warm bed that faces the TV and any musical instrument. Importantly, the room must have a window that allows you to stare at the rain.

Now that you are in the room, you can:

1. Read a nice little novel munching a pack of chips, listening to the rain.
2. Watch an interesting, riveting movie with a nice drink in hand (I mean tea, coffee, or juice ;)).
3. Cover yourself with a blanket and use a torch to read old letters.
4. Switch off lights and fans, open the windows, hear the rain, and lull yourself to sleep.
5. Listen to old rain songs, I suggest Illayaraja, and hope someone special calls; most often, this wish isn’t granted, so don’t hope this.
6. Switch off lights, cover yourself with a blanket, and stare at the rain, leaves, little insects, and the street light.
7. If you have a door that opens outside, write little poems on strips of papers and float them.
8. Lie on your bed and remember all those things you never wanna forget.
9. Call people; well, only those who will like to receive your call; this is again a sticky area, so tread carefully.
10. Draw/paint or hum a tune.

So, if guys can think of anything else that you can do, let me know.

Temptress on the road

Was it a year ago or an aeon ago
When you first sprouted
Each moment adding a curve
A brush stroke here
A nudge there

How did you come to be this way
A moment in history
A tree frozen in the folds of time
An artsy bend here
A curve there, everywhere

Where do you stand, was it
A design to stand testimony
To the ones denied entry
Into the sanctum sanctorum
That can’t behold your magnificence

Why do you stand apart, alone
In the beauty of your splendor
One of a kind
As my eyes behold
Your imposing countenance

What do I say to you
The artist’s handiwork
Or, the temptress on the road
As my eyes seek you each dawn
And, you strike a smile on my lips

Ps: This was written for the tree that stands right behind the Madhya Kailash temple opposite the CLRI campus on the Sardar Patel Road, Adyar. Next time, you take that road, just take a moment to look at this peculiarly beautiful tree. It almost looks like a curvaceous diva. :) Sketch: Rajeev Rajan
Photo: Karthikesawaran.

A search comes to an end…

It was sometime in mid 1998…almost out of one college, and on the verge of getting into another, also a time of great moral/economic crisis that the country was going through. We, though were old enough to herald a revolution or at least choose to learn, chose to sit in student conferences that gave a ‘platform’ to become undergrown arm-chair intellectuals!

It was one such conference/meeting on globalization and how it affects the ‘poor,’ which was organized in the pristine Yelagiri hills, where we munched beef and mutton and talked about what can be done to combat globalization! Of course the person who sat through those conferences has hardly anything common with the person typing this, but, yes, something that happened in that camp/conference has its relevance today.

After one the usual ‘awareness raising (read as hair raising)’ speeches, each college was told to present something creative on globalization; could be a skit, a song, a poem, etc. There must have at least been a dozen presentations on that day, but I distinctly remember a guy and girl (from a not-so-hep college), who confidently take the mike and sing a Tamil song on globalization. It wasn't the people who sung the song, but the song itself that stirred and unsettled me! Today, I wish, I had overcome certain hurdles and walked up to them and asked how and who taught them the song! Their answer might have been a definite turning point, but I did let go that moment, and lived to regret it for a very long time. In all these intervening years, I must have hummed a couple of lines of that song each time I would come across Coke or Pepsi. In a way, that song has been a very strong reason to why I quit drinking cola! But, my search continued...And, today, purely by chance, I check my reader, and what awaits me! Bingo, the same song; a search of almost 11 years comes to an end…in some ways, it feels like homecoming…

Hear the song here!

For those of you, who don't understand Tamil, I have tried to translate the words for you! All of you know am no authority on translation or on Tamil, but still I have attempted so that you all share what I felt as I heard this song!

The country’s developing!

The country’s developing, says he
mmmm….jim jim jim (just for the rhythm, and also connoting to glitter)
In the path taken by Germany, America, and Japan?
Country, our country’s, developing, says he

Coca-cola to quench your thirst
Foreign ‘goods’ to heighten your spirits
Mix up Pepsi and Lehar
The rest of the tasks will be taken care of by mineral water
There’s dearth of water, and you want rose water to rinse your mouth
Slipper him, and his cheeks will puff up

The TV shows a smiling complan girl
As the doctor commands you to give fruits and eggs and milk every day
His child eats voraciously and bloats
As our child only sees the ad and desires
And runs with the plate to get the free meal at school before its over
And, what are his nonsensical schemes swatting?

Morning coffee at Meenambakkam (the Chennai airport)
He goes to ease of (to shit!) at the great city, London
In a private jet, which is fly-like
You need a police delegation for this
When just the rains have washed away our roads
And, the big-mouthed fellow comes talking about country development

The school is hanging with its nameboard
But, what you see is just three walls
The students are hanging on the trees
As the teacher sleeps
The moneyed-man’s child goes to the convent
While only liquor flows in our corporation schools

The government hospitals are at hand
The disease starts right from there
He says he’s operating
He cuts open and says there’s no thread to stitch back
The moneyed man’s crowd goes to Apollo
And, the government in its great mercy conducts postmortems for us

Within the AC cage, the doll stares
As the golden bordered saree glitters on its body
The coffers of Nalli and Sarathas are bursting at the seams
Only white buffaloes are loitering inside
The charka is laying in wait for the cotton thread
Your silk’s glittering in our hunger deaths

Forests, trees, seas, fish are private
Even electricity and telephone are private
All government plants have been divided
And auctioned off thrice
What’s left to be called our country?
He’s dancing and the director is jungle-raaj

© www.vinavu.com