Swalpa Adjust Maadi!

Yeh Kya Hai……….? Asked the irritated clerk at the New Delhi Railway Ticket Reservation Counter to my Late Father (Om Shanti Dad!) The angry exclamation was because my Late Father (Om Shanti Dad!) had filled the reservation requisition form in Tamizh/Tamil, a language alien to the Clerk as one would expect. The clerk had handed the blank form to my Late Father (Om Shanti Dad!) which was in Hindi with no English in the reverse of the form as was the practice. My cheeky Late Father (Om Shanti Dad!) who was handicapped with knowing only rudimentary Hindi managed to put the same to use and a lot of common sense to make sense of the form and fill it up in his Mother Tongue. Tamizh Vazhga! The bemused Clerk who I guess was a well-meaning Haryanvi with a handicap worse than that of my Late Father’s (Om Shanti Dad!) His knowledge of Tamizh was way lower than My Late Father’s knowledge of Hindi, which was essentially Zilch. The episode however ended amicably as the Haryanvi dude grasped the issue immediately and proceeded to Ask, Hear, Write on behalf of my Late Father (Om Shanti Dad!) thus completing the formalities of filling up the form and closing the ticket sales activity. The Haryanvi dude went on to become a legend in Your’s Truly’s Family Circle whenever any topic with Language in it arose. (GenNext and GenZee looking askance at the above paragraph may kindly note: Those were the days before Google, Chat GPT, Internet and you were born. Welcome!)

As we moved cities to Calcutta then and Kolkata now, the capital city of Amar Shonar Bangla added to a few more anecdotes to the “Language” Stories. It was during a routine pandal hopping exercise during Durga Puja with a True-Blue Bengali, not so well-known to us then neighbor. As the Pandit ji danced to the tunes of the energetic Dhaak during the Aarti, the Bhodrolok dude asked my Late Father (Om Shanti Dad!) if he were a Brahmon (Brahmin in Bengalispeak you Boka!) On receiving the answer in affirmative, the next query was “ Aapnar Poithe aache?” (Do you wear the Sacred Thread?” The rudimentary in My Late Father’s (Om Shanti Dad!) language skills took over right on the cue! “Poithe Chilo, Maara gayche!” He blurted. (I had it but it died!) The Bhodrolok dude was as though struck by lightning! How can Sacred Thread die was his query communicated essentially through his eyes as he was still reeling to be in a position to put the question in words. To cut the story short, my Late Father (Om Shanti Dad!) and his “rudimentary” mixed up the Hindi word Pita (Father) and the Bengali penchant for converting every “a” to “o” thought Poithe is Pita in Shuborno Bangla!

On yet another occasion, me, a cool dude friend and my Late Father (Om Shanti Dad!) were standing on the pavement next to what seemed to be a well-covered drain. As we were generally chit-chatting, a Hygiene worker trying to earn his honest bread, requested my Late Father (Om shanti Dad!) to kindly move as he wanted to inspect the “Nardhoma”. And ‘Rudimentary’ struck again! “Nardhanam nahi aata, thoda gaana aata hai!” Thus spake my Late Father (Om Shanti Dad!). If you still haven’t got it, “Nardhoma” apparently is drain and the rudimentary made it into “I can’t Nardhanam (Dance) with a “can sing a bit”! for special effects! 

Languages are a many in India. We are a cosmopolitan society as most migrant societies are. So the next time you walk into a SBI or Canara Bank branch and the ‘Just arrived on transfer’ customer service associate struggles with his/her Kannada, “SWALPA ADJUST MAADI”!

The mirror is a liar!

There are ways and ways and ways you look at yourself. The mirror of course doesn’t lie. It throws back at you what you actually are. The Salt-n-Pepper, more salt than pepper. The hint of the pregnant tummy despite your attempts at camouflaging the same with shirts made in airy-fairy fit. The noticeable hunch which straightens up only when someone aims the camera at you. You get the drift I am sure! 

 

The mirror of course is a liar. That’s because it doesn't know how to look at you the way you are. Your mental image of you is often if not mostly at war with the physical one. The salt-n-Pepper is fashionable these days. I am told kids nowadays spend a fortune to get the Ajith Kumar Salt-n-Pepper. (A few years ago it was the Amitabh Bachchan Salt-n-Pepper but we will keep the Ancients out of this story! Welcome!) That your trousers/jeans don’t stay put at their designated location, an inch below the navel, is not because of the nice slope that your tummy is that helps it slide but because Low Waist is trending.That you prefer lower berth is not coz the joints creak but as a consumer you need to make your choices clear. That the IRCTC website refuses to believe that your wish is their command is disappointing to say the least. 

 

The entire reason for building up the above on low simmer is to gradually increase the temperature to boiling point, gradually push the scales to tipping point, gradually whip up the sound to a crescendo. 

 

It all started a few years ago wherein Yours Truly was generally and universally addressed by his first name/nickname. (OK!OK! Stop those sly glances! More than just a few years!) As the hands on the clock moved around a few times, ok more than a few times, I was promoted to “Anna” level. For those who are not initiated in Tamizh can kindly replace Anna with Bhaiyya/Bhai/Dada/Bhau/Chetta etc., etc. (For those uninitiated in any of the above may satisfy thyself with a bland ‘Brother’! Welcome!) Things moved rather slowly from here onwards and I continued to be in the same class for a few long years. Graduation, Post graduation, Job, marriage and fatherhood didn’t make much of a difference to me or my ‘levels’. A few more rounds of exercise by the hands of the C later, I suddenly found myself kicked upstairs to ‘Mama’ level. (Uncle you dummkoff!) 

 

To say that this whole Uncle level seemed pretty funny to me would be an understatement.. Me? Uncle? No way! I am sure the people around me were basically fooling around with me! I know, I know! My Son’s friends will of course call me Uncle. Happens with everybody. It was all fine till then. But when even the friends of my College going daughter found an Uncle in me, it dawned on me that the entire world needed to get their eye sight checked or their Grey cells counted. Uncle? Me? NO WAY! 

 

All this was fairly tolerable, a mere irritant I should say till disaster struck sometime later! The bomb came in the shape of an ‘aunty’ who while boarding the train told her brat to “Make way! Let Thatha pass”! Sacrilege! Blasphemy! Me? Thatha? No way! Uncle maybe, but Thatha? NEVER! NEVER EVER EVER EVER! 

 

Thatha for you unschooled is Thatthaiyya/Ajja/Dadu/Muttacchan/Ajoba. Still not clear? Must you insist on putting me through this torture? In bland English Thatha is GRANDPA! 

God's Own Perfection!

God stepped back a bit and looked dispassionately at what he had just created. It had taken a week or so for him to create the universe. However the bulk of the time was consumed by one tiny speck, the speck which later came to be known as Earth. Supposedly so because the speck was his favourite place in the endless universe. To be inhabited by his favourite creations and creatures. He permitted himself a tiny smile as he looked at the mighty mountains, endless seas, vast lands. His smile widened as he looked deeper into the lifeforms created to help sustain the creation closest to his heart. The trees, plants, animals that infested the land, sea and mountains. A sense of satisfaction overcame him.

God being a selfless dude and who strongly belived in consumer feedback, he thought he must call the various inhabitants of earth and enquire if all is well and have all their needs been sufficiently addressed. He called up Mother Nature to speak on their behalf with a mind to improve upon the shortcomings, if any. The Mother reported that everything and everyone were perfectly happy with what was dished out. All except one. The Humans.

God was shocked to hear the feedback. He was under the impression that the Humans among all his other creations had been given the best deal and here they were the only group to have been less than satisfied with his actions! Being the first known example of a consumer centric organization, he asked Mother Nature to explain the shortcomings. The Mother explained that while the Humans are extremely happy with whatever has been served to/into them, the brains to be the most powerful of his creation, they still said something was missing. When prodded further, the Mother said the humans couldn't exactly say what is that he missed out on. Except that they spoke random gibberish of being left out on the icing on the cake, the jewel in the crown, the crowing glory and such vague and incomprehensible jargons.

God being God took the feedback and assured Mother Nature that he will look into it. And unlike the Politicians who later went on to replace God as the prima donnas on earth, he seemed pretty serious when he spoke the above words. To say God was taken aback by the feedback would be an understatement. Think however much he may, God could not just put his fingers on what was missing that the humans were pointing out at! Reviews and multiple reviews later he couldn't see anything that he had ignored or had escaped his attention. Hours of dhyanam and more of twisting and turning his mind didn't get him any closer to the solution. Having hit his wit's end, God decided to take a break and sleep over the matter on hand.

Sleep! Giving an issue some time off often leads to some clarity as the humans went on to say and practice later! With the arrival of dawn God saw the clarity which refused to reveal itself the whole evening and night. Alongwith the first rays of sunlight, God achieved enlightenment. God let out a loud laugh on the simple but beautiful solution for a problem which was seeming to overwhelm even him. He marvelled at the solution! The icing on the cake! The jewel in the crown! The crowing glory! 

Lo and behold! The small piece of creation that has completed God's work! The final piece of the jigsaw puzzle! The 'perfect' that helped God achieve 'perfection!

BANGANAPALLI MANGO!

The joy called death!

 " It is easier to manage a two year old child than an eighty two year old child!" Thus spake my well intentioned but nonetheless impatient son. This of course was during a fairly irritating occasion when I made him book a train ticket, cancel it within minutes, book an airline ticket, made him cancel that too within minutes again and finally threw a gigantic tantrum, gigantic by my standards, to book the airline tickets all over again. All this of course when he had already planned to drive me down the next day morning.

The above might have been a particularly cheesy episode but mostly I was pretty well behaved and easy enough to manage. I mean what did I want after all? To have a polite  conversation with my Son once a day. It riled me no ends when he did not grant me, his father even this basic courtesy. He pretended to be so busy that he would not pick up my calls even after my 59th attempt. And once he called back all I would tell him is not to pretend to be so busy with his meetings, tours, conferences etc that it was impossible to speak to me for a few seconds. And gave him a much deserved verbal lashing. (Somewhere between the 10th or 12th unattended call, I would give his phone a few minutes of respite and call his wife instead, my Daughter-in-law; nay my daughter and directed at her a barrage of 'advice' on how her husband must stop acting like a Mukesh Ambani or Ratan Tata and pick my calls.) 

He of course, was smart enough to get the message and started calling me everyday before I would. This too ended in a fiasco. He would invariably call me whenever I was busy! You know in activities that are the lifeline of a retired senior citizen like me. Reading Dinamalar or catching up on Sun News or having a longish and entertaining panchayat session with friends, having a meeting with Pattishwarar @ Perur. You get the drift. What all this resulted in was a dressing down for not picking my calls when I was free and instead calling me when I was busy!

It annoyed me no end that this Son of mine whom I had given birth to, raised him, spent my youth in trying to provide for him and so on would find a lot of my requests, suggestions, needs, wants, ideas, requirements nothing more than irritants from a pesky old man. (I must concede that I enjoyed seeing him annoyed and frustrated and put up with all this when he came back from tours and gave me an earful without crossing/able to cross the Lakshman Rekha of being a respectful son! There I said it!)

There were of course many an occasion when I broke this routine and made ISD calls to the US of A and subject my other son to the same attention. Things were going along in this fashion for a fairly decent period of time. So much so that the routine was now tending to bore me. I mean even for a man like me who had watched Sankarabharanam 32 times in 48 days, this was becoming too dull. So I decided to spice up the screenplay a bit, add a twist, dish up some mirch-masala as they would say in Bollywoodese! I decided to die!

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As I watched from my vantage location sitting comfortably next to my Pithrukkal in Sivalokam, I could see all hell had broken loose with my ex-associates on the good old earth. People who I thought did not give a damn about me, shed rivers as tears. Among the ones who did give a damn, the Daughter-in-law; nay daughter won the tear shedding stakes hands down. (The son ended up doing an RCB in this contest and had to be satisfied with a mere participation certificate)  Having discarded my mortal body during what is described as 'Covid times', the entire entourage of my last journey consisted of a grand number of 4 people, the Son and the daughter-in-law; nay the daughter, the family Sastrigal and the friendly neighborhood ambulance driver. In true T20 style, the entire action from my Death certificate to spraying my charred bones into the holy waters of Bhawani river was over in about three hours without any strategic time out. And in true IPL style the stands were empty here too. And unlike the IPL the fans couldn't catch up with the action vide any live coverage either.

Things moved rather rapidly from here onwards. The 13 days flew in a giffy. Before one could bat an eye, the antim karyam for peace to be upon my soul was done and dusted. Normalcy was being gradually restored. The mourning family who had given up on all worldly pleasures till the karyam was completed, breathed a sigh of relief. Food was back to normal. Onions and garlic etc doffing their hats to the normalcy. The panchakacham gave way to the shorts and track pants. Madisaru made way for chudidhar and nighty. Vibhuthi and Kungumam glowed again. Things were so normal that laughter and fun started making its screen presence felt. It felt good to watch the joy of normalcy coming back into the lives of my dear ones. I wished it to last. Last forever. So much so that I didn't want them to ever suffer the dark clouds of sorrow ever ever again. Not beyond the mandatory one year of mourning. That was the moment I decided to take things in my own hands to prevent this from dragging beyond the one year. I called up my wife and asked her to join me in Sivalokam!

Chokkalingam 3.0

Hi! I mean Woof woof!

I write this at a time when all things Chinese are being universally condemned, thanks to the latest Chinese import, the Corona Virus. Being a Chinese import myself, my heart bleeds for my adopted country as it fights tooth and nail, every citizen turning into soldiers (Some voluntarily, some prodded by the Govt and some thanks to the Punjab ka naqsha being drawn on the cheeks of those who violated the lockdown orders, welcome!) Not to forget the health workers, security personnel and the humble hygiene workers from the municipal corporation armed with a good word, sanitizers, masks, pots, pans, thali, gaali and some such apparatus. Never have I prayed more for the victory of my adopted country over the country of my origin. (That I am being called an anti-national by the folks at the Communist Party Of China is nothing but a case of collateral damage which I take with a mouthful of meat-jerky. Also I have a special message for the Idiots at the helm of affairs at WHO and the ‘intellectuals’ and ‘journalists’ in the payrolls of those who swear by Yuan, don’t let me find your dicky between my jaws! Death by Chinese Virus would be a welcome alternative you would imagine, I promise!)

Having laid the atmosphere for this note, let me jump right into the story. One of the unfortunate byproducts of the Wuhan Virus pandemic is what is being described as WFH. WORK FROM HOME I am told. For the uninitiated, what this high sounding acronym means is that everyone in the family, The Home maker, The Foreword Writer, the Dilli -ki-chhori who is now a Hyderabad-ki-potti and most importantly the Credit Card Dude do what I do all the time. Stay at home! Pretend to work. Eat and sleep. To say that a huge hue and cry was being made out of what was just a routine for me was pretty over the top if you ask me. I mean big deal. That is what I thought………! Let me explain why. (For those who came in late, here is the note on the characters mentioned above just to help you settle in Welcome!)

My work schedule essentially was written in stone. Early morning I had an appointment with “Sappadu”. Post which the routine was I visited my regular spot under the master bed, below the stool in the balcony, under the reading table in the living room, near the mostly unused kennel and my favourite spot, the right side of the comfortable sofa. The duration spent on these locations varied depending on when I was woken up by the sheer decibel levels of my own snoring! Another appointment with ‘Sappadu” in the evening and a repeat of my travel arrangements later, the world called it a day. Pretty neat if you ask me. This neat arrangement was too good to last. It didn’t! WFH hit it hard. AND HOW!

The house suddenly started to resemble a war zone. A rudimentary calm of a day or two later (Explained pretty lucidly here by the Credit Card Dude, Welcome again!), the intensity of the Mahabharat increased in its crescendo. The Peace and calm of my life lay blown to smithereens. I have heard people says that a dude called Aristotle said that Man is a social animal. Thou Art Wrong Monsieur Aristotle! Man is an animal! All the ‘Social’ goes out of the window if you make a man do what we Animalkind  do as a routine. I could have still put up with the disruption caused by the ‘social’ kind referred to by Shri Aristotleji but for one major catastrophe. The Credit Card dude, already on his wits end due to the forced inactivity he was being subjected to, took over my favourite spot, the right side of the comfortable sofa!. Sacrilege! Cruelty! Where are the bloody dudes from Peta? Will they only fight for my rights during Diwali when no amount of firecrackers can match the decibel levels of my snoring?  Or will they actually protect me when my right to the right side of the comfortable sofa is snatched without as much as a gentlemanly ‘May I please?” Imagine! Being denied to you what is yours by birthright! Ok! Not birthright but just like those dudes from Bangladesh who are Indian Citizen because they happen to be here. Mamata Didi! Where are you? Are Chinese any lesser being than Deshis?

RIGHT SIDE OF THE COMFORTABLE SOFA UNDER FOREIGN OCCUPATION!

No amount of licking, loving, cajoling, woof-woofing had the desired effect. The Credit Card Dude wouldn’t budge. Gradually the Home Maker, The Foreword Writer and the Hyderabad ki potti also gave up on me. Just like our ‘intellectuals’ and ‘journalists’ who had moved on from Shaheen Bagh to #JantaCurfew won’t work, the three above mentioned characters also moved over to their fight for the remote control, leaving me licking my wounds and nursing my heavy heart.

Finally I did what this family in Coimbatore has been doing ever since the lockdown, pray. Pray like no other family has done. Pray that India sends Corona packing. Like RIGHT NOW! So that everybody can, especially the Credit Card Dude goes back to WFO! WORK FROM OFFICE! And I can go back to THE RIGHT SIDE OF THE COMFORTABLE SOFA! WOOF WOOF TILL THEN!

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PS: Please click on the Welcome and Welcome again words in the copy above. They contain the links to the Episode 1 and 2 of my story. (By Woof! One has to explain everything to you)

Glossary:

Sappadu : Food in Tamizh
Punjab Ka Naqsha: Literal - Map of Punjab. Figurative : Slap of the face.

UFO? No! It's WFO!

Those who have been following my escapades written on these pages know that I am one of those perennially absent from home Father/Husband etc. Belonging to that unique tribe called Salesmen, the days that we sleep in our own bedroom, eat on our own dining table and ………. in our own washrooms is a rarity. Suffices to say that as my Better Half puts it often and succinctly “ The guest has arrived”! That my work profile is such that even on the days I am ‘home’, I leave for office early and return back late makes the few ‘Off days’ worth a treasure in their weight!

Such ‘arrivals’ are often warmly welcomed in the family circles of us salesmen. The Better Half dishes out your favourite delicacy for BF/Lunch/Dinner. The Junior insisting we go out for BF/Lunch/Dinner is promptly shut down with a “Poor Pappa! He seldom gets to eat ‘home’ food. Lets us not deny him the ‘good’ food till he is @ home”. (‘Good food’ is strictly in reference to the culinary skills of Your’s Truly’s Better Half and not generally about one-size-fits-all type generalizing. Those who are not as blessed as me can simply edit out the ‘Good’ and make do with just ‘home’ in the food. Welcome!)
Junior of course melts you with an innocent but not so apt ‘”When are you leaving Pappa?” the moment you have landed your back gently on the sofa. (Out of sheer happiness and to help him chalk out an itinerary/programme for the days Pappa is going to be @ home. Welcome again!) Then there is Chokkalingam who simply floors you with a chest bump and doesn’t leave you till he has licked clean every pore in your tired body. (For those who came in late, introducing Chokkalingam! Welcome yet again!)

Chokkalingam for you!

This was a routine which has been written in stone from time immemorial as I believe the expression is. Month-in-month-out as another expression goes. Year-in-year-out as yet another expression educates us. This as one more expression goes, the last I would be quoting for sometime to come I promise, was too good to last. It didn't. The disruptor came from China. And How! Before we could even gather our wits, the routine lay in shambles. The expressions quoted above blown to smithereens! The unwanted Chinese atithi was Corona Virus. Among other things it introduced to us Paindoo/Pattikkadu types the acronym, WFH! WORK FROM HOME for the uninitiated. Not to be confused with the more universally popular WT……you get the drift I am sure. Till now strictly restricted to the domains of the EMTs in Information Technology and Software Coolies industry, WFH made its presence felt in Salesmanland, from Kashmir to Kanniyakumari and from Kutch to Kohima as we Saleu types often say.

Day 1 of the WFH went pretty well I must concede. The ‘Pappa’s favourite food- When are you leaving- Chokkalingam in full form’ played out as usual. Except for the family outing because all the Hotspots (?) in Coimbatore was locked out.

Day 2 of the WFH was even better. Self took the onus upon himself to dish out the breakfast for the family. (Better for the self. However the jury is still out for the rest of the family.) The Didi-of-the house who till the other day was Dilli ki chhori and in her latest avtaar as a Hyderabad ki Potti decided to try her latest experiments by whipping up Andhra style Pasta for dinner. ( For those looking askance, Andhra style Pasta is nothing but the pasta that you cook with the normal recipe and then sprinkle it with half a kg of the reddest, hottest Guntur Chillie powder. Post the ceremonial consumption of the concoction, the slogan in the family circles goes thus: If Corona doesn't get you, the Andhra style pasta must!)

Day 3 of the WFH is when the seams started to fray. To say the day went like the 1st inning Mohammad Shami would be an understatement. The lady of the house decided that the day should be spent cleaning up the house and everyone must participate in the drill. By the time the exercise was over, Junior thought his math class was a better option, the Potti felt the 2 AM conference calls were easier to mange and yours truly thought achieving the annual target in a month was an eminently suitable alternative.

Day 4 of the WFH is when the war broke out. The regular duel for the remote turned into a battle with more warring groups in attendance. The decision on the menu saw scenario where even the Speaker shouting “Baith jaiye, Baith Jaiye” that would have quietened out Parliament failed to cut much ice. The constant reminders to ‘wash your hands’ falling to deaf ears. An argument on a small lie spoken 23 years ago by Yours Truly threatened to escalate to a nuclear flashpoint. We were witnessing an act of Social Distancing that Modiji’s speech writer would not have imagined. The clapping and clanging of bells replaced by missiles flying in every direction.

At the time of going to the press, Nobody is praying more earnestly than this one family in Coimbatore which wants Carona sent packing. Pronto. Like RIGHT NOW! So that life could resume at its normal self. Like how it has always been. They all want, self included, to WFO. WORK FROM OFFICE!!!!!!!!

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PS: A Lil bit of dramatic license is permitted while writing the script of the period films as they say in Bollywood circles!


Glossary:

Atithi: Guest
Paindoo/Pattikkadu : Villager type (Slur)
EMT: English Medium Types
Saleu: Colloquial Bengali/Hindi for Salesmen
Dilli ki Chhori : Girl From Delhi
Hyderabad ki potti: Girl from Hyderabad
Baith Jaiye: Sit down!     

The baton passes!

"Appa Jakkirathiya aashindu pova"! (Father will take care of you) Thus spake my Better Half to Junior as we embarked on our maiden pilgrimage to Sabarimalai a few years ago. These were of course an add on after the mandatory Ayyappan will do the needful. Junior quite junior back then took it in his stride nonchalantly as he did most of the instructions his Mom gave him whenever there was an Appa in the sentence. The fact that the tough terrain of the Sabarimala trek called for an additional protection over and above what the Lord Ayyappan offered didn't seem to impress him much. Appa being around to take care of him in any situation let alone the trek was a routine thing after all.

Appa on the other hand had no other choice, did he?! Appa did conduct himself admirably. Appa gave Junior the ritual bath in the Holy Pampa while holding him tight and secure. Appa stopped a million times on Neelimalai as Junior needed stop to catch his breath often on the steep climb. Appa carried and fed Junior with the electrolyte filled juices to ensure Junior didn't suffer from dehydration. Appa carried Juniors' backpack so that he could carry just the Irumudi and nothing heavier. Appa held behind the mammoth and surging crowd at the Sannidhanam so that Junior is not crushed. Appa jostled with the cops managing the crowd so that Junior could get a few extra seconds of darshan at the Sanctum Santorum. Appa then helped him push the sleep away so that Junior could first have his Annadhanam meal. Appa then lovingly massaged his feet while Junior slept after the strenuous trek. Appa of course did all this on the return journey too. Appa continued to do this on every subsequent visit to Sabarimalai every year since then.

The Pampa water was cold. Very cold. After the snanam, Junior rushed the towel so that Appa wouldn't catch a cold. A few metres into the steep Neelimalai climb, Junior stopped so that Appa could catch his breath. As the climb became more and more daunting, Junior took more breaks than he would usually because Appa you know! At Appachimedu, Junior took a small lead ahead of Appa as the latter struggled with his footwork on the difficult pitch. All this was to ensure the Junior reached the ABBAS kiosk serving ayurvedic medicines laced water ahead of a group of pilgrims and keep a glassfull ready once Appa made the 20 odd meters. Junior guided Appa to the queue which was relatively less crowded. Post the strenuous trek, Junior lovingly watched over Appa as Appa dozed off for a while before starting the trek back. Once back in the hired car, Junior took the front seat so that Appa can stretch himself to sleep in the back seat. 

Maybe my Better Half has to change her dialogue next time around when we embark to the trip to Sabarimalai again. "Appava Jakkirathiya aashindu poittuvaa" maybe! (Take care of father) After the mandatory Ayyppan will do the needful of course!

The baton has passed. GeNext iis now officially the GeNow! Swamiye Saranam.

Season 4!

Season 4 of Sabarimalai started with a visit to the Bhagavathy Temple at Chottanikkara. It was here that I had first come face to face with what is popularly known as Vedi Vazhipadu. Vazhipadu loosely translates to a type of poojai or an archanai or a ritual. Vedi Vazhipadu is a ritual bursting of a fire cracker as a mark of prayer. The process starts with you registering you Vedic identification i.e., Name, Gotram, Nakshatram (Star) and Raasi ( Zodiac) at the counter, pay the fees and BOOOM! Somewhere in the background goes off the firecracker sponsored by you. To be honest, the word firecracker is too mild, it is more like a ton of TNT being blown to smithereens in the vicinity. It was late in the evening in Chottanikkara when I witnessed this ritual underway. The nearby trees were chirping with maybe thousands of cacophonous birds which were possibly calling it a day and retiring for a peaceful night. Imagine somebody blowing off a 100 kiloton bomb in your house while you are asleep? That is what it must have felt for the birds once the Vedi Vazhipaadu with someone’s name on it was put into action. A prayer which can cause so much distress to hapless birds is no prayer, it is cruelty. By the way  it would come as no surprise to you that Vedi Vazhipaadu is a feature at Sabarimalai too, both at the trek route as well as the Sannidhanam. And just to helpfully jog your memory along, Sabarimalai is bang in the middle of the Periyar Tiger Reserve Forest! Why a firecracker to mark a prayer you ask? Beats me too! I mean I don’t see a fire cracker benefit anyone except maybe a few people in Sivakasi, assuming these are sourced from the Firecracker and Matchsticks Capital of India. I hope better sense prevails and this practice is done away with. Failing which I hope a PIL does it for us!

FIRE! BOOM!

As you start the ascent of the Sabarimalai from Pampa, you climb a hill named Neelimalai. A popular song about this says, Neeli malai yettram, Sivabalanum yettriduvan!  (Lord Siva’s son, Ayyappan, will help you climb Neeli malai, Welcome) Truer words have never been spoken or sung. Neeli malai is indeed a hard one to climb. The initial kilometre or so is a breeze. Post which the hill takes an incline sooooo steep that had it been a few more degrees vertically, I would have officially redesignated the trek as rock climbing! Climbing the Neeli malai though is the easier part of the exercise. You gasp for breath; you feel you are going to have a heart attack or the end is near. Don’t worry. The much touted second wind will see you through it. So will the healthy helpings of medicated water that is served along the trek. These of course are the times when you bless the hours you put on the treadmill in the friendly neighbourhood gym. But what no gym prepares you for is the Neelimalai yerakkam, the descent. The toes keep applying the brakes and the knees keep stepping on the accelerator simultaneously. After very step! Initially your knees listen to the toes albeit reluctantly but sooner rather than later, it rebels from the oppressive regime that the toes are and declares Poorna Swaraj, Total Independence! By the time you reach Pampa post your descent, your toes, feet and knees have more disagreements with each other than Tamilnadu has with Karnataka on Cauvery!

One of the interesting features of the visits to Sabarimalai is the presence of many pigs at the Sannidhanam, some of whom were of the four legged variety. From what I experienced during this visit, I must concede the four legged ones were far better behaved and disciplined than the two legged creatures. I was later informed that the four legged version that I saw were not actually pigs but wild boars. I apologised to them. However I found them less wilder than the two legged species, more hygienic than them too, whom I will continue to categorize as pigs! During my four seasons at Sabarimalai, I have arrived at a back of the envelop estimate of the behaviour pattern of the devotees to Sabarimalai on parameters ranging from their commitment to Swachch Sabarimalai and Pigs or Boars stakes. The toppers on both counts are the Kannadigas. The Malayalees get the Silver and the Bronze medal goes to the Tamils. I won’t embarrass the wooden spooners by revealing their identity. All I can say is that there aren’t many Naarth Indians floating around the Sabarimalai, this time of the year and hence not everything that is wrong with South India can be blamed on Amits! (This rating is strictly based on my personal experience. Devotees from the recently bifurcated state are free to disagree with me!)  

Its a Pig! No! Its a Boar! Wild Boar!

If I found the Vedi Vazhipaadu quite disconcerting, I found another Vazhipadu very interesting. It is called Shatru Samharam Vazhipadu. One can translate it as ‘Prayer for the destruction of the enemy’! While I had seen this ritual happening at Sannidhanam during my previous visits too, I was forced to take a closer look at it this time around as the Junior insisted that he would like all his enemies vanquished by participating in this ritual! What enemies can a 11 year old have was a question that was brushed aside by him as he forced me to reach for the wallet to make my contribution for ‘Operation Shatru Samharam’! Post the usual Vedic Introduction, the ritual started. And believe me it was music to my and his ears! Take a look!  

Click here : Shatru Samharam Vazhipadu!

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PS:  The ready reckoner

Gold, Smoke and Plastic Devotees!  Sabarimalai Season 1

The Bad, The Good, The Best!  Sabarimalai Season 2

Glossary:

Bhagavathy : Goddess

Sannidhanam : Sanctum Sanctorum

Swachch Sabarimalai : Clean Sabarimalai