The "Cool Dude"

He was what the GeNext describes as a "cool dude"! To try and decipher what it actually means is quite an arduous  task. However I will attempt to do so from possibly describing the kind of person he was. Educated, with a fairly decent paying job, with interests in and enthusiasm for normal pastimes like movies, sports, hanging out with friends and girl friends, party hard, drink harder, generally dismissive of dogmas and selectively of religious rituals, opinionated yet accommodative, politically aware without being a follower. In short a 'normal' city bred English medium type in his early 30s! With a sense of optimism that resides in such people. Quite popular in his professional and social circles.

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There is that indescribably something about the air in India. Or is it the water? Whatever may be the case, the social milieu of India is such that more often than not, it breeds people of a type who are quite unique when compared to people of many a land. Is it the history of accommodation and acceptance over a millennia that this land has witnessed? Or is it the secular, plural and syncretic lives lived by our forefathers which have been passed on to the subsequent generations? That unexplainable thing called the 'Idea of India' or as the youngsters have a penchant to put it succinctly as "We are like that only"? Whatever it may be but being Indian defies any mundane definition and it doesn't conform to any stereotype under any standard operation manual.

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Just as it seemed that the good times are about to graduate into great times, disaster struck. The slowdown of the Indian economy hit hard, where it hurts the most. The wallet! First vide a freeze on increments, to reduction in pay packets, to temporary benching to a pink slip. Well so what? There is this sheer optimism of an Indian youth which is difficult to beat down. India after all was touted as the land of opportunities. Something or the other will knock the doors, sooner rather than the later was the primary narrative. Then reality struck. There were too many with pink slips floating around in the employers market for anybody's good. Too many CVs chasing too few jobs. And when a young blood refuses to compromise either on the job profile or be pragmatic enough to take a lower paycheck, virtually it is back to 70s Bollywood films with "No vacancy" boards. Post taking an enforced sabbatical, exhausting all options and cleaning out the savings account dry, it seemed the only option left was to take up that job offer in "gulf", a euphemism for the middle east. The "cool dude" took it!

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India meanwhile was in an upheaval. A right wing party came to power. Intolerance rose. The very "idea of India" was under threat. Headlines screamed. Television screamed louder. Secularism was under threat. India will soon become a "Hindu Pakistan" was the emerging narrative. Liberal voices were being crushed and minorities were on the verge of being reduced to second class citizen. Majoritarianism ran roughshod over the constitutional guarantees and doomsday prophecies were being readied that suggested the balkanization of India.

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He took up his job responsibilities. Toiled for his scheduled 8-10 hours a day. All alone, virtually friendless in an alien land, alien country, for succour he turned to..........to what? He couldn't dig out joints to party. The conventional types of parties. Not on his salary package. Co-workers were more of the same and beyond duty hours had no time for the "outsider". TV was tiring. Internet was heavily censored. Even phone lines were eavesdropped upon. Social Media watched. Those picnic spots were a bore without friends. And there were no temples. It did strike him odd later, much later as to why he was asked to remove the Ayyappa dollor along with the Rudrakshamala it was tied to during his immigration formalities. It struck him everyday, day after day that however much he tried or may have tried, he was the perennial outsider. His abilities, his skills didn't matter. None gave him an identity anymore. His hobbies, his knowledge, his attitude didn't matter. Beyond work, he was not a Salman Khan fan, he wasn't a Manchester United enthusiast, he wasn't a good social companion. He was no longer the "cool dude"! He was not even an Indian! 

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Meanwhile intolerance levels was peaking in India, as artists and authors returned their awards, as daily headlines brought out information on yet another ban on yet another film, book, person or cuisine while the other end of the spectrum called it a political ploy or outraged over hypocrisy. It was around this time that the "cool dude" decided to take his biannual vacation back to India. We all gathered enthusiastically to welcome him back. To renew our regular hangouts. Party hard. Paint the town red. The works! It was then that  we realized. The "cool dude" was no more. Instead the person who met us was a Hindu!

You are right. Intolerance has indeed peaked in India.


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PS: The "Cool Dude" 2 soon!


Glossary:

Dollor : Pendent
Rudhrakshamala : 

The Election Called Cricket!

There is a reason why it is called ‘Test’ cricket. Because it tests you. Not once but twice. Because to succeed here you need to be good. Good twice over. And good over five days, at least mostly. It tests you because you cannot get away easily with chinks in your armour, either technical or mental. Test cricket finds you out. It also negates an inspired spell or a lucky drop. It exposes your skills to the rough and tumble that the opposition flings at you. There is as they say no hiding place in a test match.

The flipside is also true. Tests also give you an opportunity to come back post a tepid spell or a series of unlucky play and miss. It provides you with a chance to comeback post a listless session and create, seize and optimize an opportunity. To overcome temporary setbacks and bounce back strongly. There is as they say no hiding place in a test match.

You can’t get away with rules of limited bouncers as in a LoI. You can’t get away with field restrictions as in a LoI. You can’t breathe easy coz the nemesis of a bowler has finished his quota in a LoI. You can’t win without taking wickets; economy can’t be par for the course like in a LoI. Test call for technique and temperament and the same is needed to be showcased consistently over a long long period with no handicap awarded to you by the rules as in a LoI. There is as they say no hiding place in a test match.

What applies to test matches applies to elections in India. If one were to draw a parallel, as in Cricket so in Election, there exists three predominant formats. T20, ODI and Tests. Local bodies, Assembly and Parliament. Even you and indeed I, if we are reasonably popular in our locality can win an election in the friendly neighbourhood ward. More than Parties and ideologies, the accessibility of the local representative often decides which way we vote in local body elections. Of course this is one reason many parties co-opt people who are popular at the mohalla level. Once the geography spreads to an assembly segment the game changes. Your mohalla level popularity is simply too miniscule to influence a larger spread of landmass and masses. Enter organized Political parties and career politicians. Imagine the scale! An assembly segment might consist of a territory spread over anything between 50-100 wards or maybe more. (Panchayats in rural constituencies). The time, effort and economies of scale are loaded against an individual. The niche marketer stops to matter and the mass marketer takes over. The one with a better distribution spread and a suitable marketing budget edges you out. If you though this is the end, nyet! There is this much larger scale of a Parliamentary Constituency. If an assembly were to comprise of 50+ wards, a parliamentary constituency comprises of 6-7 assembly segments! As the scale increases, the skills required to win also are doubly tested. Not only is it a question of one’s own popularity and the ability to manage the constituency, the uncontrollable factors like the ideology of the party you represent, the popularity of the leadership, its performance and the strength, weakness of the opposition etc., have a bearing beyond the individual. Reason why very few Independents make it to assemblies. Reason why very few regional parties make it to the parliament in numbers enough to form the Union Govt on their own. There is as they say no hiding place in a Test match.

 

Adrenalin!

This finally brings us to the essential point behind the above sermon. The recent enthusiasm in the BJP about winning a few constituencies in the Kerala Assembly Elections. For those who came in late, Kerala is possibly the last among large Indian states which has never elected a BJP candidate to the Assembly or for that matter to the Parliament. In states where BJP has been traditionally weak like Tamilnadu or West Bengal, BJP found some traction piggybacking on alliance partners with mainline regional parties, a luxury denied to them in Kerala. The reason for the enthusiasm among the BJP cadres this time around is due to the fact that they have, in company of some ragtag caste based parties performed creditably in the local body elections. Not a Pan Kerala phenomenon but certain pockets where they have surprised many a voter, political opponents, pollsters and indeed themselves with their performance! This has injected booster shots of   adrenaline in the nervous system of the BJP party machinery in the state. However adrenaline can only get you that far and no further. This is not a T20 match! Lotus will not bloom in Kerala this time around too. It will never bloom in Kerala, not until you build a team with players with technique and temperament which can showcase the same consistently, over five days, at least mostly!  There is as they say no hiding place in a Test match.

But Kerala won't dance saala!

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PS: How many more electoral losses does O.Rajagopal require to enter the Guinness Book of Records?

Guinness Calling?

Glossary:

Mohalla : Locality/Neighbourhood

History!

(Statutory Warning: History wasn't made in a day. Neither can it be written in 400 words. Indulge me!)

Part I

My hands shook. A shiver ran down my spine as I signed the documents without the usual flourish. The deed was done and the company was now my baby. As I shook hands with it erstwhile 'owners' I suddenly remembered Tobay Maguire mouthing "With great power comes great responsibility"! A smile escaped me as I recollected the difficult hand that fate had dealt me, "No power, only great responsibilities"!

My father had started the company a few decades ago. Despite the cliche, it was a story of rags-to-riches. A poverty stricken school dropout who pushed ice candy vehicle to make both ends meet, through hard work, determination and a dose of luck ended up creating one of the largest and well respected ice cream companies in the region. As often is with the mollycoddled children of self made men, I had no enthusiasm to assist him in the business or succeeding him on the same. Despite his objections, I packed locks, stocks and barrels to peruse my heart around the globe promising never to return. As often is with self made men who have achieved whatever they wanted to and retire to sedate life, my father leased out the company to a prominent businessman in the city and entered into a virtual sanyasam.

Nothing enthused me to look back in life or the home I had left behind and nothing could. Or so I thought. Till one day I was summoned back by my frantic cousin upon the unfortunate murder of my recluse father. Even the bohemian in me could not stop me from returning home. A son after all has to perform his father's kriya-karam. At least that's what the religion said so. However what prompted my journey back home more was the intrigue behind the murder of someone who had no enemies; nay couldn't have any enemies. Not my father! As I boarded the flight the only thoughts I had was to lay my father to eternal rest and to get to the bottom of the mystery and bring the culprits to justice.

The first part was easily done albeit among tears that I thought I was incapable of shedding. The second part was however a nightmare. Like a thriller novel or a Bollywood potboiler, the more I learnt about the murder the less I knew about the truth. From corrupt policemen to professional mercenaries. Greed, double-cross, threats, money power, muscle power, political interference. I encountered everything.

The lessees had double crossed my father. The lease of the Ice Cream factory was nothing but an excuse to usurp the prime factory land for profiteering by diversifying into real estate. The existing and thriving business was first drained of its equity. Product quality was sacrificed. Productions was gradually reduced. Payments to suppliers of raw material were delayed leading many to go bankrupt. Customer complaints fell to deaf ears. Even as the once robust business was being bled to death, its workers reduced to penury, the lessors kick started the plans to develop the factory compound into a township. Excellent public relation skills backed with greasing of the palms that mattered ensured them the bragging rights of being knights in shining armour! Till they came face to face with the hitch, my father. He was still the owner of the company! Nothing could progress on the diversification front without his consent. When requests, allurements and threats proved futile, a plan was hatched to murder him and do business instead with his bohemian son, me!

While nothing could finally be pinned on any of the perpetrators or their sponsors, a long and messy legal skirmish later, I rightfully got back the ownership of the company, with its dwindling assets and mounting liabilities, further compounded by the terms of settlement with the lessors to vacate.

Part II

The only overriding theme of the next few month is best summarized in two words: NO MONEY! No money to pay the suppliers, no money to pay the workers, no money to modernize the factory, no money to produce, no money to revamp the brand, no money to win back the customers, no money to fight the competition! Impatient suppliers threatening to sell the company's assets to recover their dues, immature albeit impoverished workers threatening to go on strike for their rights, carpetbaggers hovering around in the vicinity to profit from misery and destructively selfish competition indulging in below the belt warfare to expand their new found turf. As the situation threatened to turn turtle, my cousin dived headlong into the cesspool to bail me out, to assist me, to save me. My Cousin! My partner, my brother-in-arms, my saviour! As I got down to first rescue and then resuscitate the factory, the product, the production, the building blocks of the business, He managed the warring workers, the greedy suppliers and the nasty competition. Together we set about to bring back the company to its pristine glory. Together we invested every minute of our time, every unit of energy and every penny we had as mortgage to raise capital from banks as well as shylocks.

Gradually the wheels started turning. A new plant replaced the earlier ruins. Fancy variants were dumped and the core products which acted as food supplements given a fillip. Impromptu tactics were dumped for long term organized growth. Innate suppliers were given the confidence to invest in the company not for immediate profits but for life long gain. The need for mutual cooperation for immediate survival and a promise of future prosperity rallied the workers around. Responsible and meritorious candidates were identified, promoted and the market was approached with a single minded determination to win back the customers, consumers and market share. However just when things seemed to have turned for the better tragedy struck. My partner, my brother, my right hand died!

If there was a time to cry, this was not that time. Not beyond the two tears shed in private. The world couldn't be allowed to see me in distress, shouldn't be. Not when the dark clouds were still surrounding us. Confidence should not be allowed to deflate. Confidence of the workers, the investors, the customers, the stake holders! I buried my anguish and dived headlong again into troubled waters. I now had to complete the journey that we had started together. Alone! And I must reach the destination. For me and for him, for us!! I tried to double up for him too. I sincerely tried. I was successful sometimes and not so on others. But I kept trying, kept plugging.

As years rolled by things gradually started to improve for the company. Gone were the initial years of self doubts, the fear of failure, the clouds of total disintegration and  demise. Replaced as it was with a confidence of a survivor graduating to that of a winner. Reinforced was the sense of belonging, of ownership. Belts were tightened for the long haul. Temporary setbacks taken into strides and every success cherished and celebrated. New milestones replacing the ones achieved earlier. Though the company still has miles to go, as I bid good bye to this world, I go in peace. I know I have laid the foundation for the generations to follow. To build an impregnable company which will bring prosperity, security and happiness to everyone associated with it. Despite warts and glitches that we will continue to come across, the fundamental values of the company are in safe hands, its stake holders!


Part III

Long years ago we made the tryst with destiny and now the time comes when we will redeem our pledge........... At the stroke of midnight while the world sleep, India will awake to life and freedom!...... My hands shook. A shiver ran down my spine as I signed the documents without the usual flourish. The deed was done and the company was now my baby......

Indian nationalism is the nationalism of an idea of an ever-ever land, emerging from an ancient civilization, shaped by a shared history by pluralistic democracy....... My father had started the company a few decades ago.....

In 1612, James I instructed Sir Thomas Roe to visit Mughal Emperor Jahangir to arrange a commercial treaty that would give the company exclusive rights......The mission was highly successful.......... my father leased out the company to a prominent businessman in the city.......

The Battle of Plassey was a decisive victory of the British East India Company on 23, June, 1757. The Battle established the Company rule in Bengal which expanded over much of India..........The lessees had double crossed my father. The lease of the Ice Cream factory was nothing but an excuse to usurp the prime factory land for profiteering by diversifying into real estate.......


thriving business was first drained of its equity

The Indian Independence Act 1947 received Royal assent on 18 July, 1947 India came into being on 15 August..... a long and messy legal skirmish later, I rightfully got back the ownership of the company.....

The Partition of India led to the creation of Pakistan.......further compounded by the terms of settlement with the lessors to vacate......

On 22 October 1947, Muslim tribal militias and irregular Pakistani forces crossed the border of the state.........carpetbaggers hovering around in the vicinity to profit from misery and destructively selfish competition indulging in below the belt warfare to expand their new found turf.........

Sardar Patel will be remembered as a great captain of our forces as a tower of strength which revived wavering hearts.......And just when things seemed to have turned for the better tragedy struck. My partner, my brother, my right hand died.......

WE, THE PEOPLE OF INDIA, having solemnly resolved to constitute India into a SOVEREIGN SOCIALIST SECULAR DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC. IN OUR CONSTITUENT ASSEMBLY this twenty-sixth day of November, 1949, do HEREBY ADOPT, ENACT AND GIVE TO OURSELVES THIS CONSTITUTION...... I buried my anguish and dived again headlong into troubled waters. I now had to complete the journey that we had started together. Alone! And I must reach the destination. For me and for him, for us........

Since 1947, the Indian economy has been premised on the concept of planning. This has been carried through the Five-Year Plans, developed, executed, and monitored by the Planning Commission.....  Impromptu tactics were dumped for long term organized growth........

      A new plant replaced the earlier ruins!

meritorious candidates were identified!

He spoke to the doctors who attended on him for a brief while and almost immediately Nehru collapsed. He remained unconscious until he passed away. His death was announced to Lok Sabha at 14:00 local time on 27 May 1964......Though the company still has miles to go, as I bid good bye to this world, I go in peace. I know I have laid the foundation for the generations to follow........

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PS:Those were extraordinary times! They were extraordinary men. Extraordinary yes, but men nonetheless!

Glossary:
Sanyasam : Renunciation
Kriya-karam : Last rites.

Why am I Secular?

I am an Indian first. As the Constitution of this country assures me we are a Secular country. And as a believer in this holy book, I am Secular. Not just because the constitution insists I should be but by choice. And as you have rightly guessed, I am very perturbed by the recent attacks on the secular fabric of this country by the Govt of the day. To quote just two of the recent attacks on this founding pillar of the Idea of India is the celebration of ‘Good Governance Day’ on 25^th December and Eminent Jurists of the country being asked to have conferences on the extended weekend  that is Good Friday-Easter. Blasphemy! I object; nay I condemn these moves. How can this be permitted? It goes against the very grain of Indianness! How can anyone ask me or anyone to work during holy(i)days?? If you disagree with me, please look at the list attached below.

Bura na mano Holiday!

These are the designated list of Holidays for Central Govt employees approximately 25 odd days of  a year. Add to this the weekends ki chutti of 100+ days. Not to forget Casual leave, Sick Leave and leave for other ‘emergency’.  And to imagine someone wants us to work on holidays!

Apart from being a massive proponent of Secularism, I am also a big supporter of the other pillar that founds the Idea of India, Pluralism. Apart from the ‘National’ Holidays, I am also a strong supporter of ‘Regional’ Holidays. Glance at the list attached of the holidays in Tamil Nadu. This list of course is not universal and subject to vary from state to state. I am sure you get the drift!

Idea of India!

However if you are a fence sitter here is my last salvo. Apart from these list there are other ‘occasions’ which demand declaration of Holidays like elections to the municipal corporations, state assembly, Parliament, umpteen by elections etc. Should you be a resident of Bengal or Kerala, it is well within your right to demand 4-5 days of ‘Bandh’ or ‘Strike’.

So don’t dare anyone tamper with my secularism or pluralism. However should the ruling dispensation insist on converting India into a “Hindu Rashtra” the only way they can get me to support the idea is by declaring a holiday dedicated to every god and goddess! For those who came in late there are 'only' 330000000 Gods and Goddesses in the Hindu Pantheon!

When is merawala holiday?

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PS: If you wonder how will we make both ends meet in the Hindu Rashtra,well for starters I suggest the Govt convert my share of the black money which is going to be brought back into a special high yielding fixed deposit and transfer as EMIs into my Jan Dhan Bank Account! Achche Din are here after all!

Glossary:

Bura na mano Holiday : Don't mind it is a holiday!

Chutti : Holiday

Hindu Rashtra : Hindu Nation

Achche Din : Good Days!

I,Rapist - 2

Dear Rapist,

I shudder from top to toe when I write ‘Dear’ but then my values do not permit me to start with anything else. I read with interest and some amusement your note, your autobiography as you call it:This--> http://athakkali.blogspot.com/2013/04/irapist.html .

I could decipher the snigger and sarcasm dripping out of every syllable that the note carried. I could feel your sense of being ‘untouchable’ and your complete confidence in yourself to get away with murder as the expression is. Not to mention your tone which was patronizing and reeks of “I am like this only and you can’t do a thing about it”. I concede you, your moment of mirth and indeed agree on a few of your accusations regarding the way I have treated the women as second class citizen. But I also sense something more from your note. A sense of desperation, of fear, of defeat, of screws tightening around you.  You knew it the moment you accused me of mainstreaming you. Mainstream! No longer will you be able duck under the radar; no longer will I allow you to disappear from our collective conscience. Your mask of anonymity is pulled off, your cloak of mystery shred to pieces. Nothing, just nothing is going to restore your peace of mind.  The reams of newsprint, hours of primetime television as you say is after you 24/7. From social media to chatrooms, you are being disrobed across the world, real and virtual. The spotlight as they say is now firmly on you and nothing is going to take it away. Every time a politico says something senseless, you get the brickbats along with him. Every self styled godman who spouts medieval wisdom, has the kitchen sink thrown at him and you. Every time a youth on a strike shouts “We want Justice”, you get a step closer to being brought to it. And every time the police look the other way, I know they too will be in the docks keeping you company. No more dark alleys to hide, you are here, there, everywhere and I will keep it that way. You still think you are beyond my reach?

What you refer to in your note is just what is physically visible on the ground and you guffaw at measures which have failed to completely uproot you. No, I am not looking for tougher laws to rein you in as you suspect. No, I am not talking death penalty as it has never worked and never will. 24/7 policing I know it is not feasible. Chemical castration is like locking the stables after the horses have bolted. They are not a deterrent strong enough to hold you back. Did I hear you mutter “Then how?”?

You have only scratched the surface and as one would expect from you, are unable to look inside my subconscious. What you have failed to notice is the change in me. I, Husband, who could not stand up for my wife in a patrilineal household, am now standing up for my daughter. I,Mother who bore all the biases silently is now saying no to your domination. I,Son who was the prima donna in the society am now ready to take up cudgels on behalf of my sister. And I,Women, whom you tried by all means to eliminate and subjugate, am here not as a weakling but as an educated, independent, confident and empowered being. Empowerment! Guess you would never understand this word! And I am not referring to Gen-Next; I am Gen-Now, here and now.  No longer will you bully me with the fear of Shame!  No longer am I worried of hiding your deeds under the carpet in the name of Family honour, fear of seclusion, afraid of living a life of a recluse. I have mainstreamed you, I am changing the mindset of the dark ages and I am closing the easiest escape route that you took by putting ‘kudumba gauravam’ below the well being of my woman, my girl! I have got you cornered, hurting you where it hurts most. Through my mindset. I have learnt that to send you to ‘in’, I have to come ‘out’ into the open. Pun intended! Is that a frown that I notice developing on you face Mr. Rapist?

Long haul, you said? Yes! I know it is. A very long haul at that. It is a slow process indeed. Mindsets developed over millennia do not change that fast or easily. The process has begun, slowly but surely. It gains momentum by the minute and sooner rather than later will snowball into a deluge never seen before. A revolution that will permanently wipe off that smirk of yours! It is now but a matter of time. Welcome, be my guest, be a cynic! So were many more once, till 15^th August 1947 happened. The second freedom movement is well and truly underway.

 As my parting gift, here are a few lines which you can sing to yourself during the lonely life that awaits you in the nether world Mr. Rapist:

“The mindset of the dark ages which enslaves us,

 Is being set to a bonfire!

Slavery is a thing of the past,

 Men and women will live as equals in this great land of ours!”

Yours,

I, Hope!
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PS: The verse is from Mahakavi Subramania Bharathi’s immortal Tamil song “Viduthalai Viduthalai” (Freedom,Freedom). For helping me understand the soul of these awe inspiring lines and for this link http://www.raaga.com/player4/?id=11508&mode=100&rand=0.030441350070759654 (third stanza) my humble Namaskaram to Shri R.Janakiraman, @periyakulam! Thank you Sir!

I,Rapist!

I hate you! Rather I have developed this hatred for you since the past few months. Here I was blissful in anonymity; post the deed well done, till you mainstreamed me. Many things have been written about me recently ranging from uninformed, well intentioned but wrong, stupid, outrageous and some bordering on downright hilarious to say the least. All this attention though is bothering me no end, not to mention the downright libelous things being spoken about me.  Well the last straw did break the back and hence I take it upon myself to set the record straight so that one can reach my authentic autobiography. I, your friendly neighborhood Rapist.

Why shouldn’t I rape her? It is all her fault. For wasn’t she the one who bit the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden?  Hence she is an object to be killed when she is a foetus. Should she survive this attempt, she must either be abandoned or as my midwife friends in many villages do, fed with a liberal dose of ‘Aralippal’ to put her in eternal slumber. But we know this girl is a pretty tough species to get rid of easily. So we must prepare her to a life suited for her. Education did you say?  Why, when all she has to do is to listen to me, that’s all the intelligence she requires. Household chores she must learn because she is a servant. She should eat last, less, left over or starve as she is inferior. She should be prepared to be wed/sold as and when it catches my fancy or the need arises to the highest bidder. Isn’t she ‘Paraya Dhan’ anyway? (Disposable property my Tamil friends, welcome!) Why shouldn’t I profit from this ‘dhan’? She shouldn’t wear clothes of her choice, love and marry as she wishes, go where she wants after dark, decide her destiny, nothing. These go on to make her a person of bad character. Of course she will wear revealing clothes for films, sell flesh in every market from Kamathipura to Sonagachi and more, will walk the streets after dark to pick hungry customers when I say so! I have been raping her in million different ways and here are you, the ignoramus, raising a hue and cry for a simple act of intercourse against her wishes or an odd tap to her vagina with an iron rod.

STOP! If you get the impression that I am some sort of a fiend, I think it is my duty to correct you here and now! I love women, nay worship her.  Haven’t you seen me in temples from Kashmir to Kanyakumari offering clothing, jewellery, ‘prasad’ to her? Haven’t you seen me offer my hair as a mark of respect at Velankanni? Haven’t you seen me cover her in a protective black tent so as to avoid your ‘evil eye’?  Every ‘aadi maasam’ I organize festivals for her and feed ‘koozh’ to poor in her name.  I take ‘padayatra’ to Deorala in respect of her supreme sacrifice of joining her husband in his funeral pyre and become ‘Rani Sati’. I deck up the entire city of Kolkata, nay the entire state of Bengal and more to celebrate her annual arrival during Pooja and its Gujrati/Tamil variant ‘Navratri’. I try my best to stop her from visiting ‘mazaar’ of ‘Pir’ like Haji Ali lest they get afraid of spirits. I have even developed dance forms like ‘Garbha’ to celebrate the ‘sacred womb’ that she is blessed with. In Thiruchengode in Tamil Nadu is a temple where I have given half the body of Lord Shiva to her, ‘ArdhaNarishwaran’ as we call him. (Ardha-Half, Nari-Women, Ishwaran – Lord, Welcome). What more can I say about my ‘devotion’ for her!

I, Rapist have been outraged by this incessant focus on me being a pervert, a sadist, an animal and what not. My village background, my lack of education, my lack of ‘cool quotient’, my class, even my race, geography I belong to, has been dissected in reams of newsprint and hours of primetime television.  I mean that’s like missing the trees for the woods. Since when has education, urban background, bulging bank balance, ‘upmarket’ community or south Indian geography prevented me? I rape, period. Class, region, education, BPL status, age, religion no bar. Please note, I rape because I have been programmed to treat her like a worthless piece of garbage that she is. I rape, every minute, every day! And if you still want me punished, let the man who has never sinned throw the first stone! Amen!

Now where did she go??.................................

                                                                         --- End of Part 1---

Part 2 is in the offing. If you are not already disgusted with this ‘Mirror’ that is…………

Tomar Naam ki?

What s in a name said the bard?  And we now know that he was, at least on this occasion, far removed from the reality. Name!!! Of course it is important. Very important. Imagine being stuck with a nomenclature which does not ooze class or style from every alphabet. Or being called out loudly in an ‘up market’ gathering with a ‘down market’ brand name?? Haven’t you heard of that young man who cringed every time he was addressed by his very holy name “SaDayan” lovingly given to him by his pious parents as a mark of devotion to the family deity? Or the young lady who contemplated suicide because she was branded for life with a ‘oh so vernacular’ Akhilandeshwari? And of course you have heard of Aayush who though very happy with a modern sounding and suitably ethnic-chic name, was so annoyed at friends in school calling him ‘Aai’! (For the uninitiated, ‘Aai’ in Tamil is what you flush out every morning , Welcome!)

Innumerous are the cases where notices are filed on hourly basis with notaries across the country for a ‘Change of Name’.  If you don’t believe me, try browsing through the classified advertisement page of your newspaper. It is nothing but the case of taking matters in one’s own hands because you don’t want to be stuck to the misguided decisions of your parents who had no clue of what branding and brand equity is all about. There is an instance that I had read about where the young daughter fought with her parents and won the right to change her name to “Nayantara” after her favorite film star, much to the dismay of them who thought the entire exercise was one of needless blackmailing. Especially, when she had a perfectly divine and pure Tamil name in ‘Kuzhalvaimozhi’. I must confess though that I am yet to hear of a case of anyone converting to Christianity or Islam because they love Michel Jackson or Salman Khan.

My tryst with name/names took a turn to the serious once I reached Kolkata during the Bharat Darshan as we kids in the family used to call my father’s frequent transfers. (It was called Calcutta those days but we will let it pass! And Since many dialogues in this paragraph are in Bengali , the translations are in the bracket, “We never disappoint our readers” being my motto). On day one, the gentle landlady caught me with a “Tomar naam ki?” (What is your name?)  Anand I said. “Eto choto naam ?”  She said (Such a short name?).  Anand Natarajan I said. “Kintu title ta kee?” She persisted. (What is your title?) That stumped me as cleanly as Thala M S Dhoni behind the wickets. This called for research I thought and embarked on one.

This called for research.......

The data was quite revealing to say the least. For those not accustomed to Bengalispeak, “Title” is not anything like the one conferred on Sir Garfield Sobers by the Queen or the Padma Bhushan conferred on Rahul Dravid. It is not even the King Khan, Ulaganayagan kind of signatures bestowed by lazy film journos. “Title” to cut the story short is nothing but ones surname. My research into Bengali names delivered gems like the following:

1.       Most Bengali names are not authentic Bengali if they do not have three parts. Example Swapan Chandra Dey, Indra Mohan Kundu, Uttam Kumar Haldar i.e., First name, Middle name, “Title”.

2.       “Titles” among Bengalis are as many as the pot holes on the Kolkata roads which in the last count were…………you get the drift I am sure.

3.       You have titles which are pan India in nature like, Pal, Sinha, Roy etc.

4.       Two-in-one titles like Roy-Chowdhury, Dutta-Gupta, Das-Gupta.

5.       Titles with hangover of the Raj where Chattopadhyay, Mukhopadhyay, Gangopadhyay became Chatterjee, Mukherjee and Ganguly because the Brits couldn’t pronounce the original. (Forget Dada my Madrasi friends, you aint no fan of his if you cannot pronounce Saurab Chandi Gangopadhyay).

Puro Naam Title shoho!

Armed with the above knowledge I prepared myself with my ‘puro naam’ and was ready for that eventual question which will pop up with regularity. Below is a verbatim version of my subsequent interview with a soon-to-be friend:

He: Tomar Naam Ki?

Me: Anand.

H: Eto Choto naam?

M: Anand Natarajan.

H: Title ta ki?

M: No title.

H: Ki kore shombhob? Puro naam ta bolo title shaho! (Can’t be, entire name please with title)

M: Keezhambur Ramaier Srinivasa Nataraja Anand Aiyer!

H: Eto boro naam! (Such a long name!)