The Art Of Quitting!

Quit when your fans ask “why?” and not “Why not?” is the most quoted chestnut about a Star’s or a leader’s retirement. Let me confess. This note is triggered by the recent news reports about the growing clamour in a section of media and fandom on the possible retirement or the ‘non-retirement’ of Sachin Tendulkar. The hastily organized home series against the West Indies to coincide with the landmark 200^th Test match of the Little Master, well planted stories in the media about BCCI giving Sachin an ‘honourable exit’ at home are surfacing on the hour, as are the stories about Tendulkar being selected on ‘merit’ alone in future series. While Sachin or for that matter anybody retires or not will finally boil down to that individual’s decision, there are a few thoughts that I as a follower and as a fan ‘demand’ from my leader or star. I will try and break up the same in this page. The views are only about people who ‘do’ retire. So as you have rightly guessed, Politicians who either die or fade away in the fond hope of clinging to the chair are not included here!

I have always maintained that when it comes to Indian Cricket, more specifically retirement of Indian Cricketers, there are only two models. The Sunil Gavaskar model and the Kapil Dev model. People who are much more well versed with player statistics may kindly excuse me. This is not an exercise which will indulge in them. When Sunil Gavaskar announced his retirement from the game before the Indo-Pak Test series in 1986-87 season, none could dispute the fact that he could have carried on for a few more seasons. He was as fit as he could ever be, had come back from a very successful tour to Australia and was among the runs in the Home series against Sri Lanka. The gem of a knock he played in his last inning, almost single handedly taking India to victory in Bangalore are what folklores are about. The question I then asked myself as a young fan was: “Why SMG?”

By far the greatest among Indian Cricketers, especially given his handsome contribution both with the bat and the ball, Kapil Dev was the reason I latched on to Cricket as a fan, as a follower, as a devotee. The seed of fielding as a discipline in Indian Cricket was sown by Kapil Dev. Suffices to say Kapil Dev took the game forward in India. However as injuries took their toll, consistency dropped and the lethal outswinger would not appear like magic whenever he wanted, Kapil Dev’s only reason to drag his career along was to overtake the World record of 431 wickets then held by Richard Hadlee. As a fan of Kapil Dev and by extension Team India, I prayed before the start of every day of a test match that may Kapil get his bagful, overtake Hadlee and then retire. Kapil Dev did eventually take that landmark wicket after what seemed eons to me. I waited with bated breath for the noise around the event to settle down and for that eagerly awaited announcement of retirement to come. Alas! It didn’t. Kapil continued for one more unfruitful tour to New Zealand and then was never picked. I am not sure he ever retired till date!

As a fan, one of the primary emotions which we associate with our star is one of joy! Every time the star in question is shown on TV or he walks down to bat or bowl or takes that amazing catch, a part of us looks at the success, the ‘high’ as our own. Adrenalin pumps, heart beats pick up, it is almost orgasmic! The flip side surprisingly is not a low that we hit when our star does. The primary emotion on such occasions is hope! Yes, the man will pick up the pieces, rejuvenate and come back stronger to achieve what he has been destined to! Our Heroes don’t fail, they are not meant to. Knowledgeable enthusiast that we are, we know form is temporary and class is permanent. And life carries on till the next purple patch. But then comes a time when however much the mind is willing, the body refuses to respond. Age, failing fitness, enthusiasm levels maybe start playing with our hero. The prolonged spell of mediocre performances which we find difficult to digest, unacceptable, especially given the earlier standards of excellence on display. That is when the fan in me asks “Why go through this torment, this torture?” When I find it difficult to ‘defend’ the falling standards of my hero. When I notice a part of my childhood, my youth being dismantled piece by piece by a LBW to an innocuous straighter one from a journeyman or beaten by pace by a rookie fast bowler and clean bowled, again and again. The sighs, the oohs and aahs at every delivery that threaten to take the edge or a juicy half volley not banished to the boundary ropes. When survival at the crease and not domination of the bowling becomes the headlines. That is the time when I ask my hero, “Why not?”

Most among the post Kapil Dev era legends who graced Team India so successfully called it quits when ahead of the game. Anil Kumble called it a day the moment he realized that his latest injury was career threatening when he was integral part of Team India. Saurav Ganguly was given a friendly nudge by the BCCI and went off the field with a bang even symbolically leading Team India for a few overs in his last test. Rahul Dravid was supposed to have announced his retirement after a very successful tour to England. It is rumored that he was asked to undertake one last hurrah in Australia to bolster the crisis prone Indian batting. VVS Laxman bid adieu under dodgy circumstances but everyone agreed that maybe he deserved one last shot at glory! In each of the above case the fan in me asked one question, “Why? Why not some more of the magic?”  I find it very difficult to ask Sachin Tendulkar this question now. Will he go the Gavaskar way or the Kapil Dev way? Only time and Tendulkar have the answer.

    

      

BCCI Ltd.

A quick question! Which is India’s most successful organization, a market leader by far across the world and well on its way to become the virtual monopoly? No! Not any IT company, not even a consumer product, engineering or a petrochem giant. It is the Board of Control for Cricket in India, BCCI for short. If you think I have lost my marbles, well read along. Had BCCI been a business venture (I concede you your moment of mirth that your “Aren’t they already?” arises) with a listing in stock exchanges, I would think its market cap would rival the best in any business, definitely by far the largest for a ‘sports’ company!

To a large extent the history of India and the BCCI moves in tandem, exceptions apart. Indian cricket achieved independence before India the country did in 1932 when it was granted Test status. But for this small anomaly, India and Indian cricket were almost the same, servile in their attitude to their ‘masters’, British Crown and the MCC respectively. India invariably found itself subjected to racial prejudice and Indian Cricket invariably followed suit with the rub of the green mostly going against her. Best players of England or Australia would not travel to play in India, the tour schedules invariably dumped the colder, wetter half of the English summer on India’s lap while the top guns invariably got to play at best times and at best of venues. BCCI’s moment came post India’s victory in the 1983 Prudential World Cup, more specifically while co hosting the 1987 Reliance Cup. Indian economy opened up four years later. The overwhelming success of the tournament thanks to the might of Indian sponsors, a multitude of passionate fans on the ground and billions glued to TVs, set the BCCI’s juggernaut rolling towards the summit of the business of Cricket.

When I look at BCCI, I see a very intelligent and aggressive strategist any business house in a competitive market would be proud of. Some of its moves rival the action one sees in a ‘cola war’ or a ‘detergent war’. Let me elucidate.

Poaching: Essentially disrupting the competition by hiring its talented personnel. Though not exactly indulging in poaching, BCCI broke the hegemony of the MCC, Australia and its ‘vassal’ countries like West Indies and New Zealand by setting up a parallel power centre in collaboration with the teams from the sub continent. Backed by an ever increasing war chest, thanks to mega sponsorship deals and burgeoning broadcasting rights, Associates were weaned away from the status quoists for votes. Gradually the epicenter of Cricket moved to India.

Flanking:  A strategy employed by market leaders,by launching a ‘me-too’ brand in the same category which chips away at the competition and protects the market share of the leader. To give an example, Coca Cola bought Thums Up to flank its premier offering, Coke and tried keeping Pepsi busy fighting Thums Up.  While BCCI let its wishes known on any legislation on the conduct of the game, it let ICC which had come into being by then and which almost entirely depended on Indian Cricket for revenues and by that logic its survival to lead the charge. With the hotline permanently on ‘on’ mode between Dubai, the ICC headquarters and Mumbai or Kolkata or Chennai depending on where the BCCI president came from and given its dependency on the largesse from Indian cricket, ICC did the master’s bidding. While BCCI got flak, a lot of the artillery was pointed at the ICC too.

Economies of scale:  Do you know the first shampoo brand to be sold in sachets? No! It was not a Unilever or a P&G. It was a Chennai based ‘local’ upstart called CavinKare with their brand ‘Chik’. Once the concept found acceptance with the consumers, the larger companies copied the concept and went ‘national’ in no time on the back of their deep pockets and wide distribution network to drive large volumes. What started as an innovation to spice up the English summer was fine tuned and was taken beyond the realms of anyone’s imagination by BCCI. The innovation was called T20 and the new beast in town, IPL. Glamour and glitz were the sidelight which was visible; while the real highlight of the IPL, equally visible was the money honey. Rival boards which often depended on sponsorships from Indian companies which channelized the left over budgets their way and on very attractive terms, thanks to the insatiable appetite of the Indian fan to devour any international cricket, found the revenue streams squeezed further to the extent many boards are now facing bankruptcy. BCCI also hit the rivals where it hurts them most, their core ‘assets’, the players who often ‘retire’ or refuse to appear for their national side and queue up for an IPL contract. Soon a ‘window’ for IPL magically appeared in the Future Tour Programme of most national teams.

Entry Barrier: As the name suggest, it is an attempt to stall the entry of a rival organization or product by denying the market or shelf space.  This is done by either political backroom dealing, (Thums Up in its original avatar as an Indian company pressurized through its lobbyist in Delhi to stall the entry of Pepsi through multiple objections and painting Pepsi as an East India Company in disguise out to enslave India all over again). Partly Political it maybe but BCCI’s ‘treatment’ of Pakistan Cricket Board is one such. While an Indian tour to Pakistan is out of question for obvious reasons, an India-Pakistan contest in a ‘neutral’ venue is stalled for some reason or the other and if the same is scheduled in India, the deal is made commercially unviable for PCB. The only time such a contest can be held in the near future is during ICC conducted ‘global’ tournaments like the World Cup or when it suits the BCCI, on its own terms needless to add. Denying permission to Indian players to participate in rival T20 leagues like SLPL, Big Bash or BPL is yet another example of this tactic.

Ambush Marketing: Remember Pepsi walking away with eyeballs and accolades with its “There is nothing official about it” campaign while Coca Cola was the ‘Official’ drink of the World Cup’96?  Organizing a West Indies tour out of the blue to put a marquee Indian tour to South Africa in jeopardy! Rings the bell? BCCI will stand to make approximately Rs.300.00 Crores from the WI series and Cricket South Africa far lesser than anticipated or none at all from a truncated or cancelled tour.

Many more parallels can be drawn between a ‘business’ and BCCI, its ‘customer service’ for example. But we will leave that for another day.

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PS: Did you know, BCCI through multiple well wishers ‘requested’ Doordarshan to telecast the 1987 WC live? Dear BCCI, you have come a long way since then baby!

Whose freedom is it anyway?

Recently during  my free time, browsing through You Tube I came across a video of noted Pakistani historian-cum-columnist Mr.Hassan Nisar speaking to a Pakistani private television channel in a programme called Mere Mutabiq on the occasion of Pakistan’s Yaum-e-Azaadi. Among the various things that Mr.Nisar spoke forthrightly about, one particular sentence stuck me so deeply that I can recite it in my dreams. About the Independence of Pakistan Mr.Nisar says “14^th August 1947 ko hame koi azaadi nahi mili, sirf hamare aaka tabdeel hue the.”  In simple English it means “on 14^th August 1947, we did not get any Independence, only our masters changed that day”, obviously referring to the change of guard from the British to the natives. Jingoistic pride made me feel very happy for a minute and laugh at Mr.Nisar’s very obvious barb at the powers that be in Pakistan. Once the laughter died down, I spoke aloud the same sentence to myself, in Indian context. I was shocked to realize that Mr.Nisar could well have been speaking about India and that some of his barbs would indeed stick. Mr.Nisar goes on to propound, in his trademark brave words dripping with sarcasm and genuine ire about various ‘issues’ to back his theory that but for the change in masters, freedom still eludes the populace. Many of them relevant in India’s case too. It was quite disturbing to say the least. And it set me thinking. I decided to revisit my middle school political science lessons on our Fundamental Rights as encoded in the Constitution of India. While the ‘scope’ of freedom as a subject is vast, I restrict my thoughts to just one here: Freedom of Speech and Expression.

“Right to freedom which includes speech and expression, assembly, association or union or cooperatives, movement, residence, and right to practice any profession or occupation” 'Part III – Fundamental Rights' 

The question that troubled me was this: Do we ‘really’ enjoy the Freedom of Speech and Expression?  The question led me to a few instances which seemed to suggest the opposite which I mention below:

1.       The destruction of an art gallery running an exhibition of M F Hussain’s paintings of Hindu Gods and Goddesses.

2.       Akbaruddin Owaisi’s  ‘hate speech’.

3.       Non release of the film Vishwaroopam  and its subsequent release only after certain portions were edited.

4.       Ban imposed on the sale of Salman Rushdie’s book The Satanic Verses.

In each case I found that the fundamental right of Freedom of Speech and Expression as enshrined in the Constitution of India and as I understood it being infringed upon. Interestingly one  finds that the ‘opponents’ in some of the cases mentioned above and its ‘supporters’ often undergo a switch in their roles in some of the other cases. This led me to further dig into the political science book and I came up with this:

Restrictions upon the Freedom of Speech and Expression if it affects any of the following:

·         I. security of the State,

·         II. friendly relations with foreign States,

·         III. public order,

·         IV. decency and morality,

·         V. contempt of court,

·         VI. defamation,

·         VII. incitement to an offence, and

·         VIII. sovereignty and integrity of India.

While I wrote the above answers by rote during my school examination, the dichotomy struck me once I revisited the entire scenario. I mean how can I be ‘free’ to expound my views through a spoken or a written word or a film as the case maybe if I am leashed by restrictions?  If you look at the cases listed above what stands out is that freedom was infringed upon due to a lurking fear of violence from the ‘aggrieved’ party and not all of these cases went through the courts and due process of law. In any civil society the normal option available to anyone who disagrees with a point of view propounded is to counter the same with words of logic and reason presenting the opposite view. Or agree to disagree. Or yet still approach the Courts for justice. It is only when a spoken or a written word is not opposed by a similarly ‘peaceful’ mode and instead we see physical violence or a possibility of the same being resorted to that we see the ‘freedom’ of speech being infringed upon. While I concede that maintaining peace, harmony, law and order is indeed a thankless job but there is always a fear that we may end up becoming a ‘mute’ society afraid of speaking our mind because someone will decide to take offence and react violently and the state may decide to bring in further ‘restrictions’ to maintain ‘law & order’. Most of us don’t have any problem if anyone disagrees with us, in fact would welcome a civil debate on the disagreement. Just as it is the duty of the citizens to keep the discourse non violent it is the duty of the government to punish those indulging in violence and protect the individual freedoms. Or else we will end up like this cold war quip mentioned below:

An American and a Russian were talking about freedom. “We American’s enjoy the highest levels of Freedom. I can stand on the tallest building in Washington DC and shout that the American President is an Idiot” Said the American. Replied the Russian “Big deal. I too can stand on the tallest building in Moscow and shout that the American President is an Idiot!”

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PS: Go ahead, speak up. We have nothing to lose except our freedom!


Glossary:

Mere Mutabiq : My Views

Yaum-e-Azaadi: Independence Day

.Watch Hassan Nissar in Mere Mutabiq here.

The Liberation!

Gosh! Everything has changed. For the better! And how? Gone is the ramshackle hut masquerading as a school and instead replaced by a pucca RCC building. The refugee tents which were the classes have seen a metamorphosis and instead stood in their place concrete structures albeit with ceiling made of steel sheets. Not the ideal arrangement but a far better than the past. The porambokku land behind the main building has been fenced, cleaned of its shrubbery and stones and now looked as good a play ground as one can expect from a Govt school in the remote Kalladakurichi town. The shanty which was being used by the ayah for preparing the midday meal was now a proper kitchen. And surprise, surprise, proper toilets for the children and a separate one for girls too! Miracles never cease! Not to miss the freshly painted board bearing ‘Kalladakurichi Arasu Palli’ proudly announcing the presence of the school.

As I walked in my eyes searched for the one piece of furniture which I hoped had not been replaced. A dilapidated ‘Honours’ board right next to the head masters’ room. It was there! But as with all things in the school, replaced with a brand new board. As I glanced through the board, it was there! Right on top of the list. ‘Matriculation Exams- Session 1987, School 1^st,Zaheera Banu’! They had not forgotten while replacing and repainting the board. I suddenly felt like a mini celebrity as I read my name again and a few more times. I was as the board informed, the ‘school 1^st’ in its first ever batch writing the Matriculation examination. And what a proud moment it was for the school and for me. The school had overcome various obstacles from local politicians who were eyeing the prime land and were out to down shutters to the school. Add to it the perennial fund crunch which could not be overcome despite the subsidy from the Govt.  And survive; nay flourish. My story kept pace with that of my school. Born in a poor family which found it difficult to make ends meet, it was well nigh impossible to let a child ‘waste’ time studying instead of working in the fields of the local land owner and be an earning member. No amount of tears, anger, pleading, cajoling on my part would make my parents see reason and send me to school. They were of course illiterate themselves and any discussion on the benefits of a sound education was looked upon suspiciously.  As I was on the verge of giving up any hopes of a modern education, fortunes turned. The Govt. decided to introduce a midday meal for children attending school. My poor parents who like many other parents wanted to give their children at least one proper meal a day couldn’t refuse. No Parent would like to see their offspring suffer from hunger when a square meal was readily available. So what if they had to commit a social crime of sending their children to school to avail the one square meal a day. Where all my logical arguments about the benefits of education failed, elementary needs of survival won the day!

There was celebration all around the school. The students, teachers, support staff led by the Head Master were all smiles. The school had delivered 100% success in its very first board examinations.  Indeed a proud moment for all of us. The struggles of running the school had paid rich dividends. A batch of forty students had been recovered from farm work, menial jobs, possibly a life of a wastrel or a future criminal and bright minds eager and ready to take on the next challenges that life had in store were harvested. To mark of this excellence and to motivate the others in the school and the town somebody suggested the ‘ Honours Board’. During the farewell day function, the board duly came up, my name being the first on it! Friends and classmates deluged me with best wishes. Teachers counseled me on the future courses that I should/could pursue. The Headmaster blessed me with beaming smile and a word of encouragement on the path ahead. I was on seventh heaven! I had finally grown wings which would help me fly, compete against the best, conquer the obstacles and transform my life. Education was liberating me, empowering me! A lot of work remained. What to study next? Which stream to study? Which college? Will I be able to manage the daily trips to Tirunelveli town and back? I ran all the way home to share the news of my success with my parents. As I entered the home, I saw my father speaking to another man. He looked up at me with a happy smile, “Get ready Zaheera! You are getting married next month!” he said.

I woke up from my reverie! Rechecked the application form. Tightened my grip around my daughter’s hand.  Walked purposefully into the school, straight to the head Master’s room. “My daughter will not be denied the education that I was” I promised to myself. 

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Glossary:

Poramboku : Unclaimed wasteland

Ayah: Maid

Arasu Palli: Government School

Friends!

Chalk and cheese, two sides of a coin, oil and water, and the twain shall never meet. I can go on and on with day and night, North Pole and South Pole, black and white but I presume you have already got the point. There are people who are just not same from any angle. While the phrase opposite attract each other is often true so is the fact that opposite are not compatible once the novelty wears off. The last phrase I am going to quote here is exceptions prove the rule.

This story of me and my friend had its beginning in the remote village of Keezhambur in the remote district of Tirunelveli in the remote state of Tamil Nadu. As immediate neighbours in the single street agraharam, we were best friends, sat in the same bench of the same class of the same school. Thick as thieves is a phrase which was bandied about by everyone in the village about us. We played together, played truant together, prayed together. The village routine was if you wanted to find one, you could as well hunt for the other. In short, inseparables. If all this seems routine then the similarity ends here and the oddities take over.

Our ideas, our views, our wants, our likes and dislikes, our habits and hobbies. Nothing matched, in fact were mostly the opposite. In school while I selected Tamil as second language he took up Hindi. My thaai mozhi to his rashtra bhasha. While I would be disciplined, well mannered, goody goody types who always did his homework and was the teacher’s pet, he was the naughty, unruly, teacher’s nightmare types. While I was the home-to-school-to home type, he would insist skipping school and do a ‘sight seeing’ trip to Tirunelveli town. While I could not raise my eyes to meet the same of my parents, he was the eternal rebel. His parents insisted that he should cultivate my habits while mine often threatened  to banish me from home should I continue in his company. The net score was while I almost always finished his homework too, took a lot of blame for his pranks, did his odd jobs during his ‘sight seeing’ trips, occasionally got belted by the villagers who when they couldn’t find him for his activities took their frustration out on me. This continued in high school, college and worklife.

Our principles, our ideologies, our tastes differed too. I was a firm believer of Marx, Das Kapital and “from each according to his ability, to each according to his needs”. He was a staunch proponent of Darwin’s “Survival of the fittest”. While I did rounds of the employment exchanges, wrote bank, railway exams, he did rounds of companies which offered PLI – Performance Linked Incentives.” No pay, only pension” was his oft repeated ridicule about ‘sarkaari naukri’. I would enjoy seeing those mushy love stories in Tamil films which were screened in the nearby town, he preferred to drag me all the way to Madurai or Madras to watch the latest Hollywood action packed blockbusters. While I enjoyed watching mass games like Kabaddi and football, he called them ‘oh so pattikkadu’ and followed Cricket. Liquor, cigarettes, pan masala were a sacrilege for me while he tingled in the pleasure these gave and the ‘high’ of doing it in spite of parental objections. As a result once again I paid the price of being a ‘non-smoker among smokers, teatottler among alcoholics’. And while his trips to offices of private sector giants continued, I had to foot his bills too as I had landed a clerical job with a local firm once I had been declared ‘reserved out’ of a  Govt job.

But nothing, just nothing came between us when it came to our friendship. It was almost like we were twins, the modern day Duryodhana-Karna, the Jay-n-Viru combo. Nothing, no one, no situation was capable of driving a wedge between us. We were the proverbial two bodies, one soul, till death does us apart kind. The kind about which pen wielders and poets have sung hossanahs. He lived his way and I bailed him out from every situation, every difficulty, and every problem as he struggled to realize his dreams, achieve his destiny, maximize his potential, his wish, his wants, his ambition. After all aren’t Friends like this only. I had faith in his abilities and his grit to strive and reach the level of excellence he was capable of.

Then the inevitable happened. It had to. All his single minded focus and efforts finally bore fruits. He landed a plum post with a leading MNC and rose through the floors in the swiftest elevators ever invented by man. And dragged me out of my clerical job and made me jump into his bandwagon. Every month, every day was a discovery of a new peak he would aim at and reach. All this was so exciting, so exhilarating. And it made me a very very happy friend. The exception had won, the friendship solid as ever. Every success celebrated mutually and at every new destination, together as always. The exception had just busted the rule. Opposites not only attract but can remain compatible even when the novelty wears off. We were the real examples of that. Nothing, just nothing has changed between us. Well on second thoughts, just one thing has changed between us. He is now the Managing Director of the company we work for, I am his Personal Secretary. I now call him SIR!     

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Hope @Kingkrish94 is a happy friend now!

Glossary:

Agraharam: A street with predominantly Brahmin residents.
Thaai Mozhi: Mother Tongue
Rashtra Bhasha: National Language
Pattikkadu: (Literal) Barren forestland.(Simile) Villager/Paindu types, derogative.
Sarkaari Naukri: Government Job.           

The Bride!

My sister-in-law stepped back with a tired sigh to indicate that she was through with me. Her job done and nothing will keep her away from her filter kaapi anymore. I stood up gingerly and stared into the mirror in front of me. The result was quite satisfactory even to my critical eyes. In fact I am lying. I looked beautiful, almost angelic. Hair combed in a tight plait yet easy enough to breath. The long length of my hair of course deserved the best kunjalam which I adorned now. The parting of the same deftly camouflaged by the netthi chutti and a hint of kunkumam visible just near the forehead. Jasmine and kanakambaram blended nicely along the length of the locks. The vermillion dot on my forehead competing for attention with the kaajal. Earrings with the most elegant pieces of jimikki and the diamond mukkuththi shining on my nose rounded off the angel lookalike. The saree, copper sulphate blue with magenta border in colour embellished with the embroidery skills of the most consummate artisans of Benaras who had possibly spent millions of painstaking hours on this six yards of poetry on silk. Yes, the same one which I had worn on the day of my nischayadhartham, my sagaai. The one for which my husband had supposedly carpet bombed the whole of Benaras to ensure I wore it on the day of our engagement. My long bony fingers and wrists sported the most exquisite platinum bangles that money can buy and the deep maroon shade of mehendi which no money can buy. The shakha pola bangles and feet coloured with alta, the symbols of a Bengali suhaagan, a sumangali being the handiwork of yet another sis-in-law who was based in Kolkata. And standing out among all this bridal finery was the most precious nugget of gold that I wore, my taali. The mangalsutra tied lovingly around my neck by my adoring husband on my wedding muhoortham as I sat on my teary eyed father’s lap. I had one last look at the mirror! Aah! I looked so beautiful that a tear almost escaped its dams. And I was led away to my room where my husband awaited me.

 The divine fragrance of the incense sticks welcomed me into the room possibly reinforcing the belief of the holiness of an Indian wedlock. An artistically decorated UruLi with every possible flower that nature had bestowed on us grabbing the attention on the stand near the bed. Jasmine and rose petals lay spread all over the bed blending into a riot of colours, in a perfect jugalbandi. And gently crushing the petals, my husband lay on the bed, seemingly asleep.  A hint of a smile on his lips. This was the old tease act of his which he had first unleashed upon me on our suhaag raat, our nuptial night. The night when two bodies became one soul.  And almost every other night since then, enjoying it thoroughly as I blushed shyly. Maybe it was his style of reminding me of the night when I became his. Not that I needed any reminding! I remember every moment of that night, as vividly as humanely possible. The night of discovery, of a man, a human, my mate, my husband.

For all his bravado during our infrequent meetings and equally infrequent telecons before our wedding, he turned out to be far more nervous that night than I imagined he could ever be! As the night progressed, I was to find out to my good fortune that I had married the gentlest of men, of very modern thinking despite being part of a very conservative and orthodox family, one bestowed with gender sensitivity and one who believed in empowerment of the women. I have heard of myths about the Indian arranged marriage. How can you love a stranger they often asked? By the time the night wore off, I was in love. Truly, madly, passionately in love with this stranger.  Every day, every minute since then of our fifteen years of wedded life, he has practiced his beliefs to the fullest and I have loved him like no one before or after me can. Even after fifteen years of togetherness and two children later, of good times and difficult ones, of happy togetherness and occasional domestic tiffs, that night never ended for me, not for a moment. Those wonderful, stolen moments of togetherness in a joint family choc-a-bloc with people.  A smile escaped me as I remembered his playful prank all over again.

A gentle knock at my doors woke me up from my ride down the memory lane. God! It was dawn already. It was the time then! My sister-in-law walked in, glanced at my husband lying peacefully on the bed and embraced me tightly as tears welled in both our eyes. She wiped my tears and wiped away my sindoor. She held my hands tightly and crushed my shakha pola bangles. The hands that tied the moondram mudichu (third knot) of my mangalsutra as is the practice, untied all the knots now.  As we parted, her hands reached for the white saree.

“The barber is here!” somebody called out.

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Glossary:

Kunjalam:

Nethichutti:

Mukkuththi:

Shakha Pola:

Jimikki:

Mehendi:

UruLi:

Alta:

kungumam/Sindoor:

Mangalusutra/Taali:

Kanakambaram:

Muhoortham:  Auspicious Hour.
Sumangali/Suhaagan: Women whose husband is alive.
Nishchayadhartam/Sagaai : Engagement ceremony.
Suhaag Raat: Nuptial night.
Jugalbandhi: generally associated with music, competition/fusion of two musical instruments/vocalists.
Moondram Mudichu: Third knot of the mangalsutra.

God's Wrath?

As the count of dead bodies over Srikailasam in Uttaraperur mounted Raja Chandrahari was deep in his anguished thoughts. Why had a tragedy of such monstrous proportions hit his Kingdom? Why the loss of lives of people in the abode of the God? Why did God permit such a heart wrenching massacre of those who came to have a glimpse of him the almighty, his pious devotees?  As wails of despair increased in crescendo, Raja Chandrahari felt like running away from it all, into seclusion, far removed from everything. A look of concern appeared on the brows of Mantri Vishwaraya as he looked at the King, silent, in deep turmoil, fighting with his thoughts. The occasion called for a Raja-in-charge and not one fighting devils of sorrows thought the Mantri. “What is it that bothers you Maharaja?” asked the Mantri. The Raja awoke from his stupor and looked up to see his Mahamantri, the wise Vishwaraya’s calm face, a man of wisdom, intellect personified. “Why Vishwaraya has this tragedy happened? Why in our Kingdom? Why in God’s abode? Why has God forsaken his devotees?” the questions poured out of him in torrents.

Why has God forsaken his devotees?

“Maharaja” replied the wise Vishwaraya, “all this is so unnecessary if you follow the true dictum of our religion. Engum Sivamayam, God is omnipresent they say. By that logic this ritual of visiting holy places itself seems so unnecessary. After all doesn’t God reside in us?”

“Don’t confuse me with philosophy O wise one! If so why build so many Temples?” asked Chandrahari clearly irritated. “You know as well as I do the reason for so many Temples Maharaja” answered the Wise one patiently. “The temples are the economic backbone of our land. The entire trade happens around the opportunity generated by the temples. Architects and artisans build the temples which take years to build. From food to clothing to every other need of the daily lives of our subjects is bartered, traded, bought and sold around the infrastructure that a Temple is. The temple as you well know is a centre for education and promoting art and culture too. The rituals, utsavam of the temple gives an opportunity for every type of trade to flourish. And during war, the Temples also convert into forts for our security. Is it any surprise Maharaja that all the major cities in Bharatvarsha are temple towns?”     

“If that is so and the entire motive behind the construction of Temples is so honourable and pious, then why did this tragedy happen?” questioned Chandrahari. “Greed Maharaja, greed” said Vishwaraya. “As the business around the Temple and the Temple town increase, it draws visitors like a magnet. Not all are visiting devotees. Many come in search of employment and to do business. As the resident population as well as the number of visitors increase beyond the capacity of the town, compromises are made to build structures in areas not suitable to hold them or are built so densely that Mother Nature doesn’t have the outlets to vent her excess energies. Her natural ‘breathing space’ is denied to her and that causes devastation. It is not the anger of the Gods Maharaja but the selfishness of Man that causes these tragedies” explained Vishwaraya patiently.

Greed! Maharaja, Greed!!

“So is there a way out? Is there actionable measures which can prevent such an occurrence again?” asked Chandrahari with the first rays of hope, knowing the wise one will have an implementable solution. Vishwaraya didn’t disappoint him as usual. “There is Maharaja, there always is!” He said sagely. “Firstly, all construction which will affect the ecology, the nature’s ‘breathing space’ must be stopped and while reconstruction of the city, should be provided for. The outlets for water to flow, the weak mountain sides not weakened any further to avoid landslides, and use materials which are suited to the terrain of the temple town”

“That is fine from the point of reconstruction Mantriji but what about the multitude of devotees who will flock the temple once restored? From what you say and I understand, the city is incapable of accommodating such a rush of visitors? Surely we cannot stop them from visiting the place of Worship O wise one!” continued Chandrahari, worried for the first time that Vishwaraya might not have an answer to this query. Vishwaraya was silent for a second and then sighed. “Maharaja there is a solution for that too but I am afraid, you might not like it” he finally blurted. “Just tell me Mantriji, I will try and implement the solution however unpopular it may be as long as the lives and property of my subjects are protected. Nothing is more important to a King than that, not even God! And if this sounds like a slight to my maker, so be It.” cried the benevolent but worldly wise Maharaja. “Then Maharaja, please issue a decree wherein the number of visitors per day be fixed to a level the town is capable of accommodating. This will ensure a smooth journey for the visitors, the town’s infrastructure can provide comforts to the devotees like transport, inns, eating house, bathing ghats, medical requirements and toilets optimally so as to not only ensure safety but also peaceful dharisanam and stay for the devotees.”

“But will the neighbouring states agree to this proposal? Don’t forget we have visitors from all over Bharatvarsha. And what about the loss of trade because of lesser visitors?” asked Chandrahari overcome by doubts again. “Maharaja, we can ask the neighbouring states also to implement similar rules in their towns. As you well know, is there any state in Bharatvarsha which does not have a Temple town or two and which face similar problems? Each state can be allotted a quota of visitors per season which they can distribute among their citizen. For your information Maharaja, the Kakatiya Emperor after facing many an opposition has already implemented such a system at the Devasthanam at Tirupati. As regards, loss of trade, it is a small price to be paid Maharaja for avoiding the loss of lives” said Vishwaraya.

Chandrahari stood up beaming at his wise and learned Mantri. His doubts now cleared and the road map clear in his mind. “So where do I start Vishwaraya?” he asked. “First of all Maharaja, let us give relief to those suffering right now. Once every single victim is taken care of, we will build the infrastructure and a system so strong and efficient that never again will we lose a life of our citizen” concluded the wise one.

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   P.S. ‘Historical’ enough @RFed1?

பாரதியின் பாட்டு!

கொல்கத்தா நகரத்தை தொட்டு ஓடும் ஹூக்லி என்ற கங்கை நதியின் அக்கரையில் உள்ள நகரம்தான் ஹஊரா. ஆங்கிலையர்கள் காலத்திலிருந்தே, பத்தாம் வகுப்பு முடித்தப்பின், shorthand தட்டச்சு கற்றுக்கொண்டு வேலை வாய்ப்பு தேடி வரும் தமிழர்களை கண்டு காற்ற ஊருதான் ஹௌரா.ஏதோ ஒரு அலுவலகத்தில் வேலை செய்துக்கொண்டு, இரவு பள்ளியில் மேல்படிப்பு படித்துவிட்டு, வாழ்க்கையில் முன்னேற்றம் கண்டப்பின் அக்கரையில் உள்ள கொல்கத்தா நகரத்திற்கு மாரி செல்ல நம் முன்னோர்களுக்கு ஒரு கட்டுப்பாடு. இது வரலாறு. நான் கல்லூரியில் படிக்கும் நாட்களில் சில வருடங்கள் இந்த ஹௌரா நகரத்தில்தான் வசித்து வந்தேன்.அந்த நாட்களில் ஹௌராவில் சுமார் முன்னூறுக்கும் மேல் தமிழர் குடும்பங்கள் வசித்து வந்திருந்தார்கள். வயிற்றுபசியை போக்க, நாடு விட்டு நாடு வந்த தமிழ்யர்களுக்கு, ஹௌராவில் திருவள்ளுவர் கலை மன்றம் மற்றும் தென் இந்தியர் சங்கம் தமிழ்நாட்டின் கலாச்சாரம் மற்றும் தாய்மொழியின் பசியை தீர்க்க தொடங்கிய இரண்டு அமைப்புகள். இந்த இரண்டு சங்கங்களும், இவ்வூரில் வாழ்யும் தமிழர்களின் தமிழ்நாடு உடன் தொடர்பு விட்டுபோகாமல் இருக்கும் முயற்சியில் ஈடு பட்டு வந்தார்கள். தமிழ் நூலகம், தமிழ் கற்றுக்கொடுக்கும் ஆரம்ப பள்ளி நடத்தி வந்தார்கள், இன்றும் நடத்திக்கொண்டிருக்கிறார்கள். அதன்போலவே திருக்குறள், திருப்பாவை, திருவெம்பாவை,கர்நாடிக் சங்கீதம், நாமசங்கீர்த்தனம், கோலம் போன்ற போட்டிகளும் நடத்திக்கொண்டு இருக்கிறார்கள். என்னை பொறுத்தவரை இது அனைதுக்கும்மேல் எனக்கு மிக பிரியமான நிகழ்ச்சி, வருடா வருடம் கலை மன்றம் நடத்திவரும் பாரதி விழா தான். இந்த விழாவில் மகாகவியின் நூல்கள், சிந்தனைகள், பாடல்களை அடிபடியாக வைத்து நடக்கும் பட்டி மன்றம், பேச்சு போட்டி, பாட்டு போட்டி அமோகமாக இருக்கும். இங்கு ஒரு உண்மை. தமிழ் படிக்கதெரியாத நான்,பாரதியின் நூல்களை ஆங்கிலத்தில் மொழி மாற்றம் சைய்யபட்ட புத்தகங்களில் படித்துள்ளேன். ஆகையால் என்னை பொருத்தமட்டில் நான் ஒரு பாரதி பக்தன்.தீவிரமான பாரதி விசிரி, ஏன் வெறியன்னு கூட சொல்லலாம்.  

இம்மாதிரியான் வெறியில் இருக்கும் நிலமையில் ஒரு முறை நானும் பாரதி விழாவில் பாட்டு போட்டியில் பாட வேண்டும் என்று தீர்மானித்தேன். பாடலை சொதப்பிடுவேனோ என்ற சந்தேகம், தயக்கம்,  பயம் கலந்திருந்த சூழ்நிலையில் " எதுக்கும் நம் நண்பர்களிடம் அபிப்ராயம் கேட்டு பாக்கலாம்" என்று நினைத்தேன், அவர்களிடம் கேட்டேன். ஒருவன் "ஹாஹாஹாஹாஹாஹா, மச்சி ஜோக்கடிக்காதே" என்றான். "ஒனக்கு செரியா தமிழ் பேசவே வராது, இதுல  பாட்டு ஒன்னு கோரையா?" என்று கேட்டான் இன்னொருவன். "வேணா டி. ஏன் ஒனக்கு வீண் வம்பு? வாங்கி கட்டிக்காதே" என்று எச்சரித்தான் மற்றொருவன். சும்மா இருந்த மாட்டை கிள்ளி பார்த்த கதை மாதிரி ஏன் டா இவங்களை கேட்டோம்னு ஆகிவிட்டது. பலதடவை யோசித்தேன்.  "பயம் ஏன்?" என்றது மனம். "இப்படி ஒரு சோதனை தேவையா?" என்று கேட்டது அறிவு. கடைசியில் பூவா - தலையா போட்டு பார்த்துவிட்டு போட்டியில் கலர்ந்துகொள்ள பெயரை கொடுத்துவிட்டேன்.

போட்டியின் நாள் கிட்ட வர வர, காலை, மாலை, நேரம் காலம் கிடையாமல் வாயை தொரந்தால்வாயை மூடினால் ஒரே பாரதிமயம்.சுர்யோதயமில் இருந்து படுக்கும் நேரம் வரை பாரதி படிய பாட்டின் பயிற்சிதான். சாப்பிடும் நேரம், படிக்கும் வேளை, கடை வீதியில், கல்லூரியில் ஏன் குளிக்கும் அறையில் கூட பாரதி தான். நான் பாரதியின் பாட்டை படித்த அளவுக்கு பரிச்சைக்கு கூட படித்ததில்லை. பாரதியே என் பேச்சு, பாரதியே என் மூச்சு, பாரதியே என் ஜோலியாகிவிட்டது. திடிரென போட்டியின் நாள், போட்டியின் நேரம் வந்துவிட்டது.

செரியன நேரத்தில் போட்டி நடக்கும் அரங்கத்திற்குள் நுழைந்தேன்.  நுழையும்போதே அசதியில் புளி கரைக்க ஆரம்பித்தது. "தைரியமா இருடா" என்று நானே எனக்கு ஊக்கம் அளித்துக்கொண்டு மேடை அருகில் ஒரு நாற்ககலியில் அமர்ந்தேன். பாட்டு போட்டிக்குமுன் பேச்சு போட்டி நடக்க இருந்தது, நடந்தது. அனால் என்ன நடந்தது, எப்போ முடிந்தது என்று எனக்கு ஒன்றும் ஞாபகம் இல்லை.ஸ்லோகங்கள் சொல்வதுப்போல் என் தியானம் எல்லாம் பாரதியின் பாட்டின்மேல் தான். பாட்டின் நடுவில் சற்று நிமிர்ந்து பார்த்தேன். என்னை சுற்றி என் நண்பர்கள் எல்லோரும் ஒரு கூட்டமாய் ஒட்காந்திருந்தார்கள். " மச்சி, தூள் கேளப்பிடு" என்றான் ஒருவன். "கமான் பிரதர், இன்னிக்கி பாரதியார உண்டு இல்லைன்னு ஆக்கிடு" என்றான் மற்றொருவன்."சூபெர் டி, இன்னிக்கி உன் பாட்டதான் கேட்க வந்திருகோம்" என்று கூறினான் இன்னொருவன். அடிஷனல் பிரஷர்! தலை குனிந்து மறுபடியும் பாரதியின் திசையில் கவனத்தை திருப்பினேன். திடிரென மைக்கில் " அடுத்தபடியாக பாடுபவர் திரு ஆனந்த் அவர்கள்" என அன்னௌன்செமென்ட். "யாரோ ஆனந்தாம்" என்று விட்டுவிட்டேன். அப்பொழுதுதான் என் நண்பர்கள் எல்லோரும் ஒரே குரலில் " டேய்! படுபாவி, நீதாண்டா! போ! கெளம்பு!" என்று கத்தினார்கள். அவர்கள் கத்தியப்பிந்தன் எனக்கே ஒரைச்சுது. "அடப்பாவி, அதுக்குலேயே நம்பள கூப்டாங்களா?"  என்று அடிச்சு புடிச்சு தட்டு தடுமாரி விழுந்து உருண்டு ஒரு வழியாய் மேடைக்கு பொய் சேர்த்தேன்.

மேடையில் நின்று பார்தப்பிந்தான் தெரிந்தது, அங்கு சுமார் ஐநூறுக்கும்மேல் மக்கள் உள்ளனர் என்று. Housefull ! "ஜமாஇசுடு குரு! வெளுத்துக்கட்டு!" என்று நண்பர்கள் எல்லோரும் அரசியல் மாநாட்டில் தொண்டர்கள் பாணியில்  ஒரே ஆர்பாட்டம். நடுவில் CSK பட்டாலம்போல் விசில் வேற. கூட்டத்தை பார்த்தவுடன் கைகள் நடுங்க ஆரமிதன. கைகளை பாக்கேட்க்குள் நுழைத்தேன், கால்களும் நடுங்கரமிதது. வேடனை பார்த்த பரவைகலைபோல் பாரதி என்னை அம்போன்னு விட்டு மறைந்தார். இதயம் இசைஞானியின் மிருதங்கம்போல் இடிக்க ஆரமித்தது. நாக்கு கழுதுசுருக்கைபோல் சுற்றிக்கொண்டது, வாயோ அத்திப்பட்டி கிராமம்போல் காய்ந்துவிட்டது, கண்ணெல்லாம் ஒரே இருட்டு. பாட முயற்சி செய்தால் வெரும் காத்துதேன் வந்தது. ஐந்து நிமிடங்களுக்கு மைக்கின் முன்னால் பேந்த பேந்த முழுசிட்டு மேடையை விட்டு இறங்கினேன். அவமானம்! அவமானம்!

"பின்னிட்டே மச்சான்" "தூள் டக்கர்" "சூபர் டி ராசா" " டேய் நீ பாடவந்தியா

இல்ல நடிக்கவந்தியா?" "விடுங்க பாஸ், இந்த முறை மைக்கு வரை போனீங்க, அடுத்த முறை பாடவும் செய்வீங்க". ஆம், இதுதான் என் முயற்சிக்கு வந்த விமர்சனம். நக்கல், நய்யாண்டி, அனுதாபம், பரிதாபம் கலர்ந்த ஆயிரம் கண்கள் என்மேல் பாய்ந்தன. "இதுக்கு மேலேயும் இங்க இருந்தா கேவலம், எஸ்கேப் டா வெளக்கென்ன" என்று என்னை நானே திட்டிக்கொண்டு இடத்தை விட்டு ஓடினேன். வெட்கத்தில் விழிந்த நான்,  என் கால்கள் எங்கு கொண்டு போனதோ அங்கேயே நானும் சென்றேன்.  மயக்கமும், சிந்தனையும் கலைந்த அந்த ஒரு நொடியில் பார்த்தால், என் கால்கள் என்னை கங்கைக்கரைக்கு கொண்டு வந்திருந்தது. "இவ்வவளவு கேவலம் பட்டப்பின் வாழ்வதே வேஸ்ட், இப்படி வாழுவதற்கு சாகுவதே மேல்" என்று தீர்மானித்தேன். கங்கையில் ஒரு தாவு தாவினேன். சட என்று தூக்கம் கலைந்தது!

என் கணவில் நான் பாடிய மகாகவி பாரதியின் பாடல் இதோ --à

http://www.raaga.com/play/?id=263640

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பி.கு: உதவிக்கி நன்றி @ImSarath7, @VETTIAAN மற்றும் @OviyaBalan