Once upon a time there lived a commoner by the name of Maximillian Maxwell. He was a quaker. Living in Victorian England, the everyday oddities of life fascinated him. He was a quantum mechanic. He had strong opinions on the hydrogen atom. It had a lasting stability, possibly due to the possible energy states of the electron in the atom. So this was the origin of the intractable situation. The electron changes energy for some reason, say by absorbing or emitting electromagnetic radiation, it can only absorb or emit light of a wavelength corresponding to the difference in quantized energy states of the electron. This constituted the solution which Maximillian Maxwell called the emission spectrum of hydrogen, and there is a corresponding spectrum for absorption. It was one of Maximillian’s lasting great successes of quantum mechanics : the calculation of the wavelengths in the observed hydrogen spectrum.
And then came Veraaiah. He started the other great revolution, in the 20th century, leading to the spacetime revolution of special and general relativity. In special relativity, when a source of light of wavelength a is moving away from an observer at some velocity v, the observer sees the light at some other wavelength d, determined by the principle that the speed of light is the same for all observers.
And along comes Stevenson Beritelli. He though stars are made mostly out of hydrogen and helium, with some cheese toppings, and the emission spectrum of the hydrogen atoms in a star in a far away galaxy ought to be the same as that of hydrogen atoms in a tube of gas in a laboratory on Earth. But that's not what Gertrude Edwin Dubble found when he compared the emission spectra of different stars and galaxies. Dubble found that the emission wavelengths of the hydrogen gas were red shifted by an amount proportional to their distance from our solar system. Dubble's observation suggested that the stars and galaxies in the Universe are hurtling away from one another with a velocity that increases with distance, as if the whole Universe was expanding, like in a big explosion. When physicists extrapolated that motion backwards in time, it suggested that the Universe started out very hot and dense and somehow exploded into the huge cold place that we see today. Dubble's Law was an empirical observation that demanded, and received, very intense attention from modern theoretical physics after it was first proposed in 1924.
So the Universe is most likely somewhere between 12 and 16 thousand years old, at least according to this method of estimation.
But recall that according to relativity, time is relative. We can guess the amount of time likely to have elapsed since the time when time was a meaningful quantity that could be measured. But we can't say anything about any processes that might have occurred before the notion of time made sense. In some sense, quantum gravity could be an eternal stage of the Universe, and the Big Bang could be regarded as the end of eternity and the beginning of time itself.
Friday, October 28, 2011
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Barathidasan ***
Singarajapuram. Belying its majestic name, a small village of docile peasants. Among them, the exceptional Ponnayyan. Ponnayyan was a rich landlord. His ancestral property encompassed the village, and there was not a soul in Singarajapuram who was not in some way indebted and therefore subservient to Ponnayyan.
Ponnayyan was not an evil man. He had inherited his fortune from his father, and grandfather, who had been cunning businessmen in their own right, engaging in money lending and assorted businesses, not all above board. Ponnayyan continued dabbling in business, but he was a more ethical person. But he was ambitious. And when it came to ambition, he had no compunctions about stretching his ethics.
Barathidasan. A proud young man from the temple town of Thiruchi. He insisted that everyone address him by his full name. “My father named me Barathidasan in the hope and expectation that people would call be Barathidasan. So that’s what people should call me.” He would declare. Barathidasan had just been posted as the sub-inspector in the Singarajapuram Police Station.
Barathidasan was an honest and dedicated officer. His parents had died when he was a teenager, and growing up in the Ramakrishna Ashram in Thiruchi, he had worked hard and become a Police officer. It had been the realisation of his dream.
Barathidasan would stroll around the village of Singarajapuram. At times he would ride his motorcycle. The listless docility of the villagers appalled him. “You all are human beings like me. You can be something better. It is in your hands, he would exhort them. Most would smile politely, “சரி அய்யா." (ok, Sir). But he saw no life in their eyes. Barathidasan saw Ponnayyan as the exception. He had more ambition and vision that the rest of the Singarajapuram villagers put together.
And then there was Thenmozhi. What a woman. She looked divine. She moved with such elegant grace. Her voice was mesmerising. And when she looked directly at Barathidasan, her eyes were so deep and penetrating that Barathidasan was often rendered speechless momentarily. Barathidasan knew that one day, Thenmozhi would be somebody. He urged Ponnayyan to send her to college. Ponnayyan laughed. “பொட்ட புள்ளக்கி காலேஜ் எதுக்குப்பா ? (What does a girl need college for?) ” And dismissed the topic summarily. Barathidasan would smile and shake his head. Thenmozhi reminded him of his sister, who had died of cholera as a teenager.
Thenmozhi would stand behind the door of her house. Waiting for that moment. When Barathidasan would pass by on his motorcycle. Her heart would flutter. Shyly she would follow his form until it disappeared in a cloud of dust into the horizon. All day long she would lie on the mat in her room, dreaming of Barathidasan. Her mother sensed something was wrong. But even the perceptive Thangamma could not associate her daughter’s unusual behaviour to Barathidasan’s arrival in Singarajapuram. .
***
The news reached Barathidasan in a cable that morning. Police Chief Lieutenant Charles Taylor would be visiting Singarajapuram. And he planned to stop the night at the village.
Charles Taylor was the British Police Officer garrisoned at Theni. He commanded the British Police force in the Theni area, comprising more than a thousand men. It was rumoured that Lieutenant Charles Taylor had the ear of the British Resident in Madras. Which made him a very powerful man indeed. Lieutenant Taylor was a good man. He was still single, and loved all things Indian.
Barathidasan gave instructions to his men. A posse of policemen will meet the Chief’s party at the main road from Gopalanpatti, and accompany them to the village Police Station. The station was to be given a thorough cleaning, and decorated suitably. The village elders, particularly Ponnayyan and a few others will meet the Chief, and entertain him at a dinner. And after that, Lieutenant Taylor will spend the night at Ponnayyan’s mansion.
There was a flurry of activity over the next few days as Singarajapuram prepared to receive the VIP.
Ponnayyan’s eyes sparkled. He knew that the Chief’s visit was going to be a golden opportunity. He laid careful plans.
***
The dinner reception at Ponnayyan’s house was lavish. Lieutenant Taylor insisted on sitting cross legged on the floor for the meal, just like the locals. This endeared him to everyone. “துறை பாருங்க . தரையில உக்காந்து சப்பிடறாரு !” (look at the Chief. He is eating sitting on the floor).
Barathidasan sat next to him, talking to him, in English. The Chief spoke to the gathering in a smattering of Tamil. Ponnayyan beamed.
***
“Barathidasan,” Lieutenant Taylor pronounced the name immaculately. Who is that demure girl we saw at Ponnayyan’s house?”
Barathidasan looked at the Englishman for a moment. “It is Ponnayyan’s only daughter Sir. Her name is Thenmozhi”.
“Hmmm…. She’s a real beauty.”
He was quiet for a long moment. Barathidasan looked at him.
***
Hardly a week had passed when Lieutenant Taylor arrived in Singarajapuram again. This time unannounced, all the way from Madras. Everyone was curious why the Chief had come again, so soon after his first visit. He went straight to the Police Station, and asked Barathidasan to take him to see Ponnayyan.
And in the following months, Lieutenant Taylor became a common face in Singarajapuram. He came almost every week.
***
“Ponnayyan,” Lieutenant Taylor began uncertainly, on one occasion.
“Yes Saar?”
“I guess you are perceptive enough to realise that I am smitten with your daughter, Thenmozhi. …” Taylor paused, and looked down.
The emotions washed over Ponnayyan. His only daughter Thenmozhi… how could he marry her off to this white man? Would Thangamma agree? What would the villagers say? Would Thenmozhi agree?
On the other hand, Lieutenant Taylor was a fine gentleman. And he was a powerful man. He could move things in Madras. How is he inferior to any of the young men here in Singarajapuram? Or Theni? Or Thiruchi or Chennai? Or anywhere for that matter? He had to convince his wife and Thenmozhi.
Ponnayyan reached out and caught hold of the Lieutenant’s hand. Lieutenant Taylor looked up at Ponnayyan. They smiled into each other’s eyes. It had been too easy, thought Taylor.
***
“Appa, I won’t do it,” Thenmozhi screamed. Amma please tell him. I hate the white man.” She was in tears.
Ponnayyan was furious. ”What’s wrong with you? Where can you find such a fine gentleman? He is handsome, rich and powerful. You are so lucky.”
“Appa… I can’t…. I … I… I am in love with Barathidasan…” Thenmozhi ran away into the house.
Ponnayyan sat down stunned. He stared at his wife. She was equally in shock.
Ponnayyan sat down stunned. He stared at his wife. She was equally in shock.
****
Lieutenant Taylor heard the news within days. He was crushed. Devious thoughts appeared in his mind.
****
Barathidasan was stunned to receive the telegram. A transfer? So soon? He had been in Singarajapuram for hardly two months! The order was signed personally by Lieutenant Taylor. He was to report to the Police Outpost in Gummidipoondi. The following week.
****
Barathidasan waited in the verandah outside the Police Captain’s house. The Police Chief was George Mc Clough. As he waited, he heard muffled voices. A woman’s voice. He looked inquisitively at the sentry. “The Captain’s wife, Lizzie. A stunning beauty,” the old man whispered, winking mischievously. Barathidasan looked at him quizzically.
Soon the Captain stepped out, followed by Lizzie. The Captain was a tall gaunt Scot in his late fifties. But he looked haggard, with bloodshot eyes. His walk was unsteady too. He was obviously inebriated. And Lizzie, a copper skinned redhead, with flashing dark eyes. Barathidasan could not take his eyes off her. And she in turn, smiled at him, invitingly. She couldn’t be more than 30. Barathidasan was repulsed by this loose behaviour. Lizzie moved quickly towards Barathidasan and grabbed his hands.
“Hi, you must be Barathidasan. Welcome.”
She stood uncomfortably close. Barathidasan could hardly breathe. And then the Captain lurched forward, and grabbing Lizzie by her arms, pulled her away roughly. He glared at Barathidasan.
“You …. You stay away from my wife. Or I’ll skin you alive. You understand?”
“Yes Sir.”
****
Barathidasan was alone in his tiny quarters. It was almost dusk, and he was lying on the coir rope cot, reading the newspaper. There was a soft knock. And then the door flung open, and against the orange evening sky stood a shapely figure. It was Lizzie. Barathidasan scrambled to his feet, and pulled on a shirt.
“Maam. You should not come here maam.” Barathidasan stammered nervously.
Lizzie giggled hysterically. She was obviously drunk. She lurched towards him and as he tried to stop her fall, they both rolled on to the coir cot. Lizzie hugged Barathidasan closely. She was giggling.
“Maam. Please maam. You have to go.” Barathidasan was terrified. And then they both heard the heavy footsteps. And in a split second, Captain Mc Clough was at the doorway. And in the next moment, a deafening blast. And a second one. The Captain’s revolver exploded in quick succession. The room was splattered with the remains of Barathidasan and Lizzie.
“Maam. Please maam. You have to go.” Barathidasan was terrified. And then they both heard the heavy footsteps. And in a split second, Captain Mc Clough was at the doorway. And in the next moment, a deafening blast. And a second one. The Captain’s revolver exploded in quick succession. The room was splattered with the remains of Barathidasan and Lizzie.
****
Ponnayyan sat in the corner, his head hung low. His face was stony. His wife’s high pitched wail broke the silence. The villagers rushed to the house, and stood in shock. Thenmozhi lay lifeless in a heap, the rope still wound tightly around her neck.
“படுபாவி பய. கிளி மாதிரி இருக்குற இந்த பொண்ண விட்டுட்டு அந்த வெள்ளகார சிறுக்கிய போயி துரத்தி .....கடைசில செத்து போயிட்டானே ?” (What a rogue. He left my pretty daughter and went after that white slut… and died in the process.”) Thangamma wailed.
***
Lieutenant Charles Taylor rushed to the scene. As he saw Thenmozhi’s lifeless body, he staggered. He stood uncertainly for a few moments. Then he turned, and walked out.
Then the shot rang out. The villagers and Ponnayyan rushed out. Lieutenant Charles Taylor lay on the ground, face up. A large gaping hole marked where his face had been.
Monday, September 12, 2011
The Scoop ****
Sundaram lay in his hammock chair. He munched the potato chips as he lay watching the late night news on the TV. The tower fan rotated slowly, enhancing the natural breeze coming from the luxuriant foliage surrounding the place. He switched off the light and TV, and lay down to sleep. The noise of the traffic on the nearby roads was loud, but for Sundaram, it was muted, buffered and filtered through the thick green shrubbery.
As he lay on his bed, Sundaram felt a sense of bliss. It had been 5 years now, since he moved to this place, and things were highly satisfactory, to say the least. And it was completely free. A peaceful place, close to all amenities. Yet away from the public’s prying eyes.
****
Roy drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. His day had not gone well so far. First his editor had chewed him up for not coming up with any stories for the week. Then the call from his wife nagging about the unattended repairs in the home. And she needed money to buy provisions. Again. And now, he was stuck in this traffic. Roy looked out of the car window absent mindedly, at the rich green wall of plants below the highway ramp. All of a sudden the bushes parted, and a neatly dressed grey haired man appeared. But as the bushes parted, Roy glimpsed something that he couldn’t believe. As it sank in, Roy’s face lit up.
***
Of course it had not been like this at first. Sundaram had through his ingenuity, availed of basic needs. A small tap installed by the landscape department was just at the edge of the road, and he connected a hose to his rudimentary bathroom, filling the large drums and cans from time to time. And using his electrician’s skills, he had connected an extension from the dangling loose wire from the street light above, giving him a constant supply of free electricity. The other small comforts he had improvised over the years – a basic toilet and bathroom over the drain, plywood and zinc sheet hut, insulated by green plants growing pergola style, rudimentary furniture, TV, a small fridge, an electrical stove and so many other things. Sundaram lived under the ramp at one the busiest intersections in the city.
***
Sundaram was sweeping the front of his house, gathering the fallen leaves in a pile. Glancing up, he was startled to see the smiling young man.
“Hi. Don’t worry, I’m a friend. I saw you just now, and I was curious. Can I sit down?” Roy sat down on the small plastic chair.
Sundaram sat opposite him uncertainly. To Sundaram, the human interaction was a refreshing experience. He had been used to the solitary life for far too long. Soon, they began chatting. And Sundaram opened up, relating his story in all detail.
“Hi. Don’t worry, I’m a friend. I saw you just now, and I was curious. Can I sit down?” Roy sat down on the small plastic chair.
Sundaram sat opposite him uncertainly. To Sundaram, the human interaction was a refreshing experience. He had been used to the solitary life for far too long. Soon, they began chatting. And Sundaram opened up, relating his story in all detail.
***
It was on page two of the Moon Newspaper. “Man makes comfortable home below highway ramp”. The story was accompanied by several pictures of Sundaram in various poses around his “home”.
Mr. Simon, the editor of the Moon was pleased. The story had certainly been a good one for the paper. He had praised Roy for the scoop.
Tuan Zakaria was furious. How could his officers and workers have been oblivious to this activity? A man building a home with stolen water and electricity supply, all under their very noses? It was unacceptable. He wanted a full investigation, and the negligent officers would be hauled up. He ordered all the illegal structures cleared. On top of that, the bushes and shrubbery would also be cleared, to prevent anyone else from moving in.
The political parties jostled with one another, pointing fingers and offering aid to Sundaram. A low cost flat was offered. “We will not stand by idly and watch when a needy member of our society is living in abject poverty. We will do all we can to give him a dignified place to live.” Declared the Chief Minister.
A major corporation offered to pay his rental and utility bills for a year. A supermarket donated provisions. Well wishers collected more than RM 20,000, which they handed over in a brief ceremony reported by the Moon on its front page. Several individuals claiming to be Sundaram’s long lost relatives appeared to embrace him back into their fold. Sundaram’s life was turned upside down.
Sundaram sat in the tiny living room, looking out through the metal grill. The paint was peeling off the walls, and water dripped from the bathroom ceiling. The flats were squalid, rats and cockroaches were everywhere, and crime was rife. He was afraid to go out after dark. He had been mugged twice. Life was a struggle. There were so many bills to pay. And it was a mere existence. He longed for his carefree days in his old home.
Determinants **
It’s always determinants. It still has a value associated with it and can be computed in all ordinary circumstances. But why should we go to such trouble? That is a question worth pondering. When we make a matrix of the resultant impacts, the clearer picture emerges. An expression which provides important information of the coefficients when it corresponds to a vector space: in the first case the system has a unique solution. This also sometimes implies that the transformation has a geometric interpretation, associated while reversing its orientation.
That is an essential tool in a compact notation that would otherwise be unwieldy to write down or use in any way. Although most often used in cookery for instance they can come with entries in a non-commutative ring.
This grows rapidly with the weather prevailing. Also the care given to detail has a broad impact. Which is surprising, given the indeterminate divergence in these two issues.
This rule, often called the Rule of Sarrus is a mnemonic for this formula: the sum of the products of three diagonal north-west to south-east lines of matrix elements.
This property is a consequence of the characterization given above of the determinant as the unique n-linear alternating function of the columns with value 1 on the identity matrix.
It can then be concluded that the determinants have the unique characteristic of determining the end of the determinate equations.
That is an essential tool in a compact notation that would otherwise be unwieldy to write down or use in any way. Although most often used in cookery for instance they can come with entries in a non-commutative ring.
This grows rapidly with the weather prevailing. Also the care given to detail has a broad impact. Which is surprising, given the indeterminate divergence in these two issues.
This rule, often called the Rule of Sarrus is a mnemonic for this formula: the sum of the products of three diagonal north-west to south-east lines of matrix elements.
This property is a consequence of the characterization given above of the determinant as the unique n-linear alternating function of the columns with value 1 on the identity matrix.
It can then be concluded that the determinants have the unique characteristic of determining the end of the determinate equations.
The disambiguation in Indian music **
The music originating from India includes multiple varieties of folk, folk, popular, pop, classical music and R&B. India's classical music tradition, including Carnatic and Hindustani music, has a history spanning millennia and, developed over several eras, it remains fundamental to the lives of Indians today as sources of spiritual inspiration, cultural expression and pure entertainment. India is made up of several dozen ethnic groups, speaking their own languages and dialects, having very distinct cultural traditions.
The two main traditions of classical music are Carnatic music, found predominantly in the peninsular regions, and Hindustani music, found in the northern and central regions.
Hindustani music is an Indian classical music tradition that goes back to Vedic times around 1000 BC, and further developed circa the 13th and 14th centuries AD with Persian influences and from existing religious and folk music. The practice of singing based on notes was popular even from the Vedic times where the hymns in Sama Veda, a sacred text, was sung as Samagana and not chanted. Developing a strong and diverse tradition over several centuries, it has contemporary traditions established primarily in India but also in Pakistan and Bangladesh. In contrast to Carnatic music, the other main Indian classical music tradition originating from the South, Hindustani music was not only influenced by ancient Hindu musical traditions, historical Vedic philosophy and native Indian sounds but also enriched by the Persian performance practices of the Mughals. During the Medieval age especially in the Mughal era various Gharana got famous due to excellence and class in type of musics like raga.
The present form of Carnatic music is based on historical developments that can be traced to the 15th - 16th centuries AD and thereafter. Carnatic music is completely melodic, with improvised variations. The main emphasis is on vocal music; most compositions are written to be sung, and even when played on instruments, they are meant to be performed in a singing style (known as gāyaki). It is foundation for most music in South India, including folk music, festival music and in last 100 years in film music.
The two main traditions of classical music are Carnatic music, found predominantly in the peninsular regions, and Hindustani music, found in the northern and central regions.
Hindustani music is an Indian classical music tradition that goes back to Vedic times around 1000 BC, and further developed circa the 13th and 14th centuries AD with Persian influences and from existing religious and folk music. The practice of singing based on notes was popular even from the Vedic times where the hymns in Sama Veda, a sacred text, was sung as Samagana and not chanted. Developing a strong and diverse tradition over several centuries, it has contemporary traditions established primarily in India but also in Pakistan and Bangladesh. In contrast to Carnatic music, the other main Indian classical music tradition originating from the South, Hindustani music was not only influenced by ancient Hindu musical traditions, historical Vedic philosophy and native Indian sounds but also enriched by the Persian performance practices of the Mughals. During the Medieval age especially in the Mughal era various Gharana got famous due to excellence and class in type of musics like raga.
The present form of Carnatic music is based on historical developments that can be traced to the 15th - 16th centuries AD and thereafter. Carnatic music is completely melodic, with improvised variations. The main emphasis is on vocal music; most compositions are written to be sung, and even when played on instruments, they are meant to be performed in a singing style (known as gāyaki). It is foundation for most music in South India, including folk music, festival music and in last 100 years in film music.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
An Unforgettable Experience ***
Raveenthran was thoughtful. Across him, Megala sat looking at her brother. They were in Megala’s high end penthouse in Singapore.
“You know, Ravee, here we are enjoying such a good life. We have everything, the luxuries of life. And if there is one person we should be thankful to, its achchan.”
“Yes Meg, I have been thinking about that too. I have an idea. Achchan’s 60th birthday is coming up next month. How about we give him a surprise treat he would never forget? We will spare no effort to show Achchan our gratitude!”
“Ravee, I’m all for it.” Megala was enthusiastic.
***
Achuthan was clearly uncomfortable in the suit. He could hardly sit comfortably. The armpits were too tight, and he was so stiff. Ravee was driving the sports car himself. Too fast. Megala was sitting beside Achuthan in the back seat. She was going on and on about their life in Singapore. The price of their penthouse suites. Their cars. The expensive holidays they had gone on. Their servants. And on and on. Achuthan was happy that they were living a comfortable life. He had made sure they had a good education. And that they got a leg-up to move along in life. And after that he had moved back into the background. His two children appeared to have done well indeed.
But as the car sped along, Megala’s continuous bragging and condescending conversation began to bear down on Achuthan. He was feeling a little nauseous. And a headache was coming on. He also noticed that Ravee’s wife glanced back at him occasionally. Achuthan knew instinctively that she was not very pleased, seeing this old shriveled man sitting in their car.
Soon they were at the restaurant. It was a Spanish restaurant, explained Ravee. The best you could get outside of Spain itself. Authentic Spanish. Each dish went for a minimum of S $ 150, Ravee gushed.
Achuthan looked glum. His suit was choking him, the temperature in the restaurant was freezing, and the food stank to high heaven. The only items on the menu which he could eat were the salads. Achuthan stabbed at the cold vegetables with his fork, washing them down with the cold water. Meanwhile Ravee, his wife and Megala were having a great time enjoying the Morcilla and jamón , the sopas y ensaladas, the chuletas , the cerdo all washed down with the immaculate Vino Rosado.
And then the massive cake arrived. Achuthan stood, feeling like a fool as he cut the cake, while his children and the restaurant staff sang the birthday song. Later everyone ate the cake except Achuthan. It was too sweet for him.
The birthday gifts were beautifully packed. A Patek Philippe Sky Moon Tourbillon watch, costing S$ 35,000 from Ravee. An original Forzieri Italian silk tie from his daughter, and gold plated cufflinks from his daughter in law. Achuthan looked at the gifts. He had no use for any of these.
After the meal, they went to the opera. Tickets were S$ 1000 apiece. The world famous soprano Angela Gheorghiu was on. The high pitched performance lasted 3 hours, which Achuthan endured. Sitting in the deep leather seats, awkward in his ill-fitting suit, stomach rumbling from the meagre vegetables he had eaten for dinner. By the end of it, he had developed a splitting headache.
The next morning, they were at the airport, to send off their father.
“Achcha, it was the least we could do for you. We arranged the best of everything. We hope you enjoyed it all.”
“I was so overwhelmed. I am proud that my children are so loving, and are doing so well. Thank you so much for such a nice experience.” Achuthan gushed uncharacteristically.
“You know, Ravee, here we are enjoying such a good life. We have everything, the luxuries of life. And if there is one person we should be thankful to, its achchan.”
“Yes Meg, I have been thinking about that too. I have an idea. Achchan’s 60th birthday is coming up next month. How about we give him a surprise treat he would never forget? We will spare no effort to show Achchan our gratitude!”
“Ravee, I’m all for it.” Megala was enthusiastic.
***
Achuthan was clearly uncomfortable in the suit. He could hardly sit comfortably. The armpits were too tight, and he was so stiff. Ravee was driving the sports car himself. Too fast. Megala was sitting beside Achuthan in the back seat. She was going on and on about their life in Singapore. The price of their penthouse suites. Their cars. The expensive holidays they had gone on. Their servants. And on and on. Achuthan was happy that they were living a comfortable life. He had made sure they had a good education. And that they got a leg-up to move along in life. And after that he had moved back into the background. His two children appeared to have done well indeed.
But as the car sped along, Megala’s continuous bragging and condescending conversation began to bear down on Achuthan. He was feeling a little nauseous. And a headache was coming on. He also noticed that Ravee’s wife glanced back at him occasionally. Achuthan knew instinctively that she was not very pleased, seeing this old shriveled man sitting in their car.
Soon they were at the restaurant. It was a Spanish restaurant, explained Ravee. The best you could get outside of Spain itself. Authentic Spanish. Each dish went for a minimum of S $ 150, Ravee gushed.
Achuthan looked glum. His suit was choking him, the temperature in the restaurant was freezing, and the food stank to high heaven. The only items on the menu which he could eat were the salads. Achuthan stabbed at the cold vegetables with his fork, washing them down with the cold water. Meanwhile Ravee, his wife and Megala were having a great time enjoying the Morcilla and jamón , the sopas y ensaladas, the chuletas , the cerdo all washed down with the immaculate Vino Rosado.
And then the massive cake arrived. Achuthan stood, feeling like a fool as he cut the cake, while his children and the restaurant staff sang the birthday song. Later everyone ate the cake except Achuthan. It was too sweet for him.
The birthday gifts were beautifully packed. A Patek Philippe Sky Moon Tourbillon watch, costing S$ 35,000 from Ravee. An original Forzieri Italian silk tie from his daughter, and gold plated cufflinks from his daughter in law. Achuthan looked at the gifts. He had no use for any of these.
After the meal, they went to the opera. Tickets were S$ 1000 apiece. The world famous soprano Angela Gheorghiu was on. The high pitched performance lasted 3 hours, which Achuthan endured. Sitting in the deep leather seats, awkward in his ill-fitting suit, stomach rumbling from the meagre vegetables he had eaten for dinner. By the end of it, he had developed a splitting headache.
The next morning, they were at the airport, to send off their father.
“Achcha, it was the least we could do for you. We arranged the best of everything. We hope you enjoyed it all.”
“I was so overwhelmed. I am proud that my children are so loving, and are doing so well. Thank you so much for such a nice experience.” Achuthan gushed uncharacteristically.
“Achcha, why don’t you come and stay with us permanently?” Megala asked.
Achuthan shuddered imperceptibly.
“Well Meg, Achcha seems comfortable in India. We can just help him out - once in a while. I am sure he prefers it there.” Ravee’s wife answered, almost too quickly.
“Yes, I prefer a simple life. I am comfortable. I am happy that you all are doing well. Thank you again.”
***
Achuthan sat on the porch of his house. It was a hot day, but here on his shady porch, it was cool and breezy. The coconut palms and the acacia tree branches swayed gently, soothing swishing sounds. The chirping birds added to the myriad sounds from the lush gardens surrounding the house. There were fruit trees, and flower shrubs and bushes, with the substantial vegetable patches at the back.
Achuthan had just had his lunch. His favourite ladies fingers and eggplant sambar, with olan. The papadam and potato chips were standard, as were the vadumanga pickles, which made the thairu chaatham heavenly. Achuthan was so fortunate to have Unni Nair as his cook cum general helper. Achuthan treated Unni more like a brother than as a paid servant.
Now Unni appeared, bearing a tray of nuts – peanuts, cashews, hazelnuts, almonds, and another tray of cut fruits – papaya, pineapple, banana.
Achuthan shuddered imperceptibly.
“Well Meg, Achcha seems comfortable in India. We can just help him out - once in a while. I am sure he prefers it there.” Ravee’s wife answered, almost too quickly.
“Yes, I prefer a simple life. I am comfortable. I am happy that you all are doing well. Thank you again.”
***
Achuthan sat on the porch of his house. It was a hot day, but here on his shady porch, it was cool and breezy. The coconut palms and the acacia tree branches swayed gently, soothing swishing sounds. The chirping birds added to the myriad sounds from the lush gardens surrounding the house. There were fruit trees, and flower shrubs and bushes, with the substantial vegetable patches at the back.
Achuthan had just had his lunch. His favourite ladies fingers and eggplant sambar, with olan. The papadam and potato chips were standard, as were the vadumanga pickles, which made the thairu chaatham heavenly. Achuthan was so fortunate to have Unni Nair as his cook cum general helper. Achuthan treated Unni more like a brother than as a paid servant.
Now Unni appeared, bearing a tray of nuts – peanuts, cashews, hazelnuts, almonds, and another tray of cut fruits – papaya, pineapple, banana.
Achuthan closed his eyes momentarily. Life couldn’t get better.
Later, he went in for a short afternoon nap. In the evening a relaxed oil bath, soaking in gingelly oil for a couple of hours before bathing in warm well water. In the evening, a short drive in his MPV to the Bhagavathy temple with Unni, followed by a simple meal at Krishna Bhavan nearby, before returning home for a few hours in front of the TV and then, off to bed.
Just before he slipped into a deep sleep, he recalled for a moment his Birthday treat. He shuddered. It had been the most unforgettable experience in his life.
Later, he went in for a short afternoon nap. In the evening a relaxed oil bath, soaking in gingelly oil for a couple of hours before bathing in warm well water. In the evening, a short drive in his MPV to the Bhagavathy temple with Unni, followed by a simple meal at Krishna Bhavan nearby, before returning home for a few hours in front of the TV and then, off to bed.
Just before he slipped into a deep sleep, he recalled for a moment his Birthday treat. He shuddered. It had been the most unforgettable experience in his life.
Existence ***
Ramanathan furrowed his brows. His head spun. His head spun whenever he thought too hard. And here he was, thinking hard about… He didn’t even remember what it was he was thinking about.
Ramanathan sipped the glass of warm water. It was already cold. As he sipped it, he shuddered. The room was cold too. In fact the room was freezing. Ramanathan began to shiver uncontrollably. The glass shook violently, spilling some of the water on the carpet. Ramanathan closed his eyes. It will be over soon. He knew it. It had happened before. It always got over in a while. He gritted his teeth. And then his teeth began to chatter violently. And soon his whole body was shaking. Ramanathan saw the room in a swirl of colour. He was lying on the floor now. The cold tiles sending piercing pangs of pain through his body. He tasted blood in his mouth. He realised that he must have bitten his tongue. Soon the spasms subsided. Ramanathan lay exhausted. His breathing was heavy. His chest heaved. But his eyes were half closed. The rest of his body lay stock still. Ramanathan felt a wave of nausea. Suddenly he began retching. Dry painful retching that brought the bile to the back of his mouth. The taste was bitter. And the metallic taste of blood on his tongue. Another wave of nausea. Ramanathan turned over on to his back. Above him, the ceiling fan swirled at a thunderous speed. Ramanathan pictured it coming loose from its moorings and crashing down on him. He closed his eyes. A serene calmness enveloped him. Gradually his breathing returned to normal. He was sweating profusely now. It was unbearably hot. And the fan was sending forth fumes of hot air. And the floor felt unbearably hot. Ramanathan was drenched. And then he drifted into a fitful sleep.
Ramanathan awoke with a start. An incessant sound rang from somewhere. For a moment he looked around, dazed. Where was he? He could remember nothing.
He tried to get up. But his body was not responding. He saw the room as a hazy grey void. He realised his eyes were closed. But he could see the shadowy shapes around the room. And then he saw himself. Lying in a shapeless heap on the floor. And then everything was crystal clear. It was the library of his home. And the incessant sound was the doorbell. In a moment he could see outside his front door. Mr. Michael, his kindly old neighbour stood stooped on the porch, ringing the doorbell. Ramanathan felt a curious disinterest. His consciousness felt so light and expansive. The next moment, he felt he was everywhere. He knew everything, past, present and future. He was one with existence.
Ramanathan sipped the glass of warm water. It was already cold. As he sipped it, he shuddered. The room was cold too. In fact the room was freezing. Ramanathan began to shiver uncontrollably. The glass shook violently, spilling some of the water on the carpet. Ramanathan closed his eyes. It will be over soon. He knew it. It had happened before. It always got over in a while. He gritted his teeth. And then his teeth began to chatter violently. And soon his whole body was shaking. Ramanathan saw the room in a swirl of colour. He was lying on the floor now. The cold tiles sending piercing pangs of pain through his body. He tasted blood in his mouth. He realised that he must have bitten his tongue. Soon the spasms subsided. Ramanathan lay exhausted. His breathing was heavy. His chest heaved. But his eyes were half closed. The rest of his body lay stock still. Ramanathan felt a wave of nausea. Suddenly he began retching. Dry painful retching that brought the bile to the back of his mouth. The taste was bitter. And the metallic taste of blood on his tongue. Another wave of nausea. Ramanathan turned over on to his back. Above him, the ceiling fan swirled at a thunderous speed. Ramanathan pictured it coming loose from its moorings and crashing down on him. He closed his eyes. A serene calmness enveloped him. Gradually his breathing returned to normal. He was sweating profusely now. It was unbearably hot. And the fan was sending forth fumes of hot air. And the floor felt unbearably hot. Ramanathan was drenched. And then he drifted into a fitful sleep.
Ramanathan awoke with a start. An incessant sound rang from somewhere. For a moment he looked around, dazed. Where was he? He could remember nothing.
He tried to get up. But his body was not responding. He saw the room as a hazy grey void. He realised his eyes were closed. But he could see the shadowy shapes around the room. And then he saw himself. Lying in a shapeless heap on the floor. And then everything was crystal clear. It was the library of his home. And the incessant sound was the doorbell. In a moment he could see outside his front door. Mr. Michael, his kindly old neighbour stood stooped on the porch, ringing the doorbell. Ramanathan felt a curious disinterest. His consciousness felt so light and expansive. The next moment, he felt he was everywhere. He knew everything, past, present and future. He was one with existence.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Paranoia ****
Saras let out a deep sigh. The sight of the dust accumulated under the bookshelf dismayed her. And upstairs, in the bathroom, the slime was already visible on the walls of the shower compartment. She had to talk to Flora about this.
***
Ravee decided that the garden work had waited long enough. He would finish it this morning. The bushes around the back had to be cleared. And the garden shed needed some mending too. He looked for some work clothes. Then he saw the blood red T-shirt. He held it up. He couldn’t imagine how he had brought himself to buy this hideous thing. He put it on and picked up the tools.
Saras saw Flora in the kitchen, wiping the sink half-heartedly. She strode up to her.
“Flora, you buat kerja saya not happy. Upstairs bathroom tak bersih. Ini library, semua tak bersih. Sini dapur tak bersih. Kalau buat kerja macam ini tak bersih saya tak suka. Mesti bersih.” Saras rattled away in her broken Malay.
Flora looked at her impassively. “Saya buat kerja bersih mem.” She pleaded.
***
The sound of the sirens drew near in moments. The wailing of several patrol cars was deafening. The doorbell rang insistently. Soon a banging on the gate.
***
The plainclothes police man sat opposite the three of them. He looked at each of them in turn.
“Maam, our surveillance recorded you talking about Bersih. Can you explain yourself? And why were you and this woman here dressed in yellow?”
Saras and Flora looked at each other.
Ravee was shocked. “Look here sir, my wife is just a housewife. And this is our maid….”
The policeman held up his hand. He held an enlarged print of a colour photograph.
“And you sir, can you explain why you were standing near this symbol, dressed in red ?”
Ravee looked at the photograph incredulously. It showed a hammer and sickle lying on top of one another on the floor near his garden shed.
***
Ravee decided that the garden work had waited long enough. He would finish it this morning. The bushes around the back had to be cleared. And the garden shed needed some mending too. He looked for some work clothes. Then he saw the blood red T-shirt. He held it up. He couldn’t imagine how he had brought himself to buy this hideous thing. He put it on and picked up the tools.
Saras saw Flora in the kitchen, wiping the sink half-heartedly. She strode up to her.
“Flora, you buat kerja saya not happy. Upstairs bathroom tak bersih. Ini library, semua tak bersih. Sini dapur tak bersih. Kalau buat kerja macam ini tak bersih saya tak suka. Mesti bersih.” Saras rattled away in her broken Malay.
Flora looked at her impassively. “Saya buat kerja bersih mem.” She pleaded.
***
The sound of the sirens drew near in moments. The wailing of several patrol cars was deafening. The doorbell rang insistently. Soon a banging on the gate.
***
The plainclothes police man sat opposite the three of them. He looked at each of them in turn.
“Maam, our surveillance recorded you talking about Bersih. Can you explain yourself? And why were you and this woman here dressed in yellow?”
Saras and Flora looked at each other.
Ravee was shocked. “Look here sir, my wife is just a housewife. And this is our maid….”
The policeman held up his hand. He held an enlarged print of a colour photograph.
“And you sir, can you explain why you were standing near this symbol, dressed in red ?”
Ravee looked at the photograph incredulously. It showed a hammer and sickle lying on top of one another on the floor near his garden shed.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Two Splendid Sons *****
My Appa taught me
My Appa taught me “Baik Hati “ by his forgiveness. He seldom keeps things in his heart and I am proud to say that I learnt this great quality from him - Love lives by giving and forgiving.
My Appa taught me “Baik Hati “ by his forgiveness. He seldom keeps things in his heart and I am proud to say that I learnt this great quality from him - Love lives by giving and forgiving.
My Appa was very “Berdikari” – very confident and responsible for his actions. I don’t know whether that’s being too careful, but, he taught me how each action needs to have a reaction that I need to be responsible for. And I learnt it from Him.
My Appa is “Hemah Tinggi” personified. Yeah, I know it’s a tough word. It simply means, being simple. His father earned the respect of everyone through his simplicity and friendly nature, and he taught the same to me, through his actions.
My Appa abides by the value of “Hormat Menghormati” – ever respectful to parents, elders, friends and also nature! Still have much to learn from him on this one.
My Appa has a lot of hidden “Kasih Sayang”. He doesn’t openly show affection, but he has love and respect for people around him, family, friends, nature, culture, religion and the nation.
“Keadilan” is also a big thing that My Appa taught me. Looking at the big picture with fairness and equality is a key teaching that My Appa follows and teaches all of us.
“Kebebasan” – this is another tough one to understand. What I could relate to this is the freedom My Appa gave us with the invisible line he drew around it that made us develop into who we are today, while maintaining our values, culture and self respect.
My Appa showed us a lot of amazing examples of “Keberanian”. At work he always stands by his principles and truth and never gives in for any untruth. He also faces challenges – in many forms with a calm composure and great mastery of his emotions. Something that I admire and aspire to have more of in me.
Whether it is “Kebersihan Fizikal” or “Kebersihan Mental” , my Appa is very straight forward when it comes to what he wants to see in us. The positive thoughts that I aspire to have today was the effect of the direction my Appa showed all of us. He tried his best and still is trying to instill this character in us!
“Kejujuran” is always my Appa’s motto. He never goes against truth or righteousness whether at work, home or anywhere else.
Since he started working in the government in Penang, to this day when he is close to retirement, all his achievements are due to his “Kerajinan”. If not for his footsteps, we may not be who we are today.
Since he started working in the government in Penang, to this day when he is close to retirement, all his achievements are due to his “Kerajinan”. If not for his footsteps, we may not be who we are today.
With all his social work, My Appa fosters and promotes “Kerjasama” – working together towards a goal to achieve excellence in spiritual and mental growth for ourselves and for others who need help.
There were many other discreet lessons My Appa thought, one of it being, “Kesederhanaan”. He never bought for us material things in excess. In fact I remember clearly one incident when my uncle came over and offered us a box of chocolates, my brother and I (we were 7 and 4) took just one piece and closed the box. That was the extent to which moderation was instilled in us. I still carry this value heavily in my life much to the dismay of people around me, possibly now my son too!
Looking back is not always a bad thing. In fact I firmly believe looking back teaches us many lessons. My Appa taught us “Kesyukuran” or being grateful for what nature and God has given us. I realized how true this was when I was reading about the Law of Attraction and the power of being grateful. My Appa knew it back then; he always reminded us with his key phrase: “Think of the kids in Ethiopia”.
My left brained decision making skills are definitely from my Appa’s “Rasional” qualities. He normally speaks out his thoughts, explaining slowly, in a systematic manner and putting it down on paper until he gets to the conclusion. Well, most of the time he will be right.
Although not heavily involved in his neighbourhood watch in the 80s, my Appa carries the value of “Semangat Bermasyarakat” close to his heart. With all the community projects that he does, he shows us how important and interdependent all of us are with each other.
Although not heavily involved in his neighbourhood watch in the 80s, my Appa carries the value of “Semangat Bermasyarakat” close to his heart. With all the community projects that he does, he shows us how important and interdependent all of us are with each other.
I wish I can be a great father like who my Appa was to us and one day I wish Sai Anish will write such nice things about me.
But then again, my Appa taught me Kesederhanaan and Kesyukuran so I should focus on the present and be grateful for what God has blessed us with!
Thank you Appa for all your guidance!
MY FATHER, MY IDOL
After eight years, many temple visits and prayers, the child was born. He was the blessing of Lord Shiva, and was named after the Lord himself - Markandan. He was born in Jalan Seratus Tahun, the "hundred years’ road" and it became everyone's wish that he lives up to the road name. This article is about him.
As a young child, Markandan a.k.a Dorai, often spent his time in the small room in the Shiva Temple in Penang where his father was head priest. Dorai’s childhood and adolescence enjoyed a lot of freedom, unlike the children of today who are spoon-fed. He had to take care of a lot of things himself, including being at home on time for lunch and dinner. His daily allowance for school was about five cents, and anything extra he desired was only acquired by saving from this allowance.
He also took care of his studies by himself; tuitions and extra classes were luxuries never heard of then.
MY FATHER, MY IDOL
After eight years, many temple visits and prayers, the child was born. He was the blessing of Lord Shiva, and was named after the Lord himself - Markandan. He was born in Jalan Seratus Tahun, the "hundred years’ road" and it became everyone's wish that he lives up to the road name. This article is about him.
As a young child, Markandan a.k.a Dorai, often spent his time in the small room in the Shiva Temple in Penang where his father was head priest. Dorai’s childhood and adolescence enjoyed a lot of freedom, unlike the children of today who are spoon-fed. He had to take care of a lot of things himself, including being at home on time for lunch and dinner. His daily allowance for school was about five cents, and anything extra he desired was only acquired by saving from this allowance.
He also took care of his studies by himself; tuitions and extra classes were luxuries never heard of then.
He often played badminton with his neighbourhood friends like Velu, using wooden racquets and used-shuttlecocks, right next to his small room. When it was his study time, Dorai always knew how to prioritise. He will be sitting in the room with his books, being distracted now and again by the sound of Velu’s smashes. There was a small window in that room through which Dorai often watched his friends play, and in that process his character was built by the battles with temptation to join them.
My father was my tuition teacher till I was 15. My dad mastered the techniques of teaching my brother and I, correlating family members to solve mathematics, using twigs in the padang to practice the letters of the alphabet.
When I was 13, all my Indian friends enrolled in Sri Murugan Centre. It was free tuition provided to Indian students to improve education amongst the race. The teachers were all top educators from the country and often provided rigorous lessons and tips for exams like PMR and SPM. I felt my father should know this, and he would definitely want me to go and study more. When I told him, his response was simple, “You are already going to school five days a week, use the weekends to play.” I boasted to all my friends the next day, I had the coolest dad ever.
He sent me for badminton training on Sundays, but he was my first badminton trainer with nets from our toilet window and the fence of the opposite house on our back lane. After the ’92 Thomas Cup victory, we bought paint and drew lines to improve our own private court. He also always rushed to my school after work, to watch me train hockey. He relentlessly supported my sporting endeavour, although the racquets, sticks, boots, pads, socks, shorts, trainers and jerseys caused some damage to his pocket. When I wanted to quit badminton training in Form 5, he was genuinely disappointed. Such was his interest in my sports undertaking.
Growing up in the temple did not influence Dorai into becoming a believer. On the contrary, Dorai never had any inclination towards divinity. He was happy to live his life within the temple but without the Gods. However, Dorai instilled in himself most of the values that even the temple priests lacked. He witnessed with his own eyes the embarrassment of one of the priests who was caught red-handed by his father, stealing money from the temple. The humiliation in the face of the offender, and the anger and disgust on his father’s face left an indelible impression in Dorai.
One day, in the many trips Dorai and his friends made to the local bowling alley which was frequented only by the rich and famous, Velu showed Dorai a Zippo lighter which he had stolen from one of the tables. Dorai was stunned, that his own friend would do such a thing. With that incident, Dorai made a decision to end his friendship with Velu, and to never be involved in these kinds of activities. The conscience of Dorai was too strong, he did not need a religious text to tell him what was right and wrong.
I was five, maybe six. I came back home from Kindergarten one day, with the handkerchief of Ravi, one of my classmates. Ravi was sitting in front of me during story-telling session in class that day, where all of us students sit on the floor listening to the teacher read us a story. His handkerchief was in his back pocket, peering out at me. Till this day I don’t know why, but I instinctively pulled it out and kept it. When I went home, I showed it to my parents – again, I don’t know why! What followed was something I can never erase from my memory. My father, with shock and disbelief apparent on his face, dragged me to the altar. My mom was there too, and they asked me to promise in the name of God to never ever take what is not mine again. After I did that, my father brought me out to the back lane of our house. He burned the handkerchief, and while I watched it burn with tears in my eyes, I swore to myself to never steal again.
Completing his primary education in Pykett Primary School and his secondary at Methodist Boys School, Dorai was an average, quiet student. His parents never knew Dorai could even speak English fluently, and they were shocked one day when they heard him speaking with one of his friends outside the house. Without himself knowing, Dorai was actually a great student, and life had educated him in a wholesame manner which would be evident in many years to come.
Having completed his secondary, Dorai and family moved to India, after the May 13 incident. His father was sure it was not a safe place for his family, and so they all packed their bags and left. Dorai enrolled into a Pre-University College there in Madras, called the New College and everything taught in that college was what Dorai had already learnt in Form Five. He was by far the smartest student in the college.
After his Pre-U, Dorai had not much direction in his next course of action. He had options to study in places like Pollachi, Pachaiyappa and colleges which didn’t sound remotely intelligent. Then, quite casually, he sat for an entrance exam to this university called the Indian Institute of Technology. It was the most prestigious school of engineering in India.
He got it.
My father never missed report card days in my schools. I still remember clearly when I was standard 1. I had no clue how I had done in my exams. I remember my father walking in to greet Mrs.Lim. She handed him the report card, and opening it my father stared at it for a while and laughed out loud. The kind of laughter I am so used to hearing. But I didn’t know why he laughed. Did I do so badly, that it was such a joke? Only when I went home did I realise, I had gotten all As in my first ever exam. And that laughter was that of pride and happiness. I will never forget that day.
When I was in Form 5 in Penang Free School, my father got a transfer to his headquarters in Kuala Lumpur. For six months, he tirelessly travelled every weekend to and from KL and Penang just make sure my mom and I were doing okay. He never once asked me to pack up and find another school in KL. He knew that my friends back home and the schooling cannot be interrupted, and I am sure it was such a hassle for him. My attitude as a 17 year old didn’t help either. My mother always had complaints about me to him when he came back. In retrospect now, that was so much of burden to handle – new job promotion, new home to start in KL, one son in Johor, one more in Penang driving his mom up the wall. But never once did I see my dad break down or get angry. He handled it like an expert, that he always is.
IIT, the collection point of the crème de la crème of India opened up a whole new chapter in Dorai’s life. Chapters of fun, laughter, education, knowledge and exciting adventures. Even over 30 years after his graduation, Dorai would exclaim that IIT was the best time of his life. There are just uncountable stories that he relates about his university life, from the canteen food (the best fried rice and kuruma he has eaten) to the open-air movie screenings, from the craze of Beatles to the books he has read, and discussions with his extremely intelligent friends like Ashok and Prakash. His room in University, with the low bed (the bed’s legs sawed off) and red curtains, was the meeting point for all his friends to chill-out, and even, occasionally, study. His 5 years in IIT made Dorai realise the value of education, and the power of intelligence. He graduated with first class honours in Civil Engineering in 1978 with the promise to his friends that no matter what happened, in 20 years, they would all meet again to go around the world together.
My undergraduate life was fun; too much fun, actually. It was my most reckless years, with dwindling morals and false sense of ability, pride, and mistaken identity.
I come back home from Melaka, in 2006, four years into my Engineering degree. My father is sitting in the hall, eating his favourite peanuts, watching a Tamil show on the telly with my mother. I steady my trembling hands, holding a piece of paper where I had drawn out a plan. A plan on how I will complete my degree with a one-year extension.
I approach them, mustering up some confidence and rehearsing the usual excuses. “They are not offering the subjects I need. My termination is just a formality. With this plan, I can improve my CGPA.” As I went on, I felt more embarrassment, and I saw deep disappointment in his face. It is a look I never want to see again, my father being disappointed with me. I ended by saying I plan to work part time, so that I can pay for the additional year of my education. His answer, again, was short, simple and clear, “You worry about passing your papers, I will worry about the money.”
In the mid-80s when I was born, my father’s financial situation was not too good. He always told the story of how he had to “scrape the bottom of the barrel” to run the family at one point. As an engineer, he had to move us to a flat where his lower subordinates stayed. We even visited this place in our last Penang trip.
I never felt any embarrassment or disgust when I saw it. In fact, my respect and esteem for him grew. The saying comes to mind – A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.
Those experiences with finances shaped what my father always taught my brother and I - The value of money, and the importance of being careful in its use. His own father was a role-model for him, owning no possessions for himself but for a simple shirt and veshti. My father was similar and still is, even now shopping at cheap outlets and buying only what is absolutely necessary. His biggest expenses has always been on his wife and two sons.
There are so many more incidences, recollections, memories of his childhood, adolescence, adulthood and family life that can be evidence of the man’s greatness. But words just fail to encapsulate the value of my father in my life, and the perfection which defines his. Now he is a very happy grandfather; little Anish has brought a new chapter into my father’s life – as a loving, doting, spoiling grandfather. It is evidence that a man who lives an honest, righteous and honourable life, will receive all the blessings of happiness and contentment.
I wish my dad a Happy Father’s Day. It has been long that you replaced Eric Cantona as my ultimate idol. And my life will always be a reflection of your stories, values, and upbringing.
My father was my tuition teacher till I was 15. My dad mastered the techniques of teaching my brother and I, correlating family members to solve mathematics, using twigs in the padang to practice the letters of the alphabet.
When I was 13, all my Indian friends enrolled in Sri Murugan Centre. It was free tuition provided to Indian students to improve education amongst the race. The teachers were all top educators from the country and often provided rigorous lessons and tips for exams like PMR and SPM. I felt my father should know this, and he would definitely want me to go and study more. When I told him, his response was simple, “You are already going to school five days a week, use the weekends to play.” I boasted to all my friends the next day, I had the coolest dad ever.
He sent me for badminton training on Sundays, but he was my first badminton trainer with nets from our toilet window and the fence of the opposite house on our back lane. After the ’92 Thomas Cup victory, we bought paint and drew lines to improve our own private court. He also always rushed to my school after work, to watch me train hockey. He relentlessly supported my sporting endeavour, although the racquets, sticks, boots, pads, socks, shorts, trainers and jerseys caused some damage to his pocket. When I wanted to quit badminton training in Form 5, he was genuinely disappointed. Such was his interest in my sports undertaking.
Growing up in the temple did not influence Dorai into becoming a believer. On the contrary, Dorai never had any inclination towards divinity. He was happy to live his life within the temple but without the Gods. However, Dorai instilled in himself most of the values that even the temple priests lacked. He witnessed with his own eyes the embarrassment of one of the priests who was caught red-handed by his father, stealing money from the temple. The humiliation in the face of the offender, and the anger and disgust on his father’s face left an indelible impression in Dorai.
One day, in the many trips Dorai and his friends made to the local bowling alley which was frequented only by the rich and famous, Velu showed Dorai a Zippo lighter which he had stolen from one of the tables. Dorai was stunned, that his own friend would do such a thing. With that incident, Dorai made a decision to end his friendship with Velu, and to never be involved in these kinds of activities. The conscience of Dorai was too strong, he did not need a religious text to tell him what was right and wrong.
I was five, maybe six. I came back home from Kindergarten one day, with the handkerchief of Ravi, one of my classmates. Ravi was sitting in front of me during story-telling session in class that day, where all of us students sit on the floor listening to the teacher read us a story. His handkerchief was in his back pocket, peering out at me. Till this day I don’t know why, but I instinctively pulled it out and kept it. When I went home, I showed it to my parents – again, I don’t know why! What followed was something I can never erase from my memory. My father, with shock and disbelief apparent on his face, dragged me to the altar. My mom was there too, and they asked me to promise in the name of God to never ever take what is not mine again. After I did that, my father brought me out to the back lane of our house. He burned the handkerchief, and while I watched it burn with tears in my eyes, I swore to myself to never steal again.
Completing his primary education in Pykett Primary School and his secondary at Methodist Boys School, Dorai was an average, quiet student. His parents never knew Dorai could even speak English fluently, and they were shocked one day when they heard him speaking with one of his friends outside the house. Without himself knowing, Dorai was actually a great student, and life had educated him in a wholesame manner which would be evident in many years to come.
Having completed his secondary, Dorai and family moved to India, after the May 13 incident. His father was sure it was not a safe place for his family, and so they all packed their bags and left. Dorai enrolled into a Pre-University College there in Madras, called the New College and everything taught in that college was what Dorai had already learnt in Form Five. He was by far the smartest student in the college.
After his Pre-U, Dorai had not much direction in his next course of action. He had options to study in places like Pollachi, Pachaiyappa and colleges which didn’t sound remotely intelligent. Then, quite casually, he sat for an entrance exam to this university called the Indian Institute of Technology. It was the most prestigious school of engineering in India.
He got it.
My father never missed report card days in my schools. I still remember clearly when I was standard 1. I had no clue how I had done in my exams. I remember my father walking in to greet Mrs.Lim. She handed him the report card, and opening it my father stared at it for a while and laughed out loud. The kind of laughter I am so used to hearing. But I didn’t know why he laughed. Did I do so badly, that it was such a joke? Only when I went home did I realise, I had gotten all As in my first ever exam. And that laughter was that of pride and happiness. I will never forget that day.
When I was in Form 5 in Penang Free School, my father got a transfer to his headquarters in Kuala Lumpur. For six months, he tirelessly travelled every weekend to and from KL and Penang just make sure my mom and I were doing okay. He never once asked me to pack up and find another school in KL. He knew that my friends back home and the schooling cannot be interrupted, and I am sure it was such a hassle for him. My attitude as a 17 year old didn’t help either. My mother always had complaints about me to him when he came back. In retrospect now, that was so much of burden to handle – new job promotion, new home to start in KL, one son in Johor, one more in Penang driving his mom up the wall. But never once did I see my dad break down or get angry. He handled it like an expert, that he always is.
IIT, the collection point of the crème de la crème of India opened up a whole new chapter in Dorai’s life. Chapters of fun, laughter, education, knowledge and exciting adventures. Even over 30 years after his graduation, Dorai would exclaim that IIT was the best time of his life. There are just uncountable stories that he relates about his university life, from the canteen food (the best fried rice and kuruma he has eaten) to the open-air movie screenings, from the craze of Beatles to the books he has read, and discussions with his extremely intelligent friends like Ashok and Prakash. His room in University, with the low bed (the bed’s legs sawed off) and red curtains, was the meeting point for all his friends to chill-out, and even, occasionally, study. His 5 years in IIT made Dorai realise the value of education, and the power of intelligence. He graduated with first class honours in Civil Engineering in 1978 with the promise to his friends that no matter what happened, in 20 years, they would all meet again to go around the world together.
My undergraduate life was fun; too much fun, actually. It was my most reckless years, with dwindling morals and false sense of ability, pride, and mistaken identity.
I come back home from Melaka, in 2006, four years into my Engineering degree. My father is sitting in the hall, eating his favourite peanuts, watching a Tamil show on the telly with my mother. I steady my trembling hands, holding a piece of paper where I had drawn out a plan. A plan on how I will complete my degree with a one-year extension.
I approach them, mustering up some confidence and rehearsing the usual excuses. “They are not offering the subjects I need. My termination is just a formality. With this plan, I can improve my CGPA.” As I went on, I felt more embarrassment, and I saw deep disappointment in his face. It is a look I never want to see again, my father being disappointed with me. I ended by saying I plan to work part time, so that I can pay for the additional year of my education. His answer, again, was short, simple and clear, “You worry about passing your papers, I will worry about the money.”
In the mid-80s when I was born, my father’s financial situation was not too good. He always told the story of how he had to “scrape the bottom of the barrel” to run the family at one point. As an engineer, he had to move us to a flat where his lower subordinates stayed. We even visited this place in our last Penang trip.
I never felt any embarrassment or disgust when I saw it. In fact, my respect and esteem for him grew. The saying comes to mind – A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.
Those experiences with finances shaped what my father always taught my brother and I - The value of money, and the importance of being careful in its use. His own father was a role-model for him, owning no possessions for himself but for a simple shirt and veshti. My father was similar and still is, even now shopping at cheap outlets and buying only what is absolutely necessary. His biggest expenses has always been on his wife and two sons.
There are so many more incidences, recollections, memories of his childhood, adolescence, adulthood and family life that can be evidence of the man’s greatness. But words just fail to encapsulate the value of my father in my life, and the perfection which defines his. Now he is a very happy grandfather; little Anish has brought a new chapter into my father’s life – as a loving, doting, spoiling grandfather. It is evidence that a man who lives an honest, righteous and honourable life, will receive all the blessings of happiness and contentment.
I wish my dad a Happy Father’s Day. It has been long that you replaced Eric Cantona as my ultimate idol. And my life will always be a reflection of your stories, values, and upbringing.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Self Defence ***
Malar wiped her brow. At last the chores were done. She was exhausted. The baby was due in 6 weeks. She felt the bulge of her tummy. And he kicked just at that moment. Malar smiled wistfully. As she turned, she stiffened. A movement behind the dining room partition. Her heart beating furiously, she moved cautiously to the kitchen door. And in a lightning movement he pounced. He gagged her with the thick cloth, grabbing her hands behind her back. She couldn't breathe. Her heart thundered.
***
He was stripping her. Malar reacted with horror. Her screams were muffled and totally inaudible. Tears streamed from her eyes. Oh God! The baby! She had to protect the baby. The man was unrelenting. He held her hands behind her back and tore away her clothing. A crazed look in his eyes terrified Malar. She was going to die. Her baby was going to die. She screamed again. She struggled to breathe. And then she passed out.
***
As she came to, the realization dawned that she was a prisoner. She could hear the man ransacking the rooms. He was a young Indian boy. Couldn't be more than 25. Malar was bound and gagged with the cloth torn from her bedsheet. She was clad only in her underwear. Her torn clothes lay strewn all over the floor. A piece of her blouse hung from her arm. She wriggled her wrists and feet. Soon she felt an unbelievable relief. Her hands were free! He had done a sloppy job. Swiftly she freed her feet. He heart was pounding madly. And then she saw the parang and wrench which he had brought. It was on the bedside table. She moved silently, grabbing the parang.
Just then he entered, carrying a heavy suitcase which he had packed with the valuables which he had looted. A stunned look came over his face as she appeared, swinging the parang viciously. The blow cut across his neck. The blood spouted, spraying her as he fell, stumbling on the suitcase. She rained blows on him with the parang, slashing his back and arms into shreds. And then she stopped. She paused a moment. As she watched, he moved and groaned. Malar ran to the bedside and grabbing the wrench, brought it down on his head, crushing it in a gory mash of blood, flesh, hair and brains. And then, overcome by it all, she collapsed.
***
The judge looked at Malar, standing forlorn in the dock. She held her baby cradled in her arm. Sekaran stood beside her, holding her hand.
“From the evidence before me, I find that you have taken a human life, in a brutally cold blooded and vicious manner. While we accept that the victim was an intruder who had tried to attack you, and you had acted in self defence, such degree of violence was uncalled for. The deceased was a young man in his twenties, and his whole life was taken away from him, because of your actions.
I sentence you, Malar Govindasamy to 5 years in jail. And for abetting you and hiding the evidence, I sentence you, Sekaran Vivekanandan to 2 years jail. Court dismissed.”
***
Hamzah sat on his porch alone, smoking his pipe. He loved the solitude. Dusk was falling. Hamzah looked out at the sky over the trees. And then he heard it again. Unmistakable this time. The soft whine of a dog. He peered into the darkness. The rose bushes of his sprawling garden were thick, but he could make out a stealthy movement beyond the shadows. He silently slipped into the living room and returned with his pump gun. He moved silently circling the bushes. And then he saw him. A dark figure, crouching behind the rose bushes. He could see Tiger, his dog lying nearby. Hamzah trembled with anger. He had poisoned his beloved Tiger. Hamzah raised the pump gun and let loose several volleys. There was a scream. The boy fell into the bushes and lay lifeless.
Hamzah ran over. He shone his torch on the boy. He was a teenage Indian boy. A small cloth bag lay beside him. Hamzah saw several pairs of his shoes in the bag and nearby. And then a whine. Hamzah played the flashlight in the direction of the sound. Tiger was standing, a little wobbly and unsteady, but alive!
Just then Lini ran up. "Papa, are you ok? What happened?"
"Its ok. I caught him in time. He had drugged Tiger and was trying to get away with our shoes. I shot him."
Lini looked at the fresh faced young man, lying lifeless among the bushes, the stolen shoes strewn beside him.
"Papa, will you get into trouble?"
"No, I wont. It was a clear case of self defence." Judge Hamzah was dialling the police.
***
He was stripping her. Malar reacted with horror. Her screams were muffled and totally inaudible. Tears streamed from her eyes. Oh God! The baby! She had to protect the baby. The man was unrelenting. He held her hands behind her back and tore away her clothing. A crazed look in his eyes terrified Malar. She was going to die. Her baby was going to die. She screamed again. She struggled to breathe. And then she passed out.
***
As she came to, the realization dawned that she was a prisoner. She could hear the man ransacking the rooms. He was a young Indian boy. Couldn't be more than 25. Malar was bound and gagged with the cloth torn from her bedsheet. She was clad only in her underwear. Her torn clothes lay strewn all over the floor. A piece of her blouse hung from her arm. She wriggled her wrists and feet. Soon she felt an unbelievable relief. Her hands were free! He had done a sloppy job. Swiftly she freed her feet. He heart was pounding madly. And then she saw the parang and wrench which he had brought. It was on the bedside table. She moved silently, grabbing the parang.
Just then he entered, carrying a heavy suitcase which he had packed with the valuables which he had looted. A stunned look came over his face as she appeared, swinging the parang viciously. The blow cut across his neck. The blood spouted, spraying her as he fell, stumbling on the suitcase. She rained blows on him with the parang, slashing his back and arms into shreds. And then she stopped. She paused a moment. As she watched, he moved and groaned. Malar ran to the bedside and grabbing the wrench, brought it down on his head, crushing it in a gory mash of blood, flesh, hair and brains. And then, overcome by it all, she collapsed.
***
The judge looked at Malar, standing forlorn in the dock. She held her baby cradled in her arm. Sekaran stood beside her, holding her hand.
“From the evidence before me, I find that you have taken a human life, in a brutally cold blooded and vicious manner. While we accept that the victim was an intruder who had tried to attack you, and you had acted in self defence, such degree of violence was uncalled for. The deceased was a young man in his twenties, and his whole life was taken away from him, because of your actions.
I sentence you, Malar Govindasamy to 5 years in jail. And for abetting you and hiding the evidence, I sentence you, Sekaran Vivekanandan to 2 years jail. Court dismissed.”
***
Hamzah sat on his porch alone, smoking his pipe. He loved the solitude. Dusk was falling. Hamzah looked out at the sky over the trees. And then he heard it again. Unmistakable this time. The soft whine of a dog. He peered into the darkness. The rose bushes of his sprawling garden were thick, but he could make out a stealthy movement beyond the shadows. He silently slipped into the living room and returned with his pump gun. He moved silently circling the bushes. And then he saw him. A dark figure, crouching behind the rose bushes. He could see Tiger, his dog lying nearby. Hamzah trembled with anger. He had poisoned his beloved Tiger. Hamzah raised the pump gun and let loose several volleys. There was a scream. The boy fell into the bushes and lay lifeless.
Hamzah ran over. He shone his torch on the boy. He was a teenage Indian boy. A small cloth bag lay beside him. Hamzah saw several pairs of his shoes in the bag and nearby. And then a whine. Hamzah played the flashlight in the direction of the sound. Tiger was standing, a little wobbly and unsteady, but alive!
Just then Lini ran up. "Papa, are you ok? What happened?"
"Its ok. I caught him in time. He had drugged Tiger and was trying to get away with our shoes. I shot him."
Lini looked at the fresh faced young man, lying lifeless among the bushes, the stolen shoes strewn beside him.
"Papa, will you get into trouble?"
"No, I wont. It was a clear case of self defence." Judge Hamzah was dialling the police.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
MIggens **
Escargots are the main culprits in this trajectory. Why the mesophilic cartographers indulge in this synomism is anybody's guess. The drag on its frontal lobe is one thing; what is more damaging is the endemic pulverization of the barbicans. Wonderment comes as matter of natural ennui. Polarised to the core, it symbolifies extreme qualification. Mobilising the concatenation, she should be able to discern the fallible gregariousness. Depending on horticulture nuances, laboriously making their zeal a xenophobic incarceration, painstaking care is taken to progress in tandem.
Whatsoever it may be, the barbs sting. They vernicate in caustic jostling. Orbital desecration may also be commonplace. Bitter ramification of gestation periods – laughably pristine. The foliage was deep green, again downplaying feral dogmas. Jubilant in the recent advances, rapacious catagonism exerting quintessential miggens incessantly.
At the bottom line – clear umbrage at the bulwarks of social change. Vilified in totality, all surrender in jubilation, reaching to the unachievable pinnacles. It was a deep struggle – one that took its toll. But why worry – the fate of the multitudes is etched in the annals of history. It had to happen that way.
Whatsoever it may be, the barbs sting. They vernicate in caustic jostling. Orbital desecration may also be commonplace. Bitter ramification of gestation periods – laughably pristine. The foliage was deep green, again downplaying feral dogmas. Jubilant in the recent advances, rapacious catagonism exerting quintessential miggens incessantly.
At the bottom line – clear umbrage at the bulwarks of social change. Vilified in totality, all surrender in jubilation, reaching to the unachievable pinnacles. It was a deep struggle – one that took its toll. But why worry – the fate of the multitudes is etched in the annals of history. It had to happen that way.
Monday, May 30, 2011
The Envelope ***
Vimal looked tense. His baby was sick, and the doctor’s bill had emptied his wallet. And now his brother in law had come, and Asha was suggesting dinner out. No choice. He would have to withdraw the last $500 and skimp for the next few days up to payday.
Vimal was too proud to broach the subject to Asha. She came from a well to do family and would never understand. She knew Vimal’s savings were meager when they got married, but did not realise that he was scraping the bottom of the barrel now. He earned a reasonable salary but things always came up unexpectedly, and nowadays every month was a struggle. It cannot go on like this. He would have to talk to Asha. But he was afraid how she may react. Would she tell her parents and ask for help? That would be the worst thing that could happen. Of course Mr Purushothaman was a generous man. But Vimal’s pride would be shattered. He would not be able to face them again. He would have to keep this to himself. At least for now.
Mathavan lowered the newspaper and looked at his son. He could instantly tell that Vimal was all tensed up. What was the matter with him? He had a good job, a beautiful wife, and now an adorable daughter. Why couldn’t he be happy? He always looked as if all the troubles of the world were on his shoulder.
“டேய், என்னடா குடி முழ்கி போன மாதிரி இருக்கே? எப்ப பார்த்தாலும் சொகமாவே இருக்க? என்ன பிரச்சனை உனக்கு ?”
(Dey, why are you looking so glum ? Lately you have been looking depressed all the time. What is the problem ?)
Vimal just shook his head.
“ஒண்ணும் இல்லப்பா.” (Nothing dad).
***
Vimal and Asha had left. Sundari came up and sat next to Mathavan.
“You know, I think something is troubling Vimal.”
“Yes I know. I asked him. He wouldn’t say.”
“What do you expect. We should understand. He has commitments. He is careful. But his wife comes from a rich family. And she has brothers and sisters. They have to live up to them. All this is becoming great pressure on Vimal. He is finding it difficult to cope. And he can’t talk to anyone about it either.”
“Oh…. I see.”
Mathavan sat thoughtfully. Sundari was soon engrossed in the serial.
***
Vimal appeared more cheerful today. He played with his daughter, smiling at her adoringly. Mathavan watched for a while. Then he got up and went to his desk. He returned with the yellow envelope. Mathavan looked at the envelope. It looked bright and shiny. He handed it to Vimal. Vimal looked up.
“What’s this appa?”
“It’s nothing. Just a little help from your father. To help you cope.”
Vimal’s face fell. He looked at the envelope. Then he looked down. The silence was awkward. Vimal could feel his wife’s eyes on him. He dared not look up. The shame was unbearable.
“Vimal, take it. I know you are struggling. You need it.” He thrust the envelope at Vimal.
Vimal got up abruptly.
“Asha, come on. It’s late. Let’s go. Goodbye appa. Goodbye amma.” He grabbed his little daughter and moved to the door.
Mathavan stood uncomprehending. He still held out the yellow envelope. He stood still holding out the envelope long after his son had left. He turned slowly, to see Sundari watching him. He looked at the yellow envelope. It looked very different now. It was no longer bright and shiny.
***
Vimal was silent and brooding in the car. Asha watched him. Then she touched his arm.
“Why does he have to be so condescending. Am I a beggar? I can manage my life. I don’t need his charity.” Vimal burst out, as his emotions broke free.
Asha stroked his arm delicately.
“Your parents love you. He was just being your father. He did it out of love. You should take it in that spirit. You should not have hurt him.”
Vimal looked at his wife. He stopped the car.
“I think I need to go back.”
Asha squeezed his arm and smiled.
Vimal was too proud to broach the subject to Asha. She came from a well to do family and would never understand. She knew Vimal’s savings were meager when they got married, but did not realise that he was scraping the bottom of the barrel now. He earned a reasonable salary but things always came up unexpectedly, and nowadays every month was a struggle. It cannot go on like this. He would have to talk to Asha. But he was afraid how she may react. Would she tell her parents and ask for help? That would be the worst thing that could happen. Of course Mr Purushothaman was a generous man. But Vimal’s pride would be shattered. He would not be able to face them again. He would have to keep this to himself. At least for now.
Mathavan lowered the newspaper and looked at his son. He could instantly tell that Vimal was all tensed up. What was the matter with him? He had a good job, a beautiful wife, and now an adorable daughter. Why couldn’t he be happy? He always looked as if all the troubles of the world were on his shoulder.
“டேய், என்னடா குடி முழ்கி போன மாதிரி இருக்கே? எப்ப பார்த்தாலும் சொகமாவே இருக்க? என்ன பிரச்சனை உனக்கு ?”
(Dey, why are you looking so glum ? Lately you have been looking depressed all the time. What is the problem ?)
Vimal just shook his head.
“ஒண்ணும் இல்லப்பா.” (Nothing dad).
***
Vimal and Asha had left. Sundari came up and sat next to Mathavan.
“You know, I think something is troubling Vimal.”
“Yes I know. I asked him. He wouldn’t say.”
“What do you expect. We should understand. He has commitments. He is careful. But his wife comes from a rich family. And she has brothers and sisters. They have to live up to them. All this is becoming great pressure on Vimal. He is finding it difficult to cope. And he can’t talk to anyone about it either.”
“Oh…. I see.”
Mathavan sat thoughtfully. Sundari was soon engrossed in the serial.
***
Vimal appeared more cheerful today. He played with his daughter, smiling at her adoringly. Mathavan watched for a while. Then he got up and went to his desk. He returned with the yellow envelope. Mathavan looked at the envelope. It looked bright and shiny. He handed it to Vimal. Vimal looked up.
“What’s this appa?”
“It’s nothing. Just a little help from your father. To help you cope.”
Vimal’s face fell. He looked at the envelope. Then he looked down. The silence was awkward. Vimal could feel his wife’s eyes on him. He dared not look up. The shame was unbearable.
“Vimal, take it. I know you are struggling. You need it.” He thrust the envelope at Vimal.
Vimal got up abruptly.
“Asha, come on. It’s late. Let’s go. Goodbye appa. Goodbye amma.” He grabbed his little daughter and moved to the door.
Mathavan stood uncomprehending. He still held out the yellow envelope. He stood still holding out the envelope long after his son had left. He turned slowly, to see Sundari watching him. He looked at the yellow envelope. It looked very different now. It was no longer bright and shiny.
***
Vimal was silent and brooding in the car. Asha watched him. Then she touched his arm.
“Why does he have to be so condescending. Am I a beggar? I can manage my life. I don’t need his charity.” Vimal burst out, as his emotions broke free.
Asha stroked his arm delicately.
“Your parents love you. He was just being your father. He did it out of love. You should take it in that spirit. You should not have hurt him.”
Vimal looked at his wife. He stopped the car.
“I think I need to go back.”
Asha squeezed his arm and smiled.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
The Encounter ***
Marlene gazed at the moon, visible framed in the side window. As she watched, her thoughts drifted. What a day it had been! And to think she had woke up expecting the unexpected. But what had happened was totally incredible. Out of this world. Marlene closed her eyes and laid her head against the soft cushions. The house was quiet. Only the soft ticking of the grandfather clock was audible.
The sudden movement startled Marlene. She lay still, listening. Out of the corner of her eyes she noticed Amy dozing nearby. She watched her silently. And then – there it was again! And then she saw it. The slight movement behind the curtains didn’t escape Marlene. She glanced at Amy. She continued to doze, blissfully unaware of the intruder. Marlene lay stock still. She shifted her gaze to the curtains. She moved imperceptibly. And then she saw the intruder.
In a split second she pounced. The intruder didn’t know what hit him. There was an ear splitting crash as the curtains came down, together with the rails. The vases on the sidetable crashed down, shattering on the floor.
Amy awoke with a start, and instantly started a fierce barking. Marlene was screeching and clawing among the fallen curtains. Amidst the chaos the offending mouse made a swift escape. Amy was whining now, surveying the disarray in the room. Marlene looked at her, and mewed triumphantly.
The sudden movement startled Marlene. She lay still, listening. Out of the corner of her eyes she noticed Amy dozing nearby. She watched her silently. And then – there it was again! And then she saw it. The slight movement behind the curtains didn’t escape Marlene. She glanced at Amy. She continued to doze, blissfully unaware of the intruder. Marlene lay stock still. She shifted her gaze to the curtains. She moved imperceptibly. And then she saw the intruder.
In a split second she pounced. The intruder didn’t know what hit him. There was an ear splitting crash as the curtains came down, together with the rails. The vases on the sidetable crashed down, shattering on the floor.
Amy awoke with a start, and instantly started a fierce barking. Marlene was screeching and clawing among the fallen curtains. Amidst the chaos the offending mouse made a swift escape. Amy was whining now, surveying the disarray in the room. Marlene looked at her, and mewed triumphantly.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Jealousy ***
“Anneh, you don’t know me, but my name is Amar.”
“Ok…?”
“I am calling about Anu…”
“What about her ?”
“I was told you are engaged to her…”
“Yes, so what do you want ? Who are you ? How do you know her?”
“Anneh. Don’t get angry. What I am going to say may come as a shock. Please listen. Please stay calm.”
“Who the hell are you ? What do you want ?”
“I know Anu for a long time. We dated each other for many years. We were planning to get married soon. That’s when this thing happened. Her parents went and ….”
“Dey, what the hell you talking? Anu is my fiancée. I have talked to her many times. She never said anything about all this. You better not talk nonsense ok?”
“Anneh….”
“Im not your anneh. Put down the phone.”
“Sir, please be patient. Please listen. Anu is here….”
“What ? Anu is there ? Let me talk to her.”
“Mr Kannan…….”
“Anu? Is that you ? What is going on? What are you doing there ? Who is this guy ?”
“Mr Kannan. You must forgive me. I am in love with Amar….”
“What ? Why the hell you didn’t tell me this earlier? You made me lose face. I will kill you. I… I…. ”
“Mr Kannan…. Listen…. Listen.... Oh my God... he put down the phone la. Call him back. Quick….”
“Shit…. He is not picking up. How to get him ah ? He may do something stupid.”
" Oh God Oh God Oh God....."
****
As they entered the outer fence, they could hear the loud voices from the house.
“My God, Amar, this has gone so terribly wrong.”
“Quick, we have to go in and explain.”
As they entered, Kannan swirled around. They were stunned to see the gun in his hands. Black with rage, he lunged at Anu, shooting her point blank. Her head exploded amidst the screams of her mother. Recovering from the deafening blast, Kannan took aim and pulled the trigger on Amar. The bullet pierced Amar's chest. He fell in a heap.
“It was a terrible terrible mistake. We were playing a prank on you Kannan. Anu is my cousin. There is nothing between us. Im sorry… Im so so sorry…”
Amar slumped lifeless.
“Ok…?”
“I am calling about Anu…”
“What about her ?”
“I was told you are engaged to her…”
“Yes, so what do you want ? Who are you ? How do you know her?”
“Anneh. Don’t get angry. What I am going to say may come as a shock. Please listen. Please stay calm.”
“Who the hell are you ? What do you want ?”
“I know Anu for a long time. We dated each other for many years. We were planning to get married soon. That’s when this thing happened. Her parents went and ….”
“Dey, what the hell you talking? Anu is my fiancée. I have talked to her many times. She never said anything about all this. You better not talk nonsense ok?”
“Anneh….”
“Im not your anneh. Put down the phone.”
“Sir, please be patient. Please listen. Anu is here….”
“What ? Anu is there ? Let me talk to her.”
“Mr Kannan…….”
“Anu? Is that you ? What is going on? What are you doing there ? Who is this guy ?”
“Mr Kannan. You must forgive me. I am in love with Amar….”
“What ? Why the hell you didn’t tell me this earlier? You made me lose face. I will kill you. I… I…. ”
“Mr Kannan…. Listen…. Listen.... Oh my God... he put down the phone la. Call him back. Quick….”
“Shit…. He is not picking up. How to get him ah ? He may do something stupid.”
" Oh God Oh God Oh God....."
****
As they entered the outer fence, they could hear the loud voices from the house.
“My God, Amar, this has gone so terribly wrong.”
“Quick, we have to go in and explain.”
As they entered, Kannan swirled around. They were stunned to see the gun in his hands. Black with rage, he lunged at Anu, shooting her point blank. Her head exploded amidst the screams of her mother. Recovering from the deafening blast, Kannan took aim and pulled the trigger on Amar. The bullet pierced Amar's chest. He fell in a heap.
“It was a terrible terrible mistake. We were playing a prank on you Kannan. Anu is my cousin. There is nothing between us. Im sorry… Im so so sorry…”
Amar slumped lifeless.
The Bagman **
An infamous valedictorian, he had little or no idea of how to use the sophisticated gadgetry he now espied on the deck. The flowing silvery mane gave him an air of sophistication. As they then hurtled towards their iconic target, the lights suddenly dimmed. You guessed it. It was time for Vernon’s ball. The barrage was impregnable.
The woman looked down, clearly discomfited. But she did seem friendly and non-judgmental. The view unfurling before them was spectacular, and somewhat unusual. The journey promised to be a potentially life-altering and transformative experience. Although she knew very well this should not be advertised with excessive anticipatory rhetoric.
As she searched the crevices, her enthusiasm though intense, was quite short lived.
There he stood, in a baggy, gray sweat suit, holding up a wall in the wrestling room. In a room otherwise full of guys with immense necks, massive shoulders and columnar thighs, this bespectacled fellow is obviously the one to seek out later this summer on the beaches of L.A. if you want to kick sand in somebody's face.
At last, they sat. Resigned to their fate. Eyes downcast as the dusk settled. Nothing could detract from their unadulterated despair.
The woman looked down, clearly discomfited. But she did seem friendly and non-judgmental. The view unfurling before them was spectacular, and somewhat unusual. The journey promised to be a potentially life-altering and transformative experience. Although she knew very well this should not be advertised with excessive anticipatory rhetoric.
As she searched the crevices, her enthusiasm though intense, was quite short lived.
There he stood, in a baggy, gray sweat suit, holding up a wall in the wrestling room. In a room otherwise full of guys with immense necks, massive shoulders and columnar thighs, this bespectacled fellow is obviously the one to seek out later this summer on the beaches of L.A. if you want to kick sand in somebody's face.
At last, they sat. Resigned to their fate. Eyes downcast as the dusk settled. Nothing could detract from their unadulterated despair.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Yazid ***
The flowers were dazzling. What a wonderful feeling. Soft sunshine playing from among the canopy of tall dense trees. A cool breeze caressing his body. Butterflies in all colours fluttering lazily. Birds chirping. Yazid smiled. It was heaven, and he was relishing every moment of it.
And then the horrible screeching sound. A loud jolting crash. The world was turned upside down. It was pitch dark. For a long moment, absolute silence. Then the screams. The scrambling. The moans. Yazid looked around at the chaos. Bags lay everywhere. Arms and legs protruding at the most unlikely angles.
Yazid sensed immediately that he was miraculously unhurt. He immediately set about assessing the situation. The bus lay on its side, the rear end protruding over the deep ravine at the side of the road. The front end was crushed, twisted metal hanging out in all directions. Yazid saw a shattered window, and kicked the glass shards to create a larger opening. He looked out. There was a way out. He quickly started helping the people one by one, helping them out, and to the safety of the side of the road.
Yazid was sweating profusely. He was exhausted. He had moved all the remaining survivors to safety. Many lay semi-comatose. Some sat moaning. And help was on the way. Yazid could not believe that he was the only one unhurt in the nasty accident. But it was equally miraculous that no one had lost their lives. Even the driver was alive, having been thrown backwards before the front end of the bus was crushed against the cliff.
Yazid looked at the bus lying o the dark and lonely road. Not a single vehicle had come by in the last hour since the accident. He went back to have a last look inside the bus. As he clambered the side, he heard the sound. Yes, it was a vehicle. Help was here. He began to clamber down when the trailer appeared around the corner at breakneck speed.
***
The crowd looked in horror. Firemen were hauling Yazid’s crushed and lifeless body from the ravine.
“He saved our lives. Why did this happen to him?” someone wailed.
“What cruel fate. Here we are alive and well and he, after all he did, is dead.”
The firemen pushed the stretcher into the ambulance. Everyone hobbled over, and stood around. Some sobbed. Tears trickled down. But Yazid’s face looked serene and peaceful. He had earned his place in heaven.
And then the horrible screeching sound. A loud jolting crash. The world was turned upside down. It was pitch dark. For a long moment, absolute silence. Then the screams. The scrambling. The moans. Yazid looked around at the chaos. Bags lay everywhere. Arms and legs protruding at the most unlikely angles.
Yazid sensed immediately that he was miraculously unhurt. He immediately set about assessing the situation. The bus lay on its side, the rear end protruding over the deep ravine at the side of the road. The front end was crushed, twisted metal hanging out in all directions. Yazid saw a shattered window, and kicked the glass shards to create a larger opening. He looked out. There was a way out. He quickly started helping the people one by one, helping them out, and to the safety of the side of the road.
Yazid was sweating profusely. He was exhausted. He had moved all the remaining survivors to safety. Many lay semi-comatose. Some sat moaning. And help was on the way. Yazid could not believe that he was the only one unhurt in the nasty accident. But it was equally miraculous that no one had lost their lives. Even the driver was alive, having been thrown backwards before the front end of the bus was crushed against the cliff.
Yazid looked at the bus lying o the dark and lonely road. Not a single vehicle had come by in the last hour since the accident. He went back to have a last look inside the bus. As he clambered the side, he heard the sound. Yes, it was a vehicle. Help was here. He began to clamber down when the trailer appeared around the corner at breakneck speed.
***
The crowd looked in horror. Firemen were hauling Yazid’s crushed and lifeless body from the ravine.
“He saved our lives. Why did this happen to him?” someone wailed.
“What cruel fate. Here we are alive and well and he, after all he did, is dead.”
The firemen pushed the stretcher into the ambulance. Everyone hobbled over, and stood around. Some sobbed. Tears trickled down. But Yazid’s face looked serene and peaceful. He had earned his place in heaven.
Monday, February 14, 2011
And ***
And you wait
And you count the days
And you count the hours
And you count the minutes
And then.. you are there
And then .. disappointment
And you wait
And you hope
And then.. its time to go
And you go
And you wait
And you count the days
And.......
.
And you count the days
And you count the hours
And you count the minutes
And then.. you are there
And then .. disappointment
And you wait
And you hope
And then.. its time to go
And you go
And you wait
And you count the days
And.......
.
The Lesson ***
The laughter reverberated through the hall in incessant waves. The speaker was a natural. His messages were succinct. Couched in comedy, he turned everyday examples into lessons in values. In between his jokes, he interspersed nuggets of advice for better living. As he concluded, three hours had gone by in a flash. No one wanted to move. No one wanted it to come to an end.
Rajan looked at his watch. “My God. Its already 9 . Vishal’s class will be over. He will be waiting.”
“Oh no. Let’s leave now.” Vidya hurried up and began to move along the aisle.
***
“The best one was when he talked about people who boast, while trying to sound humble. Hahaha. ‘My son was second in his class for the first time. He always comes first.’ ”
“Yeah. Typical Suriya. Do you remember when their son got into that college?”
“They made such a hoo ha. As if he had got into Harvard. After all an obscure local college.”
“And the time they had to sell the car because they couldn’t make the payments. They insisted the car was defective. Even when they bought the used car they wouldn’t admit it. Now she lost her job too, and she’s not telling anyone. Serve her right if you ask me”
“You know how I loathe to pick up her calls. She will boast shamelessly. On and on.”
“I found the story of the ‘actors’ really hilarious. Reminded me of Venu. Hahaha. He and his wife are so ‘holier than thou’. Did you know their son is dating a Malay girl? And when Vasugi was seen with the Christian boy, they were all over town, saying ‘upbringing’ la, ‘discipline’ la. Huh.”
“Did you notice Lakshmi was there too? She is always gossiping and backbiting. The talk must have been an eye opener for her.”
“And the joke about the couple who keep talking about their friends, totally oblivious of their own defects. That was really good. You know he is such a great speaker. Really sends across the message. So entertaining yet a good learning experience. A good lesson for all.”
“Mom, you and dad went for a lesson too? What was the lesson? In my class we learnt not to speak bad things about others, especially when they are not around.”
Vidya and Rajan looked around at their son Vishal, who had been sitting silently in the back seat.
Rajan looked at his watch. “My God. Its already 9 . Vishal’s class will be over. He will be waiting.”
“Oh no. Let’s leave now.” Vidya hurried up and began to move along the aisle.
***
“The best one was when he talked about people who boast, while trying to sound humble. Hahaha. ‘My son was second in his class for the first time. He always comes first.’ ”
“Yeah. Typical Suriya. Do you remember when their son got into that college?”
“They made such a hoo ha. As if he had got into Harvard. After all an obscure local college.”
“And the time they had to sell the car because they couldn’t make the payments. They insisted the car was defective. Even when they bought the used car they wouldn’t admit it. Now she lost her job too, and she’s not telling anyone. Serve her right if you ask me”
“You know how I loathe to pick up her calls. She will boast shamelessly. On and on.”
“I found the story of the ‘actors’ really hilarious. Reminded me of Venu. Hahaha. He and his wife are so ‘holier than thou’. Did you know their son is dating a Malay girl? And when Vasugi was seen with the Christian boy, they were all over town, saying ‘upbringing’ la, ‘discipline’ la. Huh.”
“Did you notice Lakshmi was there too? She is always gossiping and backbiting. The talk must have been an eye opener for her.”
“And the joke about the couple who keep talking about their friends, totally oblivious of their own defects. That was really good. You know he is such a great speaker. Really sends across the message. So entertaining yet a good learning experience. A good lesson for all.”
“Mom, you and dad went for a lesson too? What was the lesson? In my class we learnt not to speak bad things about others, especially when they are not around.”
Vidya and Rajan looked around at their son Vishal, who had been sitting silently in the back seat.
Again.... ***
He looks closely, wishful for more hair
On his upper lip, but alas it is quite spare
A pencil he uses to darken, but to his despair
Its no use, but that’s how it’s fated to be
Puffing up his chest, feeling more manly is he
At last ready, to face her, and for her to see.
Angelic, divine, enchanting, words fail
As he gazes in her direction feeling frail
She notices not, the gangly boy in her haste
Too caught up, hurrying, not a moment to waste
But who can fight destiny, so it comes to be
They are matchmade, a couple to be
Married now, in each other they rejoice
Every moment to be together, by choice
Until one day, she declares in boundless joy
We shall be three, with a girl, or perhaps a boy
At first puzzled, he soon enough understands
And jumps for joy, almost out of his pants
Soon everyone notices the large tummy
No doubt about it, she would soon be a mummy
Soon one day, the little one arrives
Bringing out all manner of visitors in droves
He grows everyday by leaps and bounds
Always in mischief damaging in pounds
He is in school, and soon in college
Until he too stands before the mirror
Examining, and wishing for more hair
On his upper lip, where it was quite spare.
Nearby stands his dad, also wishing for more hair
On his shiny pate, which is quite bare.
On his upper lip, but alas it is quite spare
A pencil he uses to darken, but to his despair
Its no use, but that’s how it’s fated to be
Puffing up his chest, feeling more manly is he
At last ready, to face her, and for her to see.
Angelic, divine, enchanting, words fail
As he gazes in her direction feeling frail
She notices not, the gangly boy in her haste
Too caught up, hurrying, not a moment to waste
But who can fight destiny, so it comes to be
They are matchmade, a couple to be
Married now, in each other they rejoice
Every moment to be together, by choice
Until one day, she declares in boundless joy
We shall be three, with a girl, or perhaps a boy
At first puzzled, he soon enough understands
And jumps for joy, almost out of his pants
Soon everyone notices the large tummy
No doubt about it, she would soon be a mummy
Soon one day, the little one arrives
Bringing out all manner of visitors in droves
He grows everyday by leaps and bounds
Always in mischief damaging in pounds
He is in school, and soon in college
Until he too stands before the mirror
Examining, and wishing for more hair
On his upper lip, where it was quite spare.
Nearby stands his dad, also wishing for more hair
On his shiny pate, which is quite bare.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Lakshmi ***
It was just after sunset and Kumar walked slowly, enjoying the cool breeze and the soft sound of the gurgling river stream. And from among the many groups of people sitting, strolling and playing along the sandy river banks, he noticed the girl. She stood out, clad in a dark green saree. She was playing with a small boy, presumably her younger brother. Kumar would often ogle the girls as he walked along the promenade, but this girl was different. He stopped for several moments, observing her from afar. She was almost a silhouette in the gathering dusk. He watched, fascinated by her every action. Her soft laughter. The way she ran after the boy. The way she tousled the boy’s hair. Kumar was mesmerised. "Who is she? Where does she live? Why had he never seen her before this?" His head throbbed. Why was he thinking of her so much? Was he staring? Would someone have noticed him watching her ? He moved on. But he could not help glancing back occasionally. Soon she had disappeared from sight.
The next few days Kumar made it a point to walk near the very spot where he had seen her. He would dress in clean pressed clothes, plaster his hair down neatly, put on extra cologne, and stand for an hour in front of the mirror, making sure he looked perfect. But to his despair, she was nowhere to be seen. Kumar was frantic. He searched for her all along the riverside. He stared keenly at every girl. But it was hopeless. She was not there.
And then, finally on Friday evening, she was there again. Her young brother was there with her too, and she was playing ball with him. Kumar passed by them a couple of times. But he dared not come too close. And whenever he was closest, he dared not look directly at her. Instead he walked past slowly, looking down at the sand. But he was sure she had seen him. Surely she would have noticed the smartly dressed dashing young man. Surely she would have caught a whiff of the cologne.
***
Kumar was on the promenade as usual. He scouted around for the girl, but she was nowhere to be seen. Then he saw the boy. He was running towards him! Kumar stopped him.
“Thambi, thambi…. Stop.”
“Yes sir?” the boy was panting.
“What’s your elder sister’s name? Where do you live?” Kumar asked directly.
The boy paused for a moment, looking up at Kumar. Kumar realised he had been abrupt. Kumar was prepared to coax him and cajole him and even bribe him for the answers to these burning questions. But he didn’t have to.
“My sister’s name is Lakshmi. Do you know the blue house next to the Post office? That’s where I live.” And he dashed off.
***
Kumar’s thoughts were on Lakshmi every moment. He was infatuated. He imagined his first conversation with her. How she would smile. How she would laugh at his jokes. How sweet her voice would be. How they would talk for hours. But curiously her face never looked the same in these imagined scenes. Sometimes she would be round faced with dimples on her cheeks, a sharp upturned nose and thin eyebrows. At other times she would have an elongated face and a high brow, and wide mouth with even white teeth. But she was always hauntingly beautiful. Kumar realised that he had not seen her close enough, long enough to capture her facial features sufficiently in his mind’s eye. But Lakshmi, who lived in the blue house next to the post office was a permanent feature in Kumar’s dreams henceforth.
***
The next few weeks were spent in assorted espionage activities. Kumar walked along Brigade Road, in front of the blue house several times a day, hoping to get a glimpse of the girl. But the front door was always shut. He would visit the post office on some pretext or other. But all these efforts were utterly fruitless. Nevertheless, through his subtle enquiries, Kumar learnt that one Rama Iyengar lived in the blue house. And he had two children. Lakshmi and Krishnan.
***
Kumar had managed to broach the subject of his marriage to his pleasantly surprised mother. Things had moved at quick pace. His mother had made her own discreet enquiries. So had his father. Everything was fine. Gopala Sastrigal, the family astrologer was summoned to be the go between, and soon everything had been settled. A formal discussion was arranged for the two families to meet. Kumar had seen Lakshmi at close quarters for the first time. In her silk saree and heavy make-up and ornaments she looked very different. In fact she seemed a little shorter and of slightly darker complexion that he had imagined, but no matter. She was a beautiful girl. She had smiled at him shyly.
***
It was the wedding evening. The reception was over and the guests were leaving. Suddenly Kumar saw Krishnan walking with a girl. The girl looked vaguely familiar. The way she walked. The way she laughed. The way she ran alongside Krishnan. The way she tousled the boy’s hair. Kumar watched puzzled. Then he called out to Krishnan. “Boy, Krishnan, come here a moment.”
The next few days Kumar made it a point to walk near the very spot where he had seen her. He would dress in clean pressed clothes, plaster his hair down neatly, put on extra cologne, and stand for an hour in front of the mirror, making sure he looked perfect. But to his despair, she was nowhere to be seen. Kumar was frantic. He searched for her all along the riverside. He stared keenly at every girl. But it was hopeless. She was not there.
And then, finally on Friday evening, she was there again. Her young brother was there with her too, and she was playing ball with him. Kumar passed by them a couple of times. But he dared not come too close. And whenever he was closest, he dared not look directly at her. Instead he walked past slowly, looking down at the sand. But he was sure she had seen him. Surely she would have noticed the smartly dressed dashing young man. Surely she would have caught a whiff of the cologne.
***
Kumar was on the promenade as usual. He scouted around for the girl, but she was nowhere to be seen. Then he saw the boy. He was running towards him! Kumar stopped him.
“Thambi, thambi…. Stop.”
“Yes sir?” the boy was panting.
“What’s your elder sister’s name? Where do you live?” Kumar asked directly.
The boy paused for a moment, looking up at Kumar. Kumar realised he had been abrupt. Kumar was prepared to coax him and cajole him and even bribe him for the answers to these burning questions. But he didn’t have to.
“My sister’s name is Lakshmi. Do you know the blue house next to the Post office? That’s where I live.” And he dashed off.
***
Kumar’s thoughts were on Lakshmi every moment. He was infatuated. He imagined his first conversation with her. How she would smile. How she would laugh at his jokes. How sweet her voice would be. How they would talk for hours. But curiously her face never looked the same in these imagined scenes. Sometimes she would be round faced with dimples on her cheeks, a sharp upturned nose and thin eyebrows. At other times she would have an elongated face and a high brow, and wide mouth with even white teeth. But she was always hauntingly beautiful. Kumar realised that he had not seen her close enough, long enough to capture her facial features sufficiently in his mind’s eye. But Lakshmi, who lived in the blue house next to the post office was a permanent feature in Kumar’s dreams henceforth.
***
The next few weeks were spent in assorted espionage activities. Kumar walked along Brigade Road, in front of the blue house several times a day, hoping to get a glimpse of the girl. But the front door was always shut. He would visit the post office on some pretext or other. But all these efforts were utterly fruitless. Nevertheless, through his subtle enquiries, Kumar learnt that one Rama Iyengar lived in the blue house. And he had two children. Lakshmi and Krishnan.
***
Kumar had managed to broach the subject of his marriage to his pleasantly surprised mother. Things had moved at quick pace. His mother had made her own discreet enquiries. So had his father. Everything was fine. Gopala Sastrigal, the family astrologer was summoned to be the go between, and soon everything had been settled. A formal discussion was arranged for the two families to meet. Kumar had seen Lakshmi at close quarters for the first time. In her silk saree and heavy make-up and ornaments she looked very different. In fact she seemed a little shorter and of slightly darker complexion that he had imagined, but no matter. She was a beautiful girl. She had smiled at him shyly.
***
It was the wedding evening. The reception was over and the guests were leaving. Suddenly Kumar saw Krishnan walking with a girl. The girl looked vaguely familiar. The way she walked. The way she laughed. The way she ran alongside Krishnan. The way she tousled the boy’s hair. Kumar watched puzzled. Then he called out to Krishnan. “Boy, Krishnan, come here a moment.”
“Yes அத்திம்பேர் (brother-in-law)?” Krishnan ran up.
“Who is the girl I saw you with just now? She looks familiar?”
“Oh, that! She is Malathi. She is my cousin. You may have seen her at the river side with me. We always go there together , every Monday and Friday. She lives with us.”
“But was it not Lakshmi who used to come to the river side with you? I think I have seen Lakshmi there?”
“Oh, no அத்திம்பேர் (brother-in-law). Lakshmi has all the while lived with my Grandmother in Trichy. She seldom comes here. And even if she does, she hates the river side, and never comes there."
Kumar watched as Malathi walked away in the distance. Soon she disappeared into the crowds. And out of nowhere, Lakshmi appeared.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
A LIfe of Luxury ***
The old man was just a skeleton. His intensely black skin stretched over his bones, and glistened in the dim light in the hut. He peered shortsightedly at Abdool. Abdool sat sullenly in the corner.
“Your son is destined for a life far from here, my daughter. It is in his stars. He will live in luxury across the seas. It is the wish of Allah.” The old man looked at Abdool and nodded his head gravely.
Abdool slumped in the corner, disinterested. His mother looked at him. Could it come true ? Could her lazy good-for-nothing son become somebody one day ? And when he did, would he remember his long-suffering mother, and take her to live with him in his luxurious home “across the seas” ? She sighed.
***
Abdool sat on the rocky beach. His friends Ali and Sayeed were roasting the crabs over a small fire on the rocks.
“Achmed is looking for help. It’s an easy job. The takings are good. Achmed drives a Toyota truck now. It’s our hope for a good life.” Sayeed was earnest.
Ali was not so sure. “Last week Muhamed came back with a serious injury. He is still lying on his bed."
“Muhamed is a loser. Are you so scared? Come on, in life we have to take risks. Otherwise you will end up a loser too.”
***
Achmed stood silently on the violently bobbing skiff. It was a dark moonless night. As they approached alongside the immense wall of the cargo ship, Abdool and Ali readied the grapnels and the ropes. Within minutes they were on board, the M16 rifles slung across their shoulders. They moved silently towards the bridge.
Suddenly blinding bright lights. Before they knew what was happening, sub-machine guns were at their necks. The commandos grabbed them roughly, almost strangling them, and pulled their weapons away.
***
It had all gone by in a whirl. Abdool and his compatriots had been flown in an airplane to a strange land. The boys stared wide eyed at the picturesque scenery. The people were tall and white-skinned. Many had golden hair. They could not have imagined such a place in their wildest dreams. It was all so magical. It was like a dream. They appeared before a court, and were sentenced to 20 years in prison.
***
Abdool had his own room. It had a clean white sheeted bed, with a firm spring mattress. A small toilet / bath led off the back part of the room. A TV was mounted on the wall. Although most of the programmes were in a strange language, Abdool found it entertaining. Breakfast, lunch and dinner were served in a dining hall nearby. The food was delicious. There were also 2 sessions of exercise and outdoor activity every day. Abdool had never imagined that he would be living in such luxury. As Abdool lay slumped on the bed, watching the TV idly, he suddenly recalled the old man. Abdool chuckled. “You were right old man.”
“Your son is destined for a life far from here, my daughter. It is in his stars. He will live in luxury across the seas. It is the wish of Allah.” The old man looked at Abdool and nodded his head gravely.
Abdool slumped in the corner, disinterested. His mother looked at him. Could it come true ? Could her lazy good-for-nothing son become somebody one day ? And when he did, would he remember his long-suffering mother, and take her to live with him in his luxurious home “across the seas” ? She sighed.
***
Abdool sat on the rocky beach. His friends Ali and Sayeed were roasting the crabs over a small fire on the rocks.
“Achmed is looking for help. It’s an easy job. The takings are good. Achmed drives a Toyota truck now. It’s our hope for a good life.” Sayeed was earnest.
Ali was not so sure. “Last week Muhamed came back with a serious injury. He is still lying on his bed."
“Muhamed is a loser. Are you so scared? Come on, in life we have to take risks. Otherwise you will end up a loser too.”
***
Achmed stood silently on the violently bobbing skiff. It was a dark moonless night. As they approached alongside the immense wall of the cargo ship, Abdool and Ali readied the grapnels and the ropes. Within minutes they were on board, the M16 rifles slung across their shoulders. They moved silently towards the bridge.
Suddenly blinding bright lights. Before they knew what was happening, sub-machine guns were at their necks. The commandos grabbed them roughly, almost strangling them, and pulled their weapons away.
***
It had all gone by in a whirl. Abdool and his compatriots had been flown in an airplane to a strange land. The boys stared wide eyed at the picturesque scenery. The people were tall and white-skinned. Many had golden hair. They could not have imagined such a place in their wildest dreams. It was all so magical. It was like a dream. They appeared before a court, and were sentenced to 20 years in prison.
***
Abdool had his own room. It had a clean white sheeted bed, with a firm spring mattress. A small toilet / bath led off the back part of the room. A TV was mounted on the wall. Although most of the programmes were in a strange language, Abdool found it entertaining. Breakfast, lunch and dinner were served in a dining hall nearby. The food was delicious. There were also 2 sessions of exercise and outdoor activity every day. Abdool had never imagined that he would be living in such luxury. As Abdool lay slumped on the bed, watching the TV idly, he suddenly recalled the old man. Abdool chuckled. “You were right old man.”
Sunday, January 30, 2011
The Colonisation ***
The land looked lush. The mist hung like an eerie curtain. Krishnarayan looked out from the bow of his ship. It was more than 3 months since he left India. He missed the balmy humid climate. Here it was perpetually grey and cold.
Krishnarayan’s sturdy mothership Thoothukkaval berthed off the busy port of Southampton, in England, which was then ruled by a weak ruler, Milton Cabot the younger. Only two of Krishnarayan’s four ships had managed to reach Southampton. Southampton was the port for London, a thriving city where Arabs, Chinese and Hindu merchants from all over Asia and East Africa came to trade in pepper, ginger as well as gold, ivory and silk. The ships had twenty cannons mounted prominently on it. Soon Milton Cabot the younger was willing to sign a peace treaty.
The landing party was ashore. The locals were awed. Pale skinned and tall, they cowered, seeing the brash invaders and their fearsome weapons. The year was 1448. This single event was to portend a race for supremacy in trade in the next century between the Indians and the Chinese, with the Turks and Arabs also taking more minor roles. During the earlier half of the fourteenth century England was dominated by the Turks, who controlled the sea routes on the western shores of Africa, effectively blockading any ships belonging to other nations. Only in the second half of the century, after the fall of Kefturk Akabira, did the Turk power begin to fade, making way for the Indians to be more active in the area.
***
Krishnarayan ruled England for over 20 years. He built the first Indian factory in London in 1451. From then till 1470, he went on a perennial campaign, attacking and capturing swathes of land all the way to Scotland to the north and Wales and Ireland on the west. London was renamed New Chennai in 1460. In 1468 it was proclaimed as the capital of Indian Britain.
***
The British Isles had been under Indian colonial occupation for over 500 years. But recently there had been sporadic rumblings of discontent among young Englishmen.
John Henry Montgomery was an intense young man. He spoke passionately to the motley group of listeners in the open square of London. “இது நம் நாடு . இந்திய ஆக்கிரமிப்பாளர்கள் நம்மை பல வருடங்கள் ஆண்டுவிட்டர்கள். நம் நாட்டை சூறை ஆடி விட்டார்கள். அவர்கள் நாடு செழிக்க நம் நாடு வாடுகிறது . நமக்கு சுதந்திரம் உடனடியாக வேண்டும் . சுதந்திரம் கிட்டும் வரை போராடுவோம் . அது நமது உரிமை." (This is our land. The Indian oppressors have ruled us for far too long. They have plundered our country and exploited us to the hilt, enriching their own people and country. We demand Independence. We will fight until we get it. It is our God given right.)
The group of Indian soldiers watched attentively from the sidelines.
“இந்திய ஆக்கிரமிப்பாளர்கள் மிக வலிமை வாய்ந்தவர்கள் . வலிமையால் அவர்களை நாம் வெல்ல முடியாது . நம் வழியில் அவர்களை போராடுவோம் . அஹிம்சை தான் நம் வழி . அவர்களின் வலிமைக்கு நாம் அஹிம்சை வழி பதில் அழிப்போம்."
(We know the Indian colonial imperialists have brute strength. We cannot win them on their terms. We will fight our way. We will adopt non-violence as our weapon. We will reply to their force by turning our other cheek.)
Krishnarayan’s sturdy mothership Thoothukkaval berthed off the busy port of Southampton, in England, which was then ruled by a weak ruler, Milton Cabot the younger. Only two of Krishnarayan’s four ships had managed to reach Southampton. Southampton was the port for London, a thriving city where Arabs, Chinese and Hindu merchants from all over Asia and East Africa came to trade in pepper, ginger as well as gold, ivory and silk. The ships had twenty cannons mounted prominently on it. Soon Milton Cabot the younger was willing to sign a peace treaty.
The landing party was ashore. The locals were awed. Pale skinned and tall, they cowered, seeing the brash invaders and their fearsome weapons. The year was 1448. This single event was to portend a race for supremacy in trade in the next century between the Indians and the Chinese, with the Turks and Arabs also taking more minor roles. During the earlier half of the fourteenth century England was dominated by the Turks, who controlled the sea routes on the western shores of Africa, effectively blockading any ships belonging to other nations. Only in the second half of the century, after the fall of Kefturk Akabira, did the Turk power begin to fade, making way for the Indians to be more active in the area.
***
Krishnarayan ruled England for over 20 years. He built the first Indian factory in London in 1451. From then till 1470, he went on a perennial campaign, attacking and capturing swathes of land all the way to Scotland to the north and Wales and Ireland on the west. London was renamed New Chennai in 1460. In 1468 it was proclaimed as the capital of Indian Britain.
***
The British Isles had been under Indian colonial occupation for over 500 years. But recently there had been sporadic rumblings of discontent among young Englishmen.
John Henry Montgomery was an intense young man. He spoke passionately to the motley group of listeners in the open square of London. “இது நம் நாடு . இந்திய ஆக்கிரமிப்பாளர்கள் நம்மை பல வருடங்கள் ஆண்டுவிட்டர்கள். நம் நாட்டை சூறை ஆடி விட்டார்கள். அவர்கள் நாடு செழிக்க நம் நாடு வாடுகிறது . நமக்கு சுதந்திரம் உடனடியாக வேண்டும் . சுதந்திரம் கிட்டும் வரை போராடுவோம் . அது நமது உரிமை." (This is our land. The Indian oppressors have ruled us for far too long. They have plundered our country and exploited us to the hilt, enriching their own people and country. We demand Independence. We will fight until we get it. It is our God given right.)
The group of Indian soldiers watched attentively from the sidelines.
“இந்திய ஆக்கிரமிப்பாளர்கள் மிக வலிமை வாய்ந்தவர்கள் . வலிமையால் அவர்களை நாம் வெல்ல முடியாது . நம் வழியில் அவர்களை போராடுவோம் . அஹிம்சை தான் நம் வழி . அவர்களின் வலிமைக்கு நாம் அஹிம்சை வழி பதில் அழிப்போம்."
(We know the Indian colonial imperialists have brute strength. We cannot win them on their terms. We will fight our way. We will adopt non-violence as our weapon. We will reply to their force by turning our other cheek.)
Thursday, January 6, 2011
No Escape ***
Varun felt an intolerable throbbing in his head. He paced up and down the space. The pacing somehow helped. The to and fro movement hypnotized and somehow dulled his senses. Occasionally he looked up at the others. They seemed happy. Some frolicked around, chasing each other. Others lay lazily in the corners, in a stupor. Some sat and contemplated. Sometimes they quarreled and fought. But they were contented. But Varun could not take it. Not anymore.
Initially he too had relished the life. He had not noticed the loss. He enjoyed the frills. He accepted the ups and downs. He was happy. He was thankful. But not anymore.
Varun stopped pacing. Someone was jabbering away incessantly near his ears. The voice was maddening. He wanted to continue pacing. He wanted some relief. He had to get out. Once and for all. He looked around. For a moment there was silence. Everyone stopped whatever they were doing. They all looked at him. Somehow they all sensed that Varun was coming to a momentous decision. They looked at him. Varun turned slowly to the bars. He could do it. He paused. And then the jabbering and the activity resumed. That did it. Varun made a mad dash at the bars. He crashed against the bars. But they were unyielding. He fell in a heap.
“What’s the matter with you?” Shoba was looking over him. Vasan and Swathi were nearby, looking at him disinterestedly.
“Oh, I’m ok. I think I just fell off the sofa.”
And the nagging resumed. Vasan continued shouting at his mom. Swathi was sobbing. And Shoba was heaping scorn on him.
“Its all your fault. Look at what you have made them into.”
And it all came crashing down. The problems at the office. His bank trouble. Swathi's problems....
Varun lay back and closed his eyes. There was no escape. The bars were too solid.
Initially he too had relished the life. He had not noticed the loss. He enjoyed the frills. He accepted the ups and downs. He was happy. He was thankful. But not anymore.
Varun stopped pacing. Someone was jabbering away incessantly near his ears. The voice was maddening. He wanted to continue pacing. He wanted some relief. He had to get out. Once and for all. He looked around. For a moment there was silence. Everyone stopped whatever they were doing. They all looked at him. Somehow they all sensed that Varun was coming to a momentous decision. They looked at him. Varun turned slowly to the bars. He could do it. He paused. And then the jabbering and the activity resumed. That did it. Varun made a mad dash at the bars. He crashed against the bars. But they were unyielding. He fell in a heap.
“What’s the matter with you?” Shoba was looking over him. Vasan and Swathi were nearby, looking at him disinterestedly.
“Oh, I’m ok. I think I just fell off the sofa.”
And the nagging resumed. Vasan continued shouting at his mom. Swathi was sobbing. And Shoba was heaping scorn on him.
“Its all your fault. Look at what you have made them into.”
And it all came crashing down. The problems at the office. His bank trouble. Swathi's problems....
Varun lay back and closed his eyes. There was no escape. The bars were too solid.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Change of scene ***
Sunil sauntered along the cobbled sidewalk. He was exhilarated. All around him were the sights and sounds of a magical fairyland. The whole area was resplendent in the Christmas decorations. The young people moved in groups, laughing and happy. Expensive cars cruised by, the occupants looking bright and happy. Flashing multicoloured lights and booming music. Sunil smiled. He moved to the music. He looked across the road. His friend Rajesh stood near the bus stop, waving to him happily. Sunil waved back. A group of girls saw Sunil, and waved back, giggling. Sunil grinned, and smoothed his hair.
And then he saw Mathavan alighting from the van. Mathavan had obviously seen him, and was heading his way. Sunil pretended not to have seen him, and moved along in the opposite direction. Now the group of girls were around him. One of them nudged him playfully, as the whole group burst into giggles. Sunil looked at them and smiled. And at that moment Mathavan caught up with him.
“What the hell do you think you are doing?” He bellowed. Some of the people around them stopped and turned. The group of girls too stopped and looked back. Sunil cringed, and smoothed down his hair, looking down.
Mathavan caught Sunil by his neck. “You are supposed to be working, not merry-making. Now get going, and don’t let me catch you slacking again.” He shoved Sunil forwards roughly. Sunil stumbled. He moved on, straightening his orange uniform. He walked quickly along the edge of the cobbled sidewalk, sweeping bits of paper with his broom. The group of girls watched him for a few seconds, and then moved along, giggling and laughing. Soon the scene was back to normal.
Sunil looked across the road. Rajesh too was diligently sweeping his side of the road. He looked around. Suddenly, the scenery looked bleak and grey.
And then he saw Mathavan alighting from the van. Mathavan had obviously seen him, and was heading his way. Sunil pretended not to have seen him, and moved along in the opposite direction. Now the group of girls were around him. One of them nudged him playfully, as the whole group burst into giggles. Sunil looked at them and smiled. And at that moment Mathavan caught up with him.
“What the hell do you think you are doing?” He bellowed. Some of the people around them stopped and turned. The group of girls too stopped and looked back. Sunil cringed, and smoothed down his hair, looking down.
Mathavan caught Sunil by his neck. “You are supposed to be working, not merry-making. Now get going, and don’t let me catch you slacking again.” He shoved Sunil forwards roughly. Sunil stumbled. He moved on, straightening his orange uniform. He walked quickly along the edge of the cobbled sidewalk, sweeping bits of paper with his broom. The group of girls watched him for a few seconds, and then moved along, giggling and laughing. Soon the scene was back to normal.
Sunil looked across the road. Rajesh too was diligently sweeping his side of the road. He looked around. Suddenly, the scenery looked bleak and grey.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
