• Personal,  Pointless posts

    This too will pass…

    Dharmathin vaazhvadhanai soodhu kavvum,
    dharmam marubadiyum vellum
    marumathai nammaley ulangam karkum,
    vazhi thedi vidhi intha seygai seythaan
    karumatthai maenmelum kaanbom indru,
    kattundom poruthiruppom, kaalam maarum
    dharmathai appodhu vella kaanbom,
    dhanu undu gaandeevam athan per endran

    Yesterday, I came across these words, from Bharathi’s Paanchaali Sabatham. Entirely by co-incidence I must say. It immediately prompted me to update my Facebook status with a cryptic (or not-so-cryptic) message. Too many feelings…too few words…

    Loosely translated, these immortal words preach patience. They represent the eternal hope that no matter what happens, tomorrow will be a better day. When I was in college, we would get caught every other day for some silly prank. A class missed, a lie told, a fake permission slip…something. And as is the case with most college students, we were dumb enough to actually get caught. Sometimes, it would get worse than anticipated. We would be pulled up, shouted at and even punished. And again, as is the case with most teenaged girls, I would get upset. So upset that I would refuse to eat, or drink…or even talk. I would be miserable. At such times, Nandini would come up to me and say, “This too will pass.”

    Today, she is not there to tell me this any more. But, the message still holds true. Kattundom…let’s be patient…poruthiruppom…let’s wait. Kaalam maarum…times will change! Sounds familiar? To me it strikes a very powerful chord. Nandini’s words in college…this too will pass… Dad’s words at the worst times of my life…kaalam maarum…times will change. Today, I realize that truer words have never been spoken. Times will change. Life will, and must, come a full circle. Today, like no other day in my life, I fully understand what it means to be patient, to wait, to bide my time and hope.

    A break-up, a fight, a newly-found friend, parents, friends…even money, house, car…everything! Life definitely comes a full circle. I am perhaps being completely incoherent right now, but I don’t care. Words that were once hurled at me with a hurtful callousness are now being hurled back at those who used them in the first place. And, strangely, I don’t feel good. In fact, I wish things did not have to be this way.

    The ridicule, the criticism, the pain, the unhappiness, or even the joy and the euphoria… all of them seem meaningless today. Because life, as they say, catches up with you at some point. Because times change. Because life comes a full circle. Does all this make any sense at all? Or are these just meaningless rants?

  • Culture,  History,  Personal

    Azhagana Thenmadurai…

    The Meenakshi Temple, fragrant strands of jasmine, the three Tamil Sangams…these are what you generally associate with the city of Madurai. And of course, the beautiful and lyrical way in which people there speak the Tamil language we, here in Chennai, are so accustomed to massacring.

    But, actually arriving in Madurai in August 2009 is a different matter altogether. The city is still relatively small, and retains much of the old world charm. But, one can’t help but notice that ugly hoardings, plastic waste and unmanageable traffic are an integral part of the city. And to me, it signifies a loss of innocence. A loss of all that was good with small-town Tamil Nadu. It’s been a good seven years since I last visited Madurai. A lot of water has flown under the bridge. Or should I say, a lot of silt has accumulated. For, there is no water in the Vaigai any more. Apparently they only open the dam in April for the Kallazhagar temple festival. Otherwise, it’s just a vast expanse of sand and silt. That’s sad, considering that one of the indications that you had arrived in Madurai was crossing that bridge over the Vaigai, with the river gushing furiously below you.

    But, all said and done, it feels good. It feels good to enter a city you know is almost 2000 years old. A city that hosted not one, but three Tamil Sangams. The city that nurtured and developed Muthamizh (edit: the three Tamils, referring to Iyal, Isai, Natakam, as pointed out by Santhakumar in the comment). Because, unlike Chennai, Madurai has a history distinct from the white sahibs. Talking to people there, you realise that although things have changed, they haven’t changed so drastically that you don’t realise the difference. The people are still rather more helpful and less abusive than in Chennai.

    The Thirumalai Nayakar Palace still holds the same charm it did all those years ago. It’s still as beautiful, and much cleaner. It is heartening to see that the ASI is finally taking an interest in restoring that beautiful structure. And of course, in keeping the place clean. You cannot see a single plastic bag, or bubble gum, or broken bottles any more. The management makes sure of that.

    Life in the city still revolves around the famed corridors of the Meenakshi temple. Yes, the temple is rather commercial now, with the management charging 100 rupees for a special darshan. But, you can still enjoy the stroll in the hallowed corridors, appreciate the nuances of the Silver Hall (analogous to the Golden Hall in Chidambaram), and walk around the famed “Pond of the Golden Lotus”. The only problem is that there was no water in the pond. It had been pumped out a few days earlier for cleaning. The Golden Lotus (Potramarai) is clearly visible. It would have looked much more beautiful had the pond been filled.

    I spent a long and exciting weekend in the area. What used to seem like a lifetime of drudgery when I was ten suddenly seems much more exciting now. I want to go back. Go back and see more temples, more palaces, more hills, and more of life. I know I will. The only question is…when?

  • History,  Media,  Politics

    Bring back the Brits?

    That’s what one Mr. Aakar Patel wants us to do. Or at least, wishes they hadn’t left India quite so soon. Check out this phenomenally shortsighted article in the Mint. Or must I say, blindingly Anglophile? I really don’t know how to classify this article. It is one thing to point out that there are problems with governance in India. It is quite another to wish an alien government had stayed sixty years longer than it actually did. Before you read on, read this article by the same person in the International News, a Pakistani site. Also, read this rebuttal by Rohit on his NationalInterest blog.

    The problem is that Patel really seems to believe what he says: that the British were benevolent rulers, with India’s best interests at heart; that we could have been better off if the British had stayed another sixty years. I do not dispute the fact the British brought a number of good things to India. Think about the railways, the administrative services, the English language, and you will see what I mean. I agree. We owe much of what we see in India today to the fact that we were ruled for over 400 years by a foreign government.

    But think about this. The same government threw our people into prison for the crime of questioning their authority over a country and is, arguably, not theirs. The same government skinned our people alive with the imposing burden of taxes, and denied basic human rights to about one-fifth of humanity. Let us not forget that the British government that gave us a decent system of education also founded whites-only clubs and cricket grounds were boards proudly bore the words, “Dogs and Indians not allowed.” Let us also not forget that, by Patel’s own admission millions of people died in several famines across the country during the rule of the British. And, we would also do well to remember that in the last sixty-two years, the country has not faced a single famine.

    This is not to eulogise the Indian government and claim it has done its best. No. It simply means that the government listens to the people who brought it to power, not because governments are inherently noble, but because they know they can be thrown out in the next elections by the same people who elected them. It is this kind of control that gives us the right to express ourselves freely. It is precisely this freedom that has today allowed Patel to even publish something as inherently anti-establishment as this article.

    The point here is not to rubbish the contribution of the British to infrastructure development or education in India. But, in acknowledging their positive influences, we must not become so blind to their faults that we wish they had stayed longer. That is extremely dangerous. Blind adoration is never good.

    Yes, we Indians are corrupt, inefficient and nepotistic. But, however inefficient we may be, we still hold the right to rule ourselves. Don’t judge us because we are imperfect. Let us make our mistakes, pick ourselves up, and continue on our path to discovering the best way to govern ourselves. Don’t assume someone else knows better because they come from the west of the Caucasus. It would do well for us to remember that the British, the French, the Americans and every other developed country has travelled the path we are treading today. They have made their mistakes, learnt from them and are governing themselves reasonably well today. That might take another century in India. But, let us be. We will learn. Sooner or later.

  • Culture,  History,  Personal

    Time stands still…

    …as you enter the three centuries-old Dutch fort at Sadras. I won’t describe the fort for you. Sriram has done it well enough. The fort, built in the 17th Century speaks volumes of a past long dead, an era gone by. I enter the fort and wish I were born in those times. I wish I could live there, experience the life of the times, fight all those wars, save the fort from ruin. I know that’s a crazy thought, but hey! One can dream, right?

    I take a look at the ancient cemetery inside the fort. Thankfully, today it is open. As we step in, I feel an easy calm. I forget that I am Amrutha, that I am living in 2009, or even that I am with two others. I forget to speak. The ASI employee who takes us around is generous with his time, and gives us plenty of information. But, I am in a completely different world. I take in what he tells us, complete with the dates and events, but somehow, don’t feel like listening at all. He tells us to approach the main office of the ASI in the Secretariat in Chennai for more information. I am still not impressed. I can only wonder what happened here all those years ago. I can only try to relive those moments.

    I take a walk around the fort, following the ASI employee and Sriram. Both seem completely self-assured, almost as if they know this place inside out. They probably do. This is my first time here. I get to the place that was once a kitchen. I see a flight of stairs going up and decide to climb. Sriram is right behind me. We take in the view of the sea from there. At this point, I turn, and see red. Right in front of me, on the dome of the centuries-old warehouse, is graffiti. Some random guy called Suresh has declared his love for someone else in ugly scratches all over the dome. What the heck? Can’t we even respect our heritage? I’ll never understand.

    Recovering from the blow, we continue walking around for nearly half an hour, shooting pictures at every conceivable angle, forty-four in all. When we finally finished with the fort, all I felt was marvel at what an old, broken building can do to you. It is, after all, not just a building. It’s a piece of history, beautiful in every way.

  • Cuisine,  Culture

    Wake up! Smell the (filter) coffee!

    Picture this…you wake up in the morning, feeling lazy from all-night conversations with the world’s best friends you can have, and wish you could sleep just 5 minutes more. At this point, the aroma of freshly-filtered coffee, hits you…yumm… Can life be any better? Make no mistake; this is one area in which I am unabashedly a South Indian Brahmin. Freshly brewed filter coffee early in the morning (ok…even if it’s at 9) is something I’d kill for.

    Food is something that I absolutely love. While I wouldn’t call myself a foodie (it seems to be becoming a bad word), I definitely enjoy food, of any and every kind. As long as it’s edible and doesn’t contain remains of any dead animals or sea creatures, I’ll eat it. Friends fail to see what is so special about freshly brewed filter kaapi.

    Yesterday, a colleague said he didn’t see why I was so insistent on filter coffee. “Actually, decaf Nescafe is almost as good.” I nearly screamed in agony at the comparison between something so obviously tasteless as decaffeinated coffee and the wonderful Kumbakonam degree coffee. I mean, how can anyone be so insensitive? And what’s the point in drinking coffeeless coffee? That’s obviously what decaffeinated coffee is all about. Coffee without coffee.

    Oh yes. I am puritan when it comes to food. Freshly-brewed (preferably freshly-ground) Kumbakonam filter coffee, dosas made from homemade batter, Thengai Sevai (what people so creatively call rice noodles) made painstakingly using the large bronze sevai naazhi at home. I’d die to have any of this. And yes! How could I forget? Rasam made in an Eeya Sombu (tin vessel) over embers of coal that takes ages to heat (but the taste is fabulous, so who cares?). Sundakkai sambar made in a Kalchetti (stone vessel), eaten with hot rice and potato poriyal made in a mud pot! Ok. I stop here. I am hungry!