History
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.
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.
The son of Ponni
Yesterday was Adi Perukku. I read not one, but two posts on Ponniyin Selvan. Yes, the novel par excellence by Kalki Krishnamurthy is what first came to my mind when I realized it was the 18th day of the Tamil month of Adi. The thought sent me hurtling back a decade.
I had barely finished by Class 12 exams. My father brought home an armload of Tamil books. The Government of Tamil Nadu had decided to subsidize the works of Kalki Krishnamurthy, to commemorate the birth centenary of the writer. And dad, to his credit, decided to expose me to a world of Tamil literature I was entirely unfamiliar with. I could read Tamil about as well as the current crop of Kollywood heroines can speak it. For those of you who know what that means, it’s like George Bush’s general knowledge, zero!
Dad, being dad, had ambitious plans for me. He laid out the three major works by Kalki in front of me and asked me to choose. Ponniyin Selvan, vigorously recommended by dad, mom, grandmother and a whole army of older relatives occupied the pride of place. Alaiyosai, Kalki’s personal favourite, was somewhere at the bottom of the list. Between these two exalted works lay Sivagamiyin Sabatham. Now, asking me to choose between them was like asking a beginner in English to choose between Charles Dickens and Shakespeare. Both are difficult, each more difficult than the other.
I bravely plunged into the world of Ponniyin Selvan, with mom and grandmother’s encouragements. Dad, for his part, was ready to explain the meaning of Tamil words I did not understand. In hindsight, I suspect that he bit off much more than he could chew. He did not bargain to become the official translator of classical Tamil into Madras Baashai for his darling daughter raised on the banks of the Buckingham Canal. Ok. I am exaggerating…but, truly, my knowledge of Tamil was rivaled only by my (in)ability to do math.
Once I began reading the novel, all was forgotten. My walking, talking Madras Baashai interpreter was troubled for exactly three days. The story was engrossing. It was moving forward at a phenomenal speed. I discovered the Pazhuvettaraiyars, the hero Vandhiyathevan, the beautiful Nandini, the shy Madhuranthakan. History came alive in those words. I suddenly wanted to know more about Anirudha Brahmarayar and the Uttiramerur inscriptions. I wanted to know how Kundavai Prattiyar lived, what the Kudandhai astrologer said. I wanted to visit these exotic places. I wanted to study history. I discovered the romance between Vanathi and Arulmozhi Varman. In the process, I developed a crush on the noble Arulmozhi Varman, long dead. Poor man! Wonder how many teenage girls discovered they had a crush on him! A decade later, I wonder if Rajaraja Cholan was really as noble as Kalki’s Arulmozhi Varman. On second thoughts, I’d rather not know.
It took me nearly a month to finish the five-volume three-thousand-page novel. When I was done, I was incorrigibly spoiled. I was in love; in love with history, with the Chola times. I was in love with the art of writing something so breathtakingly beautiful. I had decided. I was going to study history. I haven’t regretted that decision till date. And yes, I am still in love. I still want to see Uttiramerur, Pazhayarai, Uraiyur, Thanjavur and Gangaikonda Cholapuram. This is a love affair that will probably last all my life.
PS: There is an English translation of Ponniyin Selvan. But, if you can read Tamil even passingly, please read it in the original. I can guarantee the story will take you forward, even if you don’t want to go.
Valmiki is Russian?
First, check out this phenomenally stupid article from Mint. The author, a former investment and commercial banker argues that the Pandavas and the Kauravas were actually invaders who pushed the original Indus Valley people a.k.a the Dravidians down south. He also states, with the certainty of an eye-witness, that the Dravidian people drank “Jhalam” (water) from a river of the same name. I assume he is talking about Jhelum. But he seems to forget that “jal” in Sanskrit means water too. In fact, the original Tamil word for water is “neer”. Not just that, the letter/sound “j” does not exist in Tamil. Ask any Tamil scholar and they will tell you. The “Jhalam” the author refers too is a brahminical usage, used almost exclusively by the Brahmins of Tamil Nadu.
Also, see this excellent, not-to-mention hilarious retort by Eroteme, who rebuts, point by point, and with great humour all the contentions that Mr. Ramaswami puts forward in his article. Mr. Ramaswami also claims, with the self-assurance of a fool, that historians have brushed this fact under the carpet because it would be tantamount to admitting that our mythical heroes were invaders who displaced an entire civilisation. What the !@#$?? What the hell were you smoking my dear Mr. Ramaswami? As Eroteme points out, there were figurines of horses and camels discovered during excavations in the Indus Valley. But it probably makes sense, as Mr. Ramaswami intelligently contends that these “barbarians” with no culture of their own adopted Vedic culture and civilisation and gave the Indus Valley Civilisation a second innings. So, they must have made those figurines right? Because they had horses!
During the course of my reading, I never understood one thing. The Aryan invasion theory contends that the Aryans came from Central Asia and pushed the indigenous populations out. The Dravidian point of view is that these indigenous peoples were pushed down south to parts of South India and eventually adopted a language that evolved gradually into Tamil. But, Mr. Ramaswami contends that the Kauravas and the Pandavas pushed out the indigenous people and adopted the Vedic culture that already existed as they had no culture of their own. Does that mean that the Dravidians were the original Vedic people? If so, the Dravidian argument takes a beating. Of the two related arguments, one of them must be false.
Among all these stupid arguments, one takes the cake.
“If we don’t accept the invasion theory, then the only other explanation is that both Mahabharat and Ramayan took place outside India, on the Russian steppes, and their stories have come down to us as oral histories through the horse-people, which were then refined to suit cultural and later ethnic, social and political agendas.”
Really, this kind of stupidity only reminds me of the old saying. Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.