“No”, with just one word Murugan anna dropped them off at Kumbakonam and proceeded to Thirubuvanam a few miles to the north east. Did they not just pass it on the way from Chennai? “Yes, …but that area is not safe for you women and young kids…I will drop off the collection at Tamizhan Catering and come back don’t worry..”, saying so he placated his worried wife Valli, who did not look too happy. Her husband was literally entering the lion’s den unarmed, the very area where his cousin Ramalingam had bled to death. Being a businessman with some local power his cousin had objected to Islamic preachers in the nearby Dalit colony, next thing his hands were chopped off for having the temerity to stand up to the radicals. Fearing more violence, or worse, of being termed Islamophobes none of the hospitals had agreed to treat Ramalingam on time, he would have been alive if he had been attended to.
Anna narrated this incident with much anger and hurt. After months of campaigning on the ground and raising funds in Chennai, he was now here to hand over donations from horrified family members, friends, and compassionate strangers to his nephew Shiyamsundhar. But he was not going to take any chances by taking along his pretty wife nor with her, Srishti, who was under his care now into those no-go zones. “What about police anna, how can there be areas where they cannot enter?” In reply to her innocent question, both manni and anna started laughing contemptuously. He was coffee coloured, tall, thick-set, with a tenderly groomed broad moustache and a forehead always spouting vipooti while she, tea coloured, was an epitome of tamizh beauty with large expressive eyes, thick black long hair always adorned with local flowers, and a smile that was like sunshine in the winter season. They made a perfect couple and Srishti was proud to call them family.
Azhagu was but a blur in her memory. What she did remember of her erstwhile seasonal friend was the fallout they had had about what to do one particular evening. Things had already soured between them but when Azhagu had insisted on going on a heritage walk to the Wallajah mosque which Srishti had resisted, instead she had wanted to stay put at Parthasarathy temple to sing some more Dikshitar, their whole accidental relationship finally reached the nadir it was anyway headed for, only Srishti had not seen it coming.
“You are getting unnecessarily influenced by those types…what has happened to you…I can no longer recognize you…how can you be so..so parochial….what happened to the cosmopolitan Bombayite …I am so disappointed in you…”. Srishti had had enough. So refusing to go to a mosque made her not-cosmopolitan? What logic was this? Was not Islam against the very idea of idol worship, going to the extent of goading its believers to break idols where they might find them, what did that tell you then, logically speaking! How come Azhagu’s brains were sublet to such a primitive thought? What was so attractive about it? She was welcome to it but why impose it on everyone else? Did that not express supremacy of some sorts, a violence against others’ belief systems? That your world view is backward and wrong and hence is eligible for murder and destruction. But why? No one seemed to ask why! One says I am the only god, the other says there is nothing BUT God! Srishti chose the latter without feeling guilty. Her mind was finally made up. Yes, her paaTi, amma, appa, anna, manni …they were all right. She had resisted them all for far too long but now, now she was convinced.
Srishti made a leap. Away from those who preferred a mosque over a temple to those who said a mosque and temple both are valid.
Srishti texted, “On the way to Suryan kovil”, knowing that she must add to this terse message if she did not want to be flooded by a stream of questions via SMSes, she quickly typed, “…with family friends….near Kumbakonam…won’t join for Valparai …sorry…ttyl”. As an afterthought, she deleted the ‘sorry’ and sent the rest. Phew! What a relief that was! After all the dillydallying, all the back and forth..there, she had finally made up her mind, decision making was the worst. Especially if one could not blame it on anyone else if things went south. To be responsible for each and every situation is so exhausting, isn’t it? Perhaps paaTi is right, maybe I should marry early, to have someone decide such things for me leaving me to my imaginations, thinking so Srishti burst out laughing.
This was the first time in months that she was feeling so overwhelmingly gay and light. Instead of being at the receiving end of the constant barrage of probing queries that made her feel guilty of being who she was and the family she belonged to, here she was, simply a co-traveller with people who accepted her as she was without judgements. The twin girls, one on each side with heads on their mother’s mature shoulders, were resting taking a nap. The mother, Valli, looked out into the wider world with a gentle contented smile playing on her lips and her whole being blossomed along, at constant intervals that gaze shifted towards her husband whom she drenched with her silent love, so much so that even she Srishti could sense the warmth sitting across the aisle on the TNSRTC bus. Anna, Murugan, was chatting away with the bus driver about Periya Puranam and Mahamagham while Andhi Mazhai Pozhigirathu played loudly to drown out the conversation. Srishti did not mind the noise or the crowds, nor the musical choices of the state transport buses, in fact she was rather enjoying this process of trying to identify the raagas these cinema songs were set to while watching the weary travellers filling up the bus and then leaving it to carry on with their respective lives…… Vasanta was it? Ilaiyaraaja was indeed a true isaignani.
Anna and his family were visiting their relatives in Kumbakonam and had offered to show Srishti around, especially the temples dedicated to the nine planets. Ever since she had started learning the navagraha kritis she had been overcome by an all-consuming desire to pay her respects to them in person. She was looking forward to her trip to Kumbakonam to visit the shrine dedicated to Suryan especially, her favourite deity. Azhagu had scoffed at this desire of hers, mocked her for voicing such a want. “The sun is NOT a planet girl! It is a star….anyone would think you come from an illiterate family…considering both your parents are highfalutin scientists and all ….” But that is how Azhagu was. And from now on there would be no more of her kind in her life. She had crossed over to the other side. Yet thoughts of Azhagu kept invading her mind. She tried to shoo them away with the Maestro’s tunes.
“But that is how it is in their culture darling! Why are you making a fuss over a peck on the cheek, and so he hugged you tightly……so what? Showing affection is also against your Iyer principles? Babes, you are taking this too far…you do not want to come with us to Valparai because of what happened in Pondy! Grow up! ’have already made bookings so don’t bail on us ok….please pretty please…!” Aazhagu started making crying sounds, Srishti was miffed with her and their auto tiffs were getting louder and more regular day by day. Srishti’s only fear was that anna might hear them bickering. It definitely seemed so from his sudden shift in body language that she was keenly observing from the back seat and the side mirror…from a relaxed self his back had straightened considerably, and his ears eagerly elephantine. “And do not make your own plans pushing off to that Isha place like last time….how can you stand all this mumbo-jumbo…seriously…” Azhagu’s voice trailed off into the growing darkness of the winter night and the honking of the oncoming inter-state trucks. They dropped her off at her friend’s and proceeded home.
Murugan was unusually quiet, his trademark grin wiped off his face, he did not meet Srishti’s eye in his usual sunny toothy manner. Instead, he was grumpy all through the ride home and even when she tried to make silly jokes about the terrible traffic and the state of roads in Chennai, topics he usually found great interest in. He grunted a saying from the Thirukkural as was his habit when he was too angry or upset to make conversation, “Folded hands may conceal a dagger, Likewise a foe’s tears.” Ever since he had overheard of her holiday plans with her friend he had been out of sorts. I must be the only girl in this town who cares about what her autodriver thinks of her! Srishti grimaced with a shake of her head. “You are going with that ..that girl to Valparai?… did you inform your parents…..hmm…..not even to paaTi??” Well, he was of course more than a mere chauffeur or bodyguard, more than a muh-bola-bhai or a handyman for her granny, he was family. She had not. No, she had not informed anyone. Not that they were strict or anything, but Azhagu was going with a bunch of her friends and Srishti herself did not know all of them, and the boys in her group could get rough, ……or intimate. Srishti had said yes because she could not say no. She was still processing why she felt uncomfortable with those boys…they were genial in a physical way, their manner was all touchy-feely…and being from a family which did not hug, kiss or touch much, it was not easy for her to condone intimacy when not essential. In fact, she absolutely disliked all physical contact especially with the opposite gender, but if she said this aloud, Azhagu was sure to call her names. That is what she dreaded most. To lose her only friend here in Chennai because of her prim and properness.
“Times are not safe, things are dangerous nowadays …especially for a girl like you…”, she sensed suppressed anger and exasperation in his tone. What did he mean ‘girls like me’. Anna was family because he could anticipate her thoughts and answer them before she voiced them. “Do you know there are rate cards for girls they manage to trap? If you are of a certain age and caste….” Srishti’s mind switched off. She took solace in her soul-mate Soorya, turning down the volume of anna’s voice mentally and raising the decibels levels of her hum…. soorya moortae namostutae….sunnnndara chaayaaaadhipatae…..she continued the rest of the ride in sheer obliviousness, keeping her natural smile in place and nodding every now and then so as to not offend anna, she went on with her gamakams.
The autorickshaw stopped in front of her grandmother’s house, she got down without a word and reached into her purse. Before she looked up to hand him the fare, anna was gone, vrooming angrily. Of course, he knew that she had switched off. He was family after all. She entered the grill gate left open by the maid who would have just gone home after her evening work and shouted, “paaaaaaTi pasikiradu..!”
“….do not disturb him, every morning playing and creating ruckus in his body, imagine someone jumping on you up and down day in and out pulling your hair, scratching, pinching…it is himsa….develop eyes to see, not a buddhi to refute….”. Srishti sat watching the waves thinking of what her grandmother had said many a time, to prevent her frolicking in the waters. Don’t they tire she thought while keenly watching each bubble and the froth that formed near her toes? Who gives them the energy to come back again and again after every retreat and rejection by the shores? Who gives permanency to their oh! such a temporary existence! What drives them towards strength, positivity, vigour, courage, what prevents them from fearing the eddies, currents, whirlpools and the dangerous depths of the ocean? And then she saw. And fell in love.
Just as paaTi had warned her she did not rush into the waters to celebrate her sudden flash of enlightenment, instead, she waded reverentially into the cold embrace of the venerable Varuna and took three dips, completely submerging her head, nose and breath tightly held in a kumbhaka, coming up with a renewed blast of energy each time. The soma nourished waters turned to gold in a flash. How would a mere mortal suffice anymore before this…this godly magnificence of Arka.
Ever since Kalpana akka taught her the Dikshitar kriti on Soorya, Srishti had been humming the tune in her head everywhere she went. It was such a perfect composition, just made for her! Was she not of Simha Rashi, and Surya Devta who was the ruler of this lunar sign, her favourite since childhood…saaaarasa mitra…mitra bhaano…saaaarasa..yes, he was her friend too. As long as there was daylight, Srishti was always high. He made sure she was never despondent, always healthy, gung-ho ready to go. ..sahasra kiraNa..karNa suno…hmm that went way down…she tried to take her voice low like her teacher but could not. It bothered her. She could hear the way it was done in her head, in her ears but when she tried to say it aloud..she simply could not. Sowrashtram was a new raagam she was learning, it made her heart puff with pride. Not that she was a great singer or anything but she could feel it.. the song, the lyrics, the devotion, the celebration of Soorya in this kriti. Dikshitar may be formulaic in that one can predict the way his keertanas will go unlike Thyagarajar’s but she was partial to Dikshitar, any day. The amount of Sanskrit in his creations mesmerized her..so different from Tamizh….yet it felt so close.
Although her mother had time and again asked her to pay more attention to paaTa class than the dance class, Srishti was obviously enamoured by the latter, more so because which young girl listens to the sane advice of her mother? Yet, at times, right after she left her music class every Tuesday afternoon, her throat reminded her that it would enjoy more longevity than her feet at eighty. Not to mention that while she sang she could be her own audience, which was not possible when she danced. A dancer is thus a more vain artiste than a singer ..wow! I should write that down in my diary, thought Srishti, that is a deep thought indeed. Oh! Soorya, you inspire me so! ..kroora paapa hara kriShaano….was that a ‘no’ or No’..but the advantage of being a dancer is that one can start giving life, one can start emoting as soon as one has learnt a kriti, one can express with one’s whole body. Moving her hands in the air in adoration, striking the unknown enemy ala Chandi, Srishti was jubilant for no reason. Wasn’t she always jubilant, for no reason. ..guruguha mOdita…svabhaaano….raising her voice now she went on, oblivious to the amused looks of the passers- by dheeraaarchita karma saakshiNae….dheeeeeeeeraaaaarchita….dheeeeeeeraarchita….
Screech…halt! and somehow she found herself in the middle of the road with vehicles hurtling past…right before her confused eyes a freshly painted red district bus came to a screeching halt, the driver pulling back the steering wheel with all his might so as to not hit the car in front of it, and the car itself jolted due to the sudden brakes and threw the passengers into the air, Srishti heard screams as though emanating from another loka. She shook her head a few times to let go of the residue of the song that had grabbed her attention so profoundly and went ahead to open the door of the car and rescue the poor scared inmates. All because of her carelessness! Amma had warned her so many times..do not sing and dance on the streets ..asayamaa….it is not proper Di. But isn’t god everywhere she had asked part mischievously, part seriously exasperating her poor mother some more. The car door that had seemed jammed was pried open by the girl inside and out she came furious, followed by her dishevelled old relatives..must be her taataa paaTi…and looking at Srishti shouted, “You belong in a mental institution”! That is how Azhagu and she had become close pals at least for every December Season when Srishti came down from Mumbai yearly to take dance workshops at the Kalakshetra, to improve her form and soak in on the music and the atmosphere.
Azhaguvalli was her name. But the Azhagu was dropped to be more modern sounding, and everyone ended up calling her Valli except Srishti. She had found her newfound friend to be a bit crazy but was very fond of her nevertheless; Azhagu was open, friendly, and vivacious, all that Srishti was and more, yet when she said things like, “no one can pronounce my name right man, such crazy parents I have….who names a child so dark like me Azhagu!! Hmmmm tell me…..I am obviously some Dravidian leftover….why all this wannabe Brahmin shit..”, Srishti did not approve. In her heart, she felt something was drastically wrong with this statement but she could not pinpoint what, at the very least using such profanity was somehow hurtful to her ears…after listening to Dikshitar and Thyagarajar day in and out my ears do not appreciate bad words thought Srishti to herself, smiling. I am becoming like my mother! But her heart was big and her mind was bigger so she let her crazy friend be, who would use such words easily naturally and behave in the most un-decorous manner saying the most indecorous things which shocked Srishti enough but not to the extent to cut her off completely. After all, she met her friend for only a few weeks a year, it wouldn’t hurt to ignore what offended her and carry on the friendship as though nothing was amiss.
Srishti too was not beyond this name changing business herself. Her parents had named her Selvi, Selvanayaki to be precise. Selvi was a late child, she was born a decade after her parents’ marriage, after many prayers and vows and temple visits. Thanks to amman’s blessings after her parents visited her shrine requesting progeny, they decided to name their only daughter after her. But Selvi felt more like a Srishti, someone who created, imagined, produced…she did not enjoy remaining a passive figure in the drama of life. Her act was centre stage, she must be the choreographer. So during her 10th Boards, she had quietly changed it to Srishti Narayanan. Now everyone knows what is on that certificate counts for the rest of one’s life in India, so she went ahead and did this surreptitiously, lying to her parents that the Marathi class teacher had not heard her name correctly…they had just moved to Trombay from Hyderabad where her parents had been working in the NFC, at the BARC Training school…and it was not a complete lie either…despite being very cosmopolitan and all, a veritable mini India within the Bhabha Atomic Research Centre campus, her local teacher was not aware of such a name as Selvanayaki.
“What do you mean Dravidian…Brahmin…why label yourself like that…?” Srishti had retorted after a short pause and ponder. These terms were alien in a place like Mumbai, at least in the safe confines of BARC, where such things were never said aloud …one’s ethnicity was one’s personal business, people might congregate as per their nativity but to openly declare allegiance and war like this was absolutely anathema in her circles back home….Srishti wanted to ask Azhagu but thought aloud in her head instead. Staying with her paaTi all by herself for a whole month or more was not the best of alternatives, she needed friends, a circle, people her age to hang out with. Already it was getting a bit hot at home, everyday she had to light the deepam and offer naivedyam before going out, come what may…..and had to drop all activities and sit apart when it was her time of the month…not that she did not want to do any of this…she was just not sure why …no one could explain any of this to her properly…. No girl in her circles did pooja of any sort except prancing about during Ganesh Utsav or dancing about during Navratris forget anything else, this is what rankled. Yet instead of praising her for still being traditional and following family customs, all she got was reprimands. So it was good that she had accidentally met Azhagu, it helped her get away from the pressures of being a chamataponnu.
Today they were meeting at Narada Gana Sabha to watch Mythili Prakash perform. Although the tickets were a bit pricey Srishti had decided to invest some time and energy in the next generation artists, left to herself she would not watch anyone but Alarmel Valli or Malavika Sarukkai of course. Azhagu was late. Sitting by herself among the rasikas relishing the idea of the lip-smacking chikku pudding she had just ordered, Srishti continued to hum to herself….soooorya mooortae namostutae….sunnnnndara cchaaaayaadhipatae…she was having trouble with the 3rd and 4th gamakams ….she tried shaking her head to get the desired effect….good that he is married to Chaaya, imagine his heat if not….Chennai would have no ‘season’ to speak of if so, she mused. As it is in December itself Srishti was hot and humid, humidity she was used to but not this burning heat. No wonder she had to give up the idea of greenchili halwa..the very idea! ‘sabha canteens are growing crazier by the day amma…miss you’ she SMSed her mother with a photo of the desserts, sweetmeats on display. Amma had a sweet tooth, perhaps this could entice her away from her atomic minerals and fuels reprocessing. Every year Srishti would beg and plead with amma to accompany her but amma was so lost in her work, it was not easy being an Associate Director, one had to give up family life and other conveniences to rise high in a scientific field. To her credit amma was a good wife and mother, cooking hot meals daily and giving time and attention to her only daughter….what more could she ask…that would be too demanding and selfish. Hers was a happy family with happy fulfilled people. But paaTi was being such a pain in the.. ….no no she would not say the phrase, not even in her head……she had heard Azhagu use it often though.
“What a pain in the — my parents are man, insisting on poTTu kiTTu….tie your hair, wear flowers…you are going for a kutcheri…do they even know kutcheri is not a Tamizh word. They will have palpitations if they know it is Urdu for court of law! And I get two sets of instructions and two calls for every little thing as you know…”, Azhagu had remarked in her loud and trademark brazen way on one of their forays into the city for a performance. Srishti as usual quickly stole a glance towards their auto driver to see if he had caught the conversation, she did not want him carrying tales about her friend to paaTi who already disapproved of this ‘friendship’. Of course, anna’s ears were all perked up, he never let anything pass when it concerned Srishti, she was getting a bit exhausted with this type of surveillance. “Well..”, started Srishti meekly, “…I mean there is a decorum for each place..you know how we dress and …like in a wedding for example…”, of course, Azhagu had to interject, “Thank god Malini is chucking away all that decorum shit for her wedding…you are coming right…and don’t wear some maami saris…wear something modern for once!” Srishti nodded obediently, she was in no mood to aggravate the situation and let Murugan anna lecture her afterwards about her choice of friends. “Malini said she would do away with the taaLi, kanyadaanam, all that patriarchal nonsense…am so excited to see what she is going to wear…she is so stylish that one…” Azhagu continued while anna’s chastising eyes met Srishti’s in the back view mirror. He had later confronted her as usual by quoting his favourite text, “Conquer with forbearance the excesses of insolence” and added just in case she might have not understood old tamizh, “..nothing is sacred for that girl..she dresses, talks, eats and thinks so differently ‘kaa…our culture is backward old fashioned aa? …what they eat and speak is right aa?..how?”
Azhagu was no fool, she knew that Murugan took a dim view of their friendship so she made it clear to Srishti in her usual accusatory manner, “They have internalized all this bullshit man, look at how he hangs onto every word your paaTi says! Why? Just because she is fair and a brahmin? Where is his critical thinking? He should be questioning her instead…”, Srishti had lost her cool at this point but she did not want to look intolerant so she smiled wanly and said, ‘It is more than that Azhagu …you know that…paaTi saved his life, protected his wife’s honour, when those goons were after him.. burning his auto, harassing manni for not converting.. …paaTi is helping the twins study in a good school…” On his part Murugan anna had told her in the very beginning of their friendship, “..why don’t you find another friend ‘kaa…..Azhagu is not correct for you….we look upto brahmins akka…..aamaa….like your paaTi, not everyone….no, not all…she performs all the viratams, has all the qualities like…….like what the saints’ talk of in the Periya Puranam…we are not here because what she gives us ‘kaa…food and money…if we wanted only that we would have converted long ago…..you are her paeti…you must never forget that…she is an embodiment of aram…..like Ramar was…but here people like Azhagu they make him marry Tadaka!” Srishti sensed a deep pain in anna, as he was almost choking while saying all this but she did not know how to respond to this, she kept nodding her head obediently feeling the burden of good behaviour fall on her shoulders yet again, this time not from her parents or paaTi. This is how a society keeps order, else all will be chaos, this is how a society passes on tradition, else all will be chaos. Yes, another sentence for her diary, but not an easy one to pen when you know that the alternative to stability is chaos.
Things had gotten worse after anna heard Azhagu one day on the phone starting a petition to save the temple elephants in Pondicherry after they had just returned from their trip to Auroville. “….aamaa maa’am…poor things are shackled and have to cater to all these devotees troubling them for selfies and blessings…it is such a torture for the poor animal…yes yes I am sending the link now…let us make this viral….yes I took videos maa’am…not many but ..ok ok uploading right away..” Azhagu worked in an NGO run by a Belgian lady. They saved animals. They had been at the forefront of the Jallikattu protests too, of course against it ….which had acquired international notoriety, and thus making Azhagu think of herself as some indispensable player on the world stage. She had assumed too much self-importance post this episode and Srishti could observe a sense of hubris set in gradually. Anna spotted it right away of course! “Keeping dogs and cats at home on leashes in restricted areas without giving them any freedom, kissing them and hugging them without their permission is not against animal rights aa? …eating bread and muTTai every morning instead of iDli vaDa is being modern aa? …what do these city women know.. all the while eating meat at every meal…cows and bulls and elephants are like family to their owners and keepers, we revere them in our villages much more than they do their stupid dogs and cats ….….aennakka idi daan animal rights aa?…beef saapaDathikku freedom solluvaar…..kovil aanai maTTum irrukku kooDaadu…aenna nyaayamakka…..Isha Yoga maTTum tappu panDuvaar aanaa Christian groups selling babies, and human organs in orphanages…adu yarumae paakmaaTTaaru… adu patti yaarumae paesamaaTTaaru..”. No, Murugan did not like Azhagu one bit, nor did her grandmother and she herself was at the end of her patience levels at the moment.
There she was. Finally. The dance recital would start soon. Azhagu made her grand entry wearing a short sleeveless kurti and tights, hair blowing in the wind, forehead sans any marker. Full lips made fuller by a dark shade of red lipstick. Srishti’s hand automatically went to the kanakaambaram strand in her hair, they were called December flowers, of lovely bright colours they looked gorgeous when worn in a plait. She did not get them in Mumbai so she made up for it here by wearing flowers in her hair morning noon and night. The whole sabha crowd had changed in the past few years, it was now hip to attend these kutcheris even if you were not a dancer, singer or connoisseur. The longest Music Festival in the world attracted the young crowd too now, but there was a marked difference in the attire between them and the older more seasoned ones. She considered herself seasoned, Azhagu called it ‘brahminical’.
Srishti had started bringing her friend to these events tempting her with the food and snacks initially, mainly because she craved female company, her paaTi did not go out at all, so she was left with no choice actually. She sighed unhappily at her ‘friend’ walking in into the canteen waving gaily at her. Why is she dressed like she is attending a rock concert or something, it is so embarrassing! The maamis in their resplendent silks and diamonds were all staring at her cockiness tsk-tsking visibly. As she got closer Srishti noticed ‘Smash Brahmanical Patriarchy’ emblazoned across her chest. Srishti wished she could command bhoodevi at will like Sita, but no she could not part the earth with her embarrassed stares goring the floor. Of course on her part Azhagu grimaced and made a thumbs down sign at the sight of Srishti in her Coimbatore cotton, ‘so out of fashion girl, what were you thinking!’. What Azhagu wanted was for Srishti to dress in clothes that broke tradition, that broke something. The essential aspect was the breaking, it did not matter what was broken. The design, the colours, the texture …if anything followed a sampradaaya for centuries, well then, it was boring and tyrannical.
Srishti looked at this display of unnecessary individuality and identity and found herself deep in thought, the thing with these girls is that they have no real hobby or interest in anything but the latest fashion and food that can keep their brains reasonably occupied and away from harm’s way. That also they will ape someone…..not that Azhagu is designing these trendy T-shirts herself! Srishti did not identify with such unnecessary anger and posturing, she came from a hardworking accomplished family and she was deeply invested in many areas to garner forced attention. She was merely mad that her one and only ‘friend’ constantly tried to break rules and custom just for the kick of it, ‘..just to make those oldies squirm..God! What a pain in the…they are’, this is how Azhagu spoke most of the time. No wonder her current favourite was T N Krishnan, everything had to be political or revolutionary. Agreed that art should be for everyone, that masses should have access and all that…..but why pick something beautiful and aesthetic and fill it with ideology, why break apart whatever is working and well?
Azhagu’s whole language was full of violent metaphors and cheap phrases, she spouted them with a sense of accomplishment as though a warrior taking on the whole world. Srishti did not mind the vulgarity as much as borrowed-ness of these terms. She on the other hand wanted it as authentic, as local, as real as possible, the kind who enjoyed abhangs and looked forward to listening to Ranjani Gayathri live. For Srishti, bhakti was real and alive and kicking in her, her parents, her grandparents, everyone but this one person who brought into her calm composed collected world a spark of rebellion and danger, which is probably why she was still hanging on to this relationship despite having misgivings deep inside her. The fascination for the other can often spell doom for a civilization. My diary is getting filled fast thought Srishti happily.
Her whole life was a celebration of the Indian, the Bharatiya. Her parents, her grandparents, her whole family, extended cousins, relatives, each one of them was authentic and real. They were not ‘mimic men or women’ as Naipaul termed such colonized people. She was careful never to use foul language, how could she? The same mouth cannot sing paeans to Soorya and also abuse, can it? She was witness to the slow degradation in such values amongst her peers though…it was cool to use the F word, to say things to shock others, to be graphic and base in one’s description of anything instead of the good old fashioned circumspection…..somedays Srishti wished she was born in the 70s, or 80s, that would have been more her style. Women were women then and not mere pronouns; she, her, hers. The world of today ..her generation ..confused and frightened her. She had enough mental strength to resist alcohol and drugs and cigarettes as also casual relationships but how can one not hear or see what was all around! Pure and simple hatred for all things ancient, traditional, high, and noble. And what was the replacement? Not something more liberating or more elevating, instead one had to make do with the vilest of thoughts and ideals. Be it is aesthetics or arts, not one area was left without the slow poisoning of the field with the politics of the day. Ideology will always have a point of view, can never be absolute, a complete vision is the only way to oneness…aah! That should go into my diary too, noted Srishti with delight.
“Girl..are you lost …?”, Azhagu mercilessly dragged a chair away from the nearby elderly couple who looked at her helplessly, while she plonked herself in front of Srishti with a loud voice and snapping fingers. “..I have been like calling you for the past thirty minutes darling……why are we watching this same old same old dance shit again? Nothing innovative, nothing relevant to my life, nothing about society and its issues…please tell me we are eating and scooting…” The make-do chair of the canteen contractor groaned inwardly at the oncoming tornado. Living or non-living beings, all get disturbed when we are not sensitive to them, is it not why paaTi insists I show reverence to anything and everything by not kicking shoving pulling pushing dropping…oh! the list was simply endless…one could not drop a 50 paisa coin or even a single page from one’s notebook without being reprimanded about Lakshmi or Saraswati being disrespected. Her exasperation at Azhagu was similar to her own grandmother’s at her, Srishti noticed. I am turning into my paaTi, ayyiyyo…and I am not even twenty-five!
Before she could reply with a well thought out answer that she had been practising since morning which included ‘art for art’s sake’, ‘we can do some Black Box or Backyard next week’ or even ‘something contemporary at Spaces’….her Seasonal friend had dug into the chikku pudding and was lost in relishing it with eyes closed and making loud slurping noises!
“I know why we are here, this caterer is TOTALLY worth that shitty thing we have to sit through…what else are we having?” Taking a deep breath, Srishti tried hard to bite her tongue and not say a word about using the same spoon but she simply ordered another cup for herself. There was no guarantee that Azhagu would not shamelessly dig into that too…but what can be done..such things are common between girlfriends. But I wish it was NOT!
Not just this once, but time and again Azhagu would put her unwashed hands into food packets soiling them whereas Srishti was always taught to pour snacks into a bowl or a plate or to use a spoon or …..ayyiyyo soorya bhagavaanae..…..sOmaaadhi graha shikhaaaaaaamaNae….sooori janaeDita…sudinamanae…..Srishti once again retreated into the beauty of music unable to handle the ugliness of the reality around her.
“Babe, what the hell is wrong with you….where do you sign off to……are you thinking of something naughty? Won’t blame you..look around…such artsy-fartsy high brow nonsense…”, now Azhagu was licking the cup suggestively. This was totally unacceptable, but what was Srishti to do! Left to her own devices she was happy, in fact, more than happy, but it was easier to have a girlfriend along to prevent unwarranted male attention, to stop roadside Romeos from harassing you. Also, to not get her paaTi worried unnecessarily if she went out alone, especially at night, and to stop her parents from pestering her to ‘be more social’ she could cite Azhagu as evidence. If only Azhagu knew her place in Srishti’s life. Only in the waking state, only in the December season, only in Chennai.
You could say Srishti did not have any real friends, except Soorya. She lived with him in her head. There was a reason her bar was set so high when it came to friendships. Her paaTi had taught her the signs of a good friend years ago from the Bhartrhari’s Neeti Shatakam:
paapaat nivaarayati, yojayatae hitaaya
guhyam cha goohati, guNaan prakaTee karoti
aapat-gatam cha na jahaati, dadaati kaale
sann-mitra-lakshaNam-idam pravadanti santaha
None of these fit Azhagu, in fact, she was the one who was mostly in the wrong and Srishti had to correct her, to stop her from doing paapam. Never had Azhagu ever come up with something beneficial for her friend. She was mostly self-centred. Forget keeping secrets, in spite of pleading she would take great pleasure in revealing your innermost thoughts feelings and happenings in your life to a whole hanging-on-to-her-every-word crowd. It would be a wonder if she even noticed anything good or right or ethical about Srishti to even praise her. One could not depend on people like Azhagu, this Srishti had learnt the hard way.
Make-up is made-up, accessories are add-ons thought Srishti with a faraway gaze while observing her friend’s artificial chemical-laced red lips gnashing away at what was left of the chikku pudding. She was in her zone, thinking through every idea that occurred in her mind, delving deep within, trying to understand, appreciate, critique. Her diary was thus usually full of her conclusions of that particular day. What would she do with it finally? Who knew. When one is not yet twenty-five one does not worry about the future so much. It is always fulfilling, especially for the artist, to express oneself in every manner possible.
Azhagu held out her palm, gesticulating with her fingers for the water bottle. How many times have I told her to get her own bottle, who goes out without one anymore …..Srishti reluctantly pulled out her sleek steel companion and handed it over as though performing a forced wedding; giving away her daughter and worrying about her wellbeing since the groom was suspect. True to form, the demanding girl did the one thing she should not have. Srishti was willing to forgive Azhagu for her language, her coarseness, her immature talk and behaviour but she drew a line at sharing water bottles especially when the person had no courtesy to drink from the top. Why should lips touch a bottle or a tumbler while drinking? Her paaTi happily drank hot steaming coffee from the top, didn’t she? Now this girl has ruined yet another afternoon for me, thought Srishti. Not wanting to buy plastic water bottles, and not wanting to drink unfiltered unboiled water from the canteen, she sat there fuming. An otherwise happy demeanour was now all shrivelled up and upset. Did that bother the one who caused all this mischief, no not at all! On the contrary, Azhagu had done this on purpose, Srishti was sure of it thinking of the ugly T-shirt. How do you smash something without violence? What does that make you? And why would you do that to your friends?
The waiter brought the extra cup of chikku pudding and placed the cup in front of her. With two spoons. Of course they are observant, who wouldn’t be..and sensitive too..everyone is, except this girl in front of her…just my luck! Srishti had picked out the artiste, paid for the tickets, as well as the pudding, provided water (in an environmentally friendly manner) and yet Azhagu cribbed about everything and everyone around her. She needed someone and something to blame all the time. It was all about her, her needs, wants, likes, dislikes. And if the world deviated even a little bit in offering her what she desired, she came to a Classical concert dressed like a hipster. There was simply no reverential bone in her, nor of gratitude, or humility, or self-abnegation. It was all about hoarding and feasting on people, events, things. Glutton is the word that came to Srishti’s mind. With five minutes to go, for the dance program to start, for which Srishti had been waiting patiently for the past two hours, Azhagu true to form dropped the pudding cup on herself and created a huge ruckus, shouting at the caterers for more clean napkins and free snacks to make up for the loss…annam parabrahma svaroopam is what Srishti is thinking in those tense moments, her paaTi’s warning ringing in her ears while clearing away the mess. Just in time before dragging her friend into the dark auditorium, shushing her forcibly and making her sit despite protestations.
On the way back from the concert Srishti hardly spoke to Azhagu. They usually took the same auto given that they both lived in Besant Nagar, albeit a few minutes from each other, and given that Srishti always paid for it anyway. Azhagu would not stop her critical remarks. “Why do they wear the same stupid dance costume the same way every single time man ..every one of them? Why can’t they innovate? We are so boring! This is the 21st cent. Dammit…be more ..with it…..have some taste…what’s with this maami like behaviour in these circles…and the same old stories…Krishna ..Radha…oh he left me ..oh I pine for his love…what rubbish…have some purpose..!” Azhagu could see Murugan anna’s mouth moving in the rearview mirror mouthing, “If people scrutinize their own faults as they do the faults of others, mankind will be freed of all evil.” Had he learnt the whole Thirukkural by rote?
What purpose! Srishti was very disturbed on the inside. Why must everything have a social purpose! Can’t something be simply beautiful and creative…is that also not a purpose in itself? What was Azhagu’s purpose! Why was she born, why is she living! Amazing that such self-absorbed people give no thought to what they are contributing to the world at large but pat themselves on the back for merely asking questions, and questioning established norms is the easiest thing to do in the world.
“You constantly question the frame and form of classical dance and music, what stops you from creating something your own, go ahead do it? Oh sorry, it has already happened before and it is called POP!” This is how Srishti wanted to answer with a snide smile…..but could not. It was not in her mental make-up to act that way. What to do. That is how film music and dance came to be…this is how folk music grows, or even bhakti sangeet. But to be within the system and constantly deride it, pulling it down all the time while making money off of it and gathering laurels for being a rebel smacked of hypocrisy. Somehow most youngsters could not see through this facade called critical thinking which was more criticism than any real thinking.
Srishti’s own taste lay in the classical. The ancient and traditional. She did not enjoy the new-fangled choreography of a Mallika Sarabhai, an Anita Ratnam, or even the great Chandralekha for instance. The purpose of our dance and music which came into being in Gandharva Veda is to lead us to oneness with the divine. Of this, she was very clear in her heart. When the dancer and the singer are lost in the bhaava of bhakti, when our individual ego loses its hard shell through the rigour of practise and discipline and enacting of the various philosophical truths and mythological stories ..when the micro realizes it is indeed the macro…what joy, aho bhaagyam aho bhaagyam……yet she never thrust her thoughts onto others did she? If dancers wanted to use the form and substance of classical dance for pushing forth their social or political agendas or even personal agendas of vanity they were welcome to it, but don’t expect me to go ga-ga.
Did Srishti go about telling her college friends, stop listening to that Lady Gaga or BTS whoever and to stop twerking like a trashy female? No. Never. That would be mental violence. Did Shree Krishna not say in the Bhagavad Geeta, let people BE. Of course, Azhagu had no idea ..it was doubtful if she even knew such a thing as the Geeta existed let alone what was in it…she had never lived with her grandparents growing up….she had no aunts or uncles who visited either. ….who would have told her stories, poor thing….no one.
This is also why Srishti could not let go of Azhagu. She felt a sense of responsibility for her ‘friend’, she felt empathy and compassion, she felt she needed to be around to guide her, to pass on some of her grandma’s wisdom. If only everyone had a grandmother, to have a grandmother is to have access to storytelling, and stories make a person fuller, more imaginative, and empathetic. Those who do not hear or read literature will of course suffer from such shrivelled shrill views. They can never bore deep or stay still. And thus all the criticism was directed against the outer being, the external form, noticed Srishti. What about the dancer’s abhinaya, nRtta, mudra, aramaDi, stage presence, choreography, rhythm, pace, endurance? Not a word was spoken about any of the real factors that mattered in a performance, all Azhagu could manage to attack was the looks and the fact that it was a thousand-year lineage and tradition!
The ride back home was unduly quiet so Azhagu kept herself busy by typing away her issues on Insta, posting pics from the dance saying how much she hated it because it seemed to have no social purpose. Srishti switched off from reality as usual and sought solace in her head yet again …..aarya vinuta taejas sphoortae ..aaryogyaadi phalada keertae…I must try to choreograph this kriti thought Srishti while getting down from the auto outside her gate humming the lyrics with lips pursed. Azhagu inside the auto waved off without looking up from her cell phone with an “English Tearoom for breakfast don’t forgetttttt, wear something appropriate or I’ll f…..g kill you!”. Without batting an eyelid Murugan anna growled in a low voice, “Uttering foul words, while there are the sweetest of words, is like going for the unripe fruits while there are a lot of ripe ones.”
Good Nite to you too Madam. How busy can you get virtually that you do not even thank the only person who bankrolls your evening, including the auto fare? And how rude can you be to tell that very same person how to dress. Srishti had a few issues with this statement and she stewed in it while fishing out her tiny wallet from her large jhola that carried everything from the current book she was reading to bindi packets. Why are saris not appropriate for any place or event if the wearer is comfortable in them? Her own amma went about whizzing past on a Kinetic Honda in a sari and gave rides to all the women who were stranded by the wayside in the huge campus at BARC. How come a commercial establishment determines one’s attire? It was not a place of worship, or work, nor the military! This whole idea that I am modern so my jeans must be worn on my knees really enraged her. If modern meant brain dead, then sure.
“..indaanga..”, Srishti pulled out a fresh five hundred note and handed it to the driver and thanked him loudly, hoping Azhagu would watch and learn. He never asked for more, she never paid him less. “..romba thanks anna, naaLakku kaalaila vaenDannaa….naa phone panDraen…”. She always booked the season with Murugan anna as he lived in the fishermen hamlet close to Velankanni Church nearby, and her mother and paaTi felt safe letting her out at night in his care. He would of course drop Azhagu at Kalakshetra colony and then go home. It had been a long hot day for him too. And tomorrow morning he would be up early for his Silambam practice at the beach. As always.
Anna had made his dislike for Azhagu known early on when Srishti had first encountered her accidentally, but endured her all the same for Srishti’s sake. Why don’t you like her she had asked then, not being as wise and well versed with the ways of the world as he was….he seemed to be echoing her paaTi who did not care for Azhagu either. What negative trait did they see in her friend that she had missed? He always shook his head when she probed further, lips tight he simply put out a what-to-do-you-will-know-when-you-know smile. No, it was not about being dark, Murugan anna was darker, paaTi was not fair either unlike Srishti, but Azhagu always brought this up – “Imagine naming me Azhagu! My parents were hoping for a miracle maybe…who calls someone so dark like me beautiful……”. I do, thought Srishti, she found her friend to be gorgeous and lovely and skin colour never once crossed her mind. But Azhagu was full of complexes which only a man could spot, or an older lady. “Your grandma hates me, man…she has probably never seen anyone so black in all her life….she treats me with such contempt…”, Srishti had protested feebly knowing fully well the mutual dislike but in her mind, she voiced it out loud, “That is NOT true, that is how she is with everyone, she tells us what to do all the time, what is right what is wrong….she is old and cranky….you provoke her for no reason too…even after I told you that we drink water from the top of the tumbler only, no touching with lips. Yes even at home, it is NOTHING to do with you, AND we do NOT eat with both hands…ONLY the right hand..”, she could say none of this to Azhagu’s face for fear of being called ‘a brahmin’, the ‘B’ word would spoil everything between them forever, whatever was left of it that is, and Srishti hated letting go of anything so easily.
Anna had understood these caste dynamics within five minutes of meeting the girls and he was always protective of Srishti. Five years ago while he was practising his tricks with the sticks in the morning he had shooed off some young vendors pestering Srishti to buy bajjis while she was out at the beach doing her Surya Namaskaras. She had smiled thanks from afar and had serendipitously come by the auto stand in the evening asking to be taken to Shanthi Tailors, where her latest dance costume lay ready to be picked up. They had laughed about it all the way to Mylapore and from then on he became her guide and chaperone especially after dark. He was the one who had reprimanded her about her clothes and looks. If you look different they will treat you different he had said. Why don’t you blend in? Wear more Indian clothes, put on a poTTu….ha! That is why paaTi was so fond of him. Also because he would come some Fridays to Ellaiamman kovil down the street in Urur Olcott Kuppam with his wife and kids (whose education paaTi was now supporting at the Krishnamurthy School) and afterwards he would bring all of them to pay respects to the grande dame and check on her with a “..aella soukyamaamma..” and all that. Very old world. Of course, he was a family favourite.
It was her parents he had turned to when his rickshaw was ransacked one night after a fight with his neighbours who were upset that his auto blared loud kavadi chindus during Thai Poosam. “Vel Vel Muruga Vetrivel Muruga… Vel Vel Vetrivel …Muruga…Murugaaa..Murugaaa…. I did not stop shouting amma even while they beat me and destroyed my auto”, he had narrated the painful ordeal to her mother over the phone, who had promptly wired a few lakhs from her savings for his new vehicle. He had become very hardened by this incident and more so when PMK Ramalingam’s hands were chopped off. “Life is no Ustad Hotel ‘kaa, reality on the ground is much different”, he told her time and again, “they consider us to be sinners, our worship as sin, don’t allow our processions in our own land! Have you not heard about Perambalur?” A palli, a vanniyar himself, he began to attend Silambam classes from then on.
For Srishti, this was her main bond with anna. When you learn a classical art you develop a certain aesthetic, a certain respect for tradition and ancient texts, a sure shot discipline of the body and mind prepares one for physical pain and mental endurance, the training itself makes one open and vulnerable to suggestions, advice, and criticisms…..all in all it makes one a mature being…a being who has shraddhaa in guru, shaastra, parampara, and the daevatas, not just in the empirical world. It makes one see the cosmos differently, that there are hidden truths that can be garnered via certain practices. And that these practices have been systematized and taught for thousands of years. A lifelong study in any such field holds one in good stead in the here and the hereafter. Was not art another way to that one-ness? When one learns to concentrate on one thing deeply to the exclusion of all else, without letting the mind waver, without multitasking because one is bored or edgy, that is meditation right there! It takes one closer to the ultimate reality experientially. Here then is one’s religion, spirituality, habit, custom, culture, way of life all rolled into one. Both of them lead lives filled with such belief and wonder, of the immeasurable possibility of being in the here and now, of using the body and mind for the greatest good. That meant being sensitive towards everything and everybody. Unlike Azhagu, who poor thing suffered from a crusader mentality, of always needing a cause to fight for, forgetting that she needed to fix herself first. This is what her wise anna and wiser paaTi had observed, her only friend’s sole fatal flaw. Any wise person can spot such unformed fellow humans easily. These people always want to disrupt what is most stable without putting forth a viable solution or option. Theirs was a world so profane that all things sacred were scoffed at with impunity.
Murugan anna was very well known in these parts for being the opposite kind of person. Having faced trouble, violence, anger, protests and more, he had come up with a solution for himself, his family, and his community. He had recently been invited to perform at the vizha and was known for coaching youngsters in this centuries-old martial art. Srishti herself had attended a few of these Silambam classes of his at dawn until she gave up…dance was more her thing…she needed to emote, to make her eyes sparkle, to get her feet thumping, to convey navarasas, not just veeryam..she needed music and lyrics..raaga, taala..that is how she expressed herself. Her admiration for anna and his craft remained though, and their strange friendship grew into a stronger familial bond. A relationship that did not merit watching the auto meter, she gave him sisterly affection and what she could afford, he gave her his time and sane brotherly advice.
Azhagu for all her social justice talk treated him with disdain and bargained over a few rupees every time she hired him for a solo ride. She always addressed him by his name and refused to call him anna saying that she did not believe in hierarchies and that all are equal. Yet even while she spouted his name her othering was complete. Hierarchies need not be only vertical, they can be among the horizontal too! (That was a clever one Srishti, quick make a note before you forget!)
On his part, Murugan anna acted as though Azhagu did not exist and made his dislike very evident when he refused to take her anywhere unless Srishti was also travelling. “These girls are dangerous akka, tomorrow they will say I behaved badly with them and put a case against me…who knows…I have a family to take care of…they lie so easily…they held a play you know where Ramar is made to marry Tadaka, can you believe it!! In the name of freedom and rights, they will do anything…tchaa I don’t know why you like her so much…”. Srishti found his views extreme sometimes, she did not accept that Azhagu could do something so terrible, so she caught on to what she felt was a worse offence, “What! Rama marrying Tataka? Really…that is crazy…who comes up with such nonsense?…”, she was learning of the other side, the side that people claimed to fight for. She was learning that they were not simpletons who needed to be patronized by do-gooders and self-styled activists, she was learning that they were more Hindu than she was.
…sooorya moortae…namostutae….there he was smiling at her from behind Varuna’s arms, playing hide and seek, goading her to sing aloud. How lucky am I! A short walk from home and there he was in all his glory, spreading his largesse for all to embrace. Calling out to his friend to rise from the depths of slumber, to warm up the denizens with his rays, the waves frolicked in tandem to the music of the winds swooshing a duet. It was all too heavenly and thank god too early for Azhagu to drop by. Or everything would become an Insta story for her! Srishti took in a deep breath and stretched out her palms, twisting her wrists to the left and then to the right, she unfurled her fingers into an alapadmam…and then a muShTi….back and forth..all the while watching the kids laughing and joking while their sticks lay on the ground waiting to be picked up. There a few elderly men walked by slowly drinking in the coolness that would soon be gone. An old lady seated close to her was panting after her short walk. Hardly a few minutes passed and Soorya smiled brightly, everyone wiped their brow and it was time to go home.
“Why don’t you live here permanently after your Masters, find a job here babes. Doesn’t your grandmother want you around? What is there in that commercial city…no art, no culture…..just some filmi glamour stuff…” Azhagu had questioned her many a time. Given how the youth in Chennai felt that their city was oh! so cultured and the best place to be, not odd that the youth in Mumbai felt the same way too about their own city! “Why do you disappear off to that boring city every December, so orthodox and traditional…no nightlife, no fun…stay here na, you are missing all the New Year parties..”. And both the Mumbaikars and Chennaiites found it a waste of time for her to spend a whole month in the village of Kuchipudi, “Don’t you get good teachers here….I mean this is Chennai please.. do you have to go there …you say no net connectivity and disappear for weeks together…what’s with that girl..what kind of guru is this ….this is slavery..”, of course Azhagu had no sense of proportion when she used words or phrases, she simply rattled off what came to her mind without thinking of their consequences. Srishti smiled to herself. If only they knew! True that her teacher insisted that all the students who came for the summer dance camp must have their phones switched off and that parents could call him in case of emergencies, yet there were guilty pleasures to be had in every place!
In Andhra, it is always the cinema. Post dance class Sundays would always be taken up with an evening show or a second show or even a matinee sometimes, where her co-dancers would excitedly discuss with the locals the merits of so and so’s choreography, the negligence of the background dancers, the energy of this hero over that, the style, the finesse, the finish..and the face-off among the best dancers in the Telugu Film Industry …did she like Kung Fu Kumari or Seetimar better? Or was it Love Dhebba like all those Bangladeshis whose adoring comments filled the Youtube pages: “I am from XYZ place and I do not understand the language but I love this song/ actor/ choreographer/ location…south movies are osom”
She had been sceptical at first, of this transnational popularity…of the dancing abilities of these heroes, dismissive even, but when she saw them on the big 70mm screen with the rural Andhra folk, OMG it was! She was completely mesmerised. Of course, Kuchipudi which is very fast-paced was initially an all-male dance form wasn’t it, so is Perini Tandavam…why am I surprised that these heroes dance well! But tell that to Azhagu who wanted films to portray purpose, social reality….all the time every time. Srishti being a poet at heart, preferred this escape into that faraway land of rhythm and colour. Why diss something as sublime and uplifting as the Kalinga Nartana Thillana with a ‘same old same old’? Why diss Telugu songs as massy masala? Especially when you groove to the vulgar and cheaply worded Shape of You at every party, how is that not tasteless? Sexually explicit lyrics in English is sophistication, but sensuous wording in Telugu is kitschy?
All popular art is commercial and for the individual so they belonged in the same bucket whether it is a Telugu film song or English rap, a mere performance to satisfy one’s ego of being an artiste versus a truly practised kala, a classical art, which is an expression of the joy, the divinity that is oneself. ‘Points to Ponder’, wrote Srishti in her diary and underlined it before closing it for the day. This was her most favourite time of the day when she could lie down and process all that was happening around her. The videos of most of these western songs were terrible, they made NO sense at all, so why did people like them? She did not belong in such a crowd, no no. But, neither did she fully belong with the filmi crowd, no, definitely not. Where did she belong then? The question was wrong, not where but to what did she belong to, and that was easy to answer – she belonged to dance. Every and any form of dance. Her being was given to poetry in motion.
Now that her exams were done, one phase of life was over, dance and music practice completed, Srishti spent her time eagerly reading up and soaking in the knowledge that was all around her that she had missed for the past few years immersed as she was in the academic race. She leafed through the printout, The rulers were extremely religious and devoted. Śāhji II was so devoted to Tyagesa that he did not have his meals until the service at the Tiruvarūr temple 57 kilometres away was over. Then a relay of bells would begin to ring from the temple and when the last bell reached the palace, Śāhji would sit down for his meal. Excited with her discovery on Indic Today, she looked forward to sharing this with her guru and her co-dancers the next day in class. Imagine Maratha rulers in Tamil Nadu revering Telugu saints and composing in Telugu! She felt as though she was participating in that part of history, dancing to their lyrics and tunes. The South Indian Harikathā in its present form emerged during the Marāthā rule in Thanjāvur. “The Harikathākālakśepa became an integration of sāhitya containing moral and spiritual ideas, music and abhinaya. It became a means of spiritual exultation and an entertainment”, Of course! Srishti knew deep inside that when she danced she was not merely ‘shaking a leg’ as Azhagu crudely put it, she was not a mere moving body in rhythmic motion …she felt as though she was carrying the best and highest essence of the whole of Hindu civilization and beliefs when she linked herself to the music of her ancestors. She did feel a spiritual exaltation as this article claimed. And that is why she came to Kuchipudi yearly, to learn from the Vedantam family, from men who danced like a dream. This eclectic cosmopolitanism of the yore inspired her, she felt she was carrying forth that legacy, a Tamizh born and brought up in Hyderabad and now living in Mumbai, visiting Chennai and Kuchipudi regularly, it made her quest to perfect her art all the more meaningful. She would never be a Swati Thirunal, not even a Prince Rama Varma….but she could surely learn about them, from them…instead of simply shaking to One Dance.
But where did she belong indeed, a good question? She spoke Hindi, Marathi, Tamil, Telugu with ease. She enjoyed her winter breaks here in Chennai and also her summer visits to the village of Kuchipudi where she honed in on her skills. Why did it have to be either/ or, why can’t it be this and that? That will make it to the diary, yes! It was hard initially to adjust to the different cultures, the different societal expectations but she was proud of having handled them adroitly. While in Mumbai her salwars and bindis came out only during dance and music class, her hair was let loose unless she was dancing or singing. Here in Chennai as in Kuchipudi, all she wore were handloom Punjabi suits and saris with big matching bindis and always, always, flowers in her hair.
What had brought about this unwitting cosmopolitanism was not voluntary migration on the part of her parents from their ancestral village to Chennai, onwards to Hyderabad, and then to Mumbai. Mumbai had been a blessing in more ways than one, professionally of course her scientist mother had risen to the top very quickly, her scientist father not far behind. She herself loved the college, the city, the community which gave her a chance to express herself. She wouldn’t miss the Ganapati Utsav or the Dahi Handi or the raucous Dandiya and Garba during Navaratri for all the classical and high brow Shardula Vikriditas and Bhujangaprayadams of the world. Yet, the truth remained that her parents had left their ancestral village because they had no other choice. The politics of Tamil Nadu made it so. They were made to leave. They had to leave. So they finally left.
In all this variegated world of hers, it was strange that the person who had the most influence on Srishti was Murugan anna and no one else, not Azhagu with her crazy circle of friends, not even her paaTi! Anna was a hardworking man, who was a good father and husband, a great community member who gave so much of himself every day back to society. Devout, determined, and daring. She found in him what she was looking for in all her rejected suitors. None of them matched up; juvenile, silly, crass, immature, she could come up with innumerable adjectives to describe them. It was not just in Chennai, other cities fared no better. Mumbai, Hyderabad…it was all the same. For example how many of the men that she came across had the strength of purpose and conviction, the courage to stick to one’s ideals at all costs?
The Fisherman’s colony that anna lived in was 90% Christian now, given the proximity of the church and the money that came pouring in from all quarters, all their neighbours and friends had converted long back. They had built bigger better houses, gotten jobs through their network, left for higher studies abroad with sponsors ..while he had looked on. Many a time he was tempted, as was his wife, but he had held on steadfast. But he had the acumen to see through the missionary conversion agenda early on in life. He called it the “..Draavida agenda, it’s all the same ‘kaa…this party that party ..they have managed to divide us fundamentally….”, he had schooled her in all these Tamizh specific issues. Indeed admirable to be surrounded by hyenas who want to prey on you and yet you are able to maintain your composure. Srishti was always filled with awe at his resilience when he told her of his experiences. And he in turn always showered gratitude on paaTi for showing him the way, for providing sane advice. Knowing hero-heroine worship to be common in the south, Srishti shrugged off his confessions as a mark of his devotion towards her grandmother. She was the one to have introduced them both but they seem to get along better.
“..they would start on their loudspeakers akka, talking ill of Puliyar, of Sivan, of Devi..abusing them in vilest ways..you know where we live…the lanes are so narrow, houses jam-packed ..it is impossible to keep our sanity when they insist on entering our threshold and spoiling our peace of mind.. ..yes..I went and complained at the Police Station..of course they were made to stop ..but I ended up making many enemies who attacked me….you know all that….that is when I started Silambam….how long could I lie in wait ..in fear…of being attacked again…I have a wife and small girls too…all this community work..it started for a selfish reason…but now I am happy akka…actually happy to have helped so many youngsters find a way…they have destroyed our land akka…saying this is Tamizh that is Tamizh but not Hindu…I am Hindu. I will die a Hindu..who are they to decide for me….who is Seeman without his church money tell me….keep Hindus divided with caste talk while we loot the Tamizhs …that is their only policy… ”, despite the evident agitation in his voice and his passionate speech Srishti could not but smile at his addressing her as akka….what a gentleman he was….he would not get familiar with her by calling her by her name even if she was a decade or so younger. Sigh! Are there more men like him out there….I hope so.
“These people whom we have known for generations, these same people who came home and ate with us akka, now when my wife calls them for some ladies nombu or for kolu they refuse, they throw away our prasadam, and during Christmas time demand donations and ask us to eat cake!” Whatever anna shared with her opened up a whole new world for Srishti, she had been happily ensconced in her own bubble and each year she learnt something new…all of it took time to process and take shape….slowly she was seeing the dangers that lay ahead….slowly she understood her parents’ rootlessness, her paaTis’ pain. Of living but hiding in plain sight. Hiding one’s name, one’s family name, one’s ancestry. The more things became clear to her, the more she dressed and behaved and thought as Murugan anna suggested, and hung out less and less with Azhagu and her crazy bunch.
The last time she had gone out of town with them, a short trip to Auroville, and Srishti had decided never again. “What will you do in Pondy girl? It is just a stupid town with nothing but a crowded beach and temples. Let us do some more workshops here ….it is so cool…I wonder why we don’t come here more often!”. Srishti knew why. For the most part, Auroville was filled with all these firang types who were searching for something constantly and in the meantime decided to shower their mercy and compassion on the locals by teaching them how to live better. It was a place that embodied the white man’s burden through and through. Agreed there were a few innovative and genuine seekers, some sincere efforts, yet most of them smacked of this do-gooder mentality albeit with a touch of spirituality, which somehow in Azhagu’s view made it all ethical.
Srishti had met so many foreigners living in great luxury and style hardly paying any taxes but feeling very complacent and fulfilled because they had employed the locals for their housework and gave them some tailoring work. They taught yoga and ayurveda to Indians, Indians like Azhagu who would say ‘wow’ to anything that was NOT Indian. A bunch of Anglo guys who had started a youth hostel had invited them and Azhagu had insisted that they check it out given the enormous discounts. It had been a nightmare! The boys were all touchy-feely, not just with known girls but also with all the customers and seemed to think that spirituality and oneness meant physical intimacy with no strings attached. Srishti had to reprimand them a few times when they started coaxing her to go out with them, “No thank you I have a boyfriend in Mumbai” she had said. Stupid Azhagu had gone and told them, “NO such thing, she is pristine and pure and wants to save herself …hahahahaha!” which had made them pursue her with stronger vigour, so much so that she had rented a scooter and driven off to Pondy all by herself. Which was a mighty good thing to do, because that is when she discovered how absolutely enchanting the town of Puducherry was.
The locals were rooted, settled, comfortable in their skin, unlike the ersatz feel that Auroville smacked of. The ancient temples, their architecture, their devout denizens ..the delicious food…the crowded but safe streets with old-world wares…the interesting mix of French and Tamizh cuisines and cultures…this was real, this was true, this was organic. Puducherry was not an experiment like Auroville was. Puducherry was where Shri Aurobindo rested calmly after years of revolutionary activity and here is where Srishti found peace too.
Wincing at the terrible memory from Woodpacker Hostel, Srishti decided then and there, no English Tearoom, no more Azhagu. I will take up Murugan anna’s offer and go to Kumbakonam with him and his family. Her paaTi had surely engineered all this! Things always went according to what she said and wanted, the gods never tired of obeying her every command even as small and insignificant as, “..keep my grand-daughter away from selfish adhaarmika people..”. She had told Srishti in no uncertain times at the start of her exciting budding friendship with Azhagu – “Stay away from that girl….her parents are divorced, she has no respect for our culture, she is a bad omen ..see how she dresses and talks…”. Srishti had fought back initially and hard, how can paaTi talk like this…so regressive..ok she has to take care of me..but is being selfish also a disqualification..and what is her fault if her parents are divorced? If that is so no one would have any friends these days! But the everyday lectures would not stop.
“Look at Murugan, look at his wife and girls, and look at this friend of yours and her circle..do you mean to say you cannot spot the difference?” Srishti stared blankly at her grandmother, now bent with age, face wrinkled with experience but eyes sparkling with innate joy. No, actually she could not see much of a difference, except that Murugan anna was always doing paaTi’s bidding and Azhagu made fun of paaTi even in her presence. “It is not that Murugan obeys me like a son I never had and that raatchasi makes jokes on me thinking I don’t notice or understand…no…I would not let my personal ego influence your life….no. See kanna, someone who has not known a stable happy life will find fault in everything, someone who has not known what it is to be selfless, who has not witnessed a marriage where individual egos fuse towards a common higher purpose will always talk in terms of herself, her interests, her wants….svaartham is her real problem, not so much her clothes or her language, all the rest is merely an expression of her inability to let go of her self centeredness….your taataa used to say if they don’t invite me to a meal within the first few minutes of our meeting they cannot be my friends. I was a young bride and fed up, cooking daily for so many unannounced visitors at all times of day and night…but that taught me…that there is happiness in sharing and giving…have you seen Azhagu share or give anything selflessly? You don’t need to do big big charity kanna….you don’t need to feel guilty about anything when you are doing your bit to the best of your abilities…..stay away from her and her friends…don’t lose your big heart….constant criticism will make your heart and mind small…Azhagu must learn to be, just be…..simply reacting to everything negatively ….fighting with everyone…what good is that to anyone?” Hmm..so paaTi’s ears and eyes were still sharp and functioning at their best!
Soon Azhagu stopped coming home having sensed she was unwelcome – well paaTi had made that abundantly clear by showing her the door of the pooja room and drawing an imaginary line on the ground, wagging her finger and her head in a silent NO entry – and they would meet out at Flower Power or Chai Gulli or just by the beach …wherever… depending on their mood and budget. Srishti thought a lot about what her grandmother had said and done, and did not agree for the most part….was she not taught that treating a guest with the highest honour was her culture? “That is a TV advertisement by the government for tourism” retorted her grandmother sharply. “By atithi what the shaastras mean is someone who is in need of food and shelter and comes by unexpectedly while on a yatra or in pursuit of a guru..someone who is dhaarmika…not ..not this girl who enters private spaces without permission and then gets upset when I order her out…”.
Srishti tried hard not to remember that day, but everything appeared before her in a flash: Azhagu had visited them for a ‘night out’ for the first time (which also turned out to be the last alas!) and had gotten up late after the sleepover. Still in her shorts, she had jumped out of the bed and without brushing her teeth or bathing or even combing her hair had gone downstairs to make coffee for herself. On seeing paaTi sitting in the pooja room she had gone in and patted her back to ask her where the coffee and sugar were kept. This had obviously enraged paaTi. “How will that girl learn anything, her mother and father have divorced and left her on the road! Who will teach her right from wrong, when everything is simply “chumma casualaa” for her?” Well if paaTi wanted she could definitely be a Youtuber and roast youngsters easily with her on-point mimicry!
How many times had Srishti explained to Azhagu that everyone at her home followed these rules which were not some regulations to keep the outsiders out, we are most brahminical with ourselves ya, she had joked to her unimpressed friend – bathe before you leave your bedroom, do pooja before eating, eat with the right hand only, don’t touch your lips on the tumbler, and DON’T touch or talk to anyone who is in the kitchen cooking, in maDi….Azhagu of course never paid any attention and look what it had come to. This then was the precarious situation and Srishti was caught between her simple love for Azhagu, her need for youthful friendships and her grandmother who pronounced this girl to be unfit for her granddaughter’s attentions.
Srishti did not see the connection between divorce of parents for example with petty mindedness….nor did she care for all the talk of propriety or social etiquette that both anna and paaTi harped on often. Ask yourself only one question always, would you do what she did? If yes she is your friend, if not she is not. That sounded like a one-liner from her own book of self-quotes but it was paaTi grilling her after the said incident. She had it from both sides now, tomorrow Azhagu would rant to her about the terrible strictures of the brahmin households, while today it was paaTi’s turn! soorya bhagavaanae….
“She knows that we don’t drink straight from tumblers in our house, yet she does it on purpose…she has no manners that one…who will teach her…parents are too selfish to stay together and raise her properly….it is all me me me …kali kaalam…”
But today Srishti had finally pieced the puzzle together, and no she was not influenced by her ‘fascist paaTi’ nor by her ‘patriarchal anna’ as Azhagu had labelled them contemptuously. She had been at the receiving end of Azhagu’s negativity and insensitivity for way too long, this could not be ignored any longer. If being in her presence was not bringing satisfaction to Srishti, where instead of being at ease as one is with a friend, instead of being understood without having to explain constantly, without having to justify herself, her choice of clothes, her attitudes, her reactions, her caste, her class, her paaTi, her anna, her relations, then this girl had to go. Azhagu, farewell my dear…and it is not because you are dark or because your parents are divorced, it is because you are selfish. Srishti agreed with her paaTi’s assessment of Azhagu only on this count…and this one was enough for her to break all connection with the one she had met accidentally. Yet despite wanting to and having decided to, Srishti still held on, unable to physically cut asunder the tenuous threads of her hard to define relationship with Azhagu. Murugan anna was also a chance meeting, wasn’t he? Yet, it was his large-heartedness that had made her whole family adopt him as one of their own.
Anna did not think of himself as a know-it-all, he was always learning and always correcting himself. He was not afraid to ask for help, he was vulnerable enough to make mistakes but always admitted to them. He was a noble, generous man who worked towards the betterment of his own self, his family, and the whole community by being a dhaarmika person. The very nemesis of Azhagu! Right after he had returned from a Silambam demonstration and performance in Imphal, Manipur which had been organized by the Sports Ministry for which he was the sole person selected from Tamil Nadu, Murugan anna came by excitedly to their house to drop off gifts. A bottle of bamboo shoot pickle (how exotic!), two beautiful handwoven shawls (she could use them as wall decor maybe), a Kauna yoga mat (how thoughtful!) and two stone mugs for coffee for paaTi-paetti chat. He talked non-stop of Loktak lake, of the Women’s only market, of the INA museum….she has never seen him so visibly happy in all these years. He described Imphal in such glowing terms that Srishti now wanted to travel there and see all those wonders for herself. Maybe she could go there to learn to dance the raas….travel sounded very appealing especially when anna talked of how green and cool it was.
This had been anna’s first trip out of Chennai and he was all smiles on his return, his face beaming with confidence. He wasn’t just another auto driver anymore, he was someone to reckon with, people knew him now, his videos were on Youtube, his stories on Insta, unknown people were appreciating his Silambam technique on Facebook, leaving heartfelt comments. Despite this sudden burst of well-deserved fame he had come back a much humbler man – “I grew up thinking that all things Tamizh are the best akka,… they are…but then all things Manipuri are also great, they too have martial arts…dance…food…beauty….” he paused, recollecting his memories and collecting his words with care. “My friends asked me to send photos of my hometown akka…I want them to like Chennai…can you take some nice pictures of the beach and Whatsapp me? I want them to come here next year…I will take them around…..they will like it here..no?” He sounded shy and excited at the same time, while he was getting ready to be an ambassador of his culture, of his city, and Srishti could find no better person than him to do this job, she herself was humbled by his simple request to be his content creator.
Srishti, glad to be finally of some help to anna, thought hard of the best way to showcase Chennai to a North-Easterner. She had herself never stayed for more than a month in Chennai during her yearly visits, but now with her Masters done, she had continued her holidays with no fixed future agenda at hand, even months after the December season was done, “Anna let us go tomorrow, I have a great idea, early morning polaam ok….” Panguni Peruvizha celebrations were going on in Mylapore and this would give them ample opportunity to capture something cultural and colourful! Srishti was all agog and delighted at the thought of sharing this civilizational tidbit from her hometown with someone from far away Manipur.
Azhagu tagged along as was expected, wearing something totally inappropriate as usual and later started cribbing that men were staring at her. Why is it that we expect people, especially traditional people to be all welcoming and all accepting? If you wear a burqa in a bar all the supposed liberal people will also stare no? And the place was of course teeming with millions of devotees. What a sight it was! Chariots and chants, drums and drama, the sweet smell of various flowers of all hues, the cries of babies being passed from one set of hands to another, policemen trying in vain to manage the neverending crowds, brass bands and whistles, street vendors and prasaadam counters, the roadside trash and balloons flying high..the sacred tank was surrounded by bhaktas waiting their turn impatiently patient. One by one the royal palanquins followed, people’s cell phones worked overtime, the smoke from holy incense created an atmosphere of mystery and otherworldliness. Srishti held on tightly to Azhagu and they both were kept on a tight leash by anna, “no no, not here, don’t stop now, you’ll get crushed ..walk a bit more to the front…yes..there..stop…we can stand here and take photos….” phew! What an adventure it was but totally worth it. Srishti had never seen anything as colourful and beautiful in all her life! Forget Manipuris, she was mesmerized herself!
Anyway once all the sixty-three Nayanmars were viewed with reverence, anna said he would go into the kovil for a quick darshan, would they mind? Of course not! Take your time anna said Srishti. “Oh my girl..you are not going in for the hallowed darshanam, I am surprised…you have become all atheist in my company is it…your granny is going to hate on me more now…”..instead of sensing the trap that it was, instead of identifying the mockery in the statement, Srishti replied gullibly, “Can’t go today ya ..”. Well that was that. That started off a tirade from Azhagu on the exclusion, patriarchy, control, the toxic masculinity inherent in Hinduism and how it was the brahmins who were at the root of all this. Many of the words she had used made no sense to Srishti at all, she simply stared at her so-called friend in disbelief. It was only seconds ago that we witnessed beauty of such high order, such sublime aesthetics, how can you stoop down to such bickering in a blink of an eye? Does this ethereal atmosphere have no positive effect on your hate-filled heart? Why?
On her part, Srishti just felt yucky and not in the best of health to want to go into a sacred space and take in that energy when it was her time of the month and she was warned against it by her paaTi too…she instinctively recoiled against the idea…it could have been the way she was brought up….it could have been the hygiene angle….it could have been her own low energy on such days…whatever it was she saw no reason to agitate against such a stipulation, thankful to simply get off from her routine for a few days. In a land of temples and festivities galore you don’t go one day or three, you can go in the rest of the twenty-five days in a month no…..you don’t go to a Sabarimala, you can go to a million other Ayyappa shrines no….how did it matter to the likes of Azhagu who in fact detested temples and refused to enter them because she had read that somewhere someone had prevented a Dalit from temple entry and wanted to punish temples by refusing to grace them with her presence!
It was getting out of hand. She was welcome to her ideology Azhagu was. But she made being in her company very difficult. Constantly railing against the world, especially her own country, constantly complaining about Hindus, especially her own traditions and festivals, made Srishti really upset. Critiquing is one thing and criticism is another. Such negative energy was playing havoc on her happy system, and then she saw what anna and paaTi had seen long ago, Azhagu was indeed harmful to her health!
On Panguni Uthiram evening Srishti found herself walking alone on the sands of Elliots beach pondering about Soorya….sauraashtaarNa mantraatmanae sauvarNa svaroopaatmanae…..He gave her solace and peace while everything around her was collapsing. Azhagu was giving her the cold treatment especially after Srishti finally found enough courage to refuse to join the gang in pub-hopping. I have actually said ‘no’! Aloud! That had been so very hard. Being of a happy adventurous comportment, her default response had always been positive. But the more she talked to anna and manni, the more she realized how alcohol harmed the youth. In the name of lifestyle, lives were being lost to addiction, deteriorating health and to degenerate value systems. Sharp brains were turning to an amorphous mush for the sake of being ‘cool’. None of the gang members was working on learning, improving, growing internally, did Srishti really need to hang out with them?
Just as she was giving her the negative vibes – stay away, back off – so was Azhaghu. Each of them felt this intuitively and allowed the chasm to expand involuntarily. Nothing transpired on their social media either. It was a cold war that was heating up. No one had called anyone names, no one had been violent…yet the silence between them was searing. Slowly they felt the gap widening, the void unbridgeable. Heart full of pain at having to lose a friendship that had been so serendipitously provided by God, she found herself navigating the narrow lanes towards Murugan anna’s house.
In all these years she had never once been to his place, he had not invited her either but theirs was no longer a formal relationship that needed invitations, plus today she needed to be with him more than ever…she wanted to ask him a favour. The lighting and razzle-dazzle of the Velankanni church surprised her.. .the prosperity…the richness…the hint and smell of new money spoke of other unpleasant facts ..facts mentioned by Murugan anna over auto rides to here and there. “St. Thomas Mount was actually the real Kapaleeshwarar Temple…oh you did not know? Now you know…” He was right about the monies pouring in for sure…just the other day she had been wondering why the Ashtalakshmi Temple right on the beach right next to the church and probably more ancient too should be so dilapidated and not have enough money or funds to renovate nor employ pujaris for all the various devatas ….some of the shrines were locked and when she had asked around about this dire situation she was told that they had no finances for upkeep. The contrast between the upkeep of both these institutions separated by a single lane was extremely telling.
Srishti noticed that her presence evoked strange looks in these parts, what was it? She was dressed like a local wasn’t she…is it because I am not familiar-looking…are my clothes too rich..what am I doing wrong…why am I not blending in…? She heard whispers. She thought she heard someone mention her taata….her paaTi. Before she gave more thought to this mysterious gossipping, she saw manni, bent down over her evening koLam sari tucked high on her waist right outside her house humming something exquisitely haunting, Srishti got closer gingerly unobtrusively only to hear an excellent rendition of Thillai Vaazh Andhanar. Her heartbeat grew fast and there was an adrenaline rush. She was awestruck. What a deep strong voice, what a soulful rendition!…….vellumaa mihavalla meypporuLukku aDiyaen veeripozhil soozh kunDraiyaar viRanmiNDarkku aDiyaen allimaen mullaiyandaar amarneedikku aDiyaen aarooran aarooril ammaanukku aaLae……
Manni looked up momentarily to wipe her brow and spotted her just in time. Good thing too as Srishti was almost nervous and on the verge of a retreat, unsure if she had done the right thing by coming here. “Srishti! neeyaa….vaamma…uLLe vaa..”, she said this hurriedly putting a harsh break to her melodious singing and dragged her inside. The insides were neat and very very clean. The main attraction of the tiny low roofed hall were the various photos of Murugan on its bright blue walls. The god, not her anna. All decorated with fresh flower garlands with kumkumam and vipooti generously smeared on his forehead. The god’s not anna’s. Anna in his trademark bush shirt was sitting deep in dhyaanam eyes closed in front of their pooja altar, which was right next to an old TV. The twins were on the floor too, heads bent, studiously doing their homework in silence. They looked up briefly to flash a welcoming smile before going back to their sums.
Unlike other houses that she had passed by, their T.V. was off. On the TV was a small plastic flower vase with a tattered Indian Flag stuck into it. This sight brought tears to her eyes. Her throat caught her choke just in time before the dam burst and embarrassed her hosts.
All these days Srishti had been smarting at the constant anti-national sentiment of the Chennai youth that was Azhagu’s circle. “Borders are man-made, we are all one,” they said, but in the same tone they continued without self-reflection, “Oh! tamizhnaaDa will be much better off without the cow-belt to drag us down, we should separate…”. Nationalism was out of fashion, the idea of breaking India seemed more appealing, a hot topic at all the stand-ups that she was forced to attend. They mocked and derided everything that Srishti stood for, the values that were instilled into her since before birth. The only collective identity they spoke of with any pride was that of being Tamizh, every other institution had been reduced to the rubble of the singular, the individual. Unfortunately, this sole collective consciousness was artificially propped up on the bedrock of politics, cinema, and sexuality, nothing else. The truth is that most of the youth have been force-fed on a diet of Tamizh supremacy which they call out vociferously when they see it in anyone but themselves! She searched for her notebook in her jhola to jot this down but couldn’t find her pen. Well, I’ll not forget that sentence in a hurry she thought with a wry smile.
Food was cooking in the kitchen although it was not yet seven in the evening, and she could smell the delicious aromas wafting teasing her nostrils. “Eat and go, I will call paaTi”, said manni affectionately reminding her of her mother. Before Srishti could protest the call was made. Strange that paaTi did not mind her eating at their place when she was so insistent on this that and the other when it came to Azhagu! In all these years she was not granted permission to spend even one night at Azhagu’s alone, it was always Azhagu who would visit or even spent that one night at Srishti’s.
Looking at this household Srishti understood why, she comprehended a lot more about her grandmother’s psychology. paaTi had always maintained that Murugan was much more of ‘our kind’ than Azhagu was. “It is what you do ..how you behave..what you aspire towards that matters ultimately kanna…..not who you are born to…look at that pisaachi…not one single strand of her hair is ever in place…and look at Valli, lakshaNamaana….” True, manni was always beautifully turned out, goddess-like, long braid, flowers in place, simple ornaments on bright coloured starched voil saris, kohl-lined eyes full of open sincerity and a winning smile, Srishti was definitely in awe of her. She could see how manni complimented and completed anna, how she made him a man to reckon with. She was now a witness to yet another good and stable marriage apart from her own parents’. She liked what she saw. Manni went into the kitchen to get their dinner, continuing to hum the famous thevaaram that Srishti’s unexpected arrival had interrupted…
…tillaivaazh andaNartham aDiyaarkkum aDiyaen
tiruneela kaNDattu kuyavanaarkku aDiyaen
Illaiyae ennaada iyatpahaikkum aDiyaen
ILaiyaantan kuDimaaRan aDiyaarkkum aDiyaen…
Murugan opened his eyes and stood up to do a whole body saaShTaanga namaskaaram to his beloved Murugaa without even noticing her, seated on the one sole chair in the room behind him. Right above the beautiful faded photo of a youthful Kartikeya, Srishti spotted a Guru’s image in orange. This was Swami Omakrananda from Theni whom everyone in her family was talking about these days, paaTi of course being the one who constantly shared his talks in the family WA group. Fiery with a sound grounding in the scriptures, this great teacher of shaastra was the head of a beautiful aashrama, where the devi pooja was a must-see said her relatives who were hooked onto his discourses. The one or two videos that she had watched of his with Vedic chanting and of spiritual discourses did indeed show him in good light, the chantings were superb as were the elaborate poojas not to speak of his great clarity in explaining the intricacies of the Upanishads. Anna toeing the line of her grandmother had started to listen in earnest too and had become his student, and praised his classes often, “..don’t watch all those cultureless paDams ‘kaa, they are useless ..they teach you nothing meaningful…you must hear today’s lecture! semma paesinaar akka… .” Her paaTi and he would watch these Tamizh talks daily and discuss them during their weekly meetings… no wonder her parents and paaTi felt that Murugan was one of them. He did nothing that could be denounced, on the contrary, he was always respectful, maintained his maryaada, and went out of his way to be the son of the house.
The girls closed their notebooks, manni came out of the kitchen without being called, anna closed his eyes once again and all of them stood and recited the Kanda Sasti Kavasam. The next 20 minutes was the most enthralling of any December season for Srishti! No tickets, no fanfare, no podium, no silk and diamonds, no chikku pudding either, just plain and simple bhakti and the sincere bhaktas. The four were lost in their sincere devotion and took Srishti along on a celestial ride. It was a glorious experience! This here was real art. For free. Once done, just as they had wordlessly joined in chorus, everyone went back to their original positions, the girls finishing up their homework, manni putting final seasoning touches to the food humming aarooril ammanakku anbaraa vaarae…aarooril ammanakku anbaraa vaarae…, while anna showed Srishti the way to the bathroom to wash her hands and feet.
Coming out of the restroom and drying her hands with a fresh talcum powder smelling towel that anna had provided, pondering deeply she sat down on the floor for the evening meal. Handing over the towel back to anna, who stood by her like Hanuman to Sita, she thanked him in her heart for being there for her. The twins put away their books, one of them brought a wet cloth to mop the uneven stone floor, another put down four banana leaves wiping them clean with water, manni brought out a few aluminium vessels one by one and laid them in the middle, the small steel tumblers came next. The steam from the hot rice and rasam made Srishti hungry for this type of sincere love and affection that she was being showered with, she was hardly able to hold back her tears. Standing by the kitchen door manni shyly asked her if she wanted any ooraga. “Why are you not sitting with us?” Srishti almost blurted out before biting her tongue. There was hardly any place for the four of them to sit as it is, despite the one steel chair which was now folded and propped up against the wall. Sensing her unasked question, manni answered cheerfully, “Are you ready to eat, I will serve, please eat well, I didn’t know you were coming or I would have made something more…something you like….”. Srishti felt ashamed and angry. Just to feel better she had brought herself here, not thinking for a minute if she was inconveniencing her hosts! How unthoughtful of her to have come empty-handed too. And as if maani could read her mind she commented, “We are so happy you came without any notice maa. It is like devi herself came to us as on vellikizhamai!” While the food was served and appaDums were being crunched, Srishti made a request, “Can you please teach me that thevaaram you were singing…you sing so beautifully…”. Humility seemed to run in the family, “Aiyyo! No no maa..you all have learnt music no…..I just sing whatever I hear in the kovil ..in fact, I was thinking of putting girls for paaTa class…but I don’t know how much they will charge…”. Without a second thought, Srishti made a hard to refuse offer, “OK, sari..I have decided, I will teach Aadilakshmi and Aadishakti and you will teach me!” Murugan anna gave her a grateful look and the girls bent their heads further down with giggles and happy smiles, manni simply shook her head silently in a yes and radiated joy from ear to ear.
Succumbing to the emotion of this fulfilling moment she blurted out spontaneously, “Anna……..manni mentioned that you are planning to visit Ramachandran anna’s family in Kumbakonam soon ..I was thinking…uh…..…..you know…….Suriyanar kovil …” Anna beamed all knowingly…manni dropped the water jug and ran out of the kitchen to hug her…the girls looked up from their leaves and unable to control their excitement anymore, shouted a yes-yes-yes in unison! “So you want to come with us…instead of enjoying jollyaa with your Azhagu in Valparai?…idiku daan aedirpaartom!”
Not wanting to burst their bubble yet not wanting to lie, Srishti tried to speak in a manner taught by her paaTi, who would have been proud had she witnessed this encounter, be honest but be sweet-tongued, honesty does not give you a right to hurt anyone, yet don’t lie to please anyone. “Of course travelling with you is what I want to do…I hardly spend time with you all as a family….but I have been having this strong urge to….visit and have darshan of Suryan at his kovil near Kumbakonam…and ..”, before she got a chance to explain further or got entangled in her own confusion manni rescued her, “We can go wherever you want maa..as long as you are no longer wasting time in her company”! That was strange. Even manni seemed to dislike Azaghu!
“There are only two kinds of people – those who are for dharma, and those against. Your friend, unfortunately …we did not want to tell you but we have seen her many times with a boy here at church..she is getting all those rebel ideas from here…they teach you to question everything Hindu maa, treat everything we do as bad and superstitious…as if they are all modern and rational…following a foreign culture makes you foreign not smarter” Valli manni snorted sarcastically. “We were so afraid we would lose you to her, we have been keeping a close watch you know…even the girls..” so saying she looked at them approvingly…and the twins gave Srishti a shy smile each right on cue. “Your paaTi is very clever, she had the whole neighbourhood watching out for you…these are very dangerous times maa…girls are kidnapped or shot for not converting….you don’t read or watch the news much…..maybe for the best…but your paaTi was so worried…she keeps track of news daily……girls are being forced in different ways to change matam….you must be vigilant at all times maa..” Before she could go on and on with her fears anna stopped her and said, “Di, podum…saapaaTenge…serve dinner, she is here for the first time…you can talk all you want on the way to Kumbakonam, sariyaa…”
But then Valli filled in the details bit by bit while they walked her back home. “We have seen Azhagu so many times at the various prayer meetings that happen here with those boys…. you went to Pondicherry with them remember? Of course! how could she forget. We could not say anything to your parents, forget paaTi, they would be so worried. We did not know how to approach you ..how to talk to you about this topic….You would say how does it matter if she is a Christian. It matters maa because she hides all this from you. If she has converted she should be open about it isn’t it? She just spouts whatever that Ezra Sargunam or Mohun Lazarus or whoever feeds her in their prayer gatherings. All they do when they congregate is to abuse our gods, our ways.” Valli stopped and took a deep breath, happy to finally let go of it all from her chest.
“We have debated so many times whether to tell you all this or not….you are such a happy girl..singing and dancing…but amma this is the age illa….what if they sweet-talked you into converting…think of what it will do to your whole family….” Valli paused again, shivering at the very thought, while anna took over. “They would constantly pester Valli while she was alone at home, the ladies. They would come home one by one slowly, insidiously, gather information about us ….then they started offering food, slowly loans, instalments, promises of a school seat or an appointment with a famous doctor..” He could not continue further out of anger so Valli started her tirade, “Can you believe it, one day they brought beef to the house saying it was a delicious recipe I should try! What did they think? I will sell my matam for a few bags of rice?”
Gone was the soft-spoken feminine Valli manni, what Srishti was witnessing was Durga in action. Anna and manni were playing a relay race it seemed like, he took over now, “They say your religion is so strict, you cannot do this or do that, you cannot touch this or that, in fact there is nothing called Hindu they say” he hesitated and then continued, “They keep repeating that brahmins are not our people, that they are the cause of all evil in society akka”. …they walked in silence, in unison now, as though a march past without a leader, stopping right in front of her grandmother’s house. “..Swamiji said follow elders in your family, how they behave, what rituals they do, how they conduct themselves…in this city our spiritual elder is paaTi, we are very fortunate to have found her…thanks to you..you have changed our lives ‘kaa…”, with this emotional talk Murugan anna opened the gates and lead Srishti safely back to her base. Closing the gate behind her he left her with a parting shot.
“They don’t want to do anything useful ‘kaa, simply chill, drink, break all rules …no marriage nothing…just have fun..and when they find someone like you…slowly influence and convert.” Anna finally met her eyes boldly, now that he had confessed his fears and confusion regarding her friendship with Azhagu, he was back to his normal self. “They get paid huge amounts for converting a brahmin girl,” he said this without faltering, meeting her eyes and Srishti gasped. “Why do you think she hates Isha so much…does she ever talk of Karunya? They own the adjacent land there…and they are a Christian Evangelist group with many many more acres of land in their pocket…700 acres I think….fooling and converting the poor public…they hate anyone who poses a challenge to their devious schemes ‘kaa…”
Srishti suddenly remembered the controversy about the HMT watch advertisement which she had not really understood then, it was a beautifully made ad and was all about Tamil Nadu’s temples and culture, the makers were forced to withdraw it because some Tamizhs had found it offensive! It was all making sense slowly……she opened the front door with her key and walked in, grateful to the gods, grateful to her family, grateful to have a community to watch over her well-being. She ran up straight to her bedroom, not caring for paaTi’s sleep and googled: everything anna had been telling her was true. She sunk lower and lower into her hard bed defeated as she dug deeper and deeper. Srishti felt punctured ….her happiness bubble had become a flattened mass of dejection. How was she to go on?
For the first time in her life Srishti was unable to sleep soundly, nor was she fully alert and awake. She stared blankly at the ceiling above, the fan still and jobless in the ‘cooler’ months responded to her desperate gaze with a boring bland look. The curtains were drawn so Soorya was unable to check-in and help her out of her misery as dawn broke outside. After what she has read online she wondered if she could ever return to Chennai, ever….how was paaTi surviving? Surrounded by such hate, surrounded by the very people who had caused her such grief and misery….. such filth directed against her and her kind? Is this what they were whispering about when she had walked past them yesterday? Did they really cut off her taataa’s poonal! Insulting him by pulling at his brahmin tuft right here in the middle of the street! Is that why no one talked about how he had died? Did he die of a broken heart, unable to bear the insults to him and his beloved Raama or was he lynched? Who was this foreigner Bishop Caldwell who created such long-lasting fissures between people of the same nation and the same genes that those very people now hate one another? Srishti had shivers the whole night and sapped of all energy was unable to gather any interest in facing the coming day.
From downstairs she heard her paaTi get up, was it morning already? Was she online for so long! She closed her Mac and took a deep breath. She had to rethink her whole life, her friends, her understanding of the world, tchaa! she had been so naive….she saw her innocence walk away from her with a sad smile, I lasted longer in you than most…it seemed to say….but you have to grow up someday Srishti, I cannot be with you always. You cannot always sing and dance on the streets oblivious of everything. You cannot think of life as one long song to Soorya…
The milkman, the newspaperman, the flower lady, the maid, all came by. One by one in succession they called out to her grandmother and opened the gate to drop off their wares. The gardener followed and brought with him his young son to get paaTi’s blessings. After they had all come and gone and Srishti was not yet downstairs as was her usual habit, her grandmother knew something had gone wrong, perhaps anna might have phoned her about yesterday’s discussion, who knows. Just as she was about to sink deeper into despondency she heard her paaTi’s voice singing aloud while making tiffin. Really? Her paaTi sang? Had her genes skipped a generation then ..coz amma never sang…how wonderful that paaTi sang..why had no one told her that she sang! Why has she never sung before…..how come she never comes to any kutcheris…or sabhas..as though she has taken a vow never to sing again…I wonder why, thought Srishti.
Before she could explore that frightening thought that something terrible might have happened to her paaTi too just as it did with her grandfather and that that had made her grandmother give up all music for good, Srishti marvelled at the voice which sang thus: soorya moortae namostutae….sunnnndara chaayaaaadhipatae….all in perfect shruti and with proper gamakams, better than even Kalpana akka’s! Something stirred in Srishti, she could sense energy entering into her every pore with each svara; she could not stop herself from joining her grandmother in an extempore jam session from the second floor-breaking all rules of not even saying sa without bathing first, while paaTi on the ground floor toiling away in the kitchen kept on with the whole kriti goading her on musically, to not to give up so easily. At the top of their voices they sang in abandon inviting Soorya; praising him, describing him, and thus they created a harmony that had been missing for months, in this house by the sea, where the sun rose every morning to the smells of filter coffee and the strains of M.S’s Venkatesha Suprabhatam and SPB’s Shiva Stuti. And right on cue, she found him peeping through the slight slit in her dark curtains calling her out, prodding her to get up, embracing her with his warmth and letting her know that he was there for her. Here comes the sun!
Srishti felt a sense of accomplishment that she had never felt before, not even when she had watched a super superlative performance. Ha! I have been paying through my nose for such an experience every season, and right here I have one of the best singers of our times steeped in Carnatic sangeetam, and right up the street, I have anna’s family with their devotion soaked Tamizh music. I must change my name to Kasturi, keeping such divine fragrance in my abdomen I have been searching for it all over! So thinking, Srishti smiled with contentment and jumped out of her bed, drew the curtains apart welcoming in her best friend. Yes, she was more than ready to bow down to Sooriyanar, Usha, Pratyusha. In all the Youtube videos she had researched online he looked so radiant. She was all the more eager to sing in their sannidhi, she had no doubt that her voice would obey her in every which way now! I can’t wait to see what Kulothunga Chozha built a thousand years ago, the perfect chozha bronze. Before she entered the bathroom, true to her nature she shouted at the top of her voice in Sowrashtram; ‘paaaaaaTi pasikiradu….’!
After licking off the delicious upma and chutney from her fingers, Srishti sat scribbling by the window looking out at the golden speckled waters lashing out against the unresponsive banks. Soorya, you never take a holiday, do you? Nor shall I, keep me healthy, I give my word to keep my ears and eyes open, no more naivete, promise! Others must be warned…. She closed her diary with a gentle appreciation for all that she had and pulled out her backpack from behind the neatly stacked bed sheets and pillow covers in the cupboard to pack for her upcoming trip to Kumbakonam humming …bhaarateesha hari haraatmanae bhukti mukti vitaraNaatmanae…soorya moortaae..namostutae….
Om bhaaskaraaya vidmahae
divaakaraaya dheemahi
tanno suryaha prachodayaat
Om, Let me meditate on the Sun God;
Oh, maker of the day, give me higher intellect,
Let my mind be illuminated by the Sun God!