“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 M Krishna, 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!

To be continued..