Continued from Part 1

“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!

To be Continued..