Beachside Musings

The Marina makes a lovely place at dusk. Laughing kids, pensive adults, the smell of hot bajjis wafting through the air, unsure tourists, love smitten couples, old folks' banter, cotton candy, colorful kites, sundal kadalai (groundnuts), balloon shooting, popcorn, kili josiyam (parrot-astrology), merry-go-rounds, malligai poovu (jasmine flowers), beggars, etc. A truly beautiful cocktail of spectacles.

Yesterday, as I sat on the sand, watching the ocean, an old man came towards us; stooping torso, staggering gait, turban covering the forehead, dirty trousers and a faceful of misery.

'Un kaiyaala saapadu vaangitha thaaye. Unakku punniyam kidaikum. Unakku aambala pullai porakkum.' Please buy me some food good lady. You shall be blessed. You shall have a boy child.
The words were uttered with the rhythm unique to Indian beggar talent. He was addressing my mother, more precisely, frightening her. Helplessly, she thrust a coin into his outstretched hand (the easiest means of getting rid of the character). Maybe she'd done the right thing for if he'd lingered a moment longer, God save the beggar.

He could have foretold a million other things for popcorn or money... A good job, a salary raise, health, cancellation of the reservation quota, a cruise, a limousine, Presidency of the USA, or even the most ridiculous of all, another sibling for me (I'm 20). But why a boy? Why not a girl? Why did he say that? He could just have predicted a baby, leaving the assumption of gender to the magnanimous(?).

He wasn't the first to instigate 'not very heartening' thoughts within me. I've heard similar echoes at many other places.



At the labour ward, where the tired mother of a 5 minute old baby begged the doctor to dispose of her newborn girl. There was fear in her eyes. I wouldn't entirely blame her. Many horrendous reasons lurked behind the desperation; a husband or parent(s)-in-law who would accept nothing but a boy child, fear of isolation, of being sent back to her parents' home, the threat of a second marriage by the husband to try his luck at having a boy baby, and in some extreme cases, the threat of murder.

When I'd gone to see a friend's beautiful little baby, her grandmother had expressed her disappointment to all but this beggar at the beach that it was a girl instead of the boy she'd hoped for.

A man pleading with a doctor for a MTP for his wife because a girl child showed up in the ultrasonograph.

Girls landing up at destitute homes because their parents couldn't 'rear and maintain' them. It wasn't hard for them to raise their male progeny though.



Back to Marina....


A couple.
'Un kaiyaala saapadu vaangitha thaaye. Unakku punniyam kidaikum. Unakku aambala pullai porakkum.'
'Enakku erkanavae kuzhandhai irukku pa'. I already have a child.
He stood there unmoving, chanting rhythmically. The man got rid of him using a coin.

The next target, a big family. Correcting himself midway through an addressal directed at an old lady, he walked over to a younger lady in the group.
'Un kaiyaala saapadu vaangitha thaaye. Unakku punniyam kidaikum. Unakku aambala pullai porakkum.'
A wailing kid drew all the attention away from him.

Two college girls.
'Un kaiyaala saapadu vaangitha thaaye. Unakku punniyam kidaikum. Unakku aambala pullai porakkum.'
'Ayyooo! Po pa! Enakku aambala pullaiyum vaendam, pombala pullaiyum vaendam. Ippo dhaana vandhuttu pona. Poyidu!'. Damn! Go away! I don't want a boy baby, not a girl baby either. You'd come begging just sometime back. Get lost!
The girl was almost screaming.

I watched as he walked way, stoop disappearing, steps surer and faster, and turban cloth carelessly slung around the neck, his hands steadily gripping the ends. The eyes now devoid of misery, caught mine, eyeing him. I did not avert my gaze. He turned away and walked, in search of greener (no pun intended!) pastures.

I went back to sifting sand between my fingers. I was living. I was grateful. I wasn't murdered before I was born and ever since.

Globisation, Indian style

Dedication... To Sheks. Your efforts haven't been in vain.

Two stories

Saree Stor(e)y

Not long ago, a paati (grandmother) from India visited the USA. Her first day at Amaerika saw her experience a roller coaster ride of emotions - joyous reunion with children and grandchildren, exhaustion, jet-lag, etc. The next morning, life as usual, had reverted to normal. How could anybody suffer culture shock in a globalised world?! However, a mild shock did await her daughter-in-law - six yards of colorful textile suspended from the balcony by two flowerpots on the parapet. What followed is anybody's guess. Things were reorganised to suit everyone's convenience, and a law suit spared (had the plants relocated onto an unfortunate cranium).

Fame at the Finger Tip

Many years back, when Windows 95 happened to be the latest Microsoft product, a patti visiting California preferred homemade curd to yoghurt. The milk was boiled, made lukewarm, the temperature assessed by dipping a scruplously cleaned index finger tip into the liquid. A bit of curd was added, the milk stirred and left to set. The accuracy of temperature detection never ceased to amaze her Italian daughter in law (who used a kitchen thermometer) and her friends.


Yes, globalisation is making waves everywhere, but it has a long way to go. Frying appalams still trigger fire alarms.

All is fair in love, war and fairness cream ads

SCENE 1
Asin and a male model have their instant snap taken. Asin's melanocytes appear to work harder than the guy's. She looks like she's been uniformly shaded with charcoal. Kudos to the make-up expert; guy must have been a charcoal painter. Mr. Fairer looks at the snap, the black and white contrast screaming out at the viewer, tears it into two, hands Asin's half to her and walks away.
Oh no! Poor, heartbroken Asin suffers enormously.

SCENE 2
A lady, whitish pink, in a traditional garb soothes her, and raises her hopes with a new fairness cream, with virtues so pure, sure to make a crow fair. Asin uses it.

SCENE 3
Lo and behold! The dark girl transforms into a fair damsel in a ridiculously short period of time and becomes a beauty queen. Mr. Ex-friend is back with an 'I'm sorry' note and a bunch of flowers. She is very happy, hugs the flowers close and flashes the traditional, silly smile.

Would any self respecting woman think twice about rejecting a friend who returns because she's fairer?
I recently came across an article which spoke of pharmaceutical companies inventing or publicizing common, vague symptoms of rare diseases to boost drug sales. Guess they didn't learn fast enough from fairness cream marketing.

Squash Quash

Joshna Chinnappa......
19 years old, hails from Chennai, plays squash, and is currently the highest ranked Indian (61st) in the Women's International Squash Player's Association (WISPA) rankings.

Strangely, she didn't go to Melbourne this year. Ask the General Secretary of the Squash Rackets (no pun intended) Federation of India (SRFI) and the wisest of answers, "If I had sent them (the best of players) and they had failed in the first or the second round, you'll be asking me why did you send her and waste the government's money?" Noteworthy here, is that Joshna has a sponsor, the Mittal Foundation and hence the Federation is free of all financial responsibilities in her case.

India does not have a squash player at the Games. Joshna Chinnappa, Ritwik Bhattacharya, Saurav Ghoshal and the likes, the SRFI says do not 'have a chance' and so why the trouble.

Joshna's achievements surpass the tennis equivalents of Sania's. But they do not merit an opportunity to represent the country. Indian standards are lofty.

If National prestige is criterion numero uno, what about the brilliant decision of bisecting the Indian Cricket Team into (so called equally good) halves, one to save the country's pride at the Sahara Cup, Toronto where India's defeat was confirmed in the 4th of the 5 match series.
The other squad, geared up for Mission Commonwealth Gold, at Malaysia, 1998 didn't go anywhere beyond the round-robins. National pride did get a boost however with a victory against Canada and a draw against Antigua.

2003 Cricket World Cup, South Africa. Parthiv Patel, then 16 years old, was part of the Indian contingent. He had never played a ODI previously.

I cannot but notice that the aforementioned examples are from cricket.

Joshna has filed a case against SRFI, and her celebrity status is a definite plus at that. But what happens to the less famous young talent who deserve a fair chance to make it to the international stage. Medals are important, but so is making sure of future reaps. After all, in a country where sports are plagued by a dearth of sponsors, the only road to experience is what the big bodies intent on saving national pride and thriftiness, are willing to open up.

War and Peace

When spite and mockery run amok,
When indifference looms at every turn,
When trust yields humiliation,
When cries go unheard,
When Nature makes her rare mistake,
When life begs for death,
When the whole world shuns......

The frail arms of a loved one......

Bliss indeed.

Coimbatore, Change

It had been ages since I visited Coimbatore, one and a half years. The city had lost, gained and retained its many qualities but thankfully it still felt like Coimbatore.

My discoveries and ideas:-

1. Water is available 24 hours a day at the turn of a tap.

2. Roads can be confidently walked on without worries of stepping on spit or shit.

3. Mayflowers, chitrakani and rain tree blossoms adorn numerous trees and avenues at the onset of summer. A truly beautiful sight.

4. People use a language indicative of respect towards the second and third person. I witnessed two car drivers get stuck on a narrow road, and accuse each other in respectful terms. Seemed strange after having been exposed to Chennai abuses for a long time.

5. Conversations with strangers are natural.

6. Buses have seats and entry/exit points for ladies at the front and gentlemen at the back.

7. A shopping spree or a walk is bound to see one meet at least three acquaintances by chance.

8. All housing and apartment complexes have kids playing together in the evenings. The residents are well acquainted and intimate with their neighbours. The emphasis is on the word 'all'. A minimum degree of error cannot be eliminated.

9. Hill stations, sanctuaries, waterfalls, theme parks, lakes, dams, tourist spots exist within a 100 km of the small city.

10. The climate is definitely better than most regions of Tamilnadu. Maybe that's why the city is nicknamed 'Poor man's Ooty'.

11. For those interested in statistics, Coimbatore clinched the fourth spot in the list of friendly cities 3 years ago.

12. The city has a multi lingual and multi cultural crowd.

13. Many eminent Indian citizens hail from Coimbatore.

14. The resilience is amazing. After having suffered a series of bomb blasts and religious tensions in 1999, I still haven't come across a person accusing or contemptful towards another religion.

15. Washing one's face doesn't yield gray coloured foam unless the person has stood in the middle of Raja Street for 12 hours straight.

16. The 'Manchester of South India' has many textile establishments.

I noticed that branches of some big clothes and accesories shops at Chennai had sprung up, Pizza Corner, Marry Brown, Domino's and a couple of 'big name' coffee shops added to the big list of hangouts. Thanks to that, I got to meet around 15 of my friends by sheer coincindence. A multinational IT company had set up its office in the outskirts. I saw more concrete gardens added to the cityscape.

Were these the early signs of metropolisation? I could only pray that....

Cricket, Career, Character

I happened to watch a discussion on NDTV yesterday. Is India a better team than Pakistan? At cricket of course... What else. That's what it was all about. Cricket personalities and experts featured on the show and one of them was Ajay Jadeja.

Mr. Jadeja has played the gentleman's game for India and been idolized by millions like me. The match fixing scandal came to light, his nexus with bookies established and out he went with a five year suspension. He attempted a comeback and failed at that.

Well, the past is past. But to put him in an expert panel..... that merits serious thought.Taking a neutral stand, there are two aspects of the scenario to be considered.

Mr. Jadeja was an International cricketer. A good batsman. A reasonably good bowler (if I remember right). He even captained a few matches and won thrillers. His qualification to render expert opinion and views is unquestionable.

Coming to the moral and slightly emotional aspect of the issue, any decent person would opt not to play rather than fix a match. Mr. J is without doubt, not the best of examples when it comes to this.

If he'd been featured in anything else but this, I wouldn't have given a second thought. If it was match fixing he was discussing, my love for NDTV would have increased manifold. But what was this guy doing at a discussion, judging the Indian and Pakistani teams? Mr. J made mistakes. He faced the consequences, severe (?) as they were. What exactly was the channel trying to communicate? Everyone deserves a second chance no matter what? Clueless is the word. Tell me about it.

Of Wrath and Timidity

I hadn't heard it from that direction and with that tone, not before.
I pushed open the bathroom door.
God.... What a mess! The body wash was out of its prestigious seat and lay pitifully on the floor. The shampoo bottle in a corner, and the Dove soap (you shall discover the irony later) on the toilet seat. The soap dish and the toothpaste hadn't been spared either.

The strangest of all, there was a twig in the basin. One twig.

That bathroom was seldom used. It was a spare and came in handy when four people had to rush off in twenty minutes.

My cousin had come over the previous day. No, she couldn't have because we usually solve our conflicts through direct physical violence, pillows and all.

My mom came and so did the explanation. The maid had spotted this bunch of twigs, around ten of them, on the ventilator sill, when she was cleaning up the place. And wanting no pigeon, fiercely guarding its eggs or kids, to hurt or scare a bathroom vistor, she'd disloged the bird's nascent architecture.

It was not all that easy to assimilate. They were the most timid creatures I'd known after little rabbits. They'd become a part of my home, hanging around the balcony and sometimes venturing as far as the door, and we wouldn't shoo them away unless they entered the room. I woke to their coos emanating from the air conditioner vents; gave them tit-bits and grains once in a while. Their noise could be disquiteing at times; I liked them anyway.

Mom closed the ventilator shaft leaving a gap big enough for air but small enough to prevent a pigeon from coming in. She had a point too.

For all I could do, I left a palmful of rice on the sill.