Keeping Count...

The Kolli hill range is a beautiful place this time of the year.  As the car wound its way up 70 sharp hair pin bends, I smiled at my mother in appreciation. Great idea, mom! I knew I had been maneuvered into a temple trip where my parents would, once again, stand in front of an idol and lament my single status, but when the weather is this good and the greenery this rich, some things are bearable. Or are they?

When my mom broke no less then 9 coconuts and arranged the 18 half shells on a banana leaf, she avoided eye contact. When she asked me to pour ghee in to the shells and dip wicks in each one, my hand trembled a bit. I guessed what was coming. So, the idea is that all 18 wicks should be lit and burn strong for the ritual to progress to phase 2.

Sitting on the ground in the open courtyard of a temple, with nice strong gusts of wind blowing in every direction and trying to keep 18 wicks lit - this is the definition of torture. At first, people looked my way when I started going ow, ow, ow as each matchstick burned its way to my fingers yet the wicks remained stubbornly unlit. Then a kind soul took pity on me and lent me a spare candle. That worked, even though each burning wick had a life span of about 2 seconds. Mind benumbed, I kept going around and around until finally, for one brief moment, all 18 miraculously remained lit. "Prostrate yourself in front of it", people screamed. No problem! I would have done it anyway, in sheer gratitude.

The whole number thing in Hindu religion is a quite amusing. Almost always, odd numbers rule while even numbers are shunted aside in disdain. "Go around the idol 1,3 or 9 times!", "Light up 3,5 or 7 incense sticks!"... It's kinda interesting and led me to think about my own age. 33. A nice multiple of 11. Didn't we all just love the 11 times table in primary school? Hands down, one of the easiest ones. It's also an odd number. So that, with those 9 coconuts and all the odd things, um, odd number things I've been made to do, I figure the heavens are ready to open up and simply shower me with all sorts of goodies. I've been rubbing my hands in glee and looking up in anticipation, but maybe some counting instrument up there is broken. Or as a street-wise Tamilian would say, it's 'repaired'.

That's another amusing thing. Usually, when a foreign language bleeds into the local one, the uneducated section of the population assimilates it easily just by picking it up contextually. Mistakes are rare and always get corrected in time. But even now, when something is broken, many Tamil people say, "Repair aaidichu" when they want to say something is broken. Somehow, somewhere, someone picked up this exact opposite meaning of the word and it spread, without being corrected. The history of language, the etymology of words- it's so very fascinating. For example, take the word 'eavesdrop'- technically, it's a location. It's where the water would drip onto the ground from the eaves of a roof. Perhaps someone stood there and listened in at a nearby window once? Who was it who first made the connection and how did it spread?

Within a span of a few hundred years, there are countless words that have remained the same, yet their meanings have morphed so much that a person from a distant past and one now could have a conversation with words they both know, yet still barely understand each other. It's staggering to think about what a tiny point in time we're occupying, with vast seas of change stretching out on either side. Does all this contemplation make me a wiser person? I don't know. But according to mom, those coconuts will take care of everything. How odd.

Deadline

What would happen if the world slowed down? If we worked 4 day weeks, 5 hours a day? If that report could be submitted on September 10th instead of August 30th? What would happen if we had the time to walk slowly, plant gardens, raise pets and children with joyous attention, play games, go on picnics, read more books? What would happen?

Perhaps the greatest brainwashing done in this last century is that time itself is finite. The world is 'fast-paced', we're part of the 'rat-race', we must 'keep up'... our lingo, our outlook, our very existence seems to be controlled by this unquestioned fear of being left behind as the rest of the world hurtles toward success. Is success a series of time-bombs?

Deadline. What a truly disgustingly charged word. It traces its roots to the time of concentration camps and prisons, where guards were instructed to shoot any prisoner caught past a certain distance beyond the prison boundary. Cross the line, and you're dead.

Rat-race. Another terrible expression. Only rats in traps are made to race.

Prison. Traps.

Life?

Why?

Terrace Terra

Awaiting the rain...

Tomatoes ripening

Peekabo!

Grapes! Finally!

Watermelon 

Baby white eggplants and red chillies

Millet Guardian 

The old and the young - snakegourd

Determined to propagate!

White bittergourd

Patiently waiting for the humans to finish playing in the mud
Aadhi and Vetri

Beautiful.

Devil's Backbone (Whatta name!)

Double layered.

Life determined to survive...

Normal

In 'The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant', an amazingly well-written and intense fantasy book series, there exists a beast simply called 'Nom'. Incapable of speech yet powerful and driven, this creature would barely allow itself to be tamed. To even name it was to invite self-destruction. Funnily enough, in the fantasy disguised as reality that rules the Indian orthodox mind, there is a similar beast- the Norm. But where Nom is so single-minded that it is beyond artifice, the Norm is a shady and hypocritical shape-shifter.

The Norm, if I must define it, is the set of rules that governs one's personal life based solely on what is acceptable to orthodox society. Let's take the example of a man who lives by the Norm. Let's call him Spineless (I'm in a charitable mood today.) So Spineless was born in the 50's. As a baby, he is still more a possibility than a person, with a mind as vast as the Universe and an imagination unbound by reality. But even as an infant, he finds himself introduced often to a mysterious stranger- the one called Norm. A beast, yes, but one with a persuasive, comforting voice. It started as a casual acquaintance, but as he grew up, Spineless found himself turning to Norm more and more, making it his guide in all things.

Spineless grows up, doing the things he is expected to do, becoming the man he is expected to be. In this, Norm has trained him well. For reasons known only to him, Spineless decides to get married. But he won't let his wife have a career. No. 'What kind of man allows that?', Norm asks him. Spineless agrees. Wifey is properly put in her place. A few decades pass by. Now, fickle Norm has quietly changed. A daughter who does not work, and what more, work in the same field as everyone else's daughters? 'It is beyond shame', Norm tells Spineless. Spineless agrees again. He is nothing if not obedient.

Open another door into the past. Caste, Norm says, is important. Spineless adopts it as gospel truth. Wifey is of the same caste, of course. Years later, we see Spineless arguing with his teenage children about caste. Norm shouts silently in his ear- 'This is how it has always been, how it will always be!' Spineless pauses for a second, his ancestral memory trying to surface, to remind him of times when this was not true, but Norm fights off his deadliest enemy, the voice of reason. Spineless finally ends the debate with a flat out refusal to accept any dissenting opinion, his faith in Norm making him blind to the saddened faces of his children as they turn away, young minds unable to like the man they love. Behind him, smug, Norm nods and smirks. Cut to a future where children are defying parents left and right, traversing beyond caste and even religion as they choose their own mates. Spineless and Norm communicate quietly. Norm admits to certain grey areas and blames it on 'modern times'. It advises Spineless to relent a tiny bit- he must definitely throw a fuss, be deeply wounded, and volubly opposed, but in the end he may give in, in a grudging, bitter manner designed to sap all joy from the celebrations. Norm calls it 'adapting' and pats Spineless on the back for being so amazing. Norm is satisfied with Spineless. Spineless is satisfied with himself.

Another flashback. Spineless' mother sits in the corner of a gloomy kitchen, where she pounds the grain that will feed her family that night. Her brown sari is so faded, it matches the stained cement floor. She beckons and Spineless happily walks up to her. In his outstretched hand, she places a ball of fine grain mixed with sugar and held together with water. He leans against her bare shoulder and takes small bites. Her sari barely covers her naked torso- a good gust of wind would reveal her chest- she would just as nonchalantly pull it back over herself. Norm hasn't discovered body-shaming yet. Fast forward. Spineless sits with a group of men, his friends. With vehemence and violence-laced passion, they denounce the 'women of today', their skimpy outfits that entice otherwise good men to commit crimes, crimes that would have been unjustifiable had not Norm pointed out the obvious reasons. Spineless returns home that night and looks at his daughter. Though covered from neck to ankles in a churidhar, he nonetheless barks at her- Where is your dupatta? He glares at his wife and slams the door to his room, enraged that a woman under his control would walk around without disguising the shape of her form. Norm sympathizes with him. 'You are unique in your goodness, no one understands you', says Norm. Spineless wallows on his lonely pedestal.

As a constant companion, Norm is quite powerful. Thoughtless, and therefore naturally evil, it often sends human representatives to visit Spineless. They sit around, these strangers with a cause, and take apart everything Norm dislikes in Spineless and his family's life, questioning and denouncing every major and minor life choice- from physical appearance, career path, finances, matrimonial designs, progeny, interior decoration, medical treatment to clothing styles. Nothing is too private or personal, nothing is beyond judgement. Spineless listens to it all, his heart beating fast, terrified of defying Norm. He gazes at the one red wall his son insisted would enhance the guest room and imagines people walking in, laughing, judging. He mentally hugs Norm, drawing strength. The wall is too small a gesture to truly be called defiance, Norm reassures him. It can be laughed off, even ridiculed as a foolish boy's 'artistic' vision. Yes, that is what he'll do. Spineless sighs in relief, his pride intact, his son's in shambles.

Sometimes, Spineless takes turns being a minion himself. He feels compelled to go out and support his best friend Norm, and reinforce whatever ideals Norm has chosen to subscribe to. Norm walks with him, a shadow that seeks more grey. Norm tells him to fight change tooth and nail, all the time slowly changing itself, evolving so that it can continue whispering in the ears of the generations that will come. Spineless does not see- he does not want to see. In this way, they take turns feeding each other, a sick symbiotic relationship that has no goal except one - to constantly even out the world so that it can fit within his shrunken mind, and thus make it a place where he can be... Normal.

Ultimately!

I have an endless fascination with paleontology and history. If ever I was given a time machine and limited to one 'direction' in time to move towards, I would choose the past. From the creation of the Universe, the shifting face of the planet's crust, the evolution of life, the history of mankind- the birth and mutation of language, custom and thought... there is very little I would not want to witness. I'd just have to figure out the secret to immortality early on so that I last the stretch.

This whole lasting the stretch business, even without a time machine, is a bit of a pain. There was a guy I 'almost dated'. (I'm not going to explain that because the world of online dating is weird.) Anyway, at the time that we were talking, I was a couple of years shy of the 30 year mark and he was a bit beyond it. Once, I scoffed at some minor physical complaint he had, with the natural arrogance of youth (otherwise, I scornfully look down upon arrogance.) He said simply, "Wait till you hit 30." I scoffed again. We parted ways soon after but he remains etched in my memory. Why?

Because when I hit 30- BOOM! I threw my back out.  And I cursed his name. Maybe his family's too. It really hurt, ok? From then on, it's been a curse-athon. Creak. Grunt. Groan. Aaaaah. Dear Mother of God. That part can hurt?! And so on...

It really hits you when you traverse a little circle in your life. Like trekking up a Himalayan mountain. At 20, I was overtaking mountain goats. In the past 13 years however, things have changed. Let me take a moment to vent- Gravitational constant, my ass! Nothing constant in that area... By area, I meant gravity, not my...Hmm. What I mean is that physics is flawed. Gravity is obviously relative, which explains why the weight of one's thighs increases with altitude and number of potato chips consumed. Time is openly relative, not that it's candor really helps. When an acquaintance stopped me on the street yesterday and asked me how long it's been since I've been back, I said, "I don't know." She looked at me like I was flaky. I checked later and it'd only been three days, but it felt much longer. Funny how you can slip back into the gap you leave behind in a place, like you never left.

Which brings me to the latest update- my stint in Bangkok as a terrorizer of children is done. India needs me to continue the good work here, I figure. As a teacher, I've become a slightly better person. I no longer have violent thoughts that question the wisdom of inception. I've learnt to keep plodding on, even when I know that sometimes, the results aren't likely to manifest. That is the part of a teacher's life that I have most struggled with. That, and the desire to heave children through the door and hold them underwater in the hope that the shock will kick start dormant grey cells. Like I said, slightly better person.

I can hear a voice saying, "Poorni, you need help... the spiritual kind." I agree. That's why I invested in help. The ultimate help! That's right- Amar Chithra Katha's ultimate collection!

This beauty was waiting for me when I returned from Bangkok and I dived right in. Amar Chithra Katha is one of those timeless series that really brings stories alive, especially mythology. If I had my way, these books would be part of the curriculum. Imagine the discussions that would follow in the classroom! So how does it help me? I don't know. I don't really care. I have lots of books! With flying chariots and stuff! Time travel can wait.

Demonessque

I'm not impossible to impress. People who fold their blankets every morning even though they know they're going to unfold it every night - they impress me. I just gather it into a ball and hide it somewhere in case somebody nosy visits. People who wear sunglasses impress me. I keep pushing mine up and down, scrunching my nose, taking them off when I doubt my depth perception (happens often) and generally behaving like a half-blind, overly fussy librarian.

The animal kingdom impresses me in almost every way. I love them so deeply, my heart overflows at their every little action- even standing still. They're all that cute to me. Well, not all. I have a big problem with an insect- namely, cockroaches. I'm not sure when it started, or how to stop it. But I freak out at the sight of them.

I have a neighbor and friend who feels that way about lizards. About once a week, I can depend on hearing screams coming from the apartment opposite mine. I rush to open the door, and I catch sight of her rushing down the corridor as if her apartment is ground zero for an impending apocalypse. I always shake my head at her when she returns, cowering behind the security guard - her personal lizard-vanquishing hero. I say, 'Pooh, it's just a lizard, Want to see me catch it in my hand?' She screams again. I smile again.

That's why it's so hard for my ego when I react so strongly at the sight of a cockroach. I cannot scream- I can't hit any high note. I just run. I grab the broom and I cower behind it. I shoo it out of my apartment or down a drain, my heart beating like a horse's the whole time. If it comes at me, and especially if it flies, then forget it- that thing is dead. That's why I use lots of that chalk that keeps the little monsters away from my house. I live a relatively cockroach-free life, and I consider it a privilege.

Yet somehow, I must have earned some sort of reputation as a demoness amongst the cockroach population in this area. One sleepless night, I walked into the kitchen at around 2 and switched on the light. As I stood at the counter, wondering what to eat, I saw this tiny baby cockroach scurrying all over the counter like crazy. I mean, this thing was terrified out of its wits at the sight of me. All I was doing was just standing there quietly.

Suddenly, it heads towards me; I'm still motionless, and before my amazed eyes, the little thing actually jumps off the edge, still running at full speed. My mouth falls open as I watch it gracefully arc into the air like a sky diver and fall. The floor is mosaic, so I lost sight of it even before it landed. But I stood there for awhile, gaping at what I'd just seen. It was like a scene out of a movie, only the action hero was a 2 mm cockroach.

Maybe five paragraphs about this is a bit too much, but you had to have been there. Inspiring that much terror in another creature is a terribly strange feeling. I can barely relate to it. My only point of reference is with kids. Although I'm a teacher with all sorts of ideals within the classroom, that's purely education. (Even that has a 45 minute time limit before I explode, but let's gloss over that.) Outside of that, on the streets, you could say, I deal with kids on a case by case basis. I'm the person who'll glare at either a misbehaving child or its unfortunate parent until it stops what its doing. If there's some degree of familiarity, and the parent is doing nothing, I'll step in and do what's needed. If they never talk to me again, well then, boo-hoo.

The reason I sound like a total bad-ass is because I am. If people are going to inflict their offspring on me, they should be ready for me to inflict myself on said offspring. Works both ways.  Recently, I heard that a colleague and a mother of a five year old who lives in my building threatened her boy with a visit from me. That's when I felt a bit impressive myself. (Also a bit old, but let's gloss over that too.) Baby cockroaches, baby humans- all running away, screaming. Not bad, eh? Not bad at all.

                                     And people wonder why I'm still single...

On Skype today...

Stranger:

Hello Pillai,
How are you today? I have been in search of someone with this last name “Pillai" so when I saw your name I was pushed to contact you and see how best we can assist each other. I am Mr. Bruce molyneaux, an employee with Lloyds Bank Plc, I believe it is the wish of God for me to come across you on Skype now. I am having an important business discussion I wish to share with you which I believe will interest you because, it is in connection with your last name and you are going to benefit from it.
One Late Daniel Pillai, a citizen of your country, who had a fixed deposit with my bank here in United Kingdom in 2010 for 48 calendar months, valued at GBP{£14,150,000.00} the due date for this deposit contract was last October 2014. Sadly "Daniel Pillai was among the death victims in the march 11th 2011 Earthquake disaster in Japan, He was in Japan on a business trip when the Earthquake happened.
My bank management is not yet know about his death, I knew about it because he was my friend and I am his account officer. Daniel did not mention any beneficiary when the account was opened, and i have tried without success to find any member of his family. Last week my Bank Management requested that i should give instructions on what to do about the funds, if to renew the contract.
I know this will happen and that is why I have been looking for a means to handle the situation, because if my Bank Directors happens to know that "Daniel is dead and do not have any beneficiary to the fund, they will take the funds for their personal use, so I don't want such to happen. That was why when I saw your last name I was happy and I am now seeking your co-operation to present you as beneficiary to the account, since you have the same last name with him and our bank head quarters will approve the transfer of the funds in your name because your surname is the only thing that qualifies you to stand as the beneficiary of Daniel.
There is no risk involved because i am equally part of this process therefore you can be assured that this process will a success for us. I don't want the bank to confiscate the money.
I will appreciate if you can write to me on my personal email for more details: b.molyneaux01@hotmail.com
Waiting to hear from you.
Regards,
Mr. Bruce molyneaux
Personal email: b.molyneaux01@hotmail.com

Me:

How many kinds of idiot do you think I am? I ask because I know how many you are.