When I was little, children were fed the story of a bogeyman. Recalcitrant, annoying, and clamant children were told about a certain man called ‘hanuman pandaram’ who would appear from nowhere and does bizarre dance moves before he plucks you and vanishes, never to come back. The fear was telling when we were told that the distant sound of a gong was warning his arrival. Eventually, he did come one day and many times thereafter, which told me that the poor soul was a harmless hunched mendicant who did a monkey dance wearing a grotesque looking mask resembling the primate god- the proverbial “hanuman”. He quietly retreated collecting alms.
When I recollect those days, I can tell the fright the story
of ‘hanuman pandaram’ aroused in us. But it must have helped many parents to
arrest and control their children.
I can liken that fear of Hanuman –pandaram with the
scaremongering of the Modi led malice about Muslims and minorities. Like then,
when the purpose was served- kids could be controlled and brought to heel,
today, the population and societies have been effectively divided and
suspicions writ large. The Hindutva agenda has been smoothly accomplished.
Growing up and now after more than half the life span gone
by, I cannot for a moment recollect one instance where I was hounded or
discriminated against, only because I was born Hindu. It amuses me to hear
people parrot what has been fed to them, that the Hindu is under threat in his
own country. I dare one person of my age or even younger to come forward and
clarify what exactly is the threat he or she faced.
As a kid I went to temples, vied to be in the forefront of
the jostling and elbowing devotees so that I could ring the temple bells when
the priests threw open the doors of the sanctum of Sanctorum; as a child, I
could even go into the chapel in the school and observe nuns kneeling down with
piety in prayer and with pity I would gaze at the crucified Christ, then wonder
about the saints and the frescos that adorned the chapel. No one forced me to attend
catechism classes in school. When I was in my teens I could, and out of my own
volition begin to question the frivolity of supplicating to Gods and even
forever put stop to temple going as a devotee. And to grow up as a person
exhibiting free will, thought and decisions, (albeit certainly a rebel), is a
unique experience which takes a little bit of resolve. Fortunately, I wasn’t
too bad with that! I did not see the need to question or worry about the
church-going friends or Abdul Harris –the school mate who even confessed and
showed us to our amusement and wonder his circumcised penis. That did not make
us feel he was different. We would eagerly wait for the Christmas cake from a
friend of my grandfather, and that arrived unfailingly on every Xmas eve.
Where was the threat to me? Later, not even to my children
who had their entire schooling as boarders run by St. Georges Homes in Ooty. It
was our decision to write to the school principal that we had no objection in
our children attending holy mass on Sundays at the school chapel. Mercifully
“love jihad” or “holy crusades” had not arrived in Kerala when I broke ranks
and married a catholic and it is (32 years to the date on August 23, tomorrow).
My Hindu-ness has not worn out or diminished, whatever that may
be. But fortunately, by not fretting to know what it was and not caring to
safeguard that mirage, it gave immense peace that no Gods or places of worship
can give.
Yes, twice in my life and both occasions in my early teens I
was stalked, accosted, and cajoled to convert. First by the local RSS Sakha
bosses and then by the neighbourhood senior who along with the then SFI leader
showed up at my gate to enroll me as an active SFI member.
The former was strangely abhorrent even then and the latter
not inspiring enough.
