IODEX

There was this old joke doing the rounds in college- Question, “What is the height of innocence”?  Answer, “Pregnant woman rubbing Iodex.”

Well that was a trifle naughty joke. And can be exercised in circle of friends during banter. There are then statements that may be intended as jokes but when pronounced at the wrong place, at the wrong time can create an awful lot of embarrassment. And when it originates from an adult it may be frowned upon, and may create a piquant situation. Which tells that jokes apart, one must as an adult have common sense in good proportion and good judgment, lest an occasion of banter will be transformed a spoiled stage?

But the liberty and license to thrill and kill are with the toddlers and the little ones. The little children who walk with unsteady steps and utter matters that sometimes thrills to kill you. Embarrass you to no end, evoke erupting laughter, and hush silence in agape and sheer comical situations too. It is height of innocence and witty at that!

“It is not a bad thing that children should occasionally and politely put their parents in their place.”

It was quite a few years ago and my niece was growing out of toddle. She was taken one day to the zoo in Thpuram by her parents. I guess she was two years old at that time. Moving around the enclosures she was carried by her father, my sister’s husband. As usual, when little children are taken to zoo- the arena where primates are enclosed, that would be a fascinating halting point. So my sister and brother in law hung around with the little girl around the enclosure where they had the baboons and chimps. That day had quite a good commune of people at the zoo. The little girl was so thrilled and elated with the primates inside. That she refused to leave the area. My brother in law was carrying her prodded her that they have more great animals to gaze elsewhere. She suddenly blurted out in high pitched voice pointing her finger at the monkeys and  tapping her father’s face, “look the monkey looks like Atcham(dad).” The guy was certainly miffed and embarrassed and apparently people around heard the child’s statement. He gently pinched her and asked her to be quite. She then blurted louder still, “why do you pinch me for that”.” I understand that since that day the poor fellow have not taken fancy with zoos.

She now has grown up into a woman and finished her masters in zoology. She does not rattle or pass trivial talk, but if she tells something, it will as meaningful and sharp that it is difficult to refute the statement.

C’s parents were living in a small hamlet in the Nilgiris. Aravind, my son was quite fond of the old man, her father. We were once out there with the old folks on a short week end ors o. The boy was about four years of age. We were all watching some programme on the television. I guess it was some sports channel and the boy was fascinated with some body building competition that was being telecast. The boy was asking questions to the old fella and he was trying to give the child an explanation or a satisfactory answer. Not quite convincing for the boy! We heard the grandfather tell him something about the muscular physique of the men and how they built it over. The little fella, caught the old man unawares when he asked him,” appuppa why are all their muscles inside their underwear?” The old man a benign and timid fellow was stuttering to answer that question.

An Ode to Mother Dearest

I have seen him, his brothers and sisters do that. I have seen that when I was little and was trifle amused by what I then thought was a kind of acrobatics. Bending and touching at her feet or falling prostrate at her feet whenever they ventured out on a long journey or before engaging in any labour of importance. He, (my father) had asked me and my sister too, to touch her feet (in reverence) before we returned from the summer and mid- term vacations at her place. Which was then a serene, sprawling country side by the sea  with copious  paddy fields  that go beyond the horizon straddling back water canals  and  meandering rivulets on one   side of the  hamlet  , lush green all over with coconut  and areca- nut palms , majestic mango  and jack fruit trees  standing on the fringes of beautiful fresh water ponds - bearing fruits seldom found even in paradise.

I did not literally imbibe the gesture of obeisance I saw him bear with humility towards his mother. But I have not let a day by , since I have  begun using my faculties of thought  as an adolescent  where I have not  gotten off the bed in the morning and began  another day without remembering her, my mother, where ever  she was- in the same house or elsewhere. Day begins with thought of respect, gratitude and remorse for my many delinquencies as a teenager that have pained her much.

Sometimes I trust that the karmic philosophy is just not a theory but a fact of life. Because perhaps what ails one’s life may be the just requital of what one does to one’s parent – mother in particular. Metaphorical though, makes sound sense to pursue as a matter of good living.

She has been the most cultivated and Spartan of women. Her pictures from the old tell much about her pretty countenance and demeanour, the gracefulness of beauty. This, my sister has not been fortunate to genetically acquire. She was called “mayil peeli chechi” (sister with peacock plumes). Such was the amazing lush, long black hair she had. I remember my elder cousins (father’s nieces) reminisce that they were in awe of her the day she came home to my paternal mother’s as the bride just married. They have told me that they wanted to befriend her as quickly as they could, to touch her. My father’s sisters never had a word of remote resent for her, only admiration and respect ,so were all her relatives in law.

No one had ever spoke ill of her and never have she spoken ill of any. Even the difficulties she encountered in marital life, did not make her succumb to speak ill about my father or reveal even a wee bit about her melancholy.  It was not that he was unkind to her .This happened while I was little, may be eight or nine years old. The conversation took place between my maternal grandfather and my mother. Or was it a monologue from him? He was a domineering person as men were more autocratic those days. He did not meet eye to eye with my father and they had mutual dislike. It was some matter that troubled my mother and I saw her weep. She was being admonished by her father (my grandfather) for putting up with my father. He wanted her to separate from him and proclaimed that he had the obligation and the resources to take care of her and her two children. She was not angry with her father for what he wanted her to dare. He in fact understood that of all his six children, it was she who would be with him and not for his wealth. And she was a portrait of decorum even in the most distressful times of her life. We in jest say she is the eponym for tolerance. But she has never forsaken self respect.

She was quite a terror to me sometimes. I now guess that it was more out of her frustrations that she was annoyed with me than my provoking her anger.

The respect that came forth for her from all because of her demenour was conspicuously apparent to me when elder members of the acquaintances, friends and relatives we have one after the other  reminded me of not to hurt her by word or deed. This was when they were told that I was to marry a girl from a catholic Christian background. There was this friend and school mate of her who did not mince words in reprimanding me and reminding me about my decision and that in no way must hurt her.  And it has not , I’m fortunate!

Genteel as genteel can be,!

Wisecrack

A friend feels that perhaps what he sees as my intemperate reactions these days is because of my state of mind. Coming from a good friend the comment cannot be dismissed as insensible or not true and I indulged in self analysis and introspection. Though he was the only fellow to make this fantastic judgment! But I had to be discreet; tread with care, not to be biased about myself if I might suddenly notice my not so exemplary quality as he sniffed. I must be cautious that I do not go forward with the sole aim of rubbishing his/her observation. I must be sure to be diacritical.

It is a funny game this social living. I’m certain primates too may be having all the advantages and difficulties of gregarious living. It is funny when we sit back and rewind, sensitive indeed is this art of “communicating”. Unlike what Bindu mentioned in her comment in her Blog post, it is just not in business matters alone that communication can be important. Even in mundane affairs, among spouses, parent and children, between friends, with acquaintances, the stranger on the road-with everybody it matters.  A pause or a comma, a colon or silence, all might be construed as meaning something different than intended and diametrically opposite too.

Once a person opined that if someone calls you ‘monkey’, wisely there should not be any recrimination or reaction even. He said such name calling would not make one so. It certainly will should one react angrily at such an act.

 Yes indeed, the mental plight plays a great deal in affairs of a person and the way he conducts himself. Am I petulant? Do I throw my peevishness, my stress, my disturbed mental or physical state upon an unassuming person?

Yes I have done so. I have picked up quarrel and raised voices with frustration than anger, well that was mostly with C. In the office I have sometimes got quickly provoked at the slightest pitfall in a person. I have thrown files back at the person. These were, call it temperamental reactions to certain event or person over whom I could not exercise control .I guess this most of us do. We pick up some one manoeuvrable to vent our pent up helplessness.  And often that will be our spouse.

It was long ago may be in the early years of our married life, I picked up few din with C. Reason I really do not remember. But I suppose that the villain of the piece must have been me. One was a verbal confrontation of sorts and I guess I was quite pissed out with C’s callous attitude at my excitement that out of annoyance I picked up the decoction of coffee and poured on her head. She looked the victim of a prankster on holi. Yet another time we were arguing on something and again I was annoyed at her retorts or indifference that I threw the plate of omelets to the far corner of the room. It rang through immediately all over my nerves that I did something horrendous with food. I remember aplogising to her, picked up the platter and ate in remorse over my action. Sulk, I did!

Have I abused someone because of my failures or mental state?  Certainly no. In fact throwing the anguish of one’s meekness at home, error of judgments and repercussions in professional or personal matters on someone has not been my conspicuous attribute. There are many who do that and are an incorrigible lot.

What transpires in my mind of my travails in life has been my sole companion as my shadow itself. And I do not think that even C or the children have thought of leaning over to see what  goes through in my mind. More often it has been a lonely haul in abasement, except that, there were a few close ones who spied out in anguish that devastation shows out. This has been the matter in affairs thick and thin.

Then how the hell is this fascinating discovery that my words and deeds reflect my travails and perils? It is easy to be in judgment, I suppose. And it will be wise to not react when one is called a primate or an ass for example, because if one is sure, it is silly to retort on something that is silly and untrue .Let the Troubadour sing in praise of what I’m not.

The Weaker Sex

I say this as an observer and as a member of the male species. I’m not even a distant “Man watcher” in the Desmond Morris mould. What is noted is only from my observations, reading and experiences of self and of people around I know.

There are certain biological qualities that predominate male and female. The female, be it in the animal kingdom or among human beings prefer the strongest and the indisputable of the male lot. Among beasts procreation being the sole motive that drives towards courtship, the female choose the best among male to continue her lineage. Among human beings things are not confined to just ensuring that the seed is fertilised by the best of men, because human wants are different and not merely natural as procreation alone.  Wealth is associated with power and that may be often preferred over raw physical prowess; education and physical charm; character and moral up righteousness, all play significant part or some may be the sole criteria as well. 

There are not many women who would opt for a man who is incapable of providing her the security she wants. An infatuation in the genre of Romeo & Juliet or Laila & Majnu is only madness and exceptions to the rule. Often seen in fictional works than in real life! The word “security” is relative. To some it can be money, sex, affection, faithfulness etc.

The fact is women are adept in choosing the best that they deem is appropriate for them. While men are by far obsessed with the physical curvature that attracts. Fortunately further enactment is restricted by social laws and etiquettes. A time without restraints that are enforced from outside is rather frightening and can be a dangerous situation that may throw open the real nature of the male species. To some this natural fascination or disposition can be a mad obsession. Like in the animal kingdom the male among the Homo sapiens seem to be   genetically driven by the primordial urge and the refining has been only because of social controls.

Once during a discussion a person stated that male of the human species are obsessed with sex and women .They hardly let a woman pass by, by not undressing her in his mind. He attributed this disposition even in Gandhi which perhaps made him rebel against, in his conscience. There is also an opinion which states that he straddling two women on either shoulder was his way of negating the ubiquitous urge of male. Hence his many trysts with Sataygraha!

That consigns male to a genetically charged group disposed to copulation. And to many, sexual relationships end with copulation and one night stand as some call it, be it in marriage or outside. Other feelings of emotion and love are certainly there and are more often the result of social conditioning.

However women are choosy, and survey the male before she concludes his suitability as the partner. She prefers to choose the Man among men. She can plan with tremendous far sight. She can sense when he is weak, financially and physically. And can find ingenious ways to shun him when not required.  She has the charm to mesmerize and enchant. She is stronger emotionally too. What else and how else can I explain the passing away of at least five men I knew who bade good bye soon after their spouse died? They were hearty and healthy until the wives were around. On the contrary widows enjoy longevity. Men break down emotionally inside and fall ill physically as soon as they lose the partner. The zest to survive is lost in them.

And I have not come across a man who has used a woman when need be and shun her later. Financially encumbered women are exceptions and are like prey to the civilized predators of the society.  On the contrary I have known women who have with uncanny acumen and cunningness use men physically and monetarily literally as serfs. Discard them like pariahs and disposable napkins once they are weak. Man’s weakness is adeptly exploited by the “weaker sex”. If this is not the genetically feeble mind of men in realtion to the strong mindset of women, what else is it?

A woman can wear a man down emotionally. She can make him beg, plead,make him beseech and weep. .But still she may not have him have his way. I can relate this to courtship times among beasts. The casual impassivity and indifference exhibited by the lioness or the doe when male after male lions and stags lurk pleadingly around her. Makes me wonder are we not just another bipedal ones in the animal kingdom?

Lady Macbeth is a stark example. We have had similar examples in the Indian mythical works as well.  Was it Rasputin or the Russian empress who maneuvered the other? It is indeed an easy guess.

Confucius

Confucious

The Confucian exhortation, “if you cannot avoid rape lie back and enjoy it”, seems relevant to many circumstances that have nothing to do with the profane act he meant. A matter of not seeing the essence of a suggestion, literally! And hence, I assume that the lump in the throat that I seem to carry these days is best left to wither away on its own. Any attempt at confronting it to excise will be futile and, so I decided to see how long I can sleep  with assault ipso facto.

Consequently, I decided to witter.

There is no dearth of educated men and women in India. In fact the number of graduates and post graduates our Universities and educational syndicates hatch and consign to the outer world would even pale the alma mater of repute in the west. Quality indeed is dispensed with in Indian education. Hence there is no great astonishment when it was reported in the media that there were about four hundred applications to the post of “executioner’ when the position was advertised by the Jailor of the central prison in Thpuram. And many were post graduates! A highly literate state indeed, Kerala!

Montek Singh Aluwalia is a feline that has nine lives. And an acrobatic bureaucrat that he is, he has the uncanny knack of falling on his four from where ever you flung him down. He has survived this long as the deputy chief of the planning commission. And true to his acrobatic prowess he did a Don Quixote when he opined for the government that a daily income of above Rs 32 in urban areas and Rs 29 in rural areas shall be considered as above poverty line. Quixotic, but rude,cruel, outrageous and stupid. Or perhaps anyone out there who can do the sorcery of living on Rs 32 a day, with (roti, kapada and makkhan), food clothing and shelter?

The apartment where I lead a single life these days is shared by  two young men. Not so often I get together with them for a few sundowners over weekend. Once I walked in to their room while they were enjoying alcohol with my glass of whisky in my hand  and with flip flops on my feet. I always wear flip flops while in the house. One of the fellows jumped up aghast and requested me in serious tone that I should leave the footwear outside the room. He said there was “god “inside and pointed at the picture of the genial “Ganapathi” hung on the wall. I wondered to myself if Sri Vinayakan is pleased when it comes to whisky but frowns upon foot wear.

A few days ago I bought some good veal to cook. I ‘m not well set with kitchen wares and since I'm not sure of the duration of my stay in Bahrain, I did not invest in things like pressure cooker etc. And the two companions graciously offered me the utility of their wares should I need. While I was cleaning up the irresistible meat, one of the guys sneaked behind and intoned that I do not cook the beef in the pressure cooker as they are chaste Hindus. They would do all bad things but not touch beef even with a barge pole. I wondered to myself, why other beasts and avian lowly creatures compared to cows and bulls of the bovine world. And also what would they do to ensure that the restaurants where they  devour meat , cook beef in sterile environs.

The Void

It has been some days since I could collect myself to write and post on the Blog. And today is no different, though I have been almost daily, visiting blogs, reading posts and commenting on them. Some of the regulars have not fallen by the wayside like I have. Doc Antony has given an excuse of being over worked and Balan an alibi of nesting in Alleppy. Oshu who used to bring sharp topics with good language, vanished for a while resurfaced with something honest and candid, but that can still be abhorring to many. There are the earnest faithfuls like, Melange with her never ending repository of cuisine , Bindu with her usual self, NRIgirl as always, KParthasarathi  with his fictional chronicles, SG with her perennial challenges, Petty Witter with her tittle-tattle that has no dearth and Deeps with his discourses mantras.

We have Arun Meethalle still insisting to be an irregular frequent, Sandy still a blue moon, and the others as infrequent as they can get.

Should I infer that many others are also going through the intermittent phases when mind is blank and staunchly refuse to gather thoughts?  Do I go wrong if I deduce that the regular ones are unaffected by the numbness life craftily enforce? Some hold forth a reason of busy schedule and shortage of time for even a square meal. Should I understand that Bindu is having a relentlessly energetic time that she is faithfully and incessantly blogging? Or is it that she has the resource to overcome the malady of mental stress and ennui?And, Melange to churn plethora of gourmets delight? 

I cannot tell! But here I feel absolutely steamrolled over and cannot escape from the throbbing that happens. The mirror refuses to project the image of that stands in front -It is blank. Is it blank from soot? Or is it that it refuses to oblige? 

The Void!

A weekend in Dubai with a friend on an escapade plus a bit of prospecting has not helped. His generosity in cleansing me with good whisky and good food has not alleviated my plight. And makes me wonder if the medication that I faithfully intake has done little to assuage hypertension that afflicts, and Scotch has only been momentarily helpful- a transient tool and aid.

It is a damn thing, this mind is, that it worsens the situation that surrounds you! Seems to play up as it is a cul de sac.

The One Eyed Tiger

                          The audacious straight drive.

My first introduction to this game was when I was in the fourth standard at the convent. The neighborhood friend of mine who was doing his 6 th standard in the then famous school in the town revealed one evening a new game. A strange game in which you hold a stick with broad blade and was called bat (the makeshift bat was the coconut palm leaf stem). And another fellow throws a tennis ball from his hand held high and involves a bit of twist, turn and dancing motion. The fellow with the “bat” swings it violently and sends the ball to distant corners, more often to the compound of the neighbor. He does this to avoid the ball hitting three thin bamboo sticks behind him. He hits the ball and runs to the far end as if his life was depending on his reaching there as quick as he can. Then some arithmetic was involved and bingo, after exchanging swinging of bat and throwing the ball the winner is declared. Again based on some weird arithmetic calculations. A subject that was my bête noire.

I was not at all fascinated with the introduction to this new game. And was angry with my friend more because I could not figure out the strange acts and then math that is vital part of playing that game. I could not imagine and understand the raison d'être in involving math in fun and while at play. Ridiculous!

One year down the line I was sent to the very same school my friend was in. I was into the middle school and in the 5 th standard. New environs, bigger boys, no girls, strange angry words exchanged when boys fought, and menacing looking men as teachers. And most of all the strange game of three sticks a bat, ball, excited players and onlookers. The game was seen played in a many groups at the same time on all the play grounds, strips and corners. My first hand initiation into cricket. A fascination that stayed in me for the next many years as an avid player and follower of the game. Until belligerent opposition and disapproval from home muffled out that life from me.

Fascination metamorphosed into obsession and in a short while I began to play and listen to the running commentary on AIR, read avidly the Sports page in The Hindu. Often I cornered clandestinely a few paise from home to by sports magazines, Sport & Pastimes” and the “Sports Week’. My father used to buy the "Illustrated Weekly" regularly and those days it was “the news magazine”. And they brought out great articles on cricket and with beautiful colour photos of action. The little breaks in school and any available daylight time, I was playing the game.

And then India won the first ever test match and series overseas in New Zealand. Along with that I heard for the first time the name Pataudi. My father was an avid follower of the game and he had with him cricket books and coaching manuals written by Sir Len Hutton, Ted Dexter and so on. He used to listen to the commentary on AIR. And strange indeed, he did not frown upon me following the game.

Later that year sitting in the sidelines of the cricket matches to decide the best House before the annual Day celebrations, I heard of Pataudi who was the school captain. He was a senior in the final class. And strangely except for the darker complexion he was Nawab Pataudi’s look alike- be it appearance, hair-styling, gaze or swagger. And he was a good batsman. He was mobbed by the rest of the school. And because of him being the name sake of the Nawab, he was an icon.

My father in some rare moments of interaction that we ever had, used to tell me about how he and  a few of his colleagues ferried Pataudi from Hyderabad to Madras  once in the Air Force aircraft and then the Test matches that he witnessed Pataudi in action. He also told me why Pataudi was a Tiger. He was not named Tiger Pataudi, he said for his ferocity, (he in fact was a decent man), but for the tenacity and spirit of never say die. It was then I understood that Pataudi lost an eye in a road accident and was handicapped that way. My father told me that he had great difficulty in sighting and he always saw a ball being bowled as two. And because of his impaired vision he had to use his senses to know which was illusion and which was real. No ordinary man can adjust like he did and mock illusion and fate.

There were two means of conveying the period and time in films that had the plot taking place in the 1960’s. One was the signing on theme music of the AIR and the other was the running commentary on a cricket Test match on the AIR. And the commentator can be heard saying animatedly and in excitement that Pataudi has executed another glamorous stroke.

I met the prince at close quarters, that I could almost touch him. That was sometime in the early 1970’s during the three day Hyderabad-Kerala ,Ranji Trophy match at the University stadium in Trivandrum. M.L.Jaisimha was the captain. And there was besides Pataudi, another handsome player, his cousin Abas Ali Baig, Abid Ali and many others.

I must say that I have never met another handsome, charming and captivating person. He was absolutely gold like in pallor and had the elegance of the lineage, education and stature. Unfortunately he was bruised all over his elbows after some fascinating fielding. I do not remember taking his autograph, for I was bewitched and amazed at having got to see the man himself.

There were college girls in plenty shouting, shrieking and howling. They were kept at bay by the police, for they would have shred him. He was, at that time already married to Sharmila Tagore. The gossip went around that a boisterous college lass who was obsessed with him, gate crashed into the Mascot hotel where the team stayed. And she pleaded that she wanted to sleep with Pataudi. Pataudi was irritated by the lass and her tantrums that he closed himself in his room and got her evicted from the hotel. The grape vine has it that another player Mumtazr Hussain dated her during the duration of the match.

“No, don’t call me sir, call me tiger”. This was Pataudi himself when another player of later years tried to pick up a conversation with him.

In the 1960’s there were a few Indians who provoked ones imagination, they were Mrs. Indira Gandhi, Vikram Sarabhai and the other was Mansur Ali Khan Pataudi.