The Circus after the Hanging

Early yesterday morning, after switching on the television, I began to wonder if Covid-19 had vanished from the country overnight. Not a word about the contagion was mentioned; instead, all channels were dominated by the news of the execution of four rapists in the early hours at Tihar Jail. It seemed like a carnival at the gates of Tihar. Placards proclaiming “We trust the judiciary” signalled a newfound faith in the system. Bizarre slogans, which I now struggle to recall, filled the air. Men and women alike were jubilant. It resembled a medieval circus where public executions drew crowds baying for blood. After seven years of waiting, the Indian judicial system, moving at a tortoise’s pace, had finally closed a sordid chapter of gang rape, brutality, and murder that would shame even the wildest of barbarians, including the Vikings.

Seven years ago, on a wintry night, a young Delhi girl was stalked by six savage men. After thrashing her companion to near incapacity, the brutes gang-raped her in the most heinous and dreadful manner imaginable. That night, India as a nation and we as a society failed her miserably. We failed because we allowed six depraved individuals to violate her physically—she was mauled and torn apart. The brutality was beyond what even wild beasts would inflict. We failed again when we outrageously christened her “Nirbhaya,” meaning fearless. How dare we? How dare we presume she wasn’t gripped by mortal fear when six hellish, debauched men pounced on her, ignoring her pleas, cries, and entreaties, ripping her apart like ravenous wild dogs? How dare we bestow upon her grandiose names, ostensibly to elevate her to a pedestal of courage and bravery, thereby assuaging our collective guilt? She, a frail teenager, could surely do little to resist when six cannibals pinned her down and set upon her in a manner words fail to describe. Yet we call her “fearless”! It sickens me and makes me retch when I hear her referred to as “Nirbhaya.” We should hang our heads in shame. She ought to be known by her given name; her memory must not endure under a pseudonym granted by a hypocritical society. That is the least justice we can offer her.

One can empathise with her parents, who pleaded for the execution of their daughter’s rapists. Their anguished minds could not see beyond retribution, nor grapple with the moral and ethical nuances of jurisprudence. When the mother expressed relief, saying her late daughter had finally received justice, we could understand her feelings. What else could a mother feel? But it makes me wonder when the public declares, “Justice served for ‘Nirbhaya.’” What justice can a dead person possibly receive? Someone claimed her writhing soul would now be at peace. Semantics and fanciful phrases aside, the soul is a mirage we humans invented to appease our longing for immortality—a satisfaction derived from believing a part of us persists after death.

What justice can we give a girl now dead, when we, as a society, collectively failed to protect her while she lived? What justice awaits the teenage Unnao girl, brutally raped and later murdered? What justice can we offer Asifa, the seven-year-old raped repeatedly for days and murdered in a temple in Kathua, Kashmir? How many more individual acts of justice must we pursue for the daily rapes and murders of women and girls in this country? It is offensive to think we can find satisfaction or clear our consciences by invoking the phrase “justice served.” Nonsense!

Yesterday morning, tribal instincts came alive outside Tihar, and television channels, barring a few like Asianet News and NDTV, revelled in the news of the hanging of the four men while simultaneously questioning the foundation of capital punishment in countries like India, which we call civilised. The “rarest of rare” benchmark is a flawed premise. Protesting capital punishment in today’s India would be deemed as seditious and anti-national as criticising Hindutva. The humane Kiran Bedi, the fiery cop who, as the first female Inspector General of Prisons, introduced reforms aligned with a civilised society, was upbraided for attempting to reform the incorrigible and advocating for prisoners’ human rights. It is a primitive tribal notion that prisoners forfeit their rights as humans. One might even hear the hackneyed cliché: “If what happened to the Delhi girl happened to your kin, you’d think differently.”

There is a sine qua non for calling ourselves civilised. We must first eradicate patriarchal mindsets and misogyny from society and teach children from a young age to respect women. If an accused person is found guilty and punished as per the law, that law must either facilitate their transformation during incarceration or acknowledge that retributive justice is not justice but vendetta, as offensive as the crime itself. Look at those baying for the blood of the accused or guilty—it’s a trait of primitive tribal societies. It doesn’t take much to realise that the men vociferous outside Tihar yesterday might readily stalk, violate, molest, grope, or harass a woman if they believed they could escape apprehension or punishment. That is the duality of people: they hunt the victim and later cry for her.

A few months ago, much of the country applauded when the Hyderabad police staged an encounter and killed three alleged rapist-murderers. Like fools, we eagerly accepted their alibi that the men attacked the police before attempting to flee. We were content to believe extrajudicial killings delivered swift “justice.” We failed to question whether a diligent trial confirmed their guilt or if they were decoys planted by the real culprits. Did we consider the anarchy such extrajudicial, instant retribution could wreak on society’s fabric and its legal system? Not a word was spoken thereafter; we moved on—or rather, backward.

When we passionately claim retributive justice for the Delhi girl, believing she has finally received justice, we are lying to ourselves and, dare I say, mocking her soul, if you will. There is no evidence that retributive justice or capital punishment—an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth—serves as a deterrent. Only uncivilised, barbaric societies, citing antediluvian practices and bizarre texts, justify chopping off hands for theft, stoning for adultery, or decapitation for murder. When societies worldwide have abolished capital punishment, I see no reason why this medieval, retributive punishment should remain on the statute books of a country like India, which claims to be civilised. Lifelong incarceration, with or without the possibility of parole, would torment the criminal, potentially leading to reform or psychological decay.

To quote Henry Ford, “Capital punishment is as fundamentally wrong as a cure for crime as charity is wrong as a cure for poverty.”

The Little Whore House

The little whorehouse stood next to a well-known and respected family home on Ambujavilasom Road in the heart of Thiruvananthapuram, about five minutes’ walk from the main thoroughfare and the State Secretariat. It was an unassuming place with a tiled roof and a single door opening directly onto the street. The occasional drama and minor melee we witnessed as we passed by each morning and evening were all we were privy to—nothing more.

It was roughly 200 metres from where I lived, and my friend and I walked past the little whorehouse each morning to school and on our way back in the evening. I was in the fifth standard when I was told about this strange, and to me then, fascinating place in our neighbourhood. My friend, two years my senior, introduced me to its intrigues. Being eight or nine and fresh from the sheltered environment of a convent education, many things were inexplicable yet curious and amusing. The amusement was particularly strong when, on our way to or from school, we witnessed police raids at the whorehouse. A ramshackle police van would park by the door, and potbellied, fearsome-looking policemen—along with a few scrawny ones sporting only handlebar moustaches to evoke trepidation—would bundle a few women inmates and their plebeian clientele into the van. Looking back, those policemen now seem clownish, attired in odd short trousers with ample ventilation around their hairy thighs, allowing fresh air to waft up to their groins. I recall the day after a raid, when we passed by, the old woman who ran the place—a hag, perhaps in her early seventies, always with sandalwood paste and a few flower petals in her grey hair—sat at the door, forlorn and sad, having lost her clientele, women, and business to the police action.

She lived there with her daughter, a single woman, and her teenage son. I noticed no disenchantment in the daughter or son, who seemed to allow the old woman to run her cottage industry.

There were occasional arguments at the door between petulant patrons and the inmates. One day, I saw a man forcibly ejected by a few women inmates. He was agitated, quite inebriated, and shouting expletives—an unhappy and dissatisfied customer, perhaps! “Caveat Emptor,” I would now suggest to him.

Looking back, there was no evident discomfort, annoyance, or moralistic angst from the people living nearby—an impossibility in today’s phoney, voyeuristic Malayali society. The place seemed to survive on its own, ignored by the elite residents of the neighbourhood. Whether the local men frequented the whorehouse under the cover of night, I can only guess with some amusement.

The story ended abruptly with the death of the old woman. Rumours abounded that someone had poisoned her, but no one could say for certain. Her passing marked the end, perhaps, of the saga of “the little whorehouse.” The daughter and son vanished soon after, and now a multistorey office building stands on the five cents of land where, perhaps, much of Vatsyayana’s exhortations were religiously indulged, albeit at a price.

The Shooting Star

I haven’t met her, nor spoken to her; our communication was solely through text messages. She was reticent, perhaps shy and unassuming, preferring to remain unnoticed. She distanced herself from the garishness and chaos of modern life, staying far from its edges. Though a trained Mohiniyattam danseuse, immersed in the art since the age of six and having performed at temples and other venues, she downplayed her talent. Her outgoing peers had little sway over her choice to stand apart. In an era of social media, where attention-seekers vie for visibility, this captivating maiden, for reasons of her own, chose to remain unobtrusive, almost hidden.

She was virtually faceless on social media, yet maintained a quiet presence. Her pages revealed no clear image of her, but with a discerning eye, one might glimpse her among the faces in the rare group photographs she shared. Even then, it would be mere conjecture. Yet, I felt certain: the vivacious, mesmerising eyes and the grace of a danseuse shone unmistakably in one figure among those pictures. The allure of her eyes was arresting. Still, without confirmation, even the most confident guesses remain just that—guesses.

When asked why she chose this path, she replied simply that she loved it. A recluse? Certainly not. At 23 or 24, her eyes beckoned alluringly from her pages, but her perspective on life was equally striking. At such a young age, few ponder deeply about existence, yet she mused about infusing meaning into life’s inherent frivolity: “We are born without purpose, but we can create one, can’t we?” she once texted. That was some time ago, and now no trace of her remains; she simply vanished, perhaps deliberately leaving no footprints.

Her final message lingers, stirring an eerie unease, though she may have faded like a shooting star, whose wanderlust she admired. She first reached out after reading my blog post, “My Gods of Small Things,” shared on my social media, inspired by Arundhati Roy’s The God of Small Things. The content differed, reflecting on individuals from my life, now gone, whose small acts were profoundly meaningful.

Through our extensive exchanges—spanning religion, love, morality, humanity, life’s apparent triviality, idleness, and even vintage Malayalam and Hindi film songs—I found her to be a keen listener and reader with a sharp, reasoned perspective on nearly every topic. Why, then, was she training to be a chartered accountant, a profession often marked by dullness? The answer was straightforward: her father’s wish.

Her mother, a dancer herself, had instilled in her a love for Mohiniyattam but had sacrificed her own passion under her husband’s domineering will, ensuring her daughter faced no such constraints. She occasionally spoke of her younger sister, about ten years her junior, who followed her like a devoted shadow.

“Sir,” she always addressed me, “what do you make of this clichéd notion of ‘settling down’? Why should it mean conforming to society’s or even family’s expectations? Can you tell me?”

“Indeed, why can’t settling down be about finding meaning in life’s frivolity?”

“Exactly! That’s why I believe being attractive isn’t about a chiseled body, an arrogant swagger, Rhett Butler whiskers, or high cheekbones.” (She added a smiley emoji.) “It’s about how one thinks—the mind shines through the face. You can’t fake it with bravado. Men are terribly mistaken, don’t you agree?”

“Ha, indeed!”

“Thank you for agreeing. Remember that girl you mentioned, who abandoned a lucrative job in the Far East, slung a backpack, and travelled the world? Was she my age?”

“Hmm.”

“Sir, I quote from her book: ‘Four years ago, I gave up my home, sold most of my possessions, and embraced a nomadic life. This journey has taken me as far within as with my feet.’” A pause followed, then: “I hate him, the bastard!”

“What?” I asked, confused. I had recommended the book, and those words weren’t from the passage she cited, nor related to her text about the author she cherished. If spoken, I might have dismissed them as misheard, but they were typed.

Ignoring my question, she continued: “…how travelling changed my perspective on marriage and not wanting children. ‘Sir, I felt sick after that.’ I wrote this post for dreamers, adventurers, and rebels who feel stifled by a lack of choice.”

“What?” I pressed again. After a prolonged pause, when I asked about her abrupt remark, she explained.

“I needed to get this off my chest. It’s him.”

“Who?”

“My father.”

“What about him?”

“He hugged and kissed me today.”

“What’s wrong with a father hugging his daughter? I do. Hasn’t he before?”

“No, it’s not that. He has, but this was different. I felt it when he touched me—nauseating, terrifying.”

“What are you saying?”

“Exactly that. I feel sick and scared. He kissed me, biting my cheeks, nearly my lips, and I felt… his thing pressing against me through his lungi. It was deliberate, all in seconds.”

Speechless, I asked, “Are you sure?”

“Please, Sir, I’m not a child. This never happened before, but I felt it, saw it in his eyes. I was frozen, unable to pull away. Lately, I’ve felt uneasy around him, a vague discomfort… but now…!”

“Have you told your mother?”

“No, I can’t. It would worsen things. They’re not getting along, and it might affect my sister too.”

“Is he your stepfather?”

“No.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing. I just needed to unburden this.”

“If anything untoward happens, tell someone. Call me if you need to.”

“Hmm, yes. Instead of longing for the next holiday, perhaps build a life you don’t need to escape.”

Was that a quote? I’m unsure. It was her last message before the line went dead. Months have passed, and she’s vanished without a trace. Perhaps her footprints linger in the sands of time—across deserts, mountains, South American river basins, or the forests she dreamt of. Maybe she found the courage to flee, to live without needing escape. I pray she didn’t yield and become trapped.

Narendra Modi & Alladin's Magic Lantern

A Sanghi enthusiast is touting what he claims is an excerpt from Narendra Modi’s scripted interview with Akshay Kumar, a less accomplished actor. He asserts that Modi’s response left everyone in awe.

According to this enthusiast, Akshay Kumar asked Modi what he would do if he found Aladdin’s fabled magic lamp. Modi reportedly replied that he would urge academicians to stop narrating such fables to children, as they promote a culture of idleness and lotus-eating, alien to India’s ethos. He then allegedly critiqued Indian education for belittling the country’s past and instilling foreign values in children. Does this thespian realise that One Thousand and One Nights is a collection of Middle Eastern fables?

Even a cursory glance at this claim reveals the absurdity of Modi’s purported stance, likely a scripted answer. We’ve seen what happens when his responses aren’t rehearsed—he fantasises about an elephant’s head grafted onto a human child and calls it plastic surgery! 😁😂

What’s startling is that Modi seems unaware of Arabian Nights and the myriad fables that enchanted our childhoods. Can anyone point to contemporaries who became lotus-eaters, languishing in dreamy indolence, awaiting lady luck? He overlooks how fables, Indian and foreign alike, shaped our formative years. Unlike Modi, we drew values from Aladdin’s fortunes, wary of the scheming uncle; from Sinbad’s voyages, which introduced us to distant lands and cultures; from Ali Baba and the forty thieves; from the cunning “Fisherman and the Jinni,” the “Tale of the Vizier and the Sage Duban,” or “The Fox and the Crow.” The list is endless. Does he know many of these tales carry Indian and Persian influences?

Venturing further west, are we to believe that Little Red Riding Hood, Jack and the Beanstalk, Cinderella, or The Pied Piper of Hamelin are corrosive to young Indian minds, as Modi might suggest?

If we entertain Modi’s convoluted (nay, devious) logic, we’d miss the richness of Anton Chekhov’s The Bet or Leo Tolstoy’s God Sees the Truth, But Waits—a tale prescient of Modi’s era! He likely hasn’t heard of O. Henry’s The Trembling Leaf, conveniently alien as it’s American. Nor, perhaps, of Kerala’s Aythihiya Mala, a collection akin to Arabian fables, which he might dismiss as foreign to his sensibilities, despite its uniquely Malayali essence. Herein lies the contradiction in his bizarre understanding of culture, fables, and literature, however commonplace.

Does he know that W. Somerset Maugham’s Appointment in Samarra draws from the Katha Upanishad and an ancient Mesopotamian fable?

What distinguishes ordinary mortals like us from Sanghis is our exposure to a kaleidoscope of inspiring tales from diverse cultures. These stories enrich our lives with values of moral courage, ethics, and goodness, regardless of their origin. It’s a pity we have a Prime Minister who rejects inclusivity and the universal appeal of such narratives. Perhaps Modi had little time for fables, reportedly spending his childhood meditating in dense jungles or on the icy peaks of the Himalayas. What a sacrifice he made—and now we bear the brunt! Poor us!

tête-à-tête - but we were 4

                                                                            

Yesterday, after dusk, I had three visitors: the local ward representative and two other respectable-looking men I hadn’t seen before. One was introduced as a scientist or some such figure, but since they announced themselves as BJP representatives soliciting my views and vote, I gave little credence to the science tag. I recalled how Indian scientists sat silently when the Prime Minister spoke of ancient plastic surgery involving an elephant’s head on a human torso.

Having enjoyed a couple of sundowners, I was relaxed and in no mood to discuss politics, especially with strangers. I feared provocation might weaken my resolve—and it did, despite my repeated assurances that there was nothing to discuss and that I respected their request for my vote. They persisted, asking why I wouldn’t support the BJP. I politely explained that their ideology was antithetical to my values, and that bigotry, divisiveness, hate, and falsehood rarely build a nation. I was keen to remain sensitive and restrained, though the Old Monk was stirring some mischief within.

“Oh, look at initiatives like Startup India and GST—see how things are changing!” they countered.

I reminded them that Startup India was stillborn, and GST wasn’t a BJP idea; they had opposed the Manmohan Singh government’s efforts to introduce it. With five or six tax slabs, its hasty and chaotic implementation caused havoc—credit for that mess goes to Modi!

“But it takes time to change the system!” they argued.

“What system are you changing? The BJP seems intent on destroying systems. Do you have credible statistics on GDP, jobs, agricultural output, or farmer suicides? Everything seems concocted, doesn’t it?”

“No, look at Nirav Modi and others who profited with Congress’s help.”

“I don’t know if they profited with anyone’s help, but they fled while the Modi government looked the other way. What did your government do with Raghuram Rajan’s report on NPAs and defaulters?”

“Oh, we’re trying to save Hinduism and Sabarimala! The census shows Hindus are declining in numbers.”

“What’s there to save? Hinduism has survived for over 3,000 years; if left untouched by internal termites, it will endure another millennium. The census tells a different story—Muslim population growth is slowing, yet you stoke fear. As for Sabarimala, the BJP tried to turn it into another Ayodhya.”

“No, we’re protecting the sanctity and holiness of the place.”

“That sanctity was eroded by the Sangh. What were you doing for five months in the name of that shrine? You have a reckless state party president creating chaos. His loose tongue spewed idiocy. You even made a martyr of an alcoholic who doused himself in kerosene and set himself alight. It reminded me of an old Malayalam film where parties vie to claim a corpse. How can we forget the infamy of abusing women in the name of Sabarimala? Didn’t we see a Sanghi poised to smash a coconut on a woman’s head?”

“That was a Marxist man,” came a feeble retort.

“You claim there’s a sinister plot between Christian evangelists and people like Amartya Sen.” I scoffed, unable to help myself, as I would have even fresh from bed.

“Gentlemen, name one significant issue your BJP highlighted in the past six months besides Sabarimala. Did you address the farmer suicides in Wayanad? The havoc caused by the floods and the state’s rebuilding efforts? The alleged lapses in post-flood assistance? Environmental degradation? Any existential issue facing the state? Sabarimala won’t provide anyone a square meal. There are pressing matters begging for introspection and action. You saw Sabarimala as an axe to grind, like Ayodhya.”

“No, the state government was against devotees.”

“The state government opposed troublemakers and Sanghis causing bedlam. The police were unusually restrained. How can you blame the state for following the constitutional court’s ruling? Why didn’t the BJP introduce legislation to resolve the issue? Weren’t the petitioners supporting women’s entry BJP and Sangh functionaries? Come on, you may gain votes through Sabarimala, but not mine nor my family’s. We each have strong convictions about the life we cherish.”

In hindsight, I told them I hadn’t wanted this discussion and hoped there was no rancour. They graciously replied it was their privilege to engage.

“If you vote for our candidate, you won’t regret it; he’s a good choice, you’ll see when he’s an MP.”

I smiled. One gentleman added, “You must also consider the candidate’s moral character.”

“Who are we to judge another’s morality? What is your morality? You’re soliciting my vote—do you know mine?” I forgot to ask what morality justifies abandoning a wife to languish.

Sensing enough was enough, they stood to leave, and I politely saw them off at the gate. By then, my daughter had sneakily photographed us and sent WhatsApp messages joking that I might be kidnapped!

I was introduced to The Hindu when I was about eight. My father was adamant that I read the editorial daily, regardless of whether I understood it. Such was his despotism! Among his many quirks, this particular insistence proved beneficial over time. I must admit, in those days, my reading of the newspaper began with the sports page. As time passed, I came to agree with my father that The Hindu’s editorial was a uniquely well-written piece, distinguished by its language and content. It was akin to the resonant voice of Melville de Mellow, the Indian broadcaster whose English news bulletins on All India Radio were more impeccably English than the English themselves could muster.

Melville de Mellow’s poignant commentary in 1948, articulating the nation’s grief during Mahatma Gandhi’s funeral procession to Raj Ghat—non-stop for seven hours—remains one of the finest moments in radio broadcasting, in India and globally. His command of language, articulate delivery, and sensitivity to the occasion are qualities sorely lacking in the shrieking reporters seen on Indian TV news channels this past week. For these clamorous individuals, a tragedy, a poignant moment, or a solemn occasion rarely shapes their reportage. Their insensitivity and vexing behaviour over a mutilated corpse are utterly deplorable!

As for the media, particularly The Hindu (which remains one of the few sober print dailies), its coverage of the Pulwama attack and Modi’s electoral gambit involving the Indian Air Force’s strike in Pakistan was so poorly reported that no international news agency deemed it even conditionally quotable. To claim that 300 terrorists or JeM militants in training camps in Balakot (PoK) were killed in the IAF raid, when not even a single dead donkey was found in the targeted area, reveals the pathetic state of Indian media and their shameless complicity in peddling the government’s flagitious falsehoods and malarkey.

N. Ram, you owe an explanation—not because of who you are, but because The Hindu is an icon, an institution, a symbol of conscientious journalism to many. The trumped-up jingoistic fervour on various Indian news channels since yesterday morning has been pure rodomontade, evoking revulsion. These outlets may now compete to put Wing Commander Abhinandan under the spotlight, vying to outdo each other for an exclusive on the pilot. This isn’t journalism; it’s voyeurism. When you lend undue credence to a snooty, grandstanding Prime Minister who thrives on falsehood, misrepresentation, and cunning, you rival Faust in a Faustian bargain.

Wing Commander Abhinandan deserves accolades for his resolute conduct in enemy captivity. His return is a profound relief for every Indian. Undoubtedly, we have many such Abhinandans in our military—but so does Pakistan! Our enemy is another country’s hero, and vice versa; valour knows no boundaries. Humans, my friends—flesh and blood, pain and contentment—cannot be reduced to grandiloquent narratives by jingoism, nationalism, or unethical journalism, whether about Indians or Pakistanis.

The Urban Naxal called Vivek Agnihotri

Vivek Agnihotri has a few credits to his name. Foremost he is a staunch defender of Hindutva and a conscience keeper for the BJP. He spares no critic of the ruling saffron party. Secondly he is the copy right holder for the term ‘urban naxal’!

Here in his Article “Why the SC verdict on Sabarimala is flawed”, he mocks at the majority judgment (4 to 1) of the Constitution bench of the Supreme Court in the Sabarimala women’s right to entry case. While conceding his right to opinion, one cannot help not terming his stand idiotic, myopic, misogynic and lacking in commonsense, let alone wisdom. Noodle-headed and those who cannot see beyond saffron hue jump on to his bandwagon and endorsed his article on social media.

He begins by saying that Sabarimala has nothing to do with gender equality and it is about tradition and rituals. He tells us at the beginning itself, he cannot see beyond his damn nose. He has no idea about the changes that came across in both traditions and rituals in Sabarimala. Did he know that the flag mast at the temple is a recent installation; the ‘Chithira attam’ ritual opening, a very recent innovation; coconuts used to be thrown on the footsteps (18 steps) by devotees while they climbed the holy stairway until some years ago, convenience and matters of necessity put stop to that practice; the ritual of rolling around, (prostrate) the main shrine- a vow of penance by devotees has been done away with; the holy furnace at the footsteps of the temple into which coconuts filled with ghee was poured and kept live through the pilgrimage season is now out; the ‘padipooja’  is a recent addition; devotees used to go by foot all the way from their homes, bare foot and with meager provisions but now journey is by air-conditioned luxury coach and cars; the customary 41 days of penance is a selective matter now? Very soon a cable car would be added purportedly to aid and facilitate pilgrims! What has become of the traditional rights of the hill-tribes who conducted their rituals at the temple? Brahmanism which Agnihotri zealously absolves of all wrong doings evicted the tribesmen and usurped the temple. This will soon be another interesting saga of litigation in the Supreme Court. The fraud called ‘Makar Jyoythi’ , or the holy beacon during Makarsankranthi that used to flare up in the forest yonder , which the temple authorities sold the gullible pilgrims  as  celestial beacon from the heavens  has now been acknowledged as man-made. Worst Agnihotri may not be aware that the presiding deity has been rechristened as ‘Ayyappa’ from the earlier avatar called “Dharma Shastha” (ostensibly a Buddhist name).

Vivek Agnihotri, you must check how traditions and rituals evolve, how one custom is superseded by newer rituals and customs. Wonder if any Sanghi has elementary knowledge of those facts. Then his amusing but dangerous take that as long as traditions and rituals do not hurt others they must continue. Well mister it does hurt, it does hurt women because many silently bear the brunt of patriarchal overbearingness which morons throw on them in the name of traditions and customs – whether they are family members, colleagues or subordinates. The ban Hindutva is trying to enforce on fecund, menstrual age women going to that shrine is nothing but a branding iron used to defile womanhood, mark her as servile to men. You may now say, “Oh women who go there are hussies flocking to the shrine to honey-trap the celibate God”! What a cruel joke Vivek Agnihotri!  Your spouse and kids, they must hang their head in shame!

You simply have no idea about the past, the history of Sabarimal when you use the borrowed word “Naisthika  Bramachari” and invoke a fable.  Can you quote one Thantric tome that can tell the so called celibate nature of Ayappa or the deity there? This was also looked into threadbare by the Supreme Court. I’m curious who told you that puberty arrives and menstrual age ends with clockwork precision at 10 years of age and then at 5o? Mister are you aware that women were going to that shrine until the Kerala High Court took cognizance of a writ and banned them from the shrine in 1991? Are you aware that women of all ages were going to Sabarimal until recently, a fact as vivid as day light? Are you aware that since 2006 the Supreme Court had sieved through every shred of evidence put forth by all the parties concerned? Which should also remind you that the God there has not been celibate, now for very long! For goodness don’t be unjust to the God of Sabarimala and insist he be consigned to eternal celibacy when many of you - the offended  faithful l(sic)  indulge and revel in epicurean life, orgy and fornication. Oh come on! We all know what kind of vow are borne by these men who go there. Not even 1 percent abides by the dictates of custom and tradition.

You claim our Justice System and Constitution is based on Western binary system. Goodness what the heck is that? The binary? Mister Agnihotri, one doesn’t have to be erudite, an academician or a scholar to know some basic facts. The worst self-infliction - the label of a buffoon is asserting something of which your knowledge is thin, nil or incorrect. Indian Constitution and Jurisprudence do have influence of the English, the French, the Roman and the US Constitution and laws. Above all our Constitution was not framed overnight, copy pasting from the West, but also imbibing various objective lessons of life down the centuries and the unique ideas thrown up by various reform movements.

Article 14 which dwells on the Right to Equality was influenced by the ideals thrown up by the French Revolution – ‘Liberty’! Liberty, was freedom from oppression; equality also underpinned the French Revolution, not to forget fraternity. Article 14 of the Indian Constitution which you trivalised as the copycat of the Western binary, states, “The State shall not deny to any person equality before the law or the equal protection of the laws within The Territory of India.” Article 15 (1) & (2) prohibits the State from discriminating any citizen on ground of any religion, race, Caste, sex, or place of birth or any of them. Now you and the saffron brigade would invoke Article 25 which guarantees religious rights and  freedom, but what you men do not realise is, if the rights  mentioned in the Article 25 violates the ones in Article 14 and 15, the later would prevail. This is the corner stone of Indian democracy and this tome   you rubbish as Western and unfit for the complexity that is India, is what dictates all men are born equal and the right to equality is paramount and inviolable. In fact the power that you derive to criticise and speak your mind is derived from this basic structure of the constitution.  Hence your stand is asinine, idiotic and nonsensical. The Supreme Court clearly defines the spirit of Indian Constitution, that when the beliefs of a group, of a collective threatens the right of an individual the right of an individual will and must prevail. The purloining notion folks like you proclaim, in this era of neo-liberalism, “collective common good” is dumped in the ocean here.

You seem to allude and I guess it is more a form of subtle and intelligent innuendo that the Supreme Court is insisting on women going there. You even asperse that the bench was dominated by men in a matter concerning women. Well what you ignore is the matter is more than women rights it concerns male hegemony and patriarchal hideousness. To put matters in the right perspective four of the five women petitioners went to the SC and filed the petition to allow women of all ages to enter Sabarimala were all with the RSS affiliation. It is no secret that the RSS was foremost in supporting women entering the shrine and said unfair traditions should be jettisoned. Why the volte face now is quite a simple matter known even to a child. The Supreme Court verdict clearly states that it is violation of Article 14 to prohibit women from the shrine and ruled that those who wish to go to the shrine must be free to go. You emphasise much ado on “devotion” and “devotees”. Pray do you have a yard stick to determine devotion and who is a devotee? 

You say triple talaq is a bad custom but calling women impure because of their physiological characteristics is not, amusing man! In the same tone one can also ask why dalits must be allowed into Hindu temples. Banning them is harmless. Untouchability is harmless, because if you have such marginalised people all menial works in the society can be entrusted to them! How would you differentiate between a harmless custom and the ones that hurt and offend? The Bombay High Court verdict on women entering Shani temple Sighnapur did not offend your tradition and customs?

Laws reflect the spirit of times. The Courts may have in their wisdom held a different view 70 years ago. The anachronistic colonial - Victorian puritanical hangover law, Article 377 which criminalised homosexuality and which the Supreme Court refused to strike down a few years ago stands shred away and thrown out today. Consenting adults having physical relationship is no more adultery. LGBT citizens are not anymore seen as pariahs, they get to lead a dignified life like any of us. Well your traditionalists must be peeved.

Your acumen makes one roll about laughing incessantly. You say that the Courts should only pronounce verdicts that are ‘implementable’! Well why then should we have Courts?  Each one to himself and let us revel in anarchy, the powerful wins over the meek and the marginalised. Worst still is your comment on the Court verdict deciding the 500 meter distance of liquor vending shops from State and National highways. Do you know that , the Court could have refused to make suitable amendments to the verdict on alcohol vending shops, because right to consume alcohol is not a fundamental right but as the merit dictated when a verdict has to be reviewed it was done. As for loud speakers blaring from mosques and other religious places, is it not a collective contempt and dishonor of the Court ruling by one and all? If someone goes back with a petition contempt of Court will befall on quite a few. Well mister this disregard of a Court verdict is by no means an achievement to be proud of for a society that calls itself civilised.

 “In case of Sabarimala, I believe, the interpretation of the Supreme Court is flawed and against the grain of Hindu faith and the religious freedom as defined by Dr. Amabaedkar the founder of the Indian Constitution.” Oh goodness Mister Vivek Agnihotri, you are blundering nonsense, idiocy and ignorance at every turn. In the first place there was no founder for the Indian Constitution. Mr.Ambaedkar was the Chairman of the Constitution drafting committee and independent India’s first law minister, not the founder. There were 7 prominent members in the committee and they were not nitwits or Hindumahasbha/RSS bigots.  Now, the Courts decide matters on merit and at the touch stone of Constitutional provisions and there the fundamental rights predominate. Hence you saying that the Courts are to honour the grain of Hindu faith or for that matter any faith is outright rubbish and a vacuous statement. India is not a theocratic State!

Have you heard of the Vaikom Satygraham (1924-25) which was against the Brahmin custom that banned low caste, dalits and untouchables from thoroughfares around the Vaikom Siva temple? Have you heard about the Guruvayoor Temple Satygraham (1931-32) which was for the rights of untouchables to enter the temple? Have you heard about the “Villuvandi’ agitation spearheaded by the great social reformer Ayankali which was to assert rights of untouchables to walk the thoroughfare? Do you know that the Temple Entry proclamation by the erstwhile Travancore Maharaja offended the traditionalist Brahmins and the custodians of customs? Have you heard about the consecration of the deity of Siva at Aruvipuram , Kerala by the social reformer Sree Narayan Guru a low caste? That was grossly offensive and against all tradition and custom. Well one can lay out to you scores of such iconoclasm and rejection of age long customs & traditions. Kerala society evolved through rejections and imbibing, all societies do and longevity of customs is only as long as the spirit of time.

I think Mister Agnihotri, you need to also read a bit of Kerala history and the role reformation played in the social life. I encourage you to do that than sit in your damn ivory elitist tower and regurgitate utter nonsense and ill will.

You state, “Judiciary’s foremost duty is the protection of that faith….” Again you blare loud your ignorance and naiveté if not gross stupidity. Go back get the copy of the Indian Constitution and read it, carefully and see if you can soak up the core values enshrined in it. If it does, you too would, I promise become an ‘Urban Naxal’!