Song of the Coastal Lillies

Neythalin Paadal (Song of the Coastal Lillies), a music video by Pedestrian Pictures.

Some links below.

Why the Nuclear Liability Rules need to be modified Dr. A Gopalakrishnan in DNA.
(Dr. A Gopalakrishnan is a former chairman of the Atomic Energy Regulatory Board of the Indian government)

Why The Media is Nuked, by P K Sundaram, a research student at JNU.

Koodankulam: Indian democracy under nuclear threat, also by P K Sundaram.

("When charged with sedition under the same section of the Penal Code in British India, Mahatma Gandhi said “sedition is the highest duty of the citizen”.

The government has resorted to slapping an 1860 vintage legislation (Section 124 A of the Indian Penal Code) against the agitating people in Koodankulam. In this colonial provision enacted by the British, “to excite disaffection towards the Government established by law in India” is defined as sedition. The cases, including 121 (waging war against country) and 124-A (sedition), have been slapped against 3,015 persons, including leading activists like Dr. S P Udayakumar, M. Pushparayana and Father Jayakumar..")

Starting Koodankulam reactor without sufficient backup water would be fatal, by R Ramesh, V Pugazhendi and VT Padmanabhan.

Koodankulam Anti-Nuclear Movement: A Struggle for Alternative Development? Srikant Pratibandla,  Institute for Social and Economic Change, 2009. 

Koodankulam Nuclear Power Plant Is Destined To Reset The Nuclear Priorities In India -- Buddhi Kota Subbarao, former Indian Navy Captain, Ph.D in nuclear technology from Indian Institute of Technology Bombay.

Vappa

Vilayatyeri Imbichikoya started his social work by taking TB patients to government hospitals at a very young age. Imbichikoya won the first Nawab Rajendran foundation award for his contributions to the society.

He was always busy helping out people to access their rights -- be it health, government welfare schemes or more routine things like filling out forms and applying for government jobs. (The formal education he could boast of was four months at school -- first standard.)

Sri Imbichikoya, Vappa for us, passed away at the age of 62 at Medical College Hospital, Calicut this May. I consider it a blessing that I could meet him and get to know about him when he was alive. And it puts the responsibility on me and Bena, Umma (Ayisha) and others who remain to carry the good work forward.

[the photo was taken after he fell ill, early May 2011]

Hi-caste lo-caste we no want all..!

High class low class we no want all
Everyone equal and god decide all..

I am reminded of that early 90s (was it Apache Indian?) song when I hear people say "everyone is equal", and all that matters (and should matter) is merit. Treat everyone equally, and that ends all discrimination in the world. Some more romantic ones go on to add that "Love doesn't see caste and religion." I used to think so too, at least for some period in my life. So I feel obliged to write this.

* * *

[Achnowledgments: A first draft of this write-up happened as a comment at one blog post by Ratheesh, and I used a slightly modified version while commenting on another post, by my friend Maymon. I strongly recommend going through Maymon's post and a comment there by Anu in response to it. I am thankful to Amit and Vinita whose comments there inspired me to work on this. Even now it looks incomplete -- you are welcome to take it up from here and add your share. Thanks in advance.]

* * *

Like in many Keralite 'Communist' families, I was also brought up with a belief that caste did not exist in Kerala any more. But as I grew up, I could smell the rot around. I heard even progressive people in my close surroundings (who I respected otherwise) making fun of a `parayan' or `pulayan' who got to a position of power (in the recent past there was a critique of an old Malayalam short story by C V Sreeraman on similar lines.)

I have the advantage and disadvantage of having born into an 'in-between' caste (OBC) and growing up in a fairly backward village/town in Kerala. In my school and college I had many friends from dalit and other backward communities, but when I went to engineering college, the difference was stark. `Quota' people suddenly became outsiders. I felt bad about it, but I could not escape it.


[image courtesy: People and Politics Worldwide India]

During my M.Tech. time I was shocked when a friend's mother (who is also very `progressive') advised me that it is ok to find a girl of your choice, just make sure that she is not a pattika or kazhukkol. (In Malayalam, scheduled castes/scheduled tribes are `pattika jathi/pattika vargam')

Even as I felt shocked at that comment, I realized that the way our society is designed, it is unlikely that I'd go for a pattika. (I had a crush on a fair Iyengar girl at that time). Even my dalit male friends have complained that it is difficult to find a good girl in their community, because they are all dark. Even in Tamil films, the heroine is essentially of the fairer kind even as she sings `Karupputhaan enakku pidicha kalaru` ('black is the colour I like..' as you'd have guessed, the hero is dark).

I still work with such issues internally, even though my beauty concepts have changed quite a lot over years. ('Karinguttayi' was one deregatory reference to colour -- used only to refer to the parayan or pulayan -- that has stayed in my memory from the childhood days.)

It is not just the skin colour -- I, like many others, often ended up judging people ('discriminating' is a bit too harsh, I know) based one one's fluency in English (or language in general), staying `calm' in a debate, even the confidence levels with which one speaks. (These qualities come much easier to those who are born in `upper' castes. That also I realized much late in my life, thanks to the `non-discriminatory' childhood. Not that I have completely stopped my judgements.)

It has not been easy working on the discriminatory elements in oneself, and trying to find out how others work on it. One may not have the energy for that always, but I have tried that whenever I could. People do change over time. Even if I am most comfortable with people from same/similar communities.

It is not that I have something against others. But at times, we can feel the distance. For instance, one person asked after reading Maymon's post: 'Lol! This guy does not want to reveal his identity, then why does he support reservations based on that identity? Thats what I understood after reading this post..' (I am not making this up).

How all can we address this issue in public spaces is sure complicated. A lawyer friend was saying in their law college in Bangalore, they fought and achieved a system where the names (of reserved category students) were not listed separately. It is debatable how much would that help. I feel it is more important to bring about an awareness that reservations are not a favour that we (when I speak as an `upper caste') do to some people, it is something that is essential and beneficial to all of us in many ways.

[Shall I say, to be continued..?]

Me and Sree

(I wrote most part of this note on Jan 1, in a personal e-mail addressed to a few friends. I have edited it a bit, have added the experiences of the days that went by in the new year, and have also tried to address the kind of direct and indirect reactions to that note.)

Myself and Sreejitha have been trying to live together for four years now. It was difficult for us as it is for any two persons. Both us put a lot of efforts to pull it through despite differences, we stretched ourselves to accommodate each other and define a space together for the two of us (and later for the three of us). And now we have reached a point when we feel it is in the best interests of the relationship that we live in separate spaces.

It was my decision more than Sreejitha's, as it had become near impossible for me to live in such a physical space, putting in a lot of energy into that relationship, since I felt I did not have much space in this relationship at this moment.

Yes, one thing we still talked was the household. And I do not want to undermine the importance of managing the household. But I felt I could manage the household better if I did not live with Sreejitha. I could cook more often, I could wash my own clothes.. because I do not have to spend a lot of energy trying to sync myself with another person who is more or less completely living in a different world.

I have spent four years spending so much of my time and energy in this relationship, and let me add that I do not regret that. I think I have gained a lot from this relationship, as did Sree. In fact, I do feel good that we have reached a point where Sreejitha has become more of a person (in her own choice of words). This is a point when I can afford to think of leaving her to herself.

One reaction that Sree got was that "one should invest in the relationship". To that I would ask, is a relationship only about being together? Is it not possible that a relationship fares better when separated physically? That two people can understand each other better, understand where the relationship stays now and understand where can these two people go forward from here?

I know there are many people who do stay together in even more stagnated stages, but it is just that I do not find it worth two lives. I do not consider this parting of ways an end of the relationship, nor do I want to call it a 'break-up'. We did not want our love and respect for each other to make way for intolerance and irritation with each other. We felt this is how the relationship can grow from where we were, and from my experience of the last few days I can tell you that this has indeed been the case. I am happy with that.

At some point we may get back to staying with each other again. Till then, let us both take separate courses in life. (pun intended).

Don't be jealous.

Yours
Sudeep

Tree and me

"Is it the thirst before paper
That is getting suffocated in my poem?

Is it the song of green that you kept for the sun
That is coming out as a cry in my words?

Or, am I playing this game of words on a poem of yours?.."


For those who can not understand Malayalam; For those who are having trouble reading Malayalam fonts; And for those who have not yet visited Kavithakkoridam (A space for poetry). Thanks, Rasheed!

[image source: Marakkara, kavithakkoridam. courtesy k p rasheed]

Mother, you were ahead of time

["Many Native Americans regard the Milky Way as the path followed by the souls of the dead. According to the Zulu and Ndebele people of southern Africa, the stars are the eyes of dead ancestors, keeping watch on the living from above", Encyclopedia of Myths]



The dead people becoming stars and blinking at you from the skies seems to be one piece of imagination that cuts across civilizations. Priyadarshan used it in his first big hit Chithram in Malayalam. Men and women wiped their eyes when Mohanlal asked Ranjini to look for him in the sky. "O the blinking stars, among you I seek the pretty faces that left me.." goes one song in another Malayalam film Purappad.

So has my mother become a star too? May be.

But as far as I know, she has always been a star.

With absolutely no intentions to compromise, with an immense desire to break free of the bonds that tied her, she traveled ahead in time. It is no wonder that she could not stretch it long.

(It is better to live a tiger's life for a day than live a dog's life a hundred years, my dad used to tell me. With no disrespect to the dog's life, I take the spirit of that saying.)

It will take many people like her before mothers become more than that.

Two years back for a Mother's day I wrote on what I learnt from her, thanks to rediff. After her death, I first wrote this and then this. This mother's day when I sit down to write on her again, I realize she is very much alive.


[in the pic: mom and dad, a rare scene]

Don't abuse the E-word

A three month old kid loses father. By "mistake".

"Dibrugarh, May 6: ..The 6 Jammu and Kashmir Rifles shot dead 24-year-old Budheswar Moran “on suspicion” of being a hardcore Ulfa militant. It said the “encounter” occurred at Laopatty in Assam’s Tinsukia district.

Budheswar’s family and those who knew him, however, insisted he was a watchman at a tea estate.

The resident of Kordoiguri village, under Doomdooma police station, was married with two children, the younger barely three months old.." (The Telegraph, Monday May 7, 2007)

And today's paper says: "..“The killing of Budheswar Moran was an unfortunate incident and my heart goes out to the innocent family members of the victim. Let me assure you that all those found guilty will face strict and exemplary punishment,” the general-officer-commanding of the Dinjan-based 2 Mountain Division, Maj. Gen. N.C. Marwah, said at a hurriedly organised media conference at Tinsukia Circuit House.." (Killing was a mistake: army).

Why do we continue to abuse the E-word? Especially in the north-eastern states where army has the power to kill anyone on mere suspicion and get away with it?


[Earlier post: Conflicts]

* * *

Follow-up (added on May 13): Army apology cuts no ice - Tinsukia to Lower Assam, highways under siege (The Telegraph, May 11)
"Dibrugarh, May 10: The army’s apology for mistakenly killing Budheswar Moran may have prompted his family to finally accept and cremate the body today, but it did little to stem the tide of protests over the incident.


[Image: Moran's widow with younger child.]

A 5,000-strong crowd blocked National Highway 37 at Doomdooma even as Moran’s family, relatives and friends accepted his body, which had been lying in a Tinsukia morgue since Sunday.."

None of them is me (Female voice - Lyrics)

(at least as of now)
i can not be what i am
i can not just be me
i'm asked to play out a number of roles
none of them is me
so at least as of now
let me play out those roles
and do that in style..

stay away from me
stay away from me
i'd rather not have you near
when i can not be me

(i can take a back-seat
show cold storage to dreams
it sure does burn me, but
i will pretend it does not)

i love you dear, but the world won't let me have you
i love you dear, but reality kills me
i am dead, but i don't want you to die
and
i can't stand you seeing me die..

i can feel the pain
that you are through
but there will be a time
when you come to terms with it
and then come out of it..
(i know, with some deep wound scars
that make good identity marks..)

leave me to burn alone
leave me on my own
i have to be cruel to tell
don't care for me..

i love you dear, but the world won't let me have you
i love you dear, but reality kills me
i am dead, but i don't want you to die
i am dead, and i want you alive..

(for R)

Responsibility of Deaths

On Feb 28 I learn about the demise of Ronald Rebello. He was 25. I am shocked. I, like many others, remember him largely through his letters to the editors ("I am a Human Rights Activist and a regular Letter Writer with special interest in Adivasi struggles and Justice issues..", he introduces himself in his blog). I also remember a mailing list that remained active because of him. RIP Ronald, and RIP manavbachao!


My mother A V Pushparjini is taken to the ICU of Elite Mission Hospital, Thrissur on March 3, where she is declared dead on March 6 evening. That death has made me older. It makes me reflect on a variety of things, and puts some responsibilities on me. (Sreejitha says she feels the same.) I also feel her closer to me than ever before. Sans the barriers of this world, sans the social and familial pressures.. now I can love her as much as I want. So can Sreejitha.


March 14: Police open fire at local people at Nandigram, West Bengal. (I read about it in the newspapers the next day morning. I feel numb). Official statement by the WB Government says 14 died in the firing. The reports coming in from Nandigram puts the death toll above 50.


On March 19 newspapers carry the news of Pak Cricket Coach Bob Woolmer found dead in his hotel room in Jamaica. It disturbs me.


A mail from a friend dated March 20 says,

"Com M Iqbal, a former leader of SBI employees, former councilor of Kochi Corporation, a well known writer and theoretician on music, grand son of the first malayalam gazal singer Sara Gul Muhammed passed away this morning due to a heart attack. his body will be cremated tomorrow morning 11 AM at Mattanchery.."

The mail gives links to Iqbal's orkut profile and homepage. In his orkut profile he says,
"about me: love music, art and literature. feel all human are one."

His sons have put up a note on his profile now.

[On googling I find an older obituary: "Multi-lingual singer of yesteryears, Sara Gul Mohammed, (83), died here on Monday (Feb 23, 1998). A childhood friend of the legendary singer, M S Subbulakshmi, Sara, who began singing at the age of nine, is stated to have had the distinction of being the first woman to have her songs recorded on gramophone. Her talent was first spotted by her mentor Gul Mohammed, whom she married later.."]


By the time I got back to the world of internet and the world of friends everywhere, I am caught in a web of deaths.

And I learn that every death puts some responsibility on me. On Sreejitha. And on each of us.

[This post was inspired by a poem that Sreejitha wrote, in Malayalam]

Can we make Saji sing again?

Saji Chandran, 26 years. Looks younger. Hails from a village in Kannur district of Kerala.

He used to be part of "Ganamelas" (stage orchestras) till five months back. He penned lyrics, put tunes and ruled the stages. And spent his spare time drawing and painting.

Till he fell ill, both his kidneys failed. Learning in a shock that he needs a kidney transplant in less than two months to stay alive.

He's in the hospital bed now (Amritha Hospital, Ernakulam), needing a lot of money (at least Rs 3 lakhs) for a transplant. His mother is standing beside him. She is willing to give her kidney. Father Ramachandran died early.

His friends and local people have tried collecting some money, but they couldn't get more than Rs 40,000.

Can we help him?

[In the picture is an article on Saji, by my friend Rasheed, that appeared in Malayalam daily Madhyamam on Sunday 18th February. Read the article (in Malayalam) : [pdf] Page 1 Page 2]

Rain: Most unromantic

My friends are sleeping on a pavement. The water levels have risen, and it has become impossible to stay there any longer. I ask them where would they go, but there isn't much choice before them. All other pavements are already taken by someone or the other. The situation is not much better for them either, as the levels continue to raise. There's one tea-shop below ground level, and it becomes a pond when it rains. It is one of those smaller towns, probably somewhere in Kerala. Two little friends of mine, a boy and a girl, try to move to the nearby town. But by then, that town has become part of the first, as the city grows..



[It was raining last evening. It was also quite cold. I had an umbrella but my pants got wet. It wasn't so good a feeling. There have been times when I enjoyed getting wet (and rain was so romantic) but it wasn't like that yesterday. I shivered, my knees pained, the wetness itched. I changed to dry clothes as soon as I got home. I felt relieved. In the night, the blanket fell off my head for a while. It took so much for me to have a dream like that.]

Waking up from that dream took me to the Mumbai of 2005. The deadly rains. And that July 26. About four lakh people on the streets, their homes struck down by the authorities earlier that year. The Shanghai dream..

[NUMBER OF homes damaged by the tsunami in Nagapattinam: 30,300. Number of homes destroyed by the Congress-NCP Government in Mumbai: 84,000.

How agonised we are about how people die. How untroubled we are by how they live..

Some of us had read that one by Sainath. But even those who read it could not quite connect to what it would have been like for them during the rains. For many, it was about taxpayers' money, illegal occupation, stealing resources and cleaning up Mumbai.

We hardly cared to find out why so many people still keep migrating to our cities despite them being so unclean -- especially the areas they have to live in. And how bad their lives could be back in their villages. Not only in terms of being able to make a living -- also in terms of access to medical help, access to education for the children..]

..Some of my friends going door-to-door to collect relief. Disappointment on their faces, as they make many rounds and fail to get the message across.

The words are so powerless a means of communication!

[Wrting all this reminds me of another article titled "My Monsoons" that I read a few years back].

Love in (and after) the time of Innocence

I remember one my friend telling about the love of his early college days, when he was sixteen or seventeen. Passionately in love with a girl in his class (and unable to convey his feelings) he would sing "Main duniyaa bhulaa dungaa.. / Teri chaahat mein.." (Aashiqui was hot then.)

When the girl started seeing someone else, the track changed to "Ab tere bin / Jee lenge hum.. / Zeher zindagii ka / Pee lenge hum.."

* * *

I'm sure most of you would agree it is diffucult to love like we do at that age -- as we become, well, mature. (We are becoming marichor -- the dead, not mature, as another friend puts it).

It does make sense to me when someone says she is not immature enough to love, nor mature enough for it. So is the case with me, as with many others.

We can not hope to go back to the innocence, or rather naiveness, of our pre-degree days. Yet we can not deny the role of those naive days in what becomes of us in the later years of life. We realize many of the assumptions on which we based what we called love were wrong. We grow up to a better understanding of the world and our own self. More often than not with a bitterness somewhere inside -- a fear of the other, fear of oneself. It does not matter whether you "won" the love or lost it.

So what is it to be able to love without fear?

I love these (oft-quoted) words of Gibran, and envy those who can love.

["Elevation of the self": painting by Gibran]

* * *

Picture ki heroine jhoot bol rahi hai
Kismat se tum humko mile hain
Andar ki andar woh bol rahi hogi
Sach to ye hai
Kismat se hum tumko mile hai

[Thanks to Manaswini who once goofed the lyrics]

Pyaar ke Side/Effects

A friend, who used to spend virtually all day and all night actively on the web, says he does not check mail often now, and if he gets a spare hour, he'd rather sleep it.

That was a pleasant surprise.

There's reason to believe it has something to do with the relationship he's in. Cheers to the woman who made the impossible possible.

Love does have its side effects.

Conflicts

"I am afraid of certain words like fear, crime and foolishness.

I'm fascinated by certain words like brave, cool and peace.

But sometimes to be peaceful you have to grasp what is within fear.

And to avoid foolishness you have to be criminal.

To keep a voice innate you will have to be fool before so many.

I'm undergoin tremendous change in my mental make up. Trying to be able to accommodate so many bitter terms and be unconditional. I dont know where the ways will lead me to. But to be static is no dream, no truth and no goal. So I take up the journey now, if you meet me agin with same health richness and sanity, lets smile."

["bitter world. better world." by Sree, Towards a Language of My own]

She was responding to a talk we listened to at a seminar on Peace we attended,
trying to answer her inner and outer conflicts in this context.

Someone said at the seminar: "Conflicts are not necessarily negative. Without conflicts, you are static. Dead." And he concluded his talk saying dialogues are the right way towards resolving conflicts, not negotiations.

I found that observation interesting. The dialogue he talks about is not just between the State and Militant outfits. The dialogue between people, finding common areas to work with..

As we had observed before in this diary, our identities are becoming more and more rigid, and we are talking less and less. "The other" is becoming our enemy.

Can we hope to get back to friendly dialogues? I'm not sure. We have done enough damage to such prospects already. As a nation, as people, as religions.. But I still believe that is the way to go if we are to move towards a more harmonic existence (I'm not talking about one without conflicts).

I will sign off with a link to an article by the above mentioned speaker: Another 9/11, Another Act of Terror [pdf file].

"In this essay, I intend to narrate a story of another September 11, a story from the margins. It is the story of an ‘attack on democracy’, carried out not by ‘terrorists’ on a ‘suicide mission’, or through a military coup, but by the state in what is called the world’s ‘largest democracy’, and through an instrument of state terror on a section of its own population.."

Maa: death, inspiration, unrest

On 17th December, I read this mail from Gargi that said,

"my grandma's sinking.

i'm not feeling anything particularly about it.
other than wishing her a good death

was feeling bad days before."

Me too hoped she had a peaceful death. Two days later when I reached Kerala, I realized that Maa died a day before I read that mail.

Now she writes on her blog (after a long silence):

"she left me without a void.
she fills me.
just fills me..

not as memories,
but as a kind of inspiration.
(she'd written in her diary
that was published somewhere
"inspiration is a mere reason
to hide your own emptiness.." )
i agree,
and i agree to this too
that i'm empty.
i need to fill it up.

wanted to write something about her.
she seems vast.huge.unfathomable.
yet.."

True, she is such an inspiration. Ma for some, Comrade Mandakini Narayanan for some. I have been trying to read up on her, and every time I am left with a feeling of wanting to know more about her. More about this world. More about people. More about myself.

[News on Mandakini's death: Times of India; The Hindu story: A revolutionary to the core]

Long Hair Blues

Growing long hair is not as easy as it looked. I'm learning it the hard way!

The hair strands get entangled often;

They collect all the dust and go wary when you're traveling;

If you don't apply oil it is difficult to manage;

If you apply oil it becomes even more difficult to manage;

You can not pick any shampoo-- you have to be very careful about picking the right shampoo;

Then you need a conditioner, and the right one (otherwise it worsens things);

Earlier I used to have bath and come out in three minutes flat, now it takes about fifteen minutes;

It takes another five minutes (at least) to comb the hair (and it is quite painful, untangling the knots) ...

I remember the days when I used to get irritated when mom (or other women at home) took time with their hair. I remember them with great respect-- unlike me, they didn't have much of a choice between growing the hair and keeping it short!

And I feel pity for those (short-haired) guys who have "long hair" in their concept of an ideal match:-) Unless, of course, they are looking for a mate who can manage things better than them.

Happy Christmas, in Rappai's name

Theetta Rappai (that translates roughly as "eater Rappai") passed away.

A piece on him that appeared in Telegraph.co.uk four years back: Restaurants ban India's 'Big Eater' (26/08/2002)

This diary won't be very regular for the rest of the year. So here's Christmas and New Year wishes in advance!

Deepa aur Shabnam (and Kunhimema)

They are women at the creche.

Deepa reminds me of Kunhi mema, my mother's younger sister. Both of them look very similar (Ok, Kunhimema looks much smaller now-- really true to her name-- she has shrunk over years) and both have a deep sadness written on their face. Even the clothes Deepa wears remind me of mema.

Or may be everyone who goes through such hardships look the same. I don't know about Deepa, but I have grown up seeing different stages of my mema's life.

Singing romantic film songs ("Devathaaru poothu..") in her teens, with some sadness in it even then;
Taking us to the Kasturba Gram and issuing children's books for us from the library for us;
Her marriage (we really celebrated that one, I can't remember any other wedding as much);
Eating pork at her place (it was yummy!)
Her husband (he became our pappan) who used to run a mini van and later a Toddy shop;
Going for a Mohanlal-Priyadarshan comedy film with the newlyweds;
Having rabbit's meat at pappan's shop once;
Playing with their children Sreekanth and Sreejith;
Pappan dying of heart attack young;
Mema carrying the family on her shoulders..

She knit flowers to make garlands for god at a temple in the morning,
Worked as a peon at a bank;
Later she lost that temporary job and went to a bakery (after the garlands were made)..
Her body shrunk in the process.
She developed pains in her body, was admitted to hospital once or twice;
Doctors asked her to take rest but she could not afford it;
She takes medicines.. but she hasn't given up.
She goes on.

She cries well-- One funda of her life is that when you're at a house where someone has dead, you should really cry loud, and it would make the people there feel good :)
(She did that at her marriage also, like many other girls, to make her parents feel good).

Ok this has already become so long.. I'll write about Shabnam (and things/feelings/people I associate with her) in another post, hopefully sometime soon.

The moon, the sun and Pooja

In this earlier post I talked about Excitement. Yesterday I receive another mail from Pooja. This time it's more of a curiosity that it evokes in me than excitement.

"..In a city of all unexpected places, among a Muslim community whose hairs stand on end in sight of my bizarre outfits, the endless parade of men and women of various ages and forms who come and go, my pumping up the tires of my circus cycle, my solo-ness and unconcern over it and the absence of my mythical Himalayan husband… but who, nevertheless accept, tolerate, and support me.."



"..I am running of all things, appropriate at once and also absurd, an art and performance gallery- draavidia, the first one of its kind in the little macondo city of cochin (and arguably in kerala.) (Ten years ago now started by a philosopher poet.) a funky east meets west in a pooja-kinda-way pricey shop (the lunar shop) and helping with a funky café (the solar café). i make herbal tea potions again- this time of vanilla pods, saffron, licorice, fennel.."

"..I love you. I need your support and blessings and letters and visits. I need financial support. I could bring so many of the amazing traditional and contemporary performance artists I know in kerala here if I had money...i need great music to play for full moon dance parties. If you’ve always wanted to come to India and have had no excuse. Come! You can stay here and help or do a residency…besides which there are plenty of beautiful places to choose from in kerala to live- by the ocean, in the mountains, in the woods…"

"..its not unlike the storytimes at simon's rock, not unlike the sunday potlucks in portland, not unlike what you might fathom, colorful, eclectic.."

Here's the address to send letters or other contributions:

pooja
draavidia art and performance gallery
customs boat jetty
fort cochin
ernakulam district
kerala
india

She says she'll be there till feb/march for sure.

Happy Deepavali (I miss the month of Ramzan)

Happy Deepavali to the readers for whom it means much. To me it meant a holiday till I reached Nagpur to do my engineering, where it meant a month of holidays. And then eventually a festival that many of my friends celebrated. Who get goodies from home when they come back after the holidays.

And I miss the month of Ramzan back home. It did mean a lot to us in our school days. (My friend here asks me if I could write this without fear if I were a Muslim. I leave that question to you. On second thoughts, how does it matter when one is living every moment in fear and in pressure to prove one's Indianness?)

Ok, we were talking of Ramzan. Yes it meant a month of holidays-- when I was in primary school (till 7th std) Ramzan used to coincide with the month of June. Our school, along with other "Muslim" schools, closed one month late and opened one month late on 1st July when all other schools opened on 1st June. It also meant Patthiri and Irachi (thin Rice roti and chicken/mutton/beef) coming in from the neighbourhood houses in the evenings. And more..

Things aren't so good these days-- a Hindu has to wear signs of being a Hindu (one my little friend in class 2 asked his parents why wasn't he wearing a tika when every other Hindu child in his class did), and a Hindu is not really welcome in a Mosque (this doesn't apply to temples, as "non-Hindus not allowed inside" or "ahindukkalkku pravesanamilla" board was always there). Don't know where we are headed..

Let that not stop the celebrations. Happy Deepavali and Id Mubarak!!

[image courtesy : "jung aur aman"/anand patwardhan]