November 5, 2011
Mosquitoes are awful as morning alarms. But they can be very dutiful. Soon after 5am, I was pestered awake by the persistent droning. It was as if she insisted that I turn off the fan so that she can feed somewhere on me peacefully without being buffeted away by the breeze.
As soon as I wake up, I usually remember Vaikkom Mohammad Basheer and recall his statement about thanking the universe for the gift of another day to be spent admiring its beauty. Before the hernia became bothersome, I used to follow the yoga principle of waking up like a dog, stretching pleasurably in bed. Nowadays, getting out of bed is a slow, careful, measured process that demands constant attention to the movement of the intestine within my belly.
Since Achan and Amma were not going to be up till 6, I came back to bed with the English translation of Jean-Baptiste Tavernier's travels in India in the 17th century. Before Achan poked his head through the door curtain at 6am, I could finish the introductory biography section. Impressive life as a diamond and jewels trader with six voyages to the East from France. It's great to go back centuries in time across the oceans without even leaving one's bed in the morning.
To protest the 14th fuel price hike since last year, a state-wide vehicles strike was called today. Private vehicles were exempt. So Amma decided to drive the new car to the bank. Ravi would ride along to provide necessary guidance till she develops a feel for the car. Accustomed to the good old car with its tight gears and non-power steering, Amma put a little too much stress on the new one as she drove away. But she is a quick learner.
Yesterday evening while I was pacing up and down from the verandah to the dining room, M uncle came to his gate. "Unni, come here" he waved to me. I obeyed. "Amma was saying you were interested in a pass for the Soorya festival" he revealed a laminated card and a folded up program sheet. Great! After my hospital stay, I should be able to watch the Tamil film festival at the nearby Kalabhavan theater that is part of the fest in the last week of November. Both old Sivaji Ganesan classics and 5 good new movies will be screened. December first week is Mohiniyattam festival. Then there are some lectures and talks, poetry and story evenings extending into January when the festival closes. Good stuff.
I was too anxious to read what Ibn Batuta says about Kerala. Hardly 3 pages of material is what I could find in a quick browsing. He was deeply impressed by Calicut port's wealth. Part of the fleet that was supposed to carry him to China is shipwrecked in Malabar coast. The man travels in style with his bunch of slave girls in his own quarters which should also have an attached bath. Since he misses the cruise from Malabar, he travels to Quilon (Kawlam in the book) through the inland waterways in 10 days. Prolonged stay in Quilon. He mentions the abundance of Chinese traders in the area and the extreme personal wealth of the Kerala merchants. The richest of them all is, of course, the sovereign king whom he calls Tiruwari. The notes in the appendix misinterprets Tiruwari to be a reference to Tirupati. Rather lame. From the reading of Dr. Menon's history of Padmanabhaswami temple, I know this to be 'Tiruvadi' as the Venad kings were called since the beginning of their dynasty. If they had enough wealth to dazzle Ibn Batuta in the beginning of 14th century, it is not difficult to imagine how much more would have been added to Padmanabhaswami temple in another 500 years.
I spent the morning reading Kutty Krishna Marar's 'Bharataparyadanam'. It is a collection of essays on the Mahabharatha. His erudition is stunning. I grew more and more ashamed of the rather juvenile way I was reading the grand epic. Marar's work brought back the lessons I had long forgotten from Harold Bloom's incisive "How to Read and Why?".
Marar interprets different verses and episodes of the epic while expertly tying them to modern life. In an essay titled 'Vyasante Chiri' (Vyasa's laugh) he discusses the Rishyasringa episode. Sage Vibhandaka brought up his son, Rishyasringa, in the forest, far away from civilization so that he will never be corrupted by the company of women (which is the most common cause of downfall of the sages). Anga kingdom under King Lomapada suffers severe drought. Scholars rule that only the presence of Rishyasringa in the kingdom can bring back rain. But how to bring the secluded young sage to the kingdom? An old prostitute accepts the challenge. She camps outside the forest and sends her talented daughter to seduce Rishyasringa while his dad is away. Rishyasringa is completely awed by the sight, sound, touch and feel of a woman. His dad returns to find him totally distracted. Rishyasringa describes the strange sage 'boy' who had visited him and confesses that he cannot stop thinking about their time together. Vibhandaka realizes the danger and strictly warns his son. Yet at the next available opportunity the sage junior runs away with the prostitute junior.
Marar points out the big laugh Vyasa is having at the severe austerities and the hard discipline of their natural instincts that are practiced by the sages. And he asks if it is not relevant in our own times. Are not those kids brought up with their eyes and ears closed and closely monitored the first ones to break free at the earliest whiff of temptation? A dig at the fellow sages as well as a tip in parenting from Vyasya.
Marar suggests that satire works only when the underlying instinct is sympathy and not hate.
The car comes back with new number plates fixed at the front and the back. This means the big red sticker on the windshield stating that the vehicle is registered by the sellers can be removed. I stick it on my bathroom door. "Registered Hercules" it says. I like to pretend that I am a card carrying member of the mythological superheroes association when I am in the shower.
After lunch, I take half the prescribed tablet. Since I have been warned to watch out for possible blood sugar drop symptoms, I begin to induce them on myself. I am sure I felt a tingling sensation on my left feet. Now it is on my right. Was that a cold shiver running through my left head hemisphere? Am I sweating? Did it become cold or is it just a breeze? I wish I was this pliable to suggestion when I act in dramas.
Distraction is sought in short stories by Kakkanadan. I don't realize how two hours pass, symptom-less!
The evening arrived with the sad news of legendary musician Bhupen Hazarika's demise. In the 90s, Amma had brought back an audio cassette with some of Hazarika's Assamese songs after she went to attend a training in Guwahati. In those days of ignorance, I was keen on implementing new study techniques and some magazine told me that listening to music in some unknown language helps concentration. So Hazarika's incredible music kept me company through many days of science and mathematics problem solving.
Even in an unknown language, his intensely indigenous tunes were enchanting. The silly study technique failed but I became a fan of quality music for life.
'Dil hoon hoon kare' with the haunting lyrics and gut wrenching rendition will be alive as long as there is music.
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