January 29, 2012
The streets of Thiruvananthapuram are as empty as those of College Station on Sunday afternoon. So when the sun is mellowed by rainless dark clouds like today, it makes the perfect condition for long walk. Only flagged and unflagged government cars madly dash about blaring their horns. Some prostitutes must be deprived of their afternoon naps, I guess.
It takes 50 minutes for me to get to Statue Junction from home via Vazhuthacad and Bakery Junction. Coming back via Palayalam-Museum route takes 10 minutes less.
Fresh accident on the newly tarred Vazhuthacad-Bakery junction one way street. The victim: a mongoose. Tiny bubbles of blood still spouting from its nose as I walked past. Does the soul of a cobra get wings every time a Toyota side swipes a scampering mongoose? Do the souls of farmers who committed suicide get wings because Sharad Pawar is planning to quit politics? Can farmers who don't have facebook logins have souls?
The hidden purpose of the walk to Statue Junction was to buy T. D. Radhakrishnan's new novel "Francis Ittykora". One of the review blogs says it is a meeting of Da Vinci code with Umberto Eco. That is quite a chimera and I would be sorry for a novel that is ascribed such stretching across near opposite ends of the spectrum. But that blog review isn't the reason I went after the book. Last week, I exchanged a couple of emails with Rajeev about the Kerala school of mathematics. His b-i-l, a Mathematics professor, weighed in and recommended this novel that refers to Dr. J.J. Gheverghese's "Crest of the Peacock". The color plates and chapter opening quotes of the novel that I have glimpsed while browsing are both enticing and promising.
As I neared the Secretariat, I doubted if the shops will be open on a Sunday. Both DC books and TBS were open except for their academic divisions. At the TBS bookstore, also picked up R.K.N's masterpiece "The Guide". I think it is a must-have book for any self-respecting Indian home library.
On the way back, more shoppers and walkers appear on the streets after their siestas. Snatches of conversations pass over me with amusing Doppler effect. "Avan choppu kanda kala pole aanu" (He was like a bull that has seen red) was heard in front of the Public Library. I didn't want to stop and talk about the color blindness of bulls. It won't matter. Indian movie bulls even today time and again run after heroines in their red sarees.
As the road and consequently the footpath gently curves in front of the Corporation building towards the Museum, I am slowed down by a college-age couple in front of me. I am not in their world. Nothing else is either. The world lovingly stays away from breaking the pinky to pinky bond that gently sways between them.
At a bus stop, another staging of the decades old, evergreen, popular, high school-age drama. New faces, new costumes but the same script since the day boys and girls have gone into a classroom together. These kids must have just left some tuition center after the afternoon coaching. There was only one girl. Four boys attempting to make a conversation to her. The four form a great tableu. Hands over each other's shoulders or around the hips. Some of the knees bend. Couple of heads peering over the other shoulders. But a safe couple of feet away from the girl. Her body is turned towards the road, but the face gives them more than a profile view. She fakes inattention. Because of her posture, she misses out on the action taking a little farther away which the masculine gang of four can see. Standing a few feet away five or six more boys, silently mouthing loud laughs, high fiving each other, pointing and making fun of the attempts of their comrades. I have seen this short drama a thousand times in the 80s. I have dutifully played my role in them both in the 'talking team' or the 'laughing at team' in the first half of the 90s. After that I realized that team work is overrated!
I have written the above from the male point of view. Though I haven't read a lot of her work, I agree with Luce Irigaray that the written language itself is loaded against the female psyche. The magazines I have been reading dedicate special columns to 'female writing'. I find an abundance of both the word and the concept of intuition in them. I don't think my understanding of intuition does any justice to what these women mean by that term.
Spent most of the morning going through the fantastic and timely report on measurement of economic progress and development by economists Stiglitz, Sen and Fitoussi. They were tasked by French President Sarkozy to come up with better measuring systems for progress than the classical GDP. The report insists on the need for adding quality of life and sustainability to better assess the progress of a society. This reading was done partly in preparation for my talk at the Reserve Bank' study circle tomorrow afternoon. I am hoping to learn more from the questions and comments from the audience there.
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