banyantrees dec 2009

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TheBanyanTrees Dec2009

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From the Editor

Hello Fellow Earthlings! Yet another year has zoomed past us. It always seems to fly by when we look back at it. It is that time of the year when our distant friend named retrospection visits us. He reminds us of all the good and not so good times that have passed us by. He makes us reflect on every-thing we have done in the past one year. And Reflection is what we wanted to do with this issue of “TheBanyanTrees”. Our December issue is based on the theme “Reflection” and we have tried to keep our creative content in line with that theme. I do hope you enjoyed the first issue of our magazine. We could not have been more excited to be back with our second issue. We have an amazing array of reading material in store for you. We promise you will not be disappointed. There is nothing like a good read is there? Happy Reading! Happy Holidays! Editorial Team

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CONTENTS 1. Some Salt, Some lime, A song and a wedding 4 Sirpy Jayaprakasam

2. Dude, where is my Coffee? 6 DreamVendor

3. Yet Another Monsoon Rain 8 Anuradha Chandrasekaran

4. Entertainment - Pearls among Swine 10 Aditya SriKrishna

5. Downcast 12 Nivethitha Kumar

6. Sports - Twenty...onto Thirty 14 Karthik Krishna

7. Photography 16

8. I watch 20 Dhivya Arasappan

9. Refreshing rendezvous - Of Presidents and poems 21 Divya Panati, Raghuram Godavarthi

10. Book review– The case of the missing servant 25 Divya Ramachandran

11. Scientifically Literate 26 Dhivya Arasappan

12. Upon reflection 28 Filarial

13. Travelogue– A path to Heaven 32 Prajakta Bhasale

14. Draupadi 34 Manasa

15. A day that approaches...approaches the past 38 Raghuram Godavarthi

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Some Salt, Some

Lime, A song

and a wedding

By

Sirpy Jayaprakasam

actually providing very little help. The situa-

tion was in dire straits and someone had to

take charge.

Unfortunately, right at that moment, my great grandfather who was sitting in the midst of this entire hullabaloo, had the sudden brain-wave to have a beeda. So he lunged for some-thing brown and tried stuffing it down his throat. Even more unfortunately, my Aunt seemed to be the only one who noticed the mishap. Instead of yelling from where she was, she daintily skipped to him, deftly pried the cockroach from his gnarled fingers and threw it out the door that was creaking from the banana palms that it supported. Silence reigned for a couple of minutes as everybody stared at this remarkable display of acumen and ingenuity. And then the applause rained like Houdini had just swallowed a tarantula and spit it out, alive. My Uncle and his father-in-law looked horrified as my Aunt slowly came to terms with what she had become - a leader. But she was quick and immediately took hold of the state of affairs because that was what she was born to do. Or at least, she thought so. My brother and I had a grandstand view of the whole episode. We were fuming under our breaths because our Aunt is Hitler per-sonified. In fact Hitler would need a mobile toilet if ever he was going to be around my Aunt. In addition to this, we were strictly told, nay screamed not to go anywhere or do any-thing. Now under normal circumstances we would have thought over this before disobey-ing. But the situation was unacceptable. The fact that she had the power to override almost everybody's instructions, including my Mom's, was beyond our juvenile understand-ing. Add to it the monthly singing competition in our family. She somehow seemed to win it every time. The others were made to look like their ancestors had been donkeys and this in-furiated us under-dog supporters to no end.

The wedding was to take place in a couple of days. I could see my mom running from pillar to post, my dad acting like he was running from pil-lar to post whenever the womenfolk spotted him and all others watching while stealing a guffaw, running from pillar to post; screaming and shout-ing instructions to each other. But nothing seemed to happen. It was like God, (with hard-hitting rock fanfare accompanying) boisterously said, "Let there be light" only to find the EB Bill for the previous month yet to be paid. The wheels never seemed to take off. It was obvious that most of them were just enthusiastic and

Photograph by vickness

Short Story

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So we charted a plan of resilience. It was to be direct, fail-proof, humiliating and long term. We immediately started busting our neurons' butt and after a couple of hours of deep discus-sion, the coup was ready. The plan was so sim-ple that it made The Lost Symbol, seem a com-plicated and convoluted piece of literature. The rationale was even simpler. It goes like this: How do you stop an old man talking about his only son's exploits in the US where his grandson is supporting a bunch of redneck capitalists throwing the ball with their bare hands and call-ing the game socialist football? Simple. You talk about your imaginary girlfriends, their imagi-nary daddy issues and so forth and bore the old man to a silent and peaceful demise. In Aesop's punch dialogue version: Pull out a sharp pointed thing with another similar, sharp, pointy thing. The Kitchen.

The Kitchen was where everything hap-pens. The proof of a wedding gone well lies in the food. Our sabotage plan was older than Adam and Eve's first kiss- replace sugar with salt. We slyly, quickly did it and scampered off elsewhere to wait.

Six hours passed and nothing happened. Guests started coming in and soon the house was filled with them. The hired carnatic orchestra started playing; it was equal parts of noise and cacoph-ony. The groom looked bored and the bride, even more. Everybody seemed to be winning the mega fake smile contest; the family, the guests and even the watchman.

Then the fruit juice started coming and we sat up, rubbing our hands evilly. The first guest had a glass, a second one and a third one too; no reaction whatsoever. If ever, they looked pleased. We were mystified and we decided to investigate. Guess what the juice was. It was lemon juice!! Our plan was foiled beyond any measure and we gave up totally. There was nothing we could do, as it was the only thing that had sugar.

We had given up all hope, as my dad went on

stage and took the mike. "Dear friends and fam-ily, thanks for coming. I would now like to re-quest Mrs. Gayathri to sing a song for us." My Aunt was waiting below, smiling like a manti-core, dressed up immaculately. She went on stage, cleared her throat and started.

A beautiful croak. Again and again, she started. All that she managed was to communicate that she was a frog in hunger. She did not under-stand. Humiliated beyond measure, she walked off the stage and into the kitchen. My Mom, my brother and I followed while my Dad tried not to laugh. Apparently, just before going up on stage, she swallowed a mixture made of pepper, turmeric and salt to clear her throat. Only thing it was not salt.

My Aunt went on a wild rampage. She was furi-ous with us and with my Dad for having pro-voked her into singing. In fact, it was my Dad who had made the mixture. Whoever knew my Aunt was allergic to sugar? After an hour, she sobered up. But she had one last responsibility to take care of before she was relieved of her duties.

The next day, two children were wearing the most garish clothes possible in the history of mankind.

Yours truly: Yellow shirt, green trousers.

Yours truly’s brother: Pink shirt, purple trou-sers.

She had had her revenge.

That was twelve years ago. We still go through the photos of my sister's wedding. We still laugh over it. Rather, they still laugh over it. Talk about hindsight.

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Dude Where is my Coffee? Croak! Quack!

DreamVendor

"Sometimes I wake up not knowing if I'm in my apartment or hers. I see her face only in the morning. Sometimes I stay longer, sometimes I leave without a word. No num-bers exchanged. No strings attached,"

D said as I was digging my spoon into the clam chowder in a breadbasket. I looked up at him. "Is it worth it?" I asked. He smiled. His lips had a different story than his eyes. (some serious writing) You kiss a thou-sand frogs, hoping one day, one of those ugly frogs will turn into a prince. You swim along a thousand ducks, hoping one day, you will have your swan (technically, a pen) by your side to see the world with. But is it worth going through those thousand frogs and ducks who croak and quack their way in and out of your life or the night? On a rainy evening, you sit by the window all alone watching the rain, with hot chocolate in one hand and drawing figures on the window with the other. Your favorite mu-sic keeps you good company. Not bad an evening at all, huh? But the mind thinks that this is a sad life and you need to get out and get some. Not withstanding the voices in your head, you head to a club,

drink like you were a fish and dance like you were a diva. Next morning you wake up and see the frog or the duck, your catch for that night, beside you. Either you don't know the name to wake him/her up or you don't know why he/she was beside you. You close your eyes mo-mentarily and open it gradually hoping you would see the prince/swan. The al-cohol has done its trick as usual and all that remains that morning is a hangover and a stranger by your side. (strangers, yay! strange!) Why is that you always feel excited talking to strangers at a social event or a place? You hang out with friends and have a great time. But when some stranger stops by and gives you all the attention you were hoping to get or weren't expecting at all, why is that new wings stretch out of your body and take flight to Maui? It is the excite-ment of the frog/duck that you just met. Some freshness in the air. You know it is just a frog/duck, but you are excited and determined to find out if that stranger is your prince/swan. You persuade. You act pricey. You give in. You give up. Time is

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spent. Money follows. More time is spent. Fi-nally you wake up to a startling revelation (definitely not for your friends, who sometimes know more about the person you are dating than you know yourself!) that you have been with a frog/duck and it is time to move on - to the next frog/duck? When does this search end? And how does it end? The answer lies with you and not the frogs/ducks. In their eyes and space, you are a frog/duck too! Are you ready to be his/her prince/swan? If yes, do what it takes to be one and see if it works. If it doesn't, at least you know you tried and you are better than the other. (Pulling myself back to where I started) Is it worth it? My answer would be 'Yes'. If you think otherwise and want to throw something at me, please throw your credit card, or at least your Starbucks card. I haven't had a coffee in their sea-sonal red coffee cup yet. Christmas is here! (Note to self: Don't digress). It is worth it to meet a lot of frogs/ducks. Sometimes you take with you a piece of them when you move on. It could be something good or something nasty, but it all ends (or so you would hope) in learning how to handle your next frog/duck in life. Or you could argue that you won't meet them and waste your time. You would rather wait with your ironed hair and pretty pink gown or spiked up hair and blazer for that flash of lightening. Sure, but just make sure you wear goggles, or at least save your ironed/spiked hair. You don't want to look like you were electrocuted (and you even tweeted about it instantly) and all cute and funny when your prince/swan jumps off the sky. (ouch!) I'm running out of space for this column and the year is running out of days. Damn, what a coincidence. As you approach the end of 2009 and embrace 2010 with all its surprises, I hope you meet your prince/swan. Until then, happy croaking and quacking! But keep the volume down, your neighbors might not like it, or you might have to answer to the Blue Cross. Wish you a fun-packed 2010!

“Why is that you always feel excited talking to strangers at a social event or a place?”

Lifestyle Column

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Sketch by Anuradha Chandasekaran

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Yet another monsoon rain… Poetry by

Anuradha Chandrasekaran

The raindrops fell down one by one Drenching me as it came down upon the ground As I stood there transfixed My thoughts wandered across a time long gone I remembered rushing through these rains Both of us clinging to the handle of that one umbrella Did we want to stay dry or get wet in the downpour? I wonder if we even the noticed those drops of water Another time, another monsoon day I remember waking up and not wanting to get out of bed I remember the piping hot bed coffee And a voice, a hand, replete with comfort and warmth Ah! Those beautiful rainy days, How I have cursed them When they were the cause for traffic on the road And all those tremors my mind went through Just because you came home an hour late Some joys, some fights Some smiles, some tears A raindrop sometimes personifies them all A raindrop sometimes takes you back Today I stand, without an umbrella Without a shield to protect me All I have, to give these raindrops are my own memories All that remains are few tiny drops of water

Poetry

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With a bunch of adventurous production houses willing to experiment with new directors, the In-die culture is here to stay. Not all of them suc-ceed and not all of them deserve the brickbat meted out to them. Some of them, indeed bril-liant are misunderstood by the audience or seem Greek and Latin to them. Here we see five underrated movies from the year that is drawing to a close and why they should have got their due.

Delhi 6

An ensemble performance cruelly reduced to a nonstarter thanks to a shoddily done climax. Delhi-6, at first look, had a lot riding for it. After the success and cult status attained by Rang De Basanti, the expectations from Rakesh Om-prakash Mehra grew to skyrocketing levels. And added to that the music of AR Rahman, that was his finest in a long time, knocking itself into the library of his best records like Roja, Thiruda Thiruda and Rangeela. A script written with al-most perfect precision and some brilliant se-quences that move the characters towards that

unification of principles (not story or plot, mind you) that turned out to be both the best and the worst aspect of Delhi-6. With the pushing-down-your-throat message climax being its only gripe, Delhi-6 was wee bit less than the sum of its parts. What was needed here was little justice and appreciation for a breezy two hours or so, with some of the best and subtle performances of the year. And Delhi-6 deserved that much.

Luck By Chance:

Thanks maybe to her illustrious brother, Zoya Akhtar generated a lot of buzz for Luck By Chance, a seminal look at the Indian film fac-tory with its myriad of characters, cartoons and buffoons. From a single viewing, we can be pretty sure that when Zoya started shooting the movie, she had a perfectly bound script in hand. If that was not the case, we wouldn't have watched one of the most endearing character

Pearls

among

Swine As the year draws to a close, Aditya Srikrishna examines the 5 most underrated movies of 2009 in Bollywood.

“There has been tre-mendous growth in the Hindi film industry over the last decade. Not only are new subjects discovered but often re-peated subjects find new treatment and come across fresh. “

Best Scene: Most of the Ram Leela sequences

that parallel Roshan’s visit to India.

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Based movies without squirm-ing in our seats, slowly losing patience. Beginning with the year's best opening credits, almost every tiny detail, includ-ing the name of the movie within the movie is etched with care. Zoya does a huge fa-vor by not resorting to Madhur Bhandarkar sensationalism and "realism", but rather takes us through a journey where we observe every aspect of the movie making industry in a way that manages

to break the fourth wall. It's tough to gauge why this movie failed the way it did, but it surely ranks as one of the top five movies of year.

Gulaal:

If I had got an opportunity to watch a preview of Gulaal, I would have implored the mak-ers to give it a wider release. For reasons best known to

them, Gulaal did not even get a release in Chennai. Neither did it get a release at major thea-ters in New Jersey, USA. An ambitious effort from Anurag Kashyap following the success of Dev D, with lesser known faces but with some of the most powerful performances of the year, Gulaal truly deserved better. Taking up a topic sel-dom dealt with - student politics - Gulaal had some amazingly written scenes with a different story and a radically different

treatment. With the quest for power as it's main theme throughout, with able charac-ters failing and seemingly pow-erless characters outwitting the former, Gulaal was as surprisingly good as it gets. With a great background score, references to John Lennon, The Gita, and some nice direc-torial touches, Gulaal is a film I, personally, loved more than Dev D.

Sankat City:

A few years ago, Kamal Haasan made one of his nu-merous comic capers, called Mumbai Express. As extremely misunderstood as it was, it was also one of Kamal Haasan's best scripts. Sankat City, maybe not as great, falls into a similar league. It isn't a comedy of errors or the traditional comic flick we are all so used to. The characters in Sankat City are funny without trying to be so. The sequences, most of them, are funny without trying to be so. As in the whole se-quence of events are funny on screen but not inherently so for the characters that are part of them. And that's one of the main reasons why Sankat City failed much the way Mumbai Express did. Most of the set pieces quite cleverly created, Sankat City had the stamp of The New Indie Movie from Mumbai.

Kaminey:

Though declared a semi-hit, Kaminey finds itself in this list because of the appreciation that it never got. Judging only by the quality of film making and plot device, Kaminey is the kind of movie that Guy Ritchie or maybe even the Coen Broth-ers, would have been proud of. Kaminey spoke of a number of factors in its favor - quirky char-acters, intelligent set-pieces, great original performances and some of the best lines ut-tered - the stuff that cult cinema are made of. Vishal Bharad-waj's gorgeous soundtrack and dialogues lend itself to the kind of film seldom seen on the In-dian screens - a film that in-stead of spoon feeding you leaves it for you to figure it out. And when you do, things do fall into place admirably well. That's the kind of cinema you watch with your thinking cap on.

Best Scene: Zoya managed to

rope in a number of actors for special appearances. One ap-pearance that stands out is that of Shah Rukh Khan, mainly because of the importance of the lesson he imparts to Vikram, the new star in the making. Spoken with the charm that’s Shah Rukh's own, it's a scene that triggers Vikram's

Best Scene: As Ransa and

Dileep amble back after getting a beating by Jadwal and his gang, you hear a very different version of Sarfaroshi Ki Ta-manna performed by Prithvi Bana (sung by the actor who plays Prithvi Bana - Piyush Mishra - himself). The timing and the song befitting the situation was quite understated but mar-

Best Scene: In the beginning, a radio announcer gives out a warning about an expected earthquake. It's not the main focus of the scene and is in fact, completely offhand at first. And towards the end of the movie, this event sets up a finale that though not en-tirely unexpected, comes as an ingenious touch when you see how it alters the fortune of the main characters.

Best Scene: That scene in Charlie's makeshift cabin, with Bhope Bhau and his thugs; small talk over vada pav and the best Mexican standoff ever filmed in Hindi cinema

Lights, Camera,Action—Entertainment

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Downcast

Short Story by

Nivethitha Kumar

Asha was on her way home when the November rain decided to play peek-a-boo with her. It

would drizzle for a while and then change its mind and fizzle away. Asha ignored the rain’s

mind games and continued walking. She was just a few blocks away from home when the

rain decided to go rogue and transform in to a heavy downpour. Asha had to take refuge un-

der the sunshade of a store on the pavement..She twisted her stole which had become wet

due to its brief contact with the rain As she finished dripping off the droplets of water, she

noticed the items displayed in the shop through the window. A particular piggy bank caught

her attention.

“Here you go darling. For this birthday, you can have this piggy bank. It is like your own little

bank!” said her dad as he handed her a brand new pink and white piggy bank.

Photograph by Sukanto Deshnath

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If Asha was upset, she did a good job of displaying it. She had wanted the new princess

doll that everyone in her neighborhood had. She was looking forward to her birthday so

that she could have the doll as her gift. This piggy bank was nowhere close to the beau-

tiful doll. The princess had a big flowing dress and even her own crown.

“But Daddy, why can’t I have the princess doll like everyone else in school does?” asked

Asha half hoping that her Dad would replace the piggy bank with the princess doll.

“Why don’t you take the piggy bank, save a lot of money and then by the end of this

month, we will have enough money to buy the princess doll. What say huh?” asked her

Dad trying to get Asha excited about the gift.

Just like any other eight year old kid, Asha thought dolls were the best things in the

world, only second to candy, and having a piggy bank as a birthday gift did not make

any sense to her. Not having enough courage to throw tantrums in front of her dad, she

just took the gift from his hand and walked towards her room.

Looking at the same pink and white piggy bank in the store brought back memories to

Asha. Right next to them she saw what was a today’s version of her princess doll. The

one that she would never have.

It was just another day; at least that is how it started out to be. Asha kissed her dad,

waved to her mom and left for school. She returned home to a sobbing mother. The

house seemed alien to her. There were people everywhere, voices all around, whispers,

whimpering, sobs, screams, and in the middle of it all, her dad.

She knew then that there wasn’t going to be a princess doll.

She heard someone screaming for money to pay the icebox delivery service. She looked

at her numb mother. She slowly walked towards her room and returned with her piggy

bank, never to see it again.

Asha looked away from the store and started walking back home. The downpour did not matter; it could not cause more pain than the piggy bank, the dolls or worse, the memories. The memories we create only to feel the pain of not being able to relive them. As she reached home, she wondered when was it that the rain water had started to taste salty.

Short Story

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Karthik Krishna reminisces about God’s incarnation in the cricket field “Sachin Tendulkar” on his twentieth year in International cricket.

TWENTY….. ON TO THIRTY

A straight batted solid tap past the bowler, a quick run and punch in the air brought up his 43rd century and 30,065th international run for India. Roll the clock back 20 years and 6 days. A firm footed on drive of a steamy Waqar delivery to the boundary. A curly haired sixteen year old Sachin in a white helment had just scored his first runs in international cricket on a dry-brown Karachi wicket. What about that mighty square cut of Akhtar during the knock of his life at the world cup in South Africa? What about the lightning quick pull shot for six of An-drew Caddick? What about the mighty lofted back-foot straight sixes of Kasprowicz? What about dancing down the leg side to heave Shane Warne over the Anna pavilion at Chennai and the many paddle sweeps? What about that mighty googly to Moin Kahn and that un-forgettable three wicket last over in the Titan cup against South Africa?

From there to the deserts of Sharjah, the high-lands of South Africa to the shores of Chennai, Sachin has revealed his master class to every-one who has watched him play. Remember his century and 90+ innings in the VB series finals, remember his 175 against Australia a few weeks back. From his first run to most recent, every run, fifty and century he scores to every time he takes the field there is something spe-cial – there’s something “Sachin” about it. Is it the effort? Is it the experience? Is it the class? Is it the talent? Surely, Sachin isn’t getting older, he is just getting better.

The quick hands, the ever fast feet, the steady head or the heavy bat haven’t changed and nei-ther has his humility, simplicity or level headed behavior. One thing though has definitely changed – expectation.

Photograph from http://shriyapatil.blogspot.com/ :

http://shriyapatil.blogspot.com/

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That first boundary off Waqar, no one ex-pected. His one run and that punch in the air - a billion did. For the masses, every century becomes an “I told you so” event. Perhaps his greatness and genius lies in this fact that he has higher expec-tations of himself than what a billion people have of him. His confidence, fo-cus and self-belief every single time he steps on to the crease are unparalleled in the cricketing world and are perhaps the-reason he is the most respected cricketer to date. Never in cricket history has someone been so feared and so re-spected at the same time by opposition teams.

Very rarely in sport is a person lucky enough to serve his nation in such high standing, but in Sachin’s case perhaps it is India that has been lucky enough to have his service for twenty great years. Many a player has become fa-mous just for the fact that they have been associated in some form, even negatively with Sachin. Kasparowitcz is perhaps the greatest example. What is remembered of him is the trashing he got from the great man in Sharjah – Sa-chin’s own Operation Desert Storm. Maybe the secret to Sachin’s lon-gevity, fame and success is his love for the game. Doubts were raised when Sa-chin couldn’t score a century early in his career, doubts were raised when he went down with a tennis elbow, doubts where

raised when he lost his captaincy, doubts were raised when one saw Sachin in every other ad on TV. His answer was always the same – more RUNS!There is something in a Mcenroe that isn’t in a Borg. There is something in a Woods that isn’t in a Singh, There is something in a Federer that isn’t in a Rod-dick. There is something in a Schumacher that isn’t in a Hak-kenien. That something isn’t talent, it isn’t class, it isn’t confidence – it’s be-yond all that. That something is indeed what separates the good from the great and the great from the demigods. If you ever have doubts about Sachin’s demi-god status – just ask Warne, McGrath or even Akthar!!

Don’t count the twenty years….If Ami-tabh and Abhishek can act together, why can’t Sachin and Arjun one day play to-gether? I am sure Sachin can :-)

“For the masses, every century becomes an “I told you so” event.

Perhaps his greatness and genius lies in this fact that he has higher ex-pectations of himself than what a billion people have of him.”

Sports Column

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Photography Section

Beauty and perfection seldom go unnoticed even within oneself.........Vanity?

Picture By Vasanth Arunachalam

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Photography Section A sprawling city in front of her....overwhelming yet inviting.

Something told me she is ready to break away from all the

shackles....a giant leap forward...

Picture by Vasanth Arunachalam

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Picture by Aanjhan Kumar

Wiggies / Schwyz 's shoreline - The home of the famous Swiss Army knife, as magnificient as any other little town in Switzerland, a

"Paradise on Earth"

Photography Aanjhan Ranganathan

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Wiggies / Schwyz 's shoreline - The home of the famous Swiss Army knife, as magnificient as any other little town in Switzerland, a

"Paradise on Earth"

Photography Aanjhan Ranganathan

Photography Section

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I Watch

Short Story By Dhivya Arasappan

I watch. There is a glint of mischief in her eyes as she begins applying generous amounts of shaving cream on her face. She looks to make sure no is around and slowly runs her father's razor over her cheek. Her tiny hands, slippery with shaving cream, are not adept enough to per-form the task. The razor slips and she nicks herself. She bleeds; she runs into her mother's room, crying. She is 7. I watch. She looks nervous. She brushes her long black hair and ties it back in a taut ponytail. But something doesn't look quite right- she pulls off the rubber band and starts again. A thick layer of makeup covers her face and shiny lip gloss coats her lips. They don't do her justice; they only steal attention away from her warm brown eyes. She checks her watch and frowns; she's late for the movie. She hates to make him wait. She is 18. I watch. She sits, twirling the loose end of her braid. A breeze blows through the window, making her red sari dance to its tunes. Slits of sunlight slip in through the curtain and fall on her face, giving her an almost heavenly glow. She adds an emerald necklace to her already richly adorned neck. Behind her, aunts and cousins gather; they fuss over her sari and her jewelry; they tell her how beautiful she looks. She seems contemplative, maybe a little fright-ened. She prepares for a new chapter in life. She is 24. I watch.

She's in a hurry. She doesn't want to be late for work again. Her 10 minute morn-ing routine gets reduced to 5. She looks distracted, like she has lots on her mind. Draping her dupatta* messily about her, she rushes off. She is 25. I watch. She sits, immersed in her thoughts, in her daydreams. Suddenly, as if yanked abruptly from her imaginary world, she gets up and walks toward the bed. She picks up a pillow and stuffs it under her kameez*. She admires the bump that the pillow forms in her figure; she strokes it gently and laughs at herself. She is 28. I watch. Armed with a large hairbrush and a bot-tle of coconut oil, she attempts to tame her daughter's thick head of hair. She seats her daughter on a stool in front of her and starts attacking the tangles. She begins retelling one of their favorite sto-ries. It is not a school day; she has plenty of time. She is 35. I watch. She sits, lost in her memories. Her once beautiful black hair is now almost com-pletely white. Wrinkles line her face - remnants of her every smile, her every frown, her every emotion. She sits, remi-niscing. She sits, waiting. Her daughter promised to visit this weekend. She is 68. And I still watch. I still reflect. Perched on a mahogany dresser, I watch and I reflect, as a mirror should. My reflections - they tell her story.

Photography by Bulianna

Short Story

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Refreshing Rendezvous Two Students at University of Alabama Hunstville relive the precious few moments that they got to interact with India’s former president, Chennai’s very own “Rocket Boy”, Dr. A.P.J. Abdul Khalam. Divya Panati’s meeting with the President One evening, I received this snail mail from the President of my University and I was un-der the assumption that it was probably one of those ads requesting a pledge. I left that mail on my dresser and it was staring at me for a few days until I finally decided to break out of my laziness and open it. I was awestruck to see what it read “The President of the University would like to invite you for a luncheon with the former President of India, Dr. A.P.J Abdul Kalam.” Have you ever seen the look on Oscar award winners? Just multiply that by a gazillion for that was what was happening to me.

This was a moment to cherish and a once in a lifetime opportunity (more important than the Haley’s comet sighting!) that I was not going to miss. And so the day arrived, 28th of October 2009, Wednesday; I believe that even Huntsville’s weather knew that an important person was about to visit and the clouds gave way to a win-ter Sun. The luncheon was held at the prestig-ious Davidson Space Center right under the last Saturn-V display; what a fitting place for a luncheon for India’s rocket boy, I thought. Finally it was 12:30; I was waiting with the rest of the Indians from various walks of life to meet and greet the man of the hour. A few minutes passed and then suddenly all the way on the left hand corner of the room I heard some chatter, words of admiration and ‘good afternoon Sirs’. There he was; the man, the legend talking to people and shaking hands. There was a cer-tain aura about this man that nobody could miss. A chance occasion lead me to wish the leg-end in our native tongue, instead of a “Hello” I ended up saying “Vannakam Sir” (meaning hello in Tamil) and got a quick acknowledgement from the Dr. So I asked him to give me an auto-graph in Tamil, and he did! There was a vegetar-ian buffet arranged where everyone stood in line. After the quick conversation, I stood in line

Interviews

22


I turned behind and there he was, this time he was asking me which of the dishes taste better as he skillfully avoided the vegetable skewers by saying “that fellow is dangerous.”

The next dish in the row was a rice dish which caught his attention. We exchanged words about whether it would taste good or not and then it happened! He started serving me some rice; I stood there gaping, not knowing what to say. The only words I remember uttering were “Podhum Sir, podhum Sir” (meaning that will do Sir) and then I finally said thank you and got out of that lunch line.

After lunch the man of the hour took center stage and people were waiting to ask him questions, he introduced himself as the Rocket man and expressed how the Saturn V hanging above our heads made him feel very happy and at ease, he re-ferred to the Saturn-V affectionately as "this fellow."

One curious guest asked Dr. Kalam what his favorite achievement so far was; He humbly replied by saying “I have not achieved anything so far and if I need to choose a favorite, I would like to go back and do research on rocket science.”

Following that a guest posed the question “What do you think the youth of today want?”

His response was “The youth of today want peace; they are trying to break barriers and convince the older generation that peace is essential for global harmony and they are starting this practice at home. They also know they can achieve so much in life and that nothing is impossible.”

Another guest asked what his vision was for the future and what his plans to see a developed India were; Dr. Kalam responded to that by saying that India is basically a country whose backbone is agriculture and that advances in science and technology to improve the sector of agro products will see India shine in the future. He also added that it was essential to provide free and compulsory education to women and children in all the twenty thousand odd villages in India; he strongly believed that a higher women literacy rate is key to progress.

He also talked about PURA which stands for Providing Urban amenities in Rural Ar-eas. And finally he talked about World Space Vision 2050 which would bring the world a little closer to see how they can star gaze and take space exploration into its future. After this, a guest asked why corruption plays havoc in a country’s progress and Dr.Kalam replied that corruption starts from your home and it can only be abol-ished when “we live with integrity and work with integrity.” And with that the meeting ended for he was already ten minutes behind schedule to meet and greet the Indian students from the University. It was easy to tell how excited he was to meet students again, for the teacher in him never leaves him for one moment.

Interviews

23


Raghu Godavarthi’s meeting with the former President

He stood there, an arm’s length away, and for the first time I saw him for who he was. At once, I was the shy kid who used to only come out from the bedroom when his parents asked him to “come and say hello to so-and-so Uncle and Aunty.” A sec-ond later, I was reading and absorbing his presence and reeling from the fatigue I saw on his aged face. It hit me then, here is a man older even than my own grandfa-ther, who has been on his feet all day, and he deserves now to put up his feet and savor a cup of hot coffee. Was I going to press my blundering self and meaningless questions upon him when he was in such a state? My thoughts turned as the re-porter from the Huntsville Times started off on his question. The newswoman from Fox 54 put her microphone on him (with his permission, of course) and we “settled” into the humdrum of a “press conference.” He was here to visit the space research facilities and to tour University of Alabama, Huntsville. He spoke about cooperation as means of making space travel affordable. I asked him about student exchange programs between universities in India and UAH- his estimation was “there definitely are opportunities.” He gushed about the facilities at UAH and felt there could be collaborations, especially in the area of space physics. My inner urge to seek out the man rather than the ex-President

Interviews

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made me ask - will we be reading about Huntsville in your poetry? – and in the pro-verbial blink of an eye, he changed. He smiled hugely, and with much animation, said that we might - “the ideas were flowing here.” I then presented my little book of poems as an introduction, and spoke to him in the language-of-home, and sought his blessings. He skimmed through a poems and autographed it – A.P.J. Ab-dul Kalam. Dr. Kalam, President of India from July 25, 2002 – July 25, 2007, is cur-rently the only surviving former President. Hours later, I reflected on all dominoes whose fall led to this chance meeting. In choosing to forsake ambition, and let life “guide” me unto the path of wisdom, I had met with some unforgettable moments. As Gulzar put it, when a moment fell off of time, only a legend was found, the moment nowhere. My own story is not studded with legends, but the moments have found form in my poems. I have struggled with misunderstood notions of duty, affinity and human happiness, but as I wake from today unto tomorrow, I know but this – I have met one more person on this beautiful planet to whom the very mention of poetry is a refreshing gust on a day of endless slog.

Of Presidents, and Poems, and human happiness

A smile, is indeed the finest finesse What stony countenance be that which poetry does not positively affect ‘tis but such like that forever shut out regrets Of Time, and Place, and gentle ironies A smile, mostly, will put one at ease Can history not bear witness? Will geography leave no memorial? Of tiny miracles, such as these

25


tries to prevent his mother from inter-

fering with his work. While he man-

ages his team with a stern hand, he

deals with innocent and fragile victims

with care.Vish Puri, respects Chanakya

but does not like Sherlock Holmes.

This book steers clear of the stereo-

typical image of India – yogis, snake

charmers and the like who are usually

associated with India do not find a

place in this book. This book is set in

contemporary India and it captures

the essence of modern day India-

slums dwell comfortably besides

sprawling mansions, villages with no

electricity co-exist with metropolitan

cities that have houses with automatic

flushing toilets. The young people

working in BPOs, the “Indian Eng-

lish” spoken by the characters in the

book bring modern India to life in our

minds.

Though the book is a work of fiction,

there is no Bollywood style out-of-the-

world heroism. This is a thoroughly

enjoyable work of fiction that is

bound to make readers smile at the

things they can relate to their life in

India. This book is not for those who

expect an account of the colors or the

rich cultural and religious heritage of

India.

The Case of the Missing

Servant: A Vish Puri Mystery

by Tarquin Hall

A Book review by Divya

Ramachandran

Vish Puri is a leading private investigator

in India. He spends most of his time try-

ing to find some dirt on prospective

grooms for the bride’s parents.

He is called upon to investigate the case

of the missing servant, Mary, from the

household of a rich lawyer. The book fol-

lows Puri as he tackles corrupt officials,

fights his weakness for fried snacks and

Book Review

26


Most potential to help - Landmark discoveries in the fight against AIDS

In the last year, three major devel-opments have helped make great headway in the fight against AIDS. First, the complete HIV genome has been decoded. This provides enor-mous potential for understanding the mechanisms utilized by the vi-rus to attack the human immune system. Secondly, two new anti-bodies to HIV have been discov-ered, providing new leads in the search for a vaccine against the vi-rus. And thirdly, in relation to the quest for a potential vaccine, re-searchers in Thailand completed the first successful clinical trial of a HIV vaccine in history. 30% of pa-tients administered the vaccine demonstrated a decrease in rates of infection. Though more work still needs to be done, these develop-ments pave the way to a permanent solution to the AIDS epidemic.

Most fascinating- Shiny Corn- The solu-tion to global warm-ing?

With escalating numbers of natural disasters around the world, con-cern about global warm-ing and its impacts is on the rise. Among many proposed methods for tackling the issue comes this creative one. A new study found that the waxy coating on crops like corn help keep tem-peratures down by re-flecting the sun’s radia-tion back into space. So, scientists propose engi-neering new breeds of corn to have even more reflective surfaces, to help cool the surround-ings. Very clever, in-deed!

Most surprising – Oldest known hominid found; concept of miss-ing link questioned

Till now, scientists have been searching for the missing link- the last common ancestor shared by humans and chimpanzees. Till now, the missing link was believed to be a half-man, half-chimp type creature. But the recently revealed fossils of a 4.4 million years old female shake up that very idea. The oldest known human skeleton, nick-named Ardi, surprisingly, bears little resemblance to modern day chimps. She shares similarities with older apes, questioning whether there was ever a divergence event between man and chimps.

27


Most exciting – It’s offi-cial – there’s water on the moon, in bucketloads! In October of this year, In-dia’s first mission to the moon, Chandrayaan-1 pro-vided early evidence of wa-ter on the lunar surface. This was recently con-firmed by NASA’s LCROSS mission, which intentionally bombarded the moon’s sur-face in search of ice. In the 20-30 meter crater created by the impact, spectro-scopic data indicated the presence of around 25 gal-lons of water. This find is especially exciting because it opens up possibilities, though distant, of long-term lunar habitation.

Most bizarre – Poop to clean up kitchen refuse

With all the brilliant and groundbreak-ing research, comes the weird. This study, this year’s Ig Nobel Prize winner for Biology, certainly falls under the lat-ter category. A research team in Japan has found that bacteria from Panda fe-ces can be used to reduce kitchen waste by more than 90% in mass. Great- less trash to take out! Now if we only had some panda poop lying around…

Scientifically Literate By Dhivya Arasappan

As yet another year draws to a close, Dhivya Arasappan lists some of the exciting, surprising and plain bi-zarre scientific findings of 2009 in our “Scientifically Literate” column

Scientifically Literate

28


Upon Reflection

Short Story by Filarial

Photography by Mrhaytata

29


Akṣapāda Gautama’s Gurukul…

“What is the difference between good and evil Guruji?” I asked. Gotama replied without opening his eyes,” Good is what you do onto others with-out expecting anything in return which is beneficial in its effect. Evil is what you do with the intent of harm onto others.” I absorbed what was said and queried further, “Guruji, why is it important to do good deeds and not what is called evil?” Gotama still did not open his eyes. He never got tired of the questions his Sishyas came up with. But over the years his re-sponses had become stereotypical. He replied, ”Young one, I have already introduced you to the theory of causation. You should have inferred by now that cause and effect should be homogeneous in nature, and yet the effect is a new beginning and was not already contained in the cause.” I was ready for this response. I had contemplated for half a year now and this was the way I had decided to draw out Guruji. I responded, ”Guruji, I have been doing something for six months now. I steal half a liter of milk every day because I know like clockwork the cowherd’s schedule. The conundrum has stupefied both Mataji and the Cowherd as to why the cow has been giving half a liter of milk less for the past six months as he knows through inference of the milk giving capacity as related to the weight of hay fed and its ankle size. Now though the Cowherd does not say anything in front of Mataji he curses the cow when alone for his repute is at stake. If I did not confess now nobody would ever have known. I did so called evil deed and yet other than the silent curses there was no other ef-fect. And I am also at peace with myself. And yet it is evil… What is that explains this situation?” Gotama opened his eyes,” Young one… what is it that you seek?” I replied honestly, “The truth Guruji…” Gotama said” Young one, it is time for you to continue your journey. I have im-parted all the knowledge that I can… I can give you an answer but you will not ac-cept it because you want to back anything that is said through the experiment of self.

Short Story

30


But young one- Do not forget the primary knowledge of Causality that I have imparted. In the case that you present your inference of the effect was easy because the inputs were controlled. Remember that young one.” I was scared at the answer that I got for this was not what I expected. But I said Abhivadhaye and asked, “Guruji, what is it that I can offer as Guru dakshina… “ Zen Arcade- 2000 so years later…

Have you ever heard of the band Husker Du? They came out with this album in the eighties called Zen Arcade that changed the phase of music. Almost every decade had such an album one could argue but it (actually an album, a book or a movie) takes meaning when one comes across the idea being presented for the first time in his or her life. The album followed the adventures of a disoriented young kid who is disillusioned by his parents and the environment he is in and de-cides to head out into the world to seek the truth. As the album progresses so did the young kid – he experiments with sex, religion and drugs along the way and then returns home, apparently back to square one, having discovered the world outside is even worse than the” safe haven” that was his family. The album ends with a ghostly song called “Recurring Dreams”. To me every-thing in the album made sense. I have always toyed with this idea. What If there is no ultimate truth? But the thing is each has to experiment in order to prove to him or herself. Some of us ac-cept it after a little experimentation that we have found god and ultimately it will be revealed as to why is that things happen as they do. Insanity I say! But what is the alternative.

I had an alternative that I had pondered with for years together now… and it made sense…. 1930 years ago…

It had been thirty years since I had left the Gurukul. And yet I found myself walking into the valley again. Guruji was on the throes of death and had summoned me. I somehow did not feel pity at his shriveled old body when I saw him. I had found that death did not affect me as much as life did. I don’t know why but over the years I had learnt that dealing with my inner thoughts was the first step to learning to deal with others. I touched his feet and sat beside him. He whispered,” Young one … “and he looked at me fondly. He continued, ”What is it that you have learnt? Tell me…. “I looked at him with almost anger…. “Nothing Gu-ruji… absolutely nothing! I do have a better understanding of the world around me or the people that reside here. But the question that I asked you years ago still hounds me. And now I have thirty years behind me to make a perfect argument that even you Guruji will not be able to counter. Yet I cannot get myself to do something truly evil” I sighed. Guruji smiled at me, “Young one to me it was not as much as finding the answer as developing tools of thought. The fire you had in you and that still burns in you burns in me even as I feel death come upon me. I am sure you have by now thought about…. “And I looked at him… it was not possible… how could he possibly know! And he smiled and continued, “There is one explana-tion that conscience must hold the true answer to all that… “ 1945 years since the Gurukul was left for the first time

I stood there observing a two week old kitten. He was furiously scratching the concrete floor and looking confused and then sat upright and… I yelled, “Bad Kitty!” The next day I saw a similar confused scratching and I carried him outside and put him on the ground. He continued to

Short Story

31


hole and did his thing. When he was done he got up and covered his poop with mud making sure the hole was filled! I was pretty amazed and it got me thinking. I wondered about the prepro-gramming that was innate to every living thing. I contemplated the concept of conscience and how it hounded humans into doing the right thing in more cases than less. Where is it that this was passed on from for you were born with it. I wondered.

1930 years before the Husker Du incident:

I looked at Guruji and said, “But you have never fed that idea to me Guruji.” I was a little out of my element. Guruji smiled,” Young one, the day that you put forth the conundrum for the first time I inferred you would reach the same conclusion.

But I had to wait for the experiment to happen and confirm the result. So what is it that you con-cluded? Did you reach the same conclusion? The only way to truly break away from conscience and yet not affect causality!

I slowly replied, “I think Yes… that you …. “I stuttered a bit”You… ummm commit...“

He looked at me eerily and completed, “SUICIDE! But how? But how? … How do you create the perfect accident?” I looked at him and whispered… and with that he took his last breath … I got up.

1930 Years before the Husker Du Incident and at that time too

I walked into the empty space. It was time to commit the act. But it was very important to create the right conditions. It meant freedom. True freedom. Maybe many people had come upon this conclusion and had carried it out. But the knowledge truly remained a secret because no one had lived to talk about it. Ha! I smiled ironically. All knowledge that Is passed on can only be applied with the physics of this world that surrounds us i.e., the interaction of Purusha with Prakarthi. But that was all an illusion and the conclusion that I had independently reached had been in-ferred by Guruji as well. It had to work!

I walked into empty space. It was time to commit the act. But it was important to create the right conditions. It meant freedom. True Freedom! Maybe many people had come upon this conclu-sion and had carried it out. But the knowledge truly remained a secret because no one had lived to talk about it. Ha! I smiled ironically. It had to be done this way; the inference of the kitten was but the start point. This was the only way to let’s say short circuit the system!

The conditions were right. I had planned every detail to the second; death came at all simplicity and…. I was free! I opened my eyes…. I was blinded and I heard a voice….. A strange form of com-munication but I somehow understood, “You almost got away the very first time you tried this... To think! Ha!” I felt a sort of eeriness… It was unbearable….

A baby was born somewhere… somewhere… and she cried… “Filarial was listening to two bands as he inferred the truth- “Pavement” and of course “Husker Du”. He likes to back his fiction with facts.”

Short Story

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My desire to visit the states of northeast India was fueled by a documentary, Incredible India — North East: A path to heaven, made by the Department of Tourism, Government of India. Around the same time, a friend who works in the Indian Air Force was posted at Tezpur in Assam, and he invited us to visit him.

My friends and I started out by flying from Mumbai to Kolkata. Our first visit was to the Dakshineshwar Kali Mata temple, situated on the bank of the holy river Ganga in Kolkata. The structure of the temple and the idol of Kali Mata were so attractive that a single glance gave us peace of mind. We also feasted on one of Bengal’s much-loved desserts, mishti doi.

In Kolkata, we boarded the flight for Guwahati. Our north-east trip had officially begun. The view of the lush green valleys below and the great river Brahmaputra added to the excitement. Within an hour, we reached Guwahati.

Our visit to Assam coincided with the celebration of the Bihu festival — the Assamese new year. The festival starts on April 14 and lasts for a month. It is celebrated with the

Bihu dance, a folk dance of Assam. While there, we visited the temple of goddess Kamakhya, approximately 8km from Guwahati.

The temple was built in typical Kalinga-style architecture. On the way back to Guwahati, we stopped at the city market and were pleasantly surprised to see the intermingling of Assamese tradition and modern influences. The city offers a lot of shopping opportunities. For ladies, saree-shopping is always an attraction. The speciality of Guwahati is the Muga silk saree, with prices starting at Rs3,000. The silk is expen-sive because of its purity and origin.The next day, we visited Umananda, the Shiva temple. We also went to Sukreswar Ghat and Vivekananda Kendra, backed by the Ramakrishna Mission. Our next stop was the Tezpur Air Force base, on the way to Kaziranga. I was filled with a sense of pride when I saw the soldiers there, serving our nation.

A path to Heaven Prajakta Bhasale of Tata Motors describes her trip to the beautiful, serene and unblemished northeastern states of

33


We reached Kaziranga at night. Kaziranga National Park is world famous for one-horned rhinos. The following morn-ing, we set out to explore the jungle. It was a treat to see a baby rhino with his mother. We also saw some rare migratory birds as well as deer and bison.After our visit to Kaziranga, we set out for Bhalukpong, a city on the border of Arunachal Pradesh and Assam. Other than Assam and Meghalaya, most of the northeastern states require visi-tors to carry an inner-line permit. However, since we were invitees of the Tezpur Air Force base, this rule was waived for us.

Arunachal Pradesh is a haven of beautiful snow-capped mountains, rivers flowing through valleys and attractive flowers. Everywhere we went, little children standing along the wayside waved to us.We visited Tawang, a hill station about 12,000ft above sea level. Due to the hilly ter-rain, the hairpin bends, the long distance and the early sunset, visitors are advised to stop at Tenga, Senge or Bom-dila and then proceed to Tawang.As we crossed the tough Sela Pass, the entrance to Tawang, at around 14,500ft, the heavy fog, bad roads, zero visibility and snowfall caused our pleasure trip to become an adventure trip. In this region, the sun rises at 4.30am and sets at 5pm. Daylight needs to be utilised fully. Life here is tough, and we empathised with defence personnel who face these harsh conditions every day.

Next, we went to Y Junction near Bum-La Pass to see the Indo–China border and Shungetser Lake, also known as Madhuri Lake, where the Bollywood film Koyla was shot. Along the way, we visited the Ghatak Commando training camp for high altitude mountain warfare. Shungetser Lake was surrounded by Himalayan peaks and spruce trees standing slanted on the steep edges of those mountains, fully covered with snow. It was a beautiful sight.On the way back to Tawang, we visited the Tawang War Memorial, built by the Indian Army in memory of the soldiers who were martyred in the Indo-China war of 1962. At the end of the road is the Tawang Monastery — Galden Namgyal Lhatse. More than 400 monks receive religious education within its walls.

Our next destination was Shillong, the capital of Meghalaya. The name “Meghalaya” literally means “the residence of clouds”. Shillong is situated in a hilly region about 100km from Guwahati. As we entered Shillong, we were wel-comed by Bada Pani Lake.Shillong offers both modern and traditional culture. The Indian Institute of Management has set up a college here. Meghalaya has two major tourist spots, Shillong and Cherapunji; the latter is famous for receiving the most rainfall in India. At Cherapunji, we saw the Mawsmai Caves, naturally formed with different stone sculptures inside. Our next stop was the Nohkalikai Falls on the Indo–Bangladesh border, one of India’s tallest water-falls. The sound of the waterfall can be heard from as far away as 5km. In Shillong, we made a short trip to Elephant Waterfalls and had a small photo session wearing the traditional robes of the Khasi community. We also went to a peak named Lum Majneh to watch the sunset and get a panoramic view of Shillong.Our last destination was the Catholic church in Shillong. The traditional gothic structure of the church

invited lots of appreciative glances from visi-tors. Later, we dropped by the central Shillong Bazaar. Authorised shops selling northeastern handicrafts attracted the tourists.

Finally, our eleven-day trip to three states in the northeast had come to an end. It was a most enriching trip. The most important mes-sage that we brought back from our trip was that northeast India is still unexplored and beautiful. All it needs is tranquility and peace to come into its own.

Travelogue

34


The Beginning.

We had walked for what seemed like ages. But in reality, it was three weeks and three days. I know exactly because I kept count of how many sunrises I saw since that morning we had left. I knew that my days were numbered, and these were the last, or almost the last ones I would see. You probably have to have the experience of almost dying to know what I mean – when every day ends, every sunset might be potentially your last, and you stop by to take it all in. The color. The warmth. The cool northern winds. The distant white peaks glistening pink for a tiny fraction of a moment before everything goes dark. The walk was killing me; I was hardly fit to walk the way these people with me wanted me to. We set out every morning at sunrise, and walked on and on and on till sunset. We stopped near brooks for water, and ate fruits and leaves, if we could find any. They are men, they are strong, but it is not surprising they expected me to be equally strong too. After all, I had lived with them for most part of my life. How did we know the way? It was all characteristic. Yudhistra, as usual, knew where we were headed. ‘Over the valley,’ he would say or ‘over the mountains’. What was there over the valley or over the mountains, or over the stars for that matter, he could not say, or maybe he would not say. We had to walk. He had said so, and we would walk. But we could not have walked without Bheem. He moved boulders and removed thorns and cleared paths and uprooted trees, like he had always done. Please,’ he would say, extending his hand in front of him, waiting for me to pass, and like a shadow, would walk behind me. Nakul, charming, suave, Nakul, always the dandy, I saw him walk three weeks and three days without combing his hair, his eyes vacant, his legs following his brothers’. Sahadev, walking behind me and Bheem, the only one of us walking with his eyes roving all around, eyes with life still in it while the spectre of death still haunted us. He did not care whether we walked or rested, whether we fought or we lay down, whether we were in the palace or in the woods, or whether he lived or died. He was the only one not affected

Disclaimer: Writing 'Draupadi' has been something that's been on my mind for almost two years now. The time and the opportunity comes now, and so I am doing this on this space. Most of the research I do for this piece is on the internet, and today, I came across this link: http://www.chitradivakaruni.com/books/palace_of_illusions It is kind of strange because, it was only yesterday that I bought the book 'Sisters of the Heart' by the same author, a book that I am finding a rather engrossing read. The Palace of Illusions (possibly the same palace where Draupadi laughed at Duryodhana for stum-bling, setting off the war) seems to be along the same lines as what I envision writing. Though it is very tempting to pick the book up and read it right away, I am not going to, until I complete Draupadi. This disclaimer is just to put across the fact that Draupadi is wholly mine, and not influenced by The Palace of Illusions or any other feminist/feminine perspectives on the Mahabharata that are out there.

Draupadi

By Manasa

http://www.chitradivakaruni.com/books/palace_of_illusions

http://www.chitradivakaruni.com/books/palace_of_illusions

35


by everything, I guess. But Sahadev was special. He was not of this world. One should be born to die…maybe Sahadev was never born, so he could never die. I am nothing like that,I cared, I cared far too much about everything. I lived, so by decree, I should die. And there’s where I am, on my death-bed, though my ‘bed’ is a flat rock that Bheem placed for me away from the glare of the sun. I have some water beside me, but that is it. The mountainside might get colder as the night comes up, there may be wild animals which may frequent this place. I am not too fond of the idea of becoming some tiger’s meal for the day. Lying here, I can see their receding backs…Yudhistra, who is already looking ahead, beyond his mountain, beyond his stars, Bheem, who turns back with a last lingering look, but turns ahead right away, Nakul, not even noticing that one of the number has dwindled, Sahadev, the thoughtful one, who put the water near me and leaned to my ear and told me a final secret before he left. And, of course, if you are already not wondering, Arjun. Playing with his bow, following his brother, empty of thought, receding away, a speck in the distance, but no, not looking back, not even an instant… They say that when you die your whole life flashes before your eyes.

All I can remember right now, though, is a diffuse glow of green. I am in my father’s mango grove, running around in my petticoat, bringing down the first green mangoes with my catapult. It is noon; I have been up for almost six hours. First I went swimming in the river, then I was talking to Lala the goatherd for sometime, stroking their big, horny heads and drinking their milk straight from the udder. Nobody back in the Panchala palace knows where I am. My nanny knows I have woken up, she must have seen my empty bed. She does not care, not as long as I am not around to annoy her, or do naughty things like open the cages and set all the parrots free, or bring the calf from the cowshed into my room. So it is surprising when I hear the sound of my name being spoken over and over again, and I look up, to see my most favourite person in the world with his swarthy face and big nose perched comfortably on the big branch of the tree. I gape, and he grins back at me, his white teeth cheshire cat grin.

Kanha!”

“Hi, Draupadi!”

“How did you get up there? I mean, I was here all this while?”

‘It’s a secret.”

“Come on down!”

“No, you come on up.”

“I won’t,” I start shaking the branch, at least whichever part of it I can reach.

He laughs at my childish efforts – I was but fifteen then - and seats himself more comfortably.

“Oh, come on up, it’s much more fun here. I can pick the mangoes and eat it, see?”

The proximity to the mangoes lures me. I try climbing up the tree, though I am scared of heights.

Draupadi

36


I slip once, twice, but I try climbing again. Kanha just sits atop the branch, and watches me struggle. I finally make it, and once I get the hang of it, I climb a little higher than him, and settle down firmly on a branch.

My legs dangling, I ask him, “So, how did you climb up here without me noticing?”

“Secret. How have you been?”

I shrug my shoulders and bite into a sharp mango. “The usual. Where are you now? Mathura? With your parents?”

“Just for a bit now, yes. But I am going back to Dwaraka again, maybe in a couple of months.”

“You are going to get married before that, aren’t you?”

My question was uncommonly sweet. I had heard the news a few days back…people at the Panchala palace often tended to talk things in front of me like I was not there. I was a non-entity for most part. So nobody had told me that Krishna (Kanha to me) was going to marry shortly. But because it was all discussed in front of me, I knew. And I wanted to tease him about it and wheedle all the details out of him.

“Yes, who told you?”

“It was supposed to be a secret, wasn’t it?”

“Not really. The whole world knows that I am going to bring Rukmini home next week, though her brother does not approve. I even sent her brother a letter with the date and time on it so that he can expect me.”

“Are you going to fight him? Will you take me along if you are going to fight?” I was interested in all the details. After all, this was the first time Kanha was going to get married. I was inter-ested in everything from the girl to her trous-seau to her brother getting bashed up.

Kanha laughed, amused. “You know me. I never

fight!”

“What about the time you beat up Kamsa, then? He was your uncle and everything.”

“That was different. He was mean to my par-ents. And I did not hit him, Balram did, and just once.”

I threw my head back and laughed. “You cow-ard! And you go around telling everybody that you beat him up, and it was your brother who did it.”

“If you go and ask Balram who did it, he would swear it was me. But on my honour, I did not inflict a single blow on him. I was just there.”

“And what did you do? Glare at him or some-thing? And Kamsa just wilted?”

‘Yes, something like that.” Kanha smiled again.

“Liar,” I chewed on a piece of mango skin. “Besides, men should know to fight. It is fun to watch them pitch into each other. My brother, for example. It is fun to watch him when he gets into a rage…but he does not have control. He goes berserk. Shoots arrows everywhere…what a waste, don’t you think?”

“Anger is always wasteful, Draupadi. And you are right, that brother of yours is a hothead. But I would still say, it takes more courage not to pick up a fight than to spill blood the way your father and brother do.”

“Coward.”

“So be it, Draupadi, I will be the coward! I just do not find war injuries cool. I hate to see horses and elephants and men die because I have a disagreement with somebody who also happens to have elephants, horses and men.”

“But it is manly to fight!”

Kanha was laughing again. “How old are you, Draupadi?”

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“Fifteen”

“Too young. You will grow out of this sort of a thing.”

I threw my mango’s seed at him. He ducked.

“Just because you are eighty-seven does not mean you can look down upon the rest of us.”

“I am not eighty-seven, I am only twenty-nine. And no matter how old I am, I will always look down upon you.”

“OK, OK, so tell me about this girl, Rukmini. How come I have never heard about her before this?”

I asked him this because he had always told me about all those girls…he would narrate each amusing episode to me and describe every girl. He had even told me about Radha, his first love. So the fact that I had not heard of this girl was very surprising to me.

“Well, there’s nothing very special to say. I liked her, she liked me, but her brother does not like me. I asked her if she minded it, and she said she would choose me over her brother any-time . So I am going to bring her home next week. That is all.”

It amuses me, now, lying to die, how noncha-lant he could be. There is no other word for it, Kanha was cool.

“I wonder whom I shall marry.” My words were more of an unconscious muse than a statement to Kanha.

“Why, who do you want to marry?” Kanha sounded amused again.”Some wrestler? Or a bullfighter?”

“Don’t be silly now. He should be strong, yes, should know to fight, yes, and he should be dark and handsome, with a nice nose…”

“A nice nose?”

“Yes, a nice nose, and he should be a prince, and allow me to stay in the forest as long as I want to…”

It was ironic, I thought, lying down to die, that those five husbands I had eventually married, had let me stay in the forest for a long, long time. It was also ironic that Kanha, Kanha who was always with me, no matter where I was or what I did, had forsaken me as well. They say he’s dead.

As I ruminate on my story, I continue to look, not at the upward path where my five husbands had disappeared, but at the path leading downhill, expectantly. Sahadev’s last message, the secret, still weighs on me.

( To be Continued…)

Draupadi

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Indeed I was a youngster then, indeed am no wiser now Sure, you were the smart one, no doubt, the more adapted But perhaps I understood you then, and not so much now or perhaps it is the other way around either way, the lion will never catch it's tail the circle will never cease at a certain point the unfortunate misunderstandings of Friendship's past will perhaps come back to the limelight as a future content to share nothing but what was The years between us were an unshakeable truth the memories between us oases in a desert the space between us, the emptiness between the stars sooner ignored, safer forgotten, best unremembered and yet there were these far-flung innuendoes the embers of a fire that burnt itself and it that burning, consumed universes fragments of these now lurk in distant minds occasionally do they meet, upon the cross roads of time the same paths that we never chose to walk on now, angered (cross), offer us no room to pass A day approaches, and brings another floating charcoal piece the companion of which was flung upon me post-haste, early that vanguard sleeps for a momentary eternity, safely defeated yet the unuttered noises of the coming fleet crowd my mind they refuse to offer a fight, nor do they volunteer to walk swiftly past they shall be the guests of the winter perhaps, hibernating, snoring until the freshness of an as-yet-unsprung spring time leaf shall sweep them away and going forward, forward, forward... they shall once more approach the past

A day that approaches... approaches the past

Poetry by Raghuram Godavarthi

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Go to page:http://shriyapatil.blogspot.com/ :Sachin

Attributions 1. Some salt, Some Sugar A Song and A wedding www.flickr.com/photos/vicknes/ 2. Upon reflection - Mrhayata http://www.flickr.com/photos/mrhayata/2999420820/ 3. I watch- Bulinna http://www.flickr.com/photos/bulinna/2895972878/ 4.Downcast- Sukonath Debnath http://www.flickr.com/photos/sukanto_debnath/465055444/ 5.Photoshop brushes http://redheadstock.deviantart.com/art/feathers-photoshop-brushes-42660757 http://chain.deviantart.com/art/PaperBrushes-569724

Lights, Camera and Action Aditya Srikrishna

Book review Divya Ramachandran

Interview Divya Panati Raghuram Godavarthi

Travelogue Prajakta Bhasale

Draupadi Manasa

Scientifically literate Dhivya Arasappan HOT or NOT 2009 Aravind Gowrishankar Meera Srinivas Raghuram Godavarthi

Contributors Short stories Dhivya Arasappan Nivethitha Kumar Sirpy Jayaprakasam Filarial

Poetry Anuradha Chandrasekaran Raghuram Godavarthi

Photography Vasanth Arunachalam Aanjhan Ranganathan

Art Anuradha Chandrasekaran

Sports column Karthik Krishna

Dude,where is my coffee? DreamVendor

Editorial Team– Anuradha Chandrasekaran, Dhivya Arasappan, Nivethitha Kumar Website design— Nivethitha Kumar Magazine Design– Anuradha Chandrasekaran, Dhivya Arasappan, Divya Kumar, Nivethitha Kumar Please send in your feedback and contributions to [email protected]

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banyantrees dec 2009

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