Convictions that conquered the world!

So I visited Cambridge last week. The prestigious University of Cambridge was built in the year 1209. That place was magic; I had goosebumps when I visited the place where Ragland first committed his life to India. Watson and Crick drank in that neighbouring bar immediately after they discovered DNA. Rutherford discovered the electron in the next street. Isaac Newton was there a few hundred years ago. And inimitable Stephen Hawking lived there too.

For such a small village to have given so much to the world Cambridge was incredible. It had given 118 Nobel prize winners to the world told my tour guide. 118! Let that sink in! Just to walk in the same street as them, I felt privileged!

It suddenly struck me that people for all their importance in such a reputed institution were secondary. It was the ideas that mattered! The ideas which came through places like the Cambridge actually changed the world. No not the people! Of course, there had to be a Newton to discover the Gravity. But the Idea of Gravity was much bigger than Sir Isaac Newton himself.

Convictions are things certain! The certainty of the ideas which germinated in the minds of the people.

So here am I, promising myself to write about different convictions that conquered the world. One conviction at a time. Once a week in 2019. Look for this page people!

And some photos of Cambridge

Mayiraa pochu! (It is just the hair, let it go)

Mayiru! The dad used the word one day over a telephone conversation. I then knew that was a bad word used by people to scold somebody else in a fight. Mayira pochi! He used it again. In a different form. But I was old enough to know it meant the same.  He is a bad man, my dad. He uses bad words; it registered in my young mind.

As I grew older and started using those words myself, I realized mayiru means hair! HAIR! The bloody hair. The hair growing on our heads and if you are as old as I'm more hair falls than grows. But, how did mayiru became a bad word? How on hell do you scold somebody a hair? I mean, we don't scold someone in English using the hair word, do we? Even the holy bible has used the word often! It cannot be just a bad word, said my logical brain. My dad, the hero growing up, cannot be after all a bad man! Wink! Wink!

Come to the point, my boy! I can hear my dad's mind voice when he reads this!

In Tamil, that word is more often used to denote uselessness! Mayira pochi mean, it is just the hair, don't worry! Hair, the useless hair, the ones which will grow back and even if it doesn't it is okay; nothing in life will happen if we lose some hair, is all the philosophy behind the term mayira pochi.

When I saw this person 'R' had donated her hair for cancer patients, it hit me hard! Hair, the useless hair, is actually so precious that we find it difficult to do away with it. When I saw her photo, it just clicked that my mom cried that day she lost her hair. When that bloody disease and the treatment took her hair away, my mom felt it. She wanted her hair. That useless hair. Yet she wanted it! My mom, who did not mind working for the poor doing away with so much money found it hard to do away with hair.

Man! Are you called useless? Even the mayiru, the bad word it has become, is never useless.  Sometimes we don't realize that the cornerstone is the most important stone of the foundation. 

The great Indian wedding!

Phew! Mukesh Ambani is spending 700 crores on his daughter's wedding! 700 crores? He had Salman Khan, the superstar of Hindi Cinema dance at the background of his son. Aishwarya Rai and Abhishek Bachan, the first family of the cinema industry also gave a dance number. Beyonce, among the leading singer and songwriter of the world, is giving performances as well. Hillary Clinton dropped in at the reception.  Private jets picked and dropped people up. The who's who of the world were represented. Welcome to the world of an Indian wedding. The great Indian wedding!

Even as the wedding ceremonies were on, the social media went berserk. People were criticizing Ambani for wasting so much money. That 700 crores could have fed thousands of poor people in this country. What a waste of money! shouted the righteous Indian public. Rightly so, I think! It was a brazenly arrogant show of money power.

And lift up your hands all of you who thinks it is brazenly arrogant in spending that money! Yay! You are a hypocrite! HYPOCRITE! Each one of you! More so if you are married. Of course, it includes me, and mine.

I would have spent a measly 10 lakhs of rupees for my wedding. From when did 10 lakh become measly? Blood and sweat of both my parents for a year! And I'm among those privileged to spend within the expenditure limits of the parents. (And of course, marrying out of your parent's money is not a shame yet in India. Yet that is for another day). There are people who go into debt to get their children married. More so if you are the parents of the bride.

I know most of us who read this don't get into debts to get married to! But we are part of the system that brazenly throws away hard earned money on one day of celebration. And we are part of the system which pushes others to debt, coz when you do it, they have to do it as well.

I understand we have the right to splurge money, our hard earned money, in whatever way we want. And so does the Ambani's. His pockets are big. 700 crores would not burn his pockets.

So dear hypocritic Indian, before shouting out at the rich and their spending, look at yours. In a microcosm, we are the same! The same brazenly arrogant individual who cares two hoots about splurging money on weddings!

Lessons on TIME!

"I will be a minute late, sorry," read the text! The phone beeped again after two minutes. "No, I will be on time".

Why is she so obsessed with time. What will happen in a minute? These guys do a little too much! I was murmuring to myself. "I'm Swiss, I'm very particular about time". I am sorry! said she, as she walked in. Bang ON time!

Everything starts ON time. Everything ends ON time. Buses and trains are ON time.   If it is delayed by a minute or two, apologies are given. Permissions are asked if the meeting goes on for five more minutes. Every single meeting has an appointment. A set 'TIME' is given for that. It may be just friends meeting each other or an official meet. Some official meetings are cancelled if things become late.

It is a real eye-opener that 'TIME' and its value is taken seriously in this country and many other countries in this parts of the world.

So as Indians why don't we care much about the time? Is it that, we don't value people and their time as much as the people here do? Or is it one of those cultural things which have been deeply ingrained into our genes? Or we just don't care?

I'm changing my approach towards time. I am learning to be 'ON' time for every programme. I understand that 'TIME' is one of those gifts given to the individuals and I dare not indulge in anybody's usage of their gift. I have decided to not take people for granted and promise myself that the only 'TIME' I can waste is mine own.

Ah! The lessons you learn when you are outside that small comfortable cocoon called home!

Time we move on India!

It has been 26 years since that dark day in Indian history!

Demolishing any building of historical importance without the legal sanction is not right! Let it be a mosque, a church or a temple. It was wrong in 1992. It was wrong if it had happened during the Mughal period. I don't see anybody being punished for the demolition neither for the riots that followed. In the human parlance, justice will never be done. The court cannot and will not do justice in this context.

It is beyond human comprehension to do justice in cases like these. Let us leave that to the gods.

Let us wash our hands of these dark phases of our history. I know washing hands off blood is difficult. The stain just does not go away. The vengeance often lurks around in the remotest corners of the heart and one small spark and the fire will start burning again. Yet do we have a choice? How long will we be fighting over this?

As the best education minister in the country suggested, Let us build a university there. The biggest university in the world. Where the world will come to study. Let every subject on earth be taught in there. Pump in money on research. Social and scientific. Bring the world's best to head them.

I understand, demolishing a monument and building a university should not set a precedent. But let this be a one off! Whatever happened has happened. Wipe this off memory. Let these events be only for the history books, only to remind ourselves of the idiocy and its repercussions.

Forgive! Heal! Move on! It is just about time.

Gambhir, I bow down!

I don't like you Gauti! I seriously don't like you. You did not have the touch which I loved in Laxman or the lefthanded elegance of Sourav. You never had the talent of Shewag or the Charisma of Sachin. Some said you had the grit of Dravid; I don't think so Gauti. Dravid had a something which made him lovable. You did not have that!

I did not like the mood swings. The tantrums you threw around were irritating. Maybe it was the small town boy in me being jealous of a Delhi bred young man.

I was in class X, still dreaming of one day playing for India when I saw you open the batting with a chubby Vinayak Mane. Both my eyes were on Mane. He looked immensely talented. His straight drives reminded me of Sachin; When every time you took the strike, I wished to see more of Mane. Your style just did not warrant another look.

I now know why I hated you; Coz, Deep inside I actually wished I was you. I never had the fight you had! I wished the dog in you which never quit, could be mine, for you never left the fight in the middle like I often did. The timing was never there, yet you never stopped trying one more time. Sometimes you were hurried for pace, and then the next ball I have seen you dancing down to that same pacy fast bowler. I wish I can do that as well Gauti. To look at adversity in the eye and say, "Here, I come again";

When Sehwag was blazing through the inning, and you were playing and missing, we often did not want to see you. We wanted to see more off Sehwag. Yet, you were often standing in our way, shirt drenched in sweat, and the eyes blazing. That was the image you have left us with Gauti. The image of the man full of dirt and sweat, yet standing.

I was so sure you never had the talent to play at the international level Gauti. How stupid of me! You have proved sport and to a certain extent life, has nothing to do with talent and with sheer grit and determination one can shine so well in life and in sport.

I take so much from you Guati! So much! For I learn from you, a man who has top scored in two international world cup finals, that if I'm ready to fight, the world can be your doorstep.

Hearty wishes on your second stint! God bless!

I dare not rake in illegal money!

I was frantically doing some calculations. The numbers did not match. I had done some official travels and had to close all my accounts to get the money reimbursed. Every penny had to be accounted for. I don't mind spending money from my pocket, which inevitably happens, but sometimes (very very rarely) we might end up getting a few bucks more than we spent. Since we are eligible for a certain daily allowance and if we had spent lesser money than the daily allowance and had not kept track on how much we had spent this happens.

Even as I was doing the calculations, my sister called me. Her voice sounded worried. They are inspecting her hospital for erecting an ultrasound machine and she had to get it registered. The government of Tamil Nadu had to register her and grant her eligibility. Oh yes, should I expand on what she was worried about in all these inspections?

And by the time she finished her monologue on how worried she is, and how everybody else is saying it is impossible to get a registration without paying that extra few thousand bucks, I could hear some crackers going on. I could see a few cadres of a political party dancing. It suddenly struck me that the famous 2G case verdict is supposed to have come and searched online for some news.

And there were the famous accused in the 2G scam with huge smiles. Oh ya, all the 17 of the accused in the case were acquitted. Maybe there was no scam called 2G. Maybe it was all a conspiracy. Maybe the petty political calculations of the day had saved them. The maybe's of life.

As all this was going on, a close friend and colleague came to me and said this and I quote "Naama thaan da mutaazh", ippadi calculation pottukitu irukom"; (We are the fools, who do all these silly calculations).

Am I a fool in wanting to be that individual who does not mind losing money but is extra careful in making sure that I don't take any extra benefits? Is my sister a fool to think that she should not pay a bribe and would rather not do ultrasound than pay a bribe?

Maybe the world is going at a different pace! Yes, surely we lose out on a lot of things in life in trying to be ideal. Surely the ideal world does not exist. The harsh reality is that there are no brownie points in this world for having a squeaky clean image. Honesty is the best policy is meant for films. Nothing else!

Yet, I'm not comfortable getting more money than deserved or getting money in a wrong manner! For if there is a God, and if he asks me at the end of it all, I dare not stand in front of him naked. 

Change, the culture of change!

"They don't belong to our culture. They cannot rule us! "

"Our culture has been ruined by the Mughals and the British, and the PM is trying to safeguard our culture and bring it back to the original glory"

"I marry within my community and caste so that our cultures are similar and it is easy to live"

These are quotes from a few Indian friends recently. These got me thinking! What is culture? "The ideas, customs and social behaviour of a particular set of people or society are what we call as a culture," says a simple google search.

So, the idea that parents searched for a spouse for a person(arranged marriages) rather than the person seeking it on their own (Love marriages) was part of the Indian culture! At least that was a predominant idea which prevailed among the people of Indian origin and so it had to be part of the Indian culture. The custom or practise of inviting people with folded hands, or getting the blessings of elders by falling at their feet was prevalent among the Indian community and so this had to be part of our culture. That woman wore sarees and men wore dhotis were part of our folklore and so had to be a part of the culture as well I presume.

But life has moved on! The so-called culture of yesteryears looks redundant for the next generation. Love marriages are commonplace happenings now. And nobody wears a saree like how my great grandmother wore it. I neither fold hands nor fall at the feet of any elder, not that I disrespect them, just that the form of respect I show have changed.

My belief system has changed vastly from what my forefathers believed in! My parental generation followed signs and omens; Mine don't care one hoot about them. My antecedents celebrated many festivals. The entire context of those celebrations has changed now. One of the more famous festivals of my culture 'The Pongal' was a form of thanksgiving for the year's harvest. Nobody in the family harvests anymore. Not that we don't have things to thank God for, but the premise of my thanksgiving ceremonies have changed and with that my forms of worship and thanksgiving have changed as well.

And by the way, culture does not address one important question! How long should an idea, a custom or a social behaviour be a part of our set of people for it to be attributed to our culture? So, if my society practices a habit for 50 years is it our culture? Or should we practice it for 500 years? So is the concept of joint family which was practised by my society for many generations my culture, or the nuclear family which we practice for the last two or three generation my culture?

So, it is clearly confusing! Ain't it? It is! For my logical questioning brain. Ah, yes! There were many demeaning and even harmful practises, which defined our culture. I don't even want to talk about them, So when we use the term culture do we make a mountain out of a molehill? Is cultural enshrinement such a big virtue to be expected out of a leader? or a life partner?

Ideas will change; Practices ought to change. Social behaviours change. And so should culture, along with all of them. For the better, for the worse! But change it will. For change is the culture of change!

Why O Virat? Why?

O, Captain! My captain! Did I expect too much from you?

As a young boy growing up, cricket was life for a long time. I understand the childishness of having cricketers as heroes but they were, and some of them still are! For the way, they conducted themselves on the cricket field and sometimes off it as well.

I suddenly ask myself this question! Why do we expect intelligence, eloquence and humility and saintliness in a sports star? Sportstars are always shortchanged when it comes to being given the benefit of doubt for intelligence, eloquence, for saying anything that makes any sense and for actually being seriously concerned about the state of the country in which they grew up in. Can't we just ask them about cricket and stop with that?

Yet, he was asked only about cricket! He was told by a man that he loved Australian and English Batsman more than he loved Indian players. Fair enough! This is a simple statement on cricket. By another cricket enthusiast. Virat, like Rahul Dravid would have, you should just have left that ball untouched if it irked you.

But, why do you say, go to another country if you like them more? Do you mean it Virat? Like seriously? Do you think we should all leave the country if we like ABD batting more than we like MSD batting? And by the way, when did you become a Visa agent Virat? When did you start giving nationalism certificates?

There is a big market out there giving out nationalism certificates Virat. Let them do that. Let your bat do the talking. For it is loud enough to be loved by the world. Let not your voice drown out the sound of the bat and that will be tragic.

The cost of history!

This has been bugging me for quite some time now. The cost of history!
History? Cost? Am I confusing? Alright, let me explain.

Economists use a term called the 'Opportunity cost'. Opportunity cost is the loss of other alternatives when one alternative is chosen. Let me give you an example; If I go to a movie tonight, I spend some time and energy and money for that. The time cannot be now spent on spending with family or reading a book or the cost spent on the movie cannot be spent on any other thing. So a benefit, profit, value of something that must be given up to acquire or achieve something else is called the opportunity cost.

Now coming back to our subject. History has a cost. Every time we celebrate a historical leader, there is a cost spent. Whenever we build a statue, it incurs a cost. An opportunity cost. The cost which could have been spent elsewhere. So every time a policy decision is taken we calculate the opportunity cost and then take a call on the worthiness of the policy.

My mother died 5 years ago. I remember that clearly. I can even now recollect every minute of her final hours. I know she died of cancer. I remember her for all she was to me many times and thank god for her life. Once a year we think about her and celebrate her life. I do these because I believe the opportunity cost in doing those is not as important as the memories and the time spent remembering her.

But imagine, if after 100 years there is a doubt whether my mother died of cancer or cardiac arrest! And my grandchildren decide to do research on it, and fight with each other for it, do you think the opportunity cost is worth it? Or after 500 years somebody in my genealogy decides to do a 500 feet statue on it, the opportunity cost is worth it?

I can hear you say, having a statue for your mom is not worth it, but what if it is Mahatma Gandhi! Or Jesus Christ? Do you think to have a statue in celebrating their contributions is worth it? Ah, even then the opportunity cost in reminding a generation of their history by spending thousands of crores is way too expensive.

And our way of expressing our gratitude to our history does not stop with statues. We rename cities, towns and spend time and money and energy doing that! We fight in the name of history for all sorts of reasons. We shed blood in the name of historicity, the authenticity of history. We frame laws based on things which happened aeons years ago and fight again in trying to prove its historicity.

History is costly! Historicity is costlier. But we have only finite resources. Every time when history is being invoked let us count the cost; I'm not against spending money on history. But just to remind ourselves that history is costly and we have to count its cost before celebrating it.

If we don't count the cost of history we will end up losing the present!

He came, He saw, He conquered!

Veni, Vidi, Vici, (I came, I saw, I conquered)! wrote Julis Ceaser. After his quick victory at the battle of Zera.

Virat Kohli did that! He came, He saw, He conquered; He need not know who the opposition is. It does not matter whether he is in the blue or the whites. Dusty Guwahati or the windy Lord's. West Indies or England or Srilanka or even China. He will conquer and will walk on! For the next conquest.

For Virat Kohli is a beast! A beast bent on winning over everything that comes in his way. And the greatest enemy that man has ever faced, the mind, is also conquered. And the mind, the fickle mind, which wins over every man at some point in life crawls in front of this conqueror.

The opposition is Windies. Not the famous West Indians of the yesteryears. This team is just a pale shadow of the former self. Virat could just blow them away. The fickle mind said, "Easy peasy" when he took guard. He taps the pitch with his marauding sword, the bat. Then with watchful eyes, saw the ball on to the keeper's gloves. Then left another. And then slowly took a single. There is a method to playing ODI cricket. And Virat is a master at that. He will play by his method. Nothing else will change him. Even if his mind tells him to go easy and play a lofted drive against a weak opposition he won't. For he is the master and the mind does what its master tells it to do.

He was 18 when his father died. Virat was batting on 40 overnight against Karnataka in a Ranji Trophy game. Kohli went to bat that day. Scored a 90. Saved the match for Delhi and came back to do the final rites. What went through that young mind that day I don't know, for my mind was numb for months on when I went through a similar crisis. But this is Virat. He told his mind to bat. And he batted. Plain and simple.

When he was 23 he saw his face in the mirror. He did not like what he saw. The chubby cheeks embarrassed him. "I cannot be an international athlete and be this", he told himself. Five years later he is the fittest cricketer around. Yes, there would surely have been days when his mind would have told him not to get up from the bed. oh yes, there definitely were days when his body was aching and his mind said, 'quit, 'not today'. But this is Virat. And his mind obeys him. Not the other way round.

Virat will come out to bat. He will score another century. And another and another. Till his body will give way because he has conquered man's greatest conqueror. The mind! 

Debating from the wrong platform!

He walked out angrily! "My country has done enough to protect its people and you are still complaining. You will never be satisfied" Bang! The door closed. Nobody spoke for a few seconds.

Then the activist took over. It is difficult for people to comprehend the pain of the minorities. The Kurds have been badly treated. There have been brutal killings. These guys won't know the pain of it all. The pain of being relegated. The pain of having 'No Voice'. The Pain of living in a place where you don't belong. There was silence again!

The man had a Kurdish flag in front of him! He spoke passionately about the injustice of arresting the Kurdish leader Abdullah Ocalan, who was the lone prisoner at the Island of Imrali in the Sea of Marmara for many years. "There is a CIA hand in it. And unless this Kurdish movement does not succeed, this might lead to the third world war". His passion came through in his voice!

Then the professor took over. As soon as he started talking there was a calm! He spoke on the hows and whys of a revolution. He had the influence MSD had on the mad Indian cricket follower. The tension in the air subsided. People breathed easy.

What am I doing here? Don't I have any other work rather than listening to these political debates? Lots of reading to complete and there is the presentation to finish, said the inner me! Oh ya, 'Turkey' and the 'Kurdish' movement has nothing to do with my life, I told myself.

Then it hit me hard! Aren't these debates meant to happen at the universities? I mean, isn't it proper that the social scientists sit together and talk about the problems of the people. It is only right if the students during the university days listen to the happenings around the world, Ain't it?

Ah! My college days had it all wrong. We never spoke about the nation's problems, leave alone the world's problems. Yes, we spoke about manufacturing cars and lorries, but never once did we spoke about the politics of Industrialisation and the labour movement. The conversations on climate change were for the after college gasbags.

We have closed the doors for important issues on the college campuses and that is why we end up listening to them in the noisy NEWS rooms of the wheeler-dealers and the crony capitalists.

Of course, if the sound is coming from the wrong platform, it may not be the train you had to catch! 

The London of the dreams!

It finally hit me. I was in London a few days ago! The London of the dreams. The Lords I watched with awe was close by! The green and whites of the Wimbledon I so loved were on my way. The city with so much of history. A bus to 'Waterloo' just passed by me. The 'Thames' flowed quietly near me.

Growing up you often dream about being there in London. Watching a Federer - Nadal on the centre court, or visiting the Buckingham Palace, taking a ride on the river Thames, looking at 'The London' from the big London eye and so much more. Sometimes dreams do come true.

And it did come true when I walked through the famed Marylbourne Cricket Club, "The Lords".

And yet, I enjoyed being with the cousin rather than seeing the historic locations he showed me! What has changed? Is London not attractive enough? Or were the places I saw not the ones I wanted to see? Or just that petty dreams of childhood are not attractive enough as we age?

Bring it on people! 

Running away from the docs!

Have you ever run away from treatment? from the docs? Like the child running away from the 'oosi' shouting "Oosi vendaam ma, naan nalla pillaya irupen"?

When the dad, mom, brother, sister, FIL, MIL, the best friend and more importantly the wifey are all doctors, what do you do? Where do you run to? Whom do you run away from?

The FIL says one tablet, the MIL a different one. When was the last time a husband and wife have told the same thing anyways? Then my wifey has a completely different idea. You don't know anything, please don't do this she says to her father. Oh ya, you have to remain oblivious to the dialogue happening. You cannot be privy to an argument where your FIL is scolded by her daughter as not knowing anything.  Did you hear anything? illa da, I was listening to NEWS.

Finally they concur on one thing. To give all the tablets all three of them opined. So you were made to eat 111 tablets a day. No! You don't have the option to refuse. How do you refuse the wife anyways?

And after two days, when nothing materialised they repeat the same dialogue all over again. Like nothing happened before, you listen to everything again! No I did not hear that as well. The only option is to pack your bags and leave the place as if you have work.

But where do you go to?

And you reach home only to have the dad and the brother and the sister thinking that they are the only people treating you.  What if the teacher aunt thinks she is also a doctor, just because she had been sick before? And the process starts all over again. And sadly just because I live in the hospital campus the other hospital doctors also have their own treatment.

So after having the antibiotics, the paracetomols, the cough syrups, the ayurvedic treatment, you still cough because it is viral and love and too much love could never cure a viral infection.

What is sickness for, if not to get pampered by? 

Different times those!

Who are you? The 85 year old granny asked me the question for the third time. I'm Elango's son, I repeated the answer the third time. oh! Elango Paiyan ah? Elango ku yethana pasanga? She continued. Her mind was slowly giving way. After 85 years of holding fort. She is my Grandmother's sister.

She had got a medical seat in the famous Christian Medical College in the late forties. But her father refused to let her study. "I am already having difficulty finding a groom for your sister because she had become a doctor, I cannot do this again, said her father". Different times those! Oh ya, she carries the hurt deep within; yet as those times were, she married and followed her husband faithfully all her life.

How different times were then?

I bought my cycle for Rs.150/- said the grandpa, her busband. I was ordered by my superior to buy it immediately as soon as I got my job, I refused him! I could not afford a cycle. Only with a few months of salary I could afford it, said he. His eyes lit up as I probed further. Oh, we worked all over the place. I was always put in the most difficult places since I refused to bribe.

How was it living without the mobile thatha? I asked. Mobiles? Oh, we never missed them. It had always been letters. I write a letter once a month to my parents asking for money! They gave whatever they had. Half way through my brother fell sick and so the family asked me to discontinue studies. Through some well wishers I managed to continue.

Was there an innocence in their lives which we miss? Are our lives a lot more complicated since our communication systems are a lot better and our basic needs are taken care off better? I mean, they thought only about the daily food. And the occasional travel. Education itself was an afterthought.

Listening to him made me grateful! For all their lives. For all their struggles. For without their hard and sincere labour we would not have been where we are.

And listening to them makes me miss my grandparents more. How I wish they had lived long enough for me to gather all their life's stories. 

Bye Bye Dedu! Love you!

It was almost nine on a Friday evening, as night was licking its lips in anticipation before eating up what was left of the day, nearly everybody in my small department, some with families assembled in the house of my boss. It had been a hectic day for sure. Some had worked more than twelve hours that day. Some had travelled nearly 75 kilometers. Yet they all made it. Made it for a farewell. For my farewell! And guess what, DEDU would have made it for every programme of every single person.

That is why there is love and then there is Dedu!

Behind the big smile I hid the tears. When after a tiring night of working more than 12 hours every soul in the department could assemble at 9:00 PM just to say a 'bye', how could I not cry.

Three years ago, life was very different. I had just lost my mother. The great soul she is, had also been my best friend and a pillar of strength. The mental stress of seeing her go through the final stages of her fight with the disease was indeed taxing. I had just had a big failure as well. Another one of those. Narrowly missing a civil service seat was actually not very easy. Of course the greatness of the wifey and the omnipresent family were of great strength but then I was deep in to depression.

Then DEDU happened!

DEDU was all i knew in the last three years. They were the family I knew. They were Jessie's in-laws. The work was the only hobby I had. Every single one of them was family. The jokes my brain told me were on them. The gossip with the friend was about people at work.

Many days I would just call somebody in the department and go for a dinner. Nobody ever refused. Even if they refuse, I go! And nobody ever stopped me. The favourite biriyani was the ever present menu. And love was always the side dish. Everyday somebody gave me lunch. Breakfast was paid for many times.

The trips, the outings, the nightouts, the carol rounds, the choir singing, the Christmas programme's and the umpteen other departmental programme's organised always was fun just because DEDU was sportive. Light hearted banter was an every present companion. Sometimes the pranks were on the boss too! And nobody ever complained.

When somebody told me, "I'm going for greener pastures"! I smirked within. Can life be ever so green again?

Thank you DEDU! Thank you for all the love. But for you those three years in vellore would have been very different. I have become a better person because of you. And for that, thank you. And best of all I have a wonderful family to fall back to all my life. And for that, love you.

Bye Bye Dedu! Love you!

In to that heaven of freedom, my father, let my country awake!

Two days ago I sat there in the famous Scudder auditorium listening to a childhood hero speak. As he spoke on the history of the hundred years of Christian Medical College, the many years of struggle and the many achievements my heart was filled with an immense honour and gratitude to be a tiny tiny part of this huge organisation.

Dr. Johnny Oomen, the childhood hero spoke on the various stages of an organisation and how from the stage of struggle there has to be a stage of consolidation. And lest we stagnate after the consolidation stage we taper off in to oblivion said he.

Even as I was contemplating the 100 years of CMC, It stuck me that India as a country is entering its own milestone. 72 years of Independence! Not a mean achievement. The world wrote us off. Everybody predicted a violent end to this huge experiment. Not many gave India a chance to survive this many years. But we have hampered on. Crawled. fell down. Got back up. Took a long breath and crawled again. But have not stopped yet.

For India as a country the struggling stage had been quiet long. We had struggled through partition and the wars. The social structure of the country, the ugly casteism, is still going mighty strong. Poverty, homelessness, lack of health care and proper education still stare at us. And after the early 90s another nail in the already swollen leg has gone deep inside. The nail of inequality. And of late the divisiveness of polity is hampering the crawl as well.

Where do we go from here? How long will we struggle? When do we consolidate? And when can we actually look at that freedom and praise it to be heavenly as Rabindranath Tagore sang?

I believe for India to take the next giant step, we will have to come out of our false identities and fake masks and embrace truth. Truth in polity. Truth in our discourse. Truth in our thinking and truth in our personal lives.

For truth shall set us free!

In to that heaven of freedom, with truth as its fulcrum, my father, let my country awake!

Happy independence day! 

The language of the siblings!

I never really get tired of being fascinated by this.

Few days ago I happened to see a conversation between two people 'N' and 'S' on twitter.
I din't understand much of the conversation though it was in english!. It was a language only they could understand. There was something so intricately personal in that conversation. It was the language of the siblings.

What makes such relationships real? Why does a sibling understand our life so well? Why do they relate to you better than anybody else? Why does the sibling voice on the other side of the phone give the calm assurance? The assurance that he/she will understand our lives and our language much better than anybody else.

Can friends ever speak the same language as the siblings? I presume yes! Friends surely and with time will definitely understand things in our lives much better. They may even sometimes understand the problems faced at that time better than the sibling.  But life in its entirety can only be understood by the siblings just because they know it all.

They know it all. They know the nosey aunty you hate. They know the childhood crush you never revealed your parents. They know the small misunderstandings between the parents. They know the financial conditions of the family. They understand your dad and mom and the neighbour and his family and the dad's friend and his dog you hate and everybody and everything in the same context as you have understood. And just because of that they understand life in its entirety.

I call him 'bro'! Or 'boss'. And every time we talk to each other, I challenge you to come and listen to our conversation. And I promise you, most of what we speak will be gibberish. For he understands me and my life and my language better than anybody else in the world.

Lessons on relationships!

Aren't relationships complex? And i mean all kinds of relationships.

I have been thinking about this for quite some time now. Ever since a good friend was found struggling in life just because a relationship with a friend became sour. X was questioning herself,  felt frustrated. Even felt inferior and went in to a shell.

Suddenly I realised X is doubting her self worth when that relationship soured. She had just come out of a bigger depression and had became a little more emotionally attached to this person. And in the process was actually throttling the other person as well. And she fell deeper in that well called depression.

Why do relationships sometime bring in so much pain? Wasn't relationships supposedly beautiful? I always thought a man cannot live alone. The human being in him starts growing as soon as he starts relating to people around him. And the dependent beings we are, it makes sense only if a relationship makes people happier and in the process better human beings. Of course the best times of my life are the times spent laughing with friends and family.

But does it always happen? More often than not, relationships hurt. The best of friends fight! Meeting relatives sometimes becomes a chore. You don't even want to meet the best friend from college. Why does it happen that way? Often enough we don't want to answer that phone call from the friend with whom you had spent eons with!

Why? Why? Why? How I wish the answers are as easy as the questions.

I don't have an answer as usual. But just three thoughts which made me write this.

1) May be man needs a space which should not be touched. And if that space is given, most of the relationships are bliss. May be it sours because we often trample that space.

2) May be in a relationship we expect people to respond to us the way we wanted the person to respond or the way we usually respond forgetting that people are born and made differently.

3) Also, we often forget the other human being has a life other than the small circle which was the relationship. He has a whole world other than you to live. And may be that is more important to that person than the relationship itself.

The solutions are complex of course. If they are simple the world would have been a better place. But give it a try.

Whoops! I have become a relationship consultant!

Are we competitive by instinct?

How did you finish your course so early?she asked! 'S' was taken aback. They are both meeting after many years. Colleagues in the previous place where both of them studied, life had taken them in different directions before bringing them together for a brief meeting. And this question was asked during this brief meeting.

Why couldn't have they exchanged pleasantries and wished each other well and just moved on? Both are doing fairly well. Both are living in two different cities, both are not competitors anymore in their businesses. But when they meet again, the competitive spirit which they had during their college days resurfaced; albeit slightly. 

This got me thinking! Are we competitive by instinct? Or have we developed the competitiveness as we grew up. Are some more competitive than others? Do we have that instinct to perform better than the other from birth? Or do we compete with others as we start growing up with them?

I remember a friend 'J' telling me that one of the life time achievement is to have got more marks than this person in their class 'X' board exams. Life time achievement? To get more marks than another? 

Some times that kind of competitiveness is scary! They can be morally hazardous too!

Can we teach the human kind to compete within rather than without? To compete with themselves. To be better people, to achieve their best, to be better than the previous me? Can systems which assess be tweaked to assess our previous best to the current best?

But then what will the world come down to if we stop being competitive? Imagine sport without the greatest of rivalries? I'm very sure that Nadal became a better player because he played against Federer! What if there was no Michael Schumacher around? Will we have a Hakkinen then? How do we push ourselves if we have nobody to compete with? The entire market economy will collapse, and the best of actors will find it difficult to motivate themselves to set bench marks.

What do you think folks? Which one do you prefer? Is competing with others good? Or competing with oneself better? 

The chaos of life!

Sitting alone in the Bombay airport got me thinking! What am I doing here? No this plan was not there same time yesterday. I was supposed to be in Trichy! Attending the wedding of one of the closer cousins. Yet, I don't regret being here at all. I mean, I seriously think I did the right thing by coming here and I'm excited for the meeting in Raipur tomorrow. Raipur? Now, that is where I'm headed to. Sorry for confusing you all enough. That is how my life is, even for me. Confusing!

I was in Chennai, Bangalore, Hosur, Salem, Trichy, Bombay, Raipur in the last two days and most of it was unplanned.

I think I like being indecisive. The chaos. The last four days have been absolutely chaotic and I liked that feeling. Somehow being decisive in the thought process, having the next ten years sorted out in life, planning well ahead of time for the future, saving money for the retirement, is just not me.

Does it irk the people around me? The other day even the often reticent dad sounded a little annoyed. Paavam, the wife had to take most of the brunt I presume. For I don't know where I'm going in the next two months. For I have delayed the decision till the last moment. And that means, that she also does not know where will she be in the next two years and may be after two years as well. And I'm at peace with that. Now, I'm seriously doubting whether it is okay to not get worked up and tense about the where's and how's of life.

I somehow just like the idea of going without much plans. Letting the situation hit you. Is plain laziness has something to do with it? Or is it just the personality?

Bring it on people! How do you respond to life? Do you like your life sorted out? Do you plan ten years ahead? Do you like planning for a tour two months in advance? Do you revel in doing things as it comes? Or have you already planned your children's education also?

The chaos or the planned serenity? What do you prefer?

Chruch, morality and grace

I'm born a Christian. Brought up in a fairly spiritual family. Through all my doubts and fears and questions have held on to the faith and look forward to many more years of christendom. I think, this is good enough reason to write to the wider Christian community. So here I am, bear with me!

Growing up, the image of the christian community that was impinged on me was of righteousness. Movies were taboo! Missing church on a Sunday is criminal. No TV at home. Jesus was the strict task master who punished every sin and every small innocent childish mischief. Though the ultra liberal dad did help in balancing, the church and the Sunday school always stressed on righteous living. Though the Youth groups I went to were a little liberal, the liberal nature of that youth group was thought of as a sin in the conservative circle.

And then through the tumultuous twenties and when Church started making sense, most of what was shared from the pulpit was again on righteousness! Holy spirit and worship were terms often thrown around. People who found it difficult to relate to difficult technical terms like those were looked down upon. So this church thought the other form of worship was unholy and the other church thought they were the sole proprietor of holy spirit. I had often looked down upon the young boy who stood outside the church and the man who came late. Very often I had felt 'Holier than thou'! and had taken pride in bashing the unholy.

I clearly remember one day we discussed on how a boy had fallen in love and he should not attend youth meetings! Recently I heard from a church that the members have banned another member because of some financial irregularities in his work place. I had even laughed at people who don't dress modestly during communion service. When people struggled with their faith, we thought they did not read the bible regularly. Questions on biblical integrity was often rebuked. You don't pray well enough, that is why you are asking such questions was often the answer! Somehow, deep within my heart there is this "I'm holier than the other" feeling that had crept in.

Well, I guess I have done enough of Church bashing. Now to some context to bring more sense.

When the maestro Ilayaraja said there were YouTube videos on how Jesus never rose again and he does not believe that Jesus is the Son of God, the Christian community is up in arms. There were posts on people asking him to apologize. One even read, "மன்னிப்பு கேழ், மன்னித்து விடுகிறோம் "! (Ask forgiveness, we will forgive). Oh, the high pedestal again. That we are better than you to forgive you

Deep within, there is this nagging feeling that God, the Yahweh God, is sad at me. 'Grace', is the word which HE wanted me to show the world. To put that arm around the hopeless, the faithless and the bitter. To accept people as they are, as sinners, as doubters, and as unholy.

I have to accept that I sincerely believe the moral fabric of the world can be built in the church! All my moral leanings are because they taught me righteous living. Yet with due regards to my church and my brought up, I believe the church has bigger things to offer than plain morality.

We are here to offer the world 'Grace'.

If, somebody does not believe in my doctrine I defend to death his right to believe and I will show only love to him.  If somebody has crossed my border of spiritual obscenity, I put my arm around him and say 'It is okay'. If somebody thinks his form of worship is better than mine, I don't mind. If somebody sins, Grace and nothing but Grace I show him.

I understand the need to insist on moral standings. If we are not taught the lines clearly, they blur after sometime. Yet, I draw my line and let you draw yours. And we both hug each other even if our lines are at crossroads.

And I say it again. We are here to offer the world 'Grace'

The inner man

Of course you lose some if you will listen to the conscience! Yes you may lose a lot of money, so what?  I can't cheat! Period, said she. It took me quite some time to comprehend that statement.

My sister, the person who has the strongest conscience I know off called me. Her conscience had pricked her so much that her voice choked. No, she had not murdered anybody. She as a doctor went to a hospital as a consultant, where an extra procedure which might have cost the patient extra was done.

She went straight to the church, put all the money that was paid to her in to the box there, told the hospital that she was not coming anymore and cried all the way back home.

This on the same day when three Indian political parties were bickering over a single Rajya Sabha seat. The discussions were on buying MPs! And on the same day, the Australian cricket captain and the so called leadership team decided to manipulate the rules of the game to win!

Is the conscience disturbingly loud for few and does not even talk for others? In that case, is there a way to keep the conscience loud?

I knocked on my conscience! Are you that loud too, I asked him! When was the last time you listened to me? he mocked. You don't keep listening to me, my voice gets drowned in the cacophony out there. said the conscience. But....but....I do hear your voice often! I replied feebly. Well, you don't listen. You hear me! came the reply.

Are we listening to the inner voice people?The voice called conscience. If not, may be his/her voice is slowly drowning out and may be one day he/she will stop talking! And if we don't hear the 'Don't do it" voice clearly the downfall may be steep! As the Australian leadership team is finding out now.

Listen! Don't just hear! 

When lives speak!

I am honoured to be in your presence, said he!

The audience was august. The who's who of Christian Medical College was there. Some of them, among the best doctors the country has seen. Few of them do world class research, the brightest brains. There were Harvard and Cambridge scholars in the crowd as well. Some of them could have lived multi billion dollar lives of the developed west, yet they have stayed back, just to work in India and serve the masses.

I have never been to a University. I don't belong here, he started slowly. His english was not up to the haughty standards CMC prides itself in. I have been here before to this institution as a few of my relatives work here, he stuttered; And then his life took over.

Over the next hour, his life shone bright. CMC gave him a standing ovation. Thrice! Three times we all stood up and clapped for this man, for his life spoke. And it was loud!

He is the son of a safai karmachari (manual scavenger). His parents cleaned up human excreta with their hands in the dry laterines of the olden India (What am I saying, they still exist). But he refused to be drawn in to the same demeaning job, though nobody gave him another. For those who understand caste system in India, he belonged to the lowest of the lowest tribes. The untouchables. Yet he refused to be called himself that! Rather he took the fight to the opposition.

He had single handedly united the many people who are made to do these menial jobs and has fought the might of an indifferent and unconcerned Indian government for over thirty years. And in the process has helped pass a law banning manual scavenging and helped rehabilitate thousands of workers in to better jobs.

Oh yes, the casteist Indian mindset had often come in the way. The lords of the supreme court has never punished one man in the last thirty years for misusing another human being, he said. His voice crackled. No, we don't get justice in this country, but I don't stop. I sensed a tear drop peeping out of my eyes.

Then he challenged the CMC community; the intellectual and sometimes class-conscious elite. Do you live in rigid structures created by the society? Oh yes, you don't let casteism in its true form come in to you, but is there a hierarchy that you live with? A hierarchy of the glass doors? A hierarchy where one human being is treated higher than another? I felt an uneasiness. Then the slap! And another! May be we felt his life speaking through the pricked conscience.

CMC stood up again when he finished! And again when he got his citation. And again when he answered the few questions. No you don't need university driven education to get standing ovations. You don't need the British accent or impeccable vocabulary to get standing ovations.

For when your life is so loud, the world stands on its feet!

Achievements of life!

I walked out of the airport and there was somebody carrying a board which read "Samuel Gnanadurai". I called him and off we went to the guest house which was booked for me!

Sounds very fancy, isn' it? Well if you are one of those who was fascinated by these like I was as a kid growing up, it does sound fancy. 

I thought those are the happy people. People, who has achieved so much in life that there is a car to pick them up. It has not stuck me this hard until yesterday when it happened for me twice in two days. I mean, I'm on a big travelling spree and out of the four boring flights, two had people waiting to pick me up. It stuck me hard that it does not mean that you are an over achiever and it means that somebody is gracious enough to pick you up. 

This actually got me thinking! What actually is an achievement then? If you are achieving something which had been a childhood dream, is it not achievement enough? Then most of the petty day to day things will have to be called achievements. 

In one of those travels I stayed with the most brilliant boyfriend I have! He went on to do study engineering in a famous IIT and then went on to design aircrafts. How cool is that? When we started talking and when the talk veered off to our lives, I could read from his mind that he is fighting off the same question. Is that all there is to life? That you settle down in your own two bedroom apartment among the glittery high rises of Bengaluru? Wasn't that an achievement as well, I asked! Yes it is; To buy a flat was a dream! Any day; But is that all? The question never really went away.

How do we define achievements of life? Does the very definition of achievements of one's life keep changing?Is it that important that we keep achieving something? Do we achieve anything in life? Can they be qualitative? I mean, like I'm happy, and so have I achieved? 

Oh! The question marks of life. How often do we answer such philosophical questions. What do you think folks? 

National Health Insurance Scheme - Entering Dangerous Territory!

‘Modicare’, as is now beginning to be called, after the budget presented is not new territory for Indians. But one has to be careful in treading this dangerous path, for pitfalls along this road are sometimes steep.

So, for a start there are many different systems of health care.

1) Health care is provided and financed by the government, just like the Police force. Government run the hospitals and the health care shelters, where people are to be taken care of. The govt fund this from the tax structures. Minimal charges are levied on some functionalities but they are bare minimum

2) Then there is the insurance model. Insurance actually means, that some money is collected by the people who are part of the scheme at constant intervals, which will be put together to finance the cost of the health care. The health care will be provided by private players.

a) insurance schemes where it is compulsory for everybody to be part of it and the insurance money is deducted at source.

b) Insurance scheme where there is a single insurer (usually a government company) and anybody can voluntarily join the company. This helps to keep the cost less since the intention of the insurance company is not profit and also easy to administer. Also government usually fills in for the deficit.

c) Private insurance companies pay for those who have been part of their insurance scheme. The market mechanism of the capitalistic world forces its private players to have competitive pricing. The government can fill in for the deficit here also.

3) Out of pocket expenditure, where the patients pay from their own pocket to the private health providers.

Traditionally we had always followed the first model where the government pays for the health care of all its citizens, but slowly with more and more private players playing bigger roles in health care we have entered the second and the third model. In fact india has among highest out of pocket expenditure in the world and is among the major reason for poverty in the country.

Now, Modi government has come up with this humongous experiment of insurance scheme for nearly 10 crore Indians (5 times more the population as covered by Obamacare).

So what are the pitfalls?

The major pitfall according to me, is the government losing track of the infrastructure development for health care in the primary care level. India right now spends approximately 1.85% to 2% of its GDP on health care. The draft national health policy bill recommends India spend 2.5% of GDP on health. But the modicare alone costs around 5% of the GDP! How viable is a universal health insurance scheme of this magnitude only time will tell. So instead of concentrating on health insurance at the secondary and tertiary hospital level, developing infrastructure and human resource at the primary care would solve a lot more problems.

The other major danger I see is empowering private insurance firms and very soon the insurance firms will be deciding on the course of treatment and diagnosis rather than the hospitals. If there are not enough checks and balances, the fall in this pit is a deep one.

So I’m entering stigmatised territory now. Let us face it! The health care sector in the country is among the most corrupt. We keep denying the inevitable, but the stark reality is to trust a doctor in this country is difficult.Any doctor! I administer courses for doctors across the country and everybody privately agrees that the rot is deep. And to empower private practitioners through the modicare may end up digging up an infected would.

The other major mishap we have faced in the last fifty years is the turn the health sector had taken towards specialist based care. We have always followed the American west, and even in this we have done the same. But the UK based model of having family physicians as the first point of contact is a better model especially for a country as populous as we are and as poor as we are.

Imagine I have a headache, I have to visit a neurologist, an ophthalmologist, an internal medicine expert and then to realize it was stress. May be even a psychiatrist sometimes. But is it not better to go to that one doctor who treated our whole families, and who can then refer in case he thinks he cannot handle on a case by case basis? By this model we can empower the MBBS graduates who are now left lurching around looking for PG seats without knowing their own values. And modicare will greatly profit the specialists and specialist based care.

I know it is a long and a difficult road, the road of affordable and quality universal health care for every Indian. The road ahead is not only long and difficult, but also full of pitfalls. Modi and the team should take slow and careful steps, lest the fall is deep and there are bottomless pits as well.

Lessons from the Marathon man! It's me (vadivelu voice)

I ran a marathon! I ran a marathon! I mean, it was only 7.5 Kms. Yet this is the longest ever I have run in my life. And yipeee, I'm happy.

Not many who know me after my school days, know me as a fanatic sportsman. I played cricket, Basketball and shuttle badminton at various points of my life at a fairly decent level. And I played during every bit of free time available. I have been to state selections, represented my district and have been in many district level winning teams. In fact looking back my school life had only been sport. I was a sport fanatic, still am! Just that I don't play anymore.

I did not like one bit of the four years in college, just because the college never had good sports teams. Of course there were other reasons for not liking college life, but this is one major reason. I still hate myself for choosing that college; anyways that is for another day.

After college, life catches up with you! Nobody played any sport in Cognizant. Nobody even had time to breathe, leave alone play. Makunda was worse. Civil service days were heady. And then the paunch began to show. Not that I was thin before. I don't think I have ever been the thin one ever. Still, when you touch 30 and the paunch start to show, you know you have not done justice and you could have been fitter.

So 2018, I decided is going to be the year. Many years and many resolutions have come and gone, but this year have started well. I started jogging few days a week. Started to swim again after eons. And then the marathon happened. The reluctant man in me was pushed out to run by the team I work with now. (Shhhh! I actually outran them😜!)

And it was an experience! The younger me, would have quit half way through. Five years ago, I would have preferred to walk and talk with people along the way rather than run alone. I don't quit anymore. The body was cramping badly, yet I told myself, come what may I will crawl to the finish; and finish I did much faster than I even thought.

And so the mind is full of enthusiasm now! What about doing it daily, early morning? Says the mind. I don't know how much more the bruised body will let the mind win! Yet, these days my mind wins the body more often!

May be you need to become old to know that mind winning over the body is all there is to life! How I wish I had known it better then!

The wall!

The wall is perhaps the most inappropriate, simplistic and arguably an insulting name to him. For walls don't think. They just stand there, till a force greater than it can collapse it forever. For, the holder of the egregious nickname, never collapsed! Of course he failed. But always stood up again, taller, stronger!

When I read in the morning that Rahul Dravid is celebrating his birthday, my mind wavered to childhood, for the many days when I tried to imitate him. We learnt to drive like Sachin, flick like Azhar but always defended like Dravid. The front foot well forward, the bat in line with his eyes, dead straight, softest of hands and of course the eyes on the ball. This never changed. Like a well oiled machine, the foot and the bat did its work. Day in and day out.

Dravid never wrote poetry. You don't relate mathematics and poems, do you? For he wrote theorems. Every innings of his had a structured hypothesis to it. The steps clearly in place; the syntax intact; his batting never had conjectures, the theorems always ended with the customary Indian "Hence proved" label.

When Sachin and Laxman were doing their art, on the other side Dravid often stuttered and stopped. The cover drives often went to the fielder. The boundaries were not flowing. Sixes were unheard of. Yet, often at the end of it all, Dravid stood still. The shirt drenched in sweat. The eyes gleaming. Concentration intact. The man in a trance. Till the theories he developed was proven, he never quit.

Happy birthday Jammy; 

What can one woman do?

It is quite a steep climb, careful benji! I told my friend who had accompanied me to do the hill climbing we did in the evening. As we went to the top, the view was nothing less than breathtaking. All I saw was greenery and the beauty of it all. We came back talking about the risk of falling and the calories burnt climbing up.

Even as I was climbing it struck me, that Aunt Ida had climbed that hill almost hundred years ago. She surely saw the beauty and the greenery. But she saw beyond! She saw a medical college there. She saw hundreds of Indian women and men being trained in medicine there. What vision! What foresight! Amazing, I told myself.

It would have been barren land then. It is a buzzing, yet serene and beautiful medical college campus now. It is now the best medical college in the country. Among the best doctors of the world are being made here. People's lives are being changed here. Young men and women come here with dreams and go back becoming change agents of this huge country and of course the world. I'm one of those who was blessed by the vision she saw, as my grandmother was among the first to pass out as a doctor from this prestigious institute.

How did she manage this? When she set foot on Indian soil, women were dying in tons for want of medical treatment. She decided she will train women doctors, unheard of in India before her. Now 100 years later, mostly woman treat the woman in India. Every day, averaging ten thousand people cross the gate waiting to see a doctor. When she decided to begin, all she had was a 10*10 room and a single bed. Now there are 3000 plus beds another thousand to be added. How did she manage this?

Why didn't she just come here as a tourist, take some photograph of the hills and the greenery and go back? Or may be just stay satisfied by her one bed clinic and keep going back to busy Monday morning clinics and praise God for that? Why didn't she just think of it as a calorie loss exercise or a Sunday evening outing and just leave it at that, like I did tonight? That why question keep haunting me.

What a vision? How did she manage to see hundred years afar? Did she have a direct hotline connection with the divine? May be God directly gave her that vision; Or may be she asked the divine to give her the vision! This surely cannot be human, my innermost heart whispered. May be so! May be so!

Are you the small dot in a remote village thinking what can one person do? Or are you the eternal pessimist who thinks we are doomed, like me? Are you the patriarchal society's male chauvinist thinking woman's role should be in the kitchen?

Come and see the vision which Aunt Ida saw! On the top of a hill!
                                               

                                                                        Medical college campus from the hill

Aunt Ida and Vellore during her time

  

                                                     

Thank you for the music!

For all the musical genes in the family, music just did not happen for me. Though I was part of a choir for a long time, I don't hit most of the correct notes! I mean, simply put I could not sing. And not to mention the many attempts at learning musical instruments which never materialised the way it should have, partly due to my own laziness though.

Yet, through it all music did have a role to play in my life. And like any other young Indian growing up in the early twenty first century ARR was one of the musicians I grew up listening to.

Remembering the many times I had sat alone in my room only with ARR and his sound for company and wondered how and why he used a certain instrument and a certain rhythm pattern for certain songs. Those majestic double bass runs in the song "Veerapandiya kotaiyile", the haunting melody of the 'Jeans' theme music humming 'nisarisa', the violin interludes in the villagish folk number of "Poraale ponnu thaayi", the melancholy of "Yenga pona raasa", the guitar rhythm of "New york nagaram" and the many other Rahman specials.

Oh yes, the music did speak. Everytime I heard the "Unthan desthin kural", I could feel the urge to go back home. The zillion times I have heard Rahman's version of Vande Maataram, I have felt passionate about my country. And whenever the "Kaalailyil thinamum kan muzhithaal naan kai thozhum thevathai amma" sang, I felt my mother calling me.  Did you feel a peace surrounding you when "Vellai pookal" was sung? I did! Everytime.

Of course there are many other musicians and music I had enjoyed. from the inimitable Illayaraja, to the Simple and profound music of Jim Reeves, From Amy Grants serenity to the loud sounds of Michael Jackson and Backstreet boys; the Christian Gaithers, the rock show guys "Queen", "Eminem", and a few local musicians like Theodore and the four part harmonies of the choirs I have been part off. Yet ARRs is the one music I have enjoyed the most and the one I go to when alone.

Thank you ARR sir for the music. For I enjoyed your company in the many times of loneliness. Here is to many more years of tamil music I so enjoy. Happy happy birthday