Recently, I went for a different kind of walk. I
might call it Meditation Walk; don't think there is nothing new in
it. This particular walk I undertook was in the hills - Vagamon area.
My fellow walkers were Capuchin Brothers. But, more about that later.
What I want to tell you is about a commonplace morning walk with
Parvati. Only thing is that it is no commonplace; every walk with P
is a session in learning. I have written about this sometime back;
this is the next time we walked together after that!!
Among the many quirky pleasures that we
share, one that has us giggling like kids is the exciting crawling
along the labyrinth of lanes that crisscross the Chalai Bazar. We
prowl alongside the little shops that display curious pieces of
metal, electronic stuff, wood, and what-have-you. We gaze
open-mouthed at a broken down old transistor; we drool over rusty,
unidentifiable pieces of wrought iron that once could have been part
of anything from an army tank to a pipe wrench. Our hands itch to
caress a headless bronze horse which seemed to have stopped galloping
when somebody broke its head off. We glance at each other and giggle
conspiratorially, about to pounce upon the One-rupee coin size
Parippu Vadas and miniature Bhaajis. They can be dropped into your
mouth one or two at a time ( or stuffed with several); and the aroma
of fried curry leaves and chillies and asafoetida ascend up the
nostrils. Titillating!
Chalai Bazar is one of the oldest bazars
in the world; well, in MY world. I love it because it fills my
senses with nostalgia. The old old provision store from where we long
long ago had bought our provisions. The monthly home delivery would
come in a pull cart, each item lovingly packed in baskets made of
palm leaves. On top of the many different sized baskets there would
be a little one with Kalkand ( rock candy), a free treat for
the kids such as yours faithfully. That, my young readers, was in the
Sixties...
A walk through Chalai these days is an
assault on the senses. The stench of rotting waste, human waste and
undefinable wastes. The sight of rotting waste, human waste and
unimaginable wastes. Yet, we still walk through the lanes because
Chalai is a slice of life, where beauty and ugliness co-exist amicably.
Having a friend or a spouse – or as in
my case, a friend and spouse two-in-one - who is a botanist is to
have a long but interesting course in the study of plants. You don't
have to take an exam, fortunately. Life with P opened up my eyes to
the world of plants. So, whether we are walking in the mountains or
in Chalai Bazar, we are on the look out for interesting plants and
trees. I love to listen to the grand sounding Latin names of the
plants – Alstonia scolaris, Ficus religiosa, Ipomea pes tigridis,
Ricinus communis – like I said, I don't have to take an exam, so
loving the names is fine.
Today, somewhere in the recesses of
Chalai, I come across this elephant. I am achingly reminded of the
young one at the Elephant rehabilitation centre who is no more. This
is in a lane where Tamil Brahmins live – not an agraharam, but a
little lane. They wash down the narrow pavement and lay intricate 'Kolam'.
This little elephant is placed there along with other stone idols
that look like a Siva lingam and a lamp. I learn that the lady who
got this elephant from a temple ruin is no more. But the
neighbourhood cleans the idols daily and places a few flowers. I
wish that Vigneswara temples that throng our country would keep idols
of elephants, instead of elephant god. Why not exclusive temples for
animals? Trees? Birds? Nature? It was all there in our culture, but
now our brothers have fun cutting down trees and tormenting animals.
Just by the side of the cute stone
elephant, mosquitoes take morning ballet lessons in the flooded sewer as I
watch.
A little ahead, Public Convenience, courtesy Trivandrum Corporation! P & I laugh mirthlessly at the folly of our authorities. We spend crores on Techno Park and Rocket Science and Shopping Malls
and have an orgasm at the rate of 'development' of God's own country as we so gloatingly call our pretty land but hey, this is
what it is, this is what it is. We smear ourselves with filth and
faeces, bellow at our Allah-Ram-Jesus-es, Bishops join hands with real estate mafia and encroachers, declare war on
Western Ghats and burn up Forest offices - ho ho ho, see how we
live in Gaad's own country!
Yesterday's Chicken Biriyanis and
Vegetable Fried Rices are having a Kumbh Mela by the side of the bridge; the sewer is steep below the bridge so street dogs are
denied a feast. Dogs? Kill them! Massacre them! One fellow even
suggested that we start eating dog meat. Doesn't he know that the
'beef' ( now at Rs.220/- per kg) is enriched with dog meat? The
'menace' of stray dogs is man-made. The more filth we let around, the
more would be the street dogs.
Then as we bid a quick good bye to filth,
this beautiful serene temple – Aryasalai Devi temple. Like a
painting....
P @ Aryasalai
By the side of the flyover near the
Thycaud Women & Children's Hospital, shady trees overhang the
streets. The trees in the city are being rapidly decimated. We WANT
wider streets for our SUVs! Acres of wooded land near East Fort are going to be cleared for a Shopping Mall and parking space. Like the
Hon'ble Collector told us, 'Why do you walk? Use air conditioned cars
or air conditioned buses. Who needs wayside trees?'
Ipomea
From beyond the wall of an empty plot
peep out Ipomea pes tigridis, a common wayside flower, like children
poking their heads out of a passing bus.
On a leaf of Ficus religiosa
(Arayaal) growing out of a crack, a pretty little fly suns herself. She (?) is
quite accommodating and poses for my camera. A branch of Ezhilampala ( Alstonia scolaris) with
leaves huddled together look up at my camera, bright in the morning
sun.
The name Castor gives me nausea. When I
was a little boy, there was this monthly purgatory ordeal of
swallowing spoonful of castor oil as a laxative. My mother and maid
servant would chase me all around the house and compound and grab and
pull me down and while the maid would hold my arms down with one hand
and clamp down my nostrils with the other, my mother would thrust
this 'Gokarnam' between my teeth and then as I choke and gurgle,
she would slap down a palmful of sugar down the same way which then
would become an oily mess in my mouth and I would be screaming and
whimpering and hating the world... But to look at this intricately
patterned leaves and the peculiar fruits, I could make peace with
Castor finally.
Castor - Ricinus communis
Making peace with the world or with
oneself isn't as easy as making love. It is a coming to terms with, an
acceptance of the is. It is not necessarily a surrender to
circumstances or fate, but a calm, unfluttered gaze around one; and into
oneself too. At times, one is irked, but soon lets it pass, because
goodness and evil are complementary and cohabitants, within and
without.
We pass a couple of stray dogs; they glance
up at us. From the way they turned their heads away in disinterest,
we could see that they weren't afraid of us, just as we weren't of
them. It is that reassurance of security, of live and let live, of
the joy in the magnificent and the mundane and the acceptance of good and evil that make life
worthwhile.
*************** Balachandran V,
Trivandrum, 11-12-13
