A Song 212

Shepherd, shepherds
sheep, goats
to butchers.

.....


Gods, goddesses
armed,
for peace.


.....

A right to information:
Tuka, Kabira
did you doubt?

....

RTI reply:
abhangs, dohas
bout with doubts.

.....

An Adivasi dies

Mornings In God's Own Country, Malayalis chuckle over Baby Krishna stealing butter, breathe in and out a Guruvayurappa. God's Own Country is also Krishna Land. Madhu, a starving Adivasi in Agali, Palghat, is accused of stealing food, tied to a tree with his own clothes, beaten to death, mobiles and selfies taken, on February 23, 2018. Amma Malli, waits in front of Agali police station. Lady, do you have the cash to placate our law makers? Sorry, if you had, your son Madhu would have bought some food. Front Page of Mathrubhumi is of an Adivasi death... Madhu, mappu (Madhu, Sorry) is the headline written by poet Sugatha Kumari. Balachandran Anthikkad writes: Malayaliaai janichchu poyi, kolayaliai manasummayi (Born a Malayali with a kolyali mind). Death takes away, never says or accepts Sorry. Madhu this is no poor human country. In UP, Gujarat, Rajasthn, adivasi killing is a must, on the daily agenda, a rite, as Adivasis are not humans. But in Kerala of EMS, Kamala Das, Sugatha Kumari... hurts. Well, starving to death an Adivasi or killing him in 2018 is okay, all said and done. God's Own Country has become Gold's Own Country where everyone is a  Kalyan Jewellers bill board; with dirhams posted from Dubai by a relative, a marunadan (far away) Adivasi. In Dubai, a Malayali is an Adivasi; in Kerala, an Adivasi does not belong to the high and low castes, graphically thought over by Madhavikutty. In her times, it was caste, community and women measured by their skin, their sex and their gold. Today in February 24, 2018 ditto. Its Lent and me reads the Sermon on the Mount, St. Matthew ... Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth... If Jesus had read Marx he would have issued a correction: Blessed are the moneyed, for they will inherit the earth. EMS read it that way. Pinarayi has read nothing. Naxals revolted. They were bulletted. For Adivasis and the poor, is there an alternative? None. 

Strand Book Stall

November or December 1969. Had come to Bombay for an interview at the Times of India. Trainee journalist. Interview over, lunch was declared, results promised by 4 in the evening. Went on a lone walk and bought me first book in Bombay at Flora Fountain. Footpaths, more books than bricks. For eight annas picked up an yellowed, Death in the Afternoon by Ernest Hemingway. About bull fighting in Spain. Had the book for years, lost it. Becoming a Trainee Journalist in 1970, used to walk the book streets, never book stalls. Simple had no cash for first hand books. And when Dilip Raote and Komilla Raote walked into me life, went to Strand Book Stall. They are in New Delhi. Miss them. They introed me to Bombay. They searched for Ibn Batuta, whoever he is, me was into Enid Blyton. Never chatted with the owner Shanbag, paunchy and spectacled, bit of a high school master. He was too far away for me. Never exhanged Hais. Over years, became friends with assistants. That was when me latched on to Jejuri Arun Kolatkar. Have the Strand Book Stall receipt, dated 29.9.2004, Rs.48 with a Thank You. All the English writings of Kolatkar bought at Strand Boom Stall. And then Tukaram Says Tuka by Dilip Chitre. Possibly, Strand Book Stall needled me into Bhakti poetry, A.K. Ramanujan, In the Dark of the Heart by Shama Futehally, on Meera (Rs.150).... at the Stall prices were pencilled in the right hand corner of the flap without discount. And when amazon came, ordered Essential Kabir by Arvind Krishna Mehrotra ... sorry Stall.... should have taken a local to Churchgate, walked to 15 C, Dhannur, Sir P.N. Road, Fort... And today me carried the Tuka and Kabir to sunning Tuka and Kabir on Marine Drive. They had heard of the Stall closing, sounded like Vitho and Rakkumai closing business at Pandharpur... they were regulars... were offered free books on Hinduism ... but never read any as Ram, Krishna, Hari sufficed. They are into songs and prayers.... with Kabir intoning: Pothi padi padi jag muva, pandit hua na koi, dhai akshar prem ka pade so pandit hoi.... Books are not a habit for them. After mawa cakes at Yezdani, they walked to Strand to say their regrets as they wanted the world to write books, read books, had no objection to reading and discussing any and every book... after all abhangs and dohas make literature ... and today there is no Stall, no books, a Bombay, a Mumbai diminished.... Mumbaikar is hurting.  

Neermathalam

In our sofas, Rama and me, every morning, drive away on a Neermathalam set to Neelambari raga in Aami. A Neermathalam tree in a nallukettu somewhere in Malabar, tiled roofs rain wet in joy and despair ... open spaces of a compassionate silence. Howrah Bridge, Maidan, Victoria Memorial, Bihari hand-drawn rickshaws, slatted homes ..... me first love; and for Rama, the Neermathalam, her first love. And when Shreya Ghoshal slips into silence, sit quiet, tuck into the music, into ourselves... ah, me am getting senti over Aami. Its been near 20 years, since me kissed my first love... maybe today she is as old as me and a kiss could be proper in loveless times .... when Rama clipped in with a desire to be with her naadu, Allapuzha, kayals mating seas and her school, St. Anthony Girls High School where in Class 10 she was caned by Kunjamma teacher... is the lady around? Rama dislikes English Winglish, a hatred seeded long ago... She scored 2 out of 10 in Class 10, in English and Kunjamma teacher asked Rama to get the cane from the Teachers Room. Cane arrived, Rama stretched her right palm, got stinging fives, ... she winced in the telling... took the report card home and H. Gopalakrishnan, her father, signed the report without comment. 'He never shouted or beat us,' Rama wisped. Me never had such luck, parents never spoke softly ... me signed me report cards, faking signatures .... lets not spoil the morning. Aami had Ammamma... maternal grandmother ... like Rama had her father and mother. 'Amma never cared for school, marks; she wanted her girls and a son to eat well.... and be careful of men. Naadu,' Rama said. Naadu is green, the society is brown. Neermathalams and sacred groves, hid and hide a dirty Kerala of caste, community and women hates, going by Madhavikutty. Women were ever absent from home registers. It did not matter whether they lived or not lived. One woman died, another took her place. Madhavikutty in 2018 can still spot some greens; the rest, unchanged. Best intro for Kerala 2018 is Madhavikutty of A Childhood in Malabar and My Story. Rama hums Neermathalams ..... 

Madhavikutty

''Prem korechi, besh korechi (I loved), goes a long ago Bengali song. Madhavikutty, for me dear Amme, loved. With pride confessed. Wrote of it. Indians could not stomach it. And when she became a Muslim, the dislike was complete,' ...the ignominy of being/undressed by strangers', as Madhavikutty writes. And still is. If a male had done and written the same, Indians would have applauded, appreciated. Today, he will be a Hero. For a male, 12 inches make a foot; for a female, 10 inches make a foot. Yet, the Lady has poetry and poems in her. In A Blessed Life, she pens:

True,
I broke a commandment
or two
but I shall not plead
for society's pardon,
or God's.
When I disobeyed
I tasted bliss
indeed
I count myself blessed
not for the fame
or fortune
bu for those wanton hours
of pure abandon....
(from Closure, some poems and a conversation, Kamala Das and Suresh Kohli)

Madhavikutty is a stand out in life and film. Rama and me have been going over and over the video song Neermathalam (lyrics by Rafeeq Ahamed, music M. Jayachandran, singers Shreya Ghoshal and Arnab Dutta). Stills. But Aami is off Mumbai after living in some six theatres, for a week, one show each day. Rama and me saw the film, first show, first day with some 15 citizens. Perhaps, superstars (no way artists) have numbed, coarsed taste buds. Dishoom dishoom, cheap dialogues, women reduced to add ons ... make hits. As if Madhavikutty does not belong. She belongs to Rama and me. In some manner, Aami reminds of Karuthamma in Chemmeen. Or is it that Madhavikutty is not in favour because she became a Muslim. For me, it is her fundamental right. Do religions change Madhavikutty? The Lady tells Kohli: "The only religion I know is the religion of love. I fell in love with a Muslim after my husband's death. He was kind and generous in the beginning. But I now feel one shouldn't change one's religion. It is not worth it." When will we accept Madhavikutty as Madhavikutty ...'It is a sad occupation but I wouldn't choose another.' Her last poem  Alzheimer's:

Alzheimer's disease
is a spider
deadlier even than
the tarantula.
It weaves its web
within the brain,
a web rugged like
wrought-iron
and thought-proof.
My mother
for seven years had
Alzheimer's.
It looked out
through her eyes
although she was
silent as a safe
plundered bare,
emptied of memories,
her disease talked.
Like a Buddhist monk,
it said
life is sorrow.....


Maybe, Madhavikutty, most of us are down with Alzheimer's. Have a laugh. 

A Song 210

Mornings.
Rama names
aadhaarless
sparrows.


.....


Search for roots over.
Cities dont grow trees.
Pincodes change.

A Song 209

Betwixt

twin peaked Howrah Bridge

domed Victoria Memorial,

jhal mudi, shingada,

a lone rickshaw puller.

Between

flats of Arabian Sea

Flora Fountain

vada pavs, mawa cakes,

a lone Parsi, alone.

A Thanks to city living.