Appooppanthaadi -58



An evening by the sea shore - down loaded from the net

Only heartless persons can ban cameras on Das Island. How beautiful the sky was in the evening today! It was well past the sun set but the horizon was still live with the marvelous hues the sun has springled from its last remaining life. The black and white clouds on the western part have aligned themselves to entertain like in a still photograph of a colourful and well coreographed dance concert.

Small and big grids of black and white clouds in the back drop of the blue sky got a bright shade of red in the dying moments of the evening. To put in another way, It was as if a great painter patiently sat and produced a marvelous piece of beauty for everyone on the earth to relish. Of course, it needs a heart to enjoy this. Sadly someone who never liked to enjoy the magnificence of such a spectacle had banned cameras on Das Island.

 I am not a poet to articulate those scenes in all its splendor and grandeur. If I had a camera, I would have clicked a few shots and shared them with you all. All my colleagues were also heard ruing the missing opportunity. There is no justification for not allowing camera here. I wonder what the babus want to hide when everything is out in the open on the internet including the google maps https://maps.google.ae/maps?hl=en&tab=wl

Yesterday, Das Island was greated with the death of a worker. A sardarji, after completing his first half's work returned on his bicycle to his room for the lunch break. As he was entering the room, collapsed at the door step itself and died on the spot. That was the end of a  human being who dreamt of a decent life back home. What if he leads a miserable life in an open jail like Das Island? What mattered him, like the thousands live here, was the fatter bank balances at the end of every month. But dashing all hopes and big future plans,within a span of a few moments a human being was turned into a dead body. Everyone who came to know of this incident was shocked. Everyone, accompanied by a long sigh, uttered the same words - that is life. I even recited a couplet in my mind from the famous devotional poem Njanappana that always reminds us of the hollowness of life. It is a water bubble and it may burst anytime without a warning. Alone we come, alone we go...in the short stay we get here, we meet so many people and events. One day, like this sardarji, we disappear leaving even the clothes we wear...in all manifestations, that is the essense of life.

We visted the hosptal in the afternoon. The body was by that time bundled up and moved over to the mortury, waiting for the helicopter to turn up. The helicopter takes the body to Abu Dhabi. After the visit,  all of us went to the ATM counter, withdrew some money and then walked around the park in Das Island - there are a few deers, peacocks and hens roaming around in this park. That is life, on the other hand! The rosy picture for the unaffected ones - the ones who always think that they are immortal and all bad things happen only to others...

It is not easy to be in Gulf. It is worst to be working in African Countries. The well dressed, 'divine figure in the locality' is far removed from all those pomp and pageantry, that he shows off in his village, when he reaches back for work here. Panalties for trafic violations, scorching sun everywhere (most of our people work at a temperature as high as 50 degrees) and primitive punishment methods for even minor offences await him here. 12 hours of a day is dedicated to work. A large majority of the work force in search of a good life is in the field of construction and they are out in the merciless sun in their major part of life.

In the very night of the day the sardarji died, there was a big procession of a number of cars on the roads of Das Island. The locals were celebrating the victory of UAE in the GCC cup football championship. They were honking and even driving vehicles that were used for emergency purposes. The emergency vehicles were making sirens. It was around 1045 in the night then. I was a little frightened at seeing the vehicles and the noise they were making at the backdrop of the attack on one oil processing facilities in Algeria.

 http://www.thehindu.com/news/international/algeria-siege-toll-rises-to-81/article4328780.ece

The Algerial gas plant - Look alike of Syria plant

The revellers went around the roads and then dispersed. But the Algerian oil facility is not yet cooled down. When I saw the pictures of that set up somewhere deep in the Sahara desert, I remembered the similar plant I saw in Syria. A few of the people whom I came across have gone to Algeria after the Syrian assignment. I only wish all of them are safe and secure wherever they are.

The sardarji's body has been airlifted in a helicopter from here to Abu Dhabi. From there it will be transported to India in a few days. It may take four to five days to process the formalities before it is flown to its destination. Fortunately in UAE, it takes only less than a weeks for the process to complete, but had it been in some other countries, it could take at least 2 months to take a dead body home, especially if it is an unnatural death. Imagine the near and dear of the deceased spending months together to do his/her last rites.

The Arabian Desert

Against all odds, that is how life in a construction site in Gulf can be summarised. Not only braving the punishing sun, one has to fight humidity too. Months or years together these work force do not see their near ones. Even if there is a rule that everyone working on Das Island must be allowed to take a break after every five or six months, most of the contractors do not allow their workers to enjoy this advantage.


 The workers at the lower strata suffer the most. They get the minimal facilities here, with four people squeezed into one porta cabin and common toilets and bathrooms outside. The only advantage they get is the strict safety rules at work place. They get shelters to take rest and drinking water near to their work place. This is not volantarily arranged by the contractor but due to constant threats and arm twisting by the saftey officers of the client. 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arabian_Desert

So, let us pardon him if he shows a little theatrics back home when he comes for a short break. Let him walk around with a foreign cigarette in his hand, fragrance spreading body and accompanied by a cohort of admirers. This is how he tries to find solace from the monotonous, gruelling and nostalgic life he leads for the major part of his existance here. Next time if you see me with a golden watch on my wrist, a thick gold chain around my neck, a smart phone in hand and telling everyone whom I come across " In Dubai, things are not like this..." please do not laugh in your mind. We ought to be like this...

Manikandan

Human Rights behind the bars. I was so disturbed. Wherever I went in Keralam during my last month's vacation, every wall on the road sides bore so many posters proclaiming this. The Human Rights is serving a jail term in a Bangalore in connection with the serial bomb blasts that jolted Bangalore a few years back. Right now, the Human Rights is getting treated in one of Bangalore's high tech hospitals.

The government there says it is giving him the best possible treatment. I am not sure, if the injured ones in those blasts were getting any treatment sponsored by the government. The sole woman who was killed at the bus stop in one of the blasts did not have any human rights. She is gone. Died like an ordinary human being. The government declared five lakh rupees to her family. Everyone condemned the crime. After that all have forgotten that woman and  also the many others who suffered injuries in the blasts. They all suffer in silence, fully aware that they are not entitled to any kind of human rights.

http://news.oneindia.in/2008/07/25/serial-bomb-blasts-rocks-bangalore.html

I have been to my village  this time to attend the temple
festival there. The other day, I have been to another temple also in the nearby village. There I spotted a male lamb tied to a pole right in front of the temple. One of the devotees of the Devi might have offered this lamb as a mark of his/her gratitude in return to some favours She doled out to him/her. It looked very young and I am sure he had been detached from his mother to please the Devi. The little lamb's cries were surely an indication towards his anxiety to get back to the warmth of its mother's care as early as possible. The lamb's helplessness remained  a small pain in my mind for long. Animals do not have rights, anyway. This lamb would have become delicious mutton biriyani on the next day. This is how Devi's offerings are treated by Her "managers".

My grandma too used to make such offerings to our village's presiding diety, Lord Siva - Ulavaippil Thevar, as He was respectfully called by our villagers. Our grandma had a habit of maintaining a cow at our home. The first one had come to our home as a calf long time back. It grew into a cow and eventually bacame pregnant.

When the cows were on heat, people sent for a bull. Those days, there were bulls maintained by some people somewhere in the near by village. My grandma depended on a neighbour who could trek or cycle a few kilometers to convey the message to the owner of the bull. The bull was made to walk kilometers together wherever his "customers" were in need of him. The cow in turn walks restlessly around the coconut tree to which it was tied to, from the early morning itself. She moos continuously as she walks. Upon sighting her mate by the late afternoon, she calms down. The relief was seen in her looming eyes so brightly. It was a man with a horn-like moustache who used to bring a bull to our home. That face is still so clearly etched in my mind's canvass
 

As the cow's pregnancy advances, my grandma too gets so anxious. She loses sleep in the nights over this pregnancy. Taking care of the expectant mother becomes a priority over we kids. One night, as she was deep asleep, she heard a cow and her calf crying. Suddenly she wriggled out of her bed, woke up her assistant Meenakshiyamma and forced to her to go to the cattle shed to check if the cow had delivered the baby.

Meenkshiyamma returned with no good news. The sound was from the radio. This sound is a part of the popular song in the super hit movie "Aval Oru Thudarkathai" starred by Kamal Hassan. The All India Radio's Renjini programme was on air that time. My grandmother narrated this story several times after this incident. Thereafter, whenever the cow was carrying, she remembered this song and whenever she heard this song, she remembered this mistaken delivery. Now, whenever I hear this song, I remember my beloved grandmother

 

Our cow gave birth to male calfs in most of her deliveries. At times we got chance to witness the delivery. At the end of a few anxious moments, the baby comes out . A bundle of dirt from the womb follows the baby. This afterbirth was supposed to be consumed by the mother cow, but she was never allowed to do so. This bundle was disposed of in the nearby backwaters. The baby, within a few moments of its arrival, is at its feet. We the kids watched all these happenings with great awe. The baby straightaway reaches out to the nipples and there started another life.

The calf celebrated its arrival in style. We too played with it. It ran all around as much as it pleased and then drunk milk as much as it wanted. Very soon, the day has come. Grandma prepared a soft rope with a knot to tie the calf. This was a very simple function. Along with the knot around the neck, the calf got a name too - Manikandan. The first few days' milk is preserved as curd and this is distributed among the neighbours. This is a custom followed in the villages whenever a cow gives birth. Meenakshiyamma went to the paddy fields on the east side of our house to cut grass everyday. I helped her carry the bundles of grass from the paddy field.

Manikandan lived for a few more months. Perhaps till the mother cow stopped yielding milk. We got a share of the milk and the remaining was sold off as milk and curd. My grandma, along with her assistants, mixed water with the milk. I guess, it was an accepted practice in the small time milk business. This milk was dispatched to nearby tea shop and the rest to the neighbours who came with small vessels to buy milk. It was a small time business for her.

Remember this bottle? I am sure many of the kids of the villages in the
yester-years carried these bottles full of milk (and water) to the nearby chayakkadas (tea shops). The tea shop owner, as usual, would have told them to inform his/her mother that the milk was full of water

 As the milk source drains up, grandmother takes Manikandan to the temple and ties him to the tree in front of it. I am not sure if the God was pleased at this act but grandma was relieved and the god's "manager" was very happy. The next day, the manager sells off the littile thing to somebody. The proceeds of the auction would never have gone to the temple fund however. That was how the temple administration went about the God's property in our village. 

 Manikandan was taken away straight over to a butchery. Soon, he would have appeared as mouthwatering beef biriyani in a few restaurants and homes in the locality. His skin would have turned into shoes and bags later on. There ended his story. A sad end to a humble living thing. Was the God really pleased with my grandma's offering? Can't believe so. Another helpless animal dies to facilitate our comforts. Many years later, after another delivery, the cow was packed up along with another Manikandan to another cattle shed. Perhaps, this Manikandan and later on, his mother too would have met with the same fate of the first Manikandan. Here is a drop of tear for that  bovine family. I am sorry, you are not entitled to any Animal Rights please....

Amsterdam and Aarshabharatham

The flower market in Amsterdam

I was in a hurry to reach the flower market. The flower market in Amsterdam is a famous tourist spot. Beautiful flowers and their seeds are on display there. Tourists go around and buy them  with great interest. I too was tempted for a moment to whip out 10 Euros to buy a packet of seeds, but I knoe  these plants could never survive in our climate.
 

 

 I decided to walk from the Dam Square. Dam Square is another hot spot for tourists in the city. It is in fact one of the best known landmarks in Amsterdam.  When I set out from my room, I was not quiet sure about reaching the Flower Market by walk. But still, I wanted to explore this option only to enjoy walking along the beautiful streets. On the way, I did not forget to lavishly click the scenes. The Indian restaurant, the neat streets,the walkways and the tiny canals criss crossing the city all over were all worth clicking. As I have been
walking along, suddenly I heared a tapping noise from the nearby building. When I looked to the direction of the noise, I saw a lady standing inside a glass paned room, wearing just three triangular shaped pieces of clothes and calling me inside!

The red street in Amsterdam

That is Amsterdam - the confluence of Amstel River and The Dam. Later in the day, I did take a walk along the red street. No bad intentions, but it was just out of curiosity. Red streets are a common thing in any part of the world. Some are secretly existing and some are out in the open like this one in the middle of the city. The long street on both banks of a beautiful canal is the red street in Amsterdam. Each building is beautifully decorated. In front of these buildings there are girls standing- wearing three peices of triangular shaped cloehtes - and calling out the walkers. Everything on the road is normal. Policemen and women on their motor bikes patrol the locality. Those who need to satiate their urge can sneak in to any one of these buildings. In addition to this, there are a number of places here, where live shows of sexual intercourses are available. Nothing is taboo. That is how a city lives on.

 

The Dam Square (looking from Madame Tussad)

I too felt, like you, shocked at these scenes. I too felt how a society can stoop so low to conquer.  Is this the culture of a society? Is it the much loathed Western Culture? If I had asked anyone on the street around Dam square, then he or she would have asked me a counter question - then what is culture? Raping a woman in a moving bus? Dragging out a woman of a moving train and then rape her and smash her head? Keeping the women folk like slaves and abuse her every moment in her life? Stare at her, pass lewd comments and if got a chance 'handle' her for sexual satisfaction? I would have blinked at such uncomfortable questions. I would have fallen flat if I dared to give a sermon to the locals about "Aarshabharataham". Woman is mother, woman is the light of a family, woman is god....all sounds sweet and beautiful, but when I get a chance, I too treat her the way the guys in the bus did. That is a the real life in the Aarshabharatham. Long live Indian Culture!!

 

 

Now the morally outraged follwers of the Great Culture are on the streets. They demand the accused be handed over to them. They have full authority to dispense with justice. Many learned, informed and mature minds too look to have been carried away by emotions. They too started demanding cutting off of parts of bodies of the accused. An eye for an eye is the war cry. It sells well in the emotionally charged ambiance.

Emotions are always a selling point in our country. What if the apostle of Ahimsa turns in his grave? What if the concept of social reformation through humanity takes a back seat? Let the justice be dispensed with, in bulk and in retail on streets. A hand for theft, an eye for an immoral act, a finger for a traffic violation, and a head for a rape. How refreshing it will be, if we could see a body hanging from the lamp posts in the heart of our cities when we are hurrying up to our work places!! But the most perturbing question is Who Will Cast The First Stone?

The Kamaraj Salai

1645hrs. The sun is already a tired lot, wants to move off the scene. The closest star to our planet has already started turning red. It is winter, though it does not make much difference in this earstwhile French Colony called Pondicherry. 1645hrs. This is the time I start shivering, my heart beat goes up, my blood pressure rises above normal . I look so frail. Within five minutes from now, I have to cross Kamaraj Salai (Kamaraj Road) to collect my son. The school bus reaches anytime after 5pm but the dutiful parents are in attention on the other side of the busiest road in Pondicherry.
 

The Kamaraj Road

I have to cross the busiest road in Pondicherry at 1650hrs. Motor bikes, lady's tiny bikes, cars of various brands, and autorikshaws run on this road like a powerful stream of water. There will be no break. The men and women at the handle or the wheel are always in a hurry. (Perhaps most of them are rushing to participate rallies against corruption and seminars on how to improve discipline and good conduct of the citizens) They can't wait for anything.  Not the least for a pedestrian.Motorists seem to believe that pedestrians have no business on the road. May be true. With the advent of liberalization of many things including economy, it became so easy to own a vehicle. The dwindling species of walkers are left at the mercy of these proud speedsters.
 

It will be a distortion of fact if I say the traffic on Kamaraj road is non-stop. Of course, there will be breaks, but it needs good skills to see it. One must definitely have a sharp analytical mind to identify a gap and act swiftly. The break may be for a fraction of a second. We must find ourselves at the middle of the road in this split second. Never loose your nerves. Bikes may whiz past the beleagured pedestrian like rockets, autorikshaws may approach menacingly. He/she has to face it. Ultimately, it is important to get to the other side. Our survival instict plays the most when we need it the most.
 

I could see a few homeless dogs (I hate to use the term street dogs) also trying to cross this road. It is quiet amazing to watch them crossing the road with dexterity. They run while sighting a gap in the vehicle movement. I believe these mongrels show better road sense. Perhaps it is the necessity to reach out to the trash-cans that make them so brave on the road.
 

Kamaraj Road is just 20 meters away from my Pondicherry resisdence. The traffic on this road is like a hell. Even in the mid night, the honking sound of the vehicles is audible at our home. Even as I type this, the unscrupulous motorists running amock with their one hand always pressed at the horn is happening right over there. The honking noise is definitely much higher than the noise limit prescribed for our ears. But nobody stops from this habit. In a busy road, is it really required to honk? Will anyone give way simply because the other one behind is in greater urgency? Driving or riding with adrinalin at its peak in the veins is creating havoc on this road. Pedestrians that include school chidren baer the brunt of this recklessness. Sadly no one controls this. Mad world, mad motorists...

Pondicherry is a cute little city. A big town is the correct term to describe this place. There is a part near the Bay of Bengal sea which is nicely constructed by the French colonialists. This is nice area and is being maintained as such even now. The buildings are constructed in French architecture. If we happen to be in this locality, we get a feeling that we are somewhere in a small town of France. Of course, we will be constantly reminded by the speedy noisy vehicles that we are right inside the Mahan Bharat.

The French part of Pondicherry

The street names in French

On one end of the Kamaraj Road there stands a huge statue of Rajiv Gandhi. He stands at the middle of the junction where five roads meet. This is the junction at which both the raods from Chennai to Pondicherry meet. The East Coast Road from Chennai to Pondicherry takes nearly 3 hours by car and the National Highway takes the same duration but the journey along the highway seems to be more comfortable. These roads are of international standards - the roads are, but not the users, sadly!

JN Street- Half of the raod is meant for parking

The other end of Kamaraj Road is the begining of Jawaharlal Nehru street ( if you go in another direction, you will come across Rajiv Gandi Hospital and a little farter, the landmark Indira Gandhi statue). JN Street is the busiest commercial street in Pondicherry. Several cloth shops and way side vendors do brisk business on this street. At any given time, this street will be full of people and vehicles. Thick dust and smoke is omnipresent here too and any part of Puducherry for that matter is no exemption to this.

 It is high time we ushered in Western Culture to our society. It is not all about jeans and tops, excuse me and sorry and dating. They have a better disciplined way of life. They have better patience and care for others when they use the roads. Their vehicles are much less polluting. Their driving licencing system is very very stringent. Vehicle inspectors, Road Transport Officers and Traffic police are much more honest than ours. Perhaps our system can never stand anywhere near theirs. Above all they understand the use of Zebra Crossings. Any takers for the Western Culture please?

 

 Kamaraj was a great politician and Chief Minister of a Congress government in Tamil Nadu. He was a social reformer and a pro-poor social worker.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/K._Kamaraj
 

The road named after a great human being is one of the worst roads in our country. To top it all, starting from Singam Wines, an uncountable number of liquor shops are lined up on both sides of this road. Our country cannot offer a tribute more apt than this to one of her illustrious sons....


The Rajiv Gandi Women and Children Hospital



Pondicherry Baech