Sarpakkulam - the sacred pond

The pond located close to the Sarpakkavu, the Holy abode of the snake  gods was called Sarpakkulam. None of us got into this pond without taking bath. Women in the family were not even allowed to go near the pond when they were menstruating. Grandma was very strict and like a military general, she implemented the rules in their letter and spirit.

Our youngest sister bore the brunt of General Grandma's tyranny the most those days. She was given a mat and a blanket and allowed to sleep only at one corner of the house. She was given food in separate plate that she needed to wash and keep aside for five days every month. On fifth day, she washed the cloths, the mat and then the place she spent has been cleaned with water mixed with cow dung! No body was allowed to go near her these days, forget about touching her.  All these, the grandma did for the sake of the Sarpakkulam. All followed her diktats out of fear for the Snake Gods. After our beloved grandma bade adieu to this world, the pond lost its caretaker, literally. As the time passed by, like most of the ponds in Keralam, this too became a big ditch in the premises of a house. Only time will tell, if this ditch will be one day filled with a few loads of sand and then a palatial bungalow sprout there. There can be a swimming pool also to enhance the opulence. Given the trend, this does not look to be a distant reality

Remembering the Sarpakulam hardly brings the memories of Nagaraja, the Snake King now. Instead, it brings about the memories of the Varal fish in that pond. Varal, is a fresh water fish that are commonly seen in ponds of Keralam. These fish, once in a year  became a mouth watering recipe in our grandma's kitchen. A holy place as it is, the Sarpakkulam has been always kept clean with the help of yearly maintenance. Once in a year, during a summer day, water from the pond was pumped out and then, the sludge and mud removed. During this process, the fish were caught and kept in a vessel with water.
 

Four men, holding four ends of the ropes tied to a conical shaped vessel, stand on two edges of the pond. In a synchronised act, they dip the vessel into the pond, collect the mud and throw it to the land. It was very interesting to watch, just like villagers still watching an odd JCB appearing in the village once in a while for some specific work. Along with the mud, fish also were thrown out. By the time the mud is cleared, water from every directions oozes out and fill the pond even up to a quarter level. The water table was very good and it was very clean.

Water weeds called 'payal' in Malayalam grew thickly in this pond. There was no way to control its growth. At times, we removed the payal and used as manure for the plantains and other plants in the compound. After a few days of its removal, the weeds made its come back stronger than before. This used to happen even after the yearly maintenance work in the pond. After the maintenance work, what we see was clear water in the pond with the bottom visible from the edges. Barely after two weeks, the surface of the water will be wearing a green blanket. This marks the rebirth of the nemesis called payal! I am sure, even the Snake Gods could not do anything to prevent the reappearance.   

The fish were shared among the neighbours. The pure water fish was very tasty. I still remember how Meenakshiyamma killed those slippery creatures one by one, peeled off the skin and washed them clean. I was the one who used to pour water to clean the fish. Most of the time, while the old woman prepared the fish, I was present to lift water from the well and help her clean them. When Meenakshiyamma prepares the fish, she stands in a peculiar posture. She walked and stood with a crouch. From the time I remember her, she was like this

While cleaning the fish there will be a dog and a few crows waiting nearby her to eat the waste. She gave the waste only to the dog because according to her, dog narrates to Lord Yaman about the good things we do.  She never like cats, because they were disgraceful animals and they tell all lies to the Dharmaraj!

The fish, after cutting into pieces were washed many times. Two or three times with crystal salt too to remove any remaining scales from the fish. We used crystal salt those days. Probably, chemistry was not in our grandma's syllabus  and she certainly did  not know iodine! I have not seen crystal salt in the recent past.

Cooking starts. The awesome company of grandma and Meenakshiyamma  fried these "varals". That was the ultimate! The taste is still in my tongue!  However, for a long time now, no meat is a part of my daily menu. Meat no longer enthuse my taste buds.

Which flavour in the dishes prepared by the lovely duo was dominating the others? It is difficult to say. Perhaps it was love, no it was sincerity or was it the commitment? Whatever it be, we devoured every dish they churned out. The rice appam with coconut chutney in the evening after our return from school was a very special food for us. The rice was ground on the stone along with small onions, jeera and green chillies by Meenakshiyamma. She took care of us more than her own two children.  

In the monsoon, the sarpakulam overflows. A small channel is cut open to make way for the excess water from the pond to the nearby paddy field. Water flow was another occasion for the children to celebrate. Paper boats hit the stream. We made a number of boats by folding news papers and the paper torn from the note books. The boats sail from one end, move on unsteadily, stop when a hurdle comes on the way and then again move forward. The bare footed children accompanied it till the end of the journey. Never mind, at the end of the day, we children ended up with itchy feet. It was quiet difficult to spend nights with the boils in between the toes. Itch was unbearable. Elders had very hard time attending on us.

By the way, the house opposite to ours could not weather this year's monsoon. The already dilapidated structure has come down totally last month. That is the end of a pleasant history. How would have our affable friends Minikumari, Vinod and Cini Mol felt about it?  It was painful to see the house in this condition. The noise from the quarrel between Vinod and Cinimol and the Ramayanam recital by their mother Pankiyamma reverberates in my ears. Blaring  honking noise from the city roads can only force me more and more nostalgic about the silly things I saw in my life.

Once in a year, we offered special pujas to the Snake Gods. Our grandpa took lead to perform this ritual. He arranged everything from the prasadms to the lamps to lit. We assisted him very enthusiastically. Grandpa, as usual wore a serious face even when he was busy preparing to please the gods in our premises. We never dared to tell him anything. Orders were obediently executed. By late in the morning, the pujari from the village temple turns up to perform the puja. At the end of the puja, we children shouted 'aapro irro, irro,  arpo irro irro..." All the gang members made a chorus to shout this. The pleased gods, showered their blessings all the time. They remained there as an armour of protection around the souls that lived in the compound. That was what all of us believed. There is nothing wrong in believing. Nothing wrong in believing that snakes can be gods and they can bless the humans. As long as it does not question other's beliefs or his/her peace is disturbed, every belief has the right to peacefully coexist in this universe...

In the name of belief, a few ponds and many more trees are preserved all over the state. That needs to be appreciated. Once the fear factor fades, slowly but surely, the remaining ponds and woods will vanish. O,  respected Nagaraj, please instil some fear once in a while in the people in the interest of the nature and the eco system

Racial Profiling : The global villain

Trayvon Martin

"You know, when Trayvon Martin was first shot, I said that this could have been my son. Another way of saying that is Trayvon Martin could have been me, 35 years ago," Obama told reporters as he made an unannounced entry into the White House press room.

"There are very few African-American men in this country who haven't had the experience of being followed when they were shopping in a department store. That includes me," Obama said.

"And there are very few African-American men who haven't had the experience of walking across the street and hearing the locks click on the doors of cars. That happens to me, at least before I was a Senator," he said."There are very few African-Americans who haven't had the experience of getting on an elevator and a woman clutching her purse nervously and holding her breath until she had a chance to get off. That happens often," the President said.

This was what the ruler of the most powerful democratic country said just yesterday. He has been speaking about the acquittal of the killer of Trayvon Martin, a black teenager. http://www.indianexpress.com/news/us-jury-finds-zimmerman-not-guilty-of-killing-martin/1141811/

Look, how the discrimination on the basis on race is being practiced in US. It is not only in our country, but even in most developed and civilised countries the things are no different. Racial profiling is not a new thing in Western countries and America. Nelson Mandela spent his entire prime time in prison only because he fought against racial discrimination in  another continent.

Like the President, I too turn the clock back by 35 years. Traces of dicrimination based on caste were yet to disappear from the villages of Keralam by then. I shall narrate some objectionable practices a section of the people in my village followed those days.

Our village has back waters on 3 sides. There are paddy fields all around. People regularly cultivated in these fields depending on monsoon. Monsoon never failed us those days. The green canopy of the paddy fields was like looking at a tantalising colour painting . In the lush green canopy, white coloured cranes made beautiful dots. At the back drop of the thick array of coconut trees these paddy fields proclaimed the prosperity of the village. These were the scenes that kept the serenity of the villages intact for a long time.

The tranquility of the village was at times disturbed by a few gun shots. There were some strange men, who occassionally decended on our village to hunt for birds using some crude guns. These men were unwelcome guests to this sleepy village, but no one had the courage to turn them back. An air borne bird suddly collapses, writhing in pain and then breathes its last. That was painful. We hated these heartless predators on two legs. They bundled the lifeless creature into a jute bag, almost nonchalantly. Hey Ram, this poor creacture also would have felt the ultimate pain, did You notice that?

That was how my village was once upon a time. There was no dearth of water. The paddy fields acted as water collection points during rains. But during summer this water disappears and the salty water from the back waters enters. This contaminates the underground water. The few wells and ponds we had in the village turn saline in this process. People in our village faced shortage of drinking water. Still, a few remained potable. One among them was the pond in our compound
 

This pond was called "Sarpa kulam". It was adjoining the "Sarpa Kavu." Sarpakavu is a place where the "Nagarajan" the Snake King was worshipped. It is a small group of trees growing thickly to form a tiny forest. There are 6 such Sacred Groves in our compound. Though the Sarpakavus are still maintained with minimal reverence, the "sarpa kulam" is long gone. There is not much water in it and with the lack of maintenance, it is almost dead. Almost every pond in our village is facing this fate. The ponds are fast turning to lands to make place for new dwelling places.

The "sarpakulam" was considered a sacred entity. This pond was an abundant source of clean water. Even in peak summer, it offered water. We used this water to drink and cook. Of course, to drink, we boiled the water. with a pinch of Jeera added in it. That was and is the practice of Malayalees - whereever they are- since time immemorial.  People from the neighborhood also used the pond water. But, for others, there was a rider. Our grandparents did not want people from other castes get into the pond and collect water. They had to bring their vessels, keep them on the edge of the pond and wait for anyone of us to turn up. We took our own vessel, collected water from the pond and poured into theirs! To me, now it looked like a minor verson of the dirty aparthied practiced in South Africa till the recent past
 

Luckily for us, the children, we never felt we were from different caste backgrounds. Our football team, the Victory Sports Club, was a happy mix of boys from many castes. No discrimination was followed. Our parents did not poke their noses in this matter, fortunately. Still, many of our best friends did not have permission to enter our house. They were restricted to stay outside. The white coloured cross bars of the window on the East side of our house remind me of a few faces and the unfair acts we did to them. These were the bars on which our good friend Radhakrishnan aka Radha held his hands and stood for a long time to talk to us. He had a lot of time to spend with us as he dropped out of the school at an early stage itself. Many of the guys who came to our house to play with us were offered food, but they were asked to wash the plates after eating in them if they were happend to be from different castes. The funny thing is that we had to wash the plates and glasses we used at our neighbourhood house! That was the home of our guru Kunjamma. They were a step ahead of us in the racial order. Everyone did it without complaint because, it was all acceptable to one and all

Occassionally, some tribal women came to our village seeking alms. They were kept far away from the forecourt of our house. They sat at least 20 meters away from the front door. They had their own plates to take the food we offered. Many of the house holds did not give anything to them. For the little things we offer, they had to wait for a long time outside, but they did wait patiently for it. Eeven if, they had to leave the place empty handed, I don't remember, if they had expressed any ill feelings. But, the general feelings of the public was that these people come to villages to steal!  They were looked down upon by everyone in the village. On sighting them, the children haunted them, abused them and made fun of them as if they were aliens appeared from no where.

That was an old story which we are ashamed to tell now. It should never have been done, but that was how the society was functioning that time. Now the situation is totally different, well, at least in the open. No more seemingly uncivilized barriers. Every caste members participate in functions in every home, be it marriage, death or birth. They eat together and all are permitted to enter anyone's house. That is a happy tiding in the social set up of Keralam. That was the magic created when Sreenarayana Guru proclaimed " I had consecrated an Eezhava Sivan" after consecrating a Sava temple. People like Sreenarayana Guru fostered peace and amity between different sections of the society instead of creating divide between them.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Narayana_Guru

The most interesting news is that, my mom's assistant is a distant relative of the old man who ran a barber shop in our village! She cooks food in our house which everyone of us eats without any kind of inhibitions. Is it apt to use the phrase 'the wheel has taken a full circle'  here?

I only wish our younger generations grow without being influenced by narrow thinkings in the name of their social standings . Castes and religions shall be kept as exclusive private parts and it shall be taboo to 'expose' them in the public domain. Possible? Yes yes, why not? For a moment, my fingers, without my permission, went into a crossed position....

 

The Cancer

Strict action will be taken against the people responsible. Rs 2 Lacs was announced as compensation for the deceased. Some babus will be suspended shortly. An enquiry commission will be formed. The commission members will be provided with five star facilities, big remunerations and all other perks. After a few days, this tragedy will get an unceremonious burial. By that time, a bigger tragedy would have struck elsewhere in the country. The suspended officials will quietly return to their jobs after enjoying some paid holidays called suspension. Shockingly, in our country, suspension is a synonym for paid holidays! The commssion will submit its "findings" at their convenience. The report will take its place somewhere in the shelf of a government office. 22 children lost their life, that is the ultimate truth in the  whole episode

I do not think a good part of the population came to know of the incident yet. Around two years back, one of my junior colleagues in Chennai narrated an incident to me. He has been travelling from Chennai Park Station to Chengalpattu, the satellite city of Chennai, by the sub-urban train. On the way, a group of youths embarked the train. One of them started giving a speech. He explained to the commuters that some twenty five years back, there was a horrible gas leak in Bhopal and a few thousand of people were killed in that. None of the responsible were punished yet. None of the victims got compensation yet. My colleague told me as if he heard of this incident first time. That is how the young generation looks at the events unfolding in their middle....http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bhopal_disaster

The children of Bihar are victims of another episode of corruption. The food inspector would have never visted any of the schools where, mid day meals are served. Sitting in the comfort of his "sarkari naukari" he would never have bothered to do his job. These babus have strong associations, mind you. They have influence in the power that be. No government in this country can do anything against them. Perhaps the greatest beneficiaries of democracy is this section of the society.

There are so many departments around us to exclusively for serving the public. Vehicle inspector ensures the safety of the vehicles on the road, police inspector takes care of the law and order,  health department worries so much about our health, umpteen number of other departments take care of our day to day welfare. Still, why is our lot not finding a sea change? There comes the corruption factor. With due respect to a good number of people who work so sincerely, no work in our country can move forward without greasing the palms of the babus- from the lowest to the highest in the hierarchy.

The ugly hands of corruption played a major part in one of the deadly bomb attacks in Mumbai in 1993. Policemen and other officers allowed smugglig of contraband materils by the terrorists. For this, the corrupt officials were paid heavily. In the bombing, hundreds died. Who cares? A few greedy men on duty pocketed a few lacs in exchange for the horror their benefactos unleashed http://articles.timesofindia.indiatimes.com/2013-03-22/india/37935417_1_customs-officials-coast-guards-serial-blasts

There is no caste, creed or religious barriers when it comes to corruption. All are united. While receiving an undeserved consideration, nobody feels the prick in the conscience. Every religion preaches good conduct, compassion and above all, sacrifice. I am sure, none of them are encouraging anything that have even remote resemblance to amassing wealth. When did we start thinking that we have to make money by any means? The religions that we swear by and ready to lay down our lives for, tell us about renunciation. It says, at death, we cannot even take with us the cloths we wear. Then why this greed?  Why don't we feel that we must keep the spirit of Satyameva Jayate inscribed on our National Emblem? I need no answers, because, I too am a part of this rotten set up.

"Hiranmayena Patrena Satyasya Pihitham Mukham" - perhaps this is the slogan the citizens of a country, that has a rich past, are inclined to follow in the 21st century


 

Ramayana masam -1

 Another Karkidakom has arrived. This is the last month of the Malayalam year. Coming next is Chingam, the harbinger of Onam. Everyone has already started preparations to welcome Chingam, I mean, the textile shops, the television channels and the liquor shops. Karkidakom is considered an inauspicious month. No new beginnings in this month. No functions like marriage or house warming happens in Karkidakom. Monsoon will be at its peak and there will be no work to the general public to do. Income reduces due to this and everyone is forced to confine to their homes. It is the time for going the spiritual way. Every home turns to Ramayanam in the month of Karkidakom. Temples in Keralam organizes Saptaha Yagnams. Bhagavatham is read in the temples by professionals whereas at homes, it is Ramayanam by the family memebrs. One month long spiritual voyage through the Holy book... that was how it was all happening in Keralam long time back.

There will be no customary lamp in front of me this time. More interestingly, there will be no Holy Book in front of me. I have downloaded the Adhyathma Ramayanam Kilippattu on my laptop. Given the circumstances, I excuse myself for the compromises. Reverence is in the mind, not in the symbolisms. Let me find recourse to this self portrayed adage...Every Karkidakom brings in a lot of nostalgia to me. I always feel so anxious to share the sweetness these old memories bring about. I never feel tired of telling the colourful stories about the Ramayana Masam and the Karkidaka vavu

We were more than happy to read Ramayanam at our home when we were very young. On the first day, after returning from our temple after the customary Deeparadhana in the evening, a lamp is lit in front of the images of the Gods and then the Ramayanam starts...On the back drop, the downpour of Karkidakom will be providing the necessary music. The rain comes like a flash. Suddenly dark clouds appear on the western or northern part of the sky and then there will a roaring sound. Rain in all its fury comes down and suddenly stops as it came. To give that extra effect, the water drops from the tiled roof falling into kitchen utensils kept at different spots inside the house did its job so perfectly. It had no rhythm. The strength of the sound varied with the strength of the rain.

Our house, like any other houses in our village has tiled roof. It was constructed by our father long time back. The total cost of construction at that time could be something like a few thousands. Now, with that thousands, we may not get even a load of river sand...Earlier to this house, it was a hut in its place, thatched with coconut leaves. Probably it was a bigger form of a hut. No electricity, no road in the village and no entertainment other than the company of the boys and girls. I have a very faint memory of the kerosene lamp carried by our grandma while she goaded us to the forecourt to answer the nature's call. The floor, I think, was made with mud and smeared with cow dung. Nice to be there, when joy was serving a life term in that hut, and love was our neighbours. We did need no other comforts...

 

" Hari Sree Ganapathaye nama: Avighna Masthu:

Sri Rama! Rama! Rama! SriRama Chandra Jaya!

Sri Rama! Rama! Rama! Sri Rama Bharda Jaya!..."

 

Balakandam has thus bagun. The journey starts. The highly enlightening odyssey had the first step there. Balakandam narrates the story of Raman's birth and the childhood. Perhaps the most nostalgic among all the chapters in Ramayanam. The playful royal kids would have played kuttiyum kolum, kallanum policum and hide and seek under the watchful eyes of hundreds of servants. They would have gone around the places to collect flowers to make “pookkalam" during Onam. The CEO post was already waiting there, so their parents would never have pestered them to study and only study all the time and get A+ in the exams. The royal kids were given lessons in politics, morality and archery. They were taught to treat their parents like Gods, others with respect and compassion and live a life of honesty and integrity. It is worth reading this book once in a year. At the least, it gives an opportunity to refresh our language that we increasingly started ignoring as the time passes.

 

 

The War Children

Blood curdling. That is the simplest word I could use to describe this picture. This is the picture that won the Pulitzer award for photography in the year 2013. Here a father grieves the death of his son in Syria. http://www.pulitzer.org/citation/2013-Breaking-News-Photography 

 

I sat frozen at the sight of this picture in a daily. My eyes welled with tears that blocked the vision for a while. A chlilled numbness crept down the spine. Legs turned stones. It was so shocking. This is what happens when people out of their senses come out on to street and fight each other. This is one of the several horrendous scenes that unravel on the streets of war zones. It should never happen to even our enemies. Oh God, why do you gift only miseries to some people always? I know your answer. You are helpless. You are not in control. Men have taken over your powers long time back

Look at this picture. This could be a regular scene on Afghan streets for the past several years. Look at the faces of those little children. It is heart rending. Madness of religious bigots are the sole perpetrators of such horror on children. They have not started their life yet, but they are not sure if they can really complete their 5th birthday.

The remnants of the ancient city of Palmyra. The boy is seen in the picture

I can never forget that little boy who followed the tourists at Palmyra in Syria in 2009. He could not be more than five years. He is seen in the picture here. He had been holding a few post cards bearing the photographs of Palmyra structures. These post cards are sold as souvenirs to the visitors. That boy had been running after the tourists to sell off his products. Syria was a poor country. It was under the Assad dispensation and it is still under him. Suddenly a rebellion started against him and the ensued civil war has destroyed whatever little the country had. Where does that country go? Can't predict anything. World is divided over this tragedy, based on the benefit each country can draw out of it. Let us all helplessly watch the events with prayers in our lips for the earliest conclusion of the strife.

Do not click this link : http://www.warchild.org/

The tiny tot in the pram may not be walking steadily yet, but he had a tablet PC in his hands. Sitting in the pram, he was lost in it. This was a scene in the Dubai mall last time when I visited Dubai. There are kids like him in this world. They are never exposed to the rough part of the life. They too do not know what the life is. They surely cut cake on their fifth birthdays. Their parents do everything to make the event as grand as possible.

But still, there are so many kids, even when wallowing in all comforts, crave for affection and love. Imagine a family in which father and mother fight each other. What could be the feelings of the children there? It cannot be anything different from the chidren who run for cover on the streets of the war zones.

 

 Of course, children and not secure even in the peace zones. growing intolerance between different communities even in the civilised societies takes a toll on the children. To add to that, indisciplined road traffic, losing moral values of the people that opens up another cannon of worms against the little ones are alarmingly on the rise. When I was a child, I was a free child. I had full freedom to go around my village and mingle with any child of the village.

 

We braved rough weather during the monsoon and walked more than three kilometers to go to school. Our parents never worried about our safety, security or if we were straying away from the course. They did have the confidence in their children. Those children are now fathers and mothers. They never send their children to school like they went. They never allow their children to mingle with other children. The children live a life confined to their sweet homes. There, they have more than one smart phones, high end tablet PC, 40 inch LED TV and Play station. They will hardly know that their couter parts in different parts of the world are a traumatised lot. They hardy enjoy their innocent childhood there. Let us hope, the Almighty has a plan for those unfortunate kids. Whatever be that plan, oh God, I demand, place Your cards on the table, right now....

 

 

Dharmapuri

Chennai metro is on fast track. It is running against time to complete by next year. With the opening of another mode of public transport, the life of Chennaites is expected to be easier. Even now, public transportation is very nice in the city with city buses, share autos and share cabs lining up at every bus stop of the city. Though the basic outlook of the city has not changed yet, the IT revolution, like in many other cities, has taken Chennai by storm. So many magnificent glass houses have sprouted all over the city. But, LIC building on the Mount Road is still a tall building in Chennai and a cynosure of everyone's eyes. Inaugurated in 1959,  it was the tallest building in India that time. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/LIC_Building



The LIC building on Mount Road

Well dressed young men and women, sporting their identity cards around their necks is a common scene in the city. The hanging Id card predominantly displays the company  in which they work and it is a statement of their status and life style in the 21st century. They use their own vehicles as well as the public transport system so extensively.

It is very difficult to find men in their traditional dresses here now a days. A very small percentage of women are still clinging on to saris. People are by and large friendly and go about their own business usually. In my 15 years experience, I found Chennai safer than any other city in our country. People from every part of India live here peacefully, well, almost. Parry's corner the commercial hub of the city is the beehive of Hindi speaking businessmen. They speak fluent Tamizh and integrated to the main stream to a great extent.

But like any other Indian city, Chennai too is highly polluted. Dust is the major irritant here. Above that, we face water scarcity in many of the localities. Drinking water, for sure, Chennaites depend purely on packaged drinking water. Every household has to buy cans of water on a daily basis. One 20 litre can costs Rs 30. This water needs to be used for cooking as well as for drinking. Every brand of the so called packaged drinking water invariably carries the ISI mark.

The auto rickshaws never run on meter here. Even for a short run, they charge exhorbittantly. Thanks to the new initiative called "namma auto" in Chennai, there are a few auto rickshaws carrying the people on un-tampered meters. http://nammaauto.com/new/. Whatever be the plusses and minuses of this place, I love Chennai. I like to live in this city for ever

Chennai is the capital of Tamizhnadu. Tamizh is the language of this state. It is Tamizh Nadu and the ones who cannot pronounce the letter 'zha' call it Tamil Nadu. Tamizh is a purely Dravidian Language that is not influenced by Sanskrit. Contributions by so many great writers enriched the language to a classical level. Thirukkural is a treasure trove of knowledge. Umpteen number of social reformers, literary figures and great politicians lived in Tamizhnadu- Thiruvalluvar, Kamban, Raja Raja Chozhan, Anna Durai, MGR ...to name a few. Abdul Kalam is still living there
 

Everything looks so rosy there. Even a visit to the cities like Thiruchirapally, Coimbatore, Salem or Madurai also creats an impression that Tamizhnadu is a well developed state. That is not a misplaced impression anyway.  The living standard of the people has improved by leaps and bounds in the past years even though much is desired yet. There are remarkable improvements in industrial growth, employment availability, infant mortality, women's living conditions and general health scenario

Now, let us go to Dharmapuri. Dharmapuri is a place we come across if we go to Bangalore from Chennai by bus. If we travel by Tamil Nadu State Transport Corporation buses, we have to go to Dharmapuri bus stand. I never liked to go to that bus stand as it delays the journey. The bus takes a diversion from the four lane Bangalore- Chennai highway to go to Dharmapuri

 

Dharmapuri is not more than a crowded small town like any other Indian town. Like any other Indian citizens, here too people think along caste and religious lines. There are thousands of castes and sub castes in India. Although most of the people in our country hardly find proper food, shelter or cloth, all of us are very conscious about caste and religion. So, when a young dalit man married a supposedly upper caste young woman, it bacame a cause for violence in Dharmapuri

http://www.indianexpress.com/news/tn-love-story-that-sparked-violence-has-tragic-ending/1137962/
 

It all started when the girl's father committed suicide over his daughter's action. His (false) prestige was at stake and he could never afford to loose it. This incident led to violence and his caste members attached and torched so many dalit houses in Dharmapuri. Still the man and woman lived together for a few months.

Just a month back, the girl suddenly decided to leave her husband and live with her mother. To top it all, she announced yesterday that she did not want to live with her husband anymore. Just the day after this announcement, her husband's dead body was found on the railway track. Curtains to an "amar prem" in a tragic and outrageous way.

 

This, once again proved, Indians can never think out of the caste box. It is shocking to hear that, caste based discrimination is existing in such ugly forms in a state like Tamizhnadu. This is a state that boasts of achieving giant strides in living standards and social conditions. Sadly, most of the people in Tamizhnadu, like in most part of the country, missed the bus to modernity.

When the US brought the resolution on human rights violations in Sri Lanka, entire Tamizhnadu erupted in unision to force India vote against Lanka. 

The chest beaters for Sri Lankan Tamizhans have started taking sides on caste lines in this love story. On the back drop, ignominious incidents of mideival forms of caste discrimination are being practiced in various parts of the state. Like separate tumblers in village tea shops in Coimbatore and Madurai, shocking incidents are popping out and are reported widely in the media so frequently. Nobody looks to be so perturbed about  presence of such evils in the society. In India, everyone's heart shrinks to the size of a mustard seed when it comes to caste and religious issues. Will there ever be any end to this?

There is no reason to be optimistic. In countries like Pakistan, Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria and Sri Lanka, people are fighting each other with AK 47s, Missiles, Mortars, RDX and Grenades. Time is not far away for them start using neclear weapons. There also, castes and religions are the point of contention. Take heart, here in our country, we are not yet graduated to that level....