Thoughts in vain............

This was written by Vishnu after his X board exams...........seems that human turmoil never changes, rather gets more complicated, i didnt feel any better after my board exams......and nothing seems to have changed after approximately 30 years...........

Unquote:
My name is S. Vishnu Vardhan. I Study In Class Ten. I have written my exams. My holidays have started. I am now in Trichy. I am just lying down. Now I am in Semmangudi. I am looking up at the dark sky overcast with clouds. It is about to overflow. The trees are swaying. I can feel the air touching my face. My hair is rustling. I feel as if chains are being cut off from me by nature. It was forged over a long time. After two months they will come back. I knew it. Would I ever be free from it? I thought to myself. Maybe yes. Who knows? Suddenly I felt goose bumps on my skin. I looked up. That is, I tried to. Immediately a huge shower came cutting out my vision. I ran quickly inside. I could see the rain. I went to the terrace. I saw only the gloomy sky and the green fields all around. I could see the lilies in the pond struggling to keep themselves afloat. I saw the shingles of the roofs of the houses dripping with water. In the distance I could see the lone cow grazing in the fields, without a care in the world, not afraid of getting a cold. I wanted to be like it. But I was a human, having specific responsibilities and a specific role and I had to fulfill it, but why? In order to live? Or to eat? Who knows…………. I have to do so I do.
I went down. I saw that the water was running in small streams across the muddy road. Where would it join? Maybe the stream or maybe it would be drunk by the cow. I decided to leave it. I suddenly woke up to a harsh reality. I had to call up my parents for my board exam marks. What would their reactions be? What would they tell me? Would they be happy? Who knows? Anyway I did the best I could do, so what happens if the results are low? All these thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of the phone at the other end. “Hello” I heard the voice at the other end.

Race of a race

When we as a RACE (noun), RACE (verb) do we CARE (verb) for the rest of the race?............not so funny when we realise that the two words are anagrams yet so different............just my thoughts below..

So exhausted was he after that grueling marathon race. Extreme level of physical fitness, and the discipline and rigor of his practice ensured that he completed the race, though not in any of the prize winning positions. He came from a small village, started his life running through the streets and lanes, on the cement pavement along the gutters, in through the open fields, under the vast expanse of the sky and on the green carpets in the fields. His drive to be a runner, nobody including him, knows from where it came, but it pushed him hard to be a good runner. He had won prizes in his school days, which helped him to get into a college through the channel for sports people and finally he ended up representing his nation in the long distance run. It has always been a race for him in life, ironically against his own race.

Sitting under the shade of the cool canopy, sipping a glass of water, his eyes closed as beads of sweat trickled down on that hot evening, he was pondering if he would ever be able to run another marathon again as age was winning him in its race. Slow and steady with no sense of acceleration but it went past him , giving an ironical smile. And that was one race he knew he could never win, despite his speed and practice. He was all along oblivious to the cacophony around him in the ground.

The wet white cloth covering his face, he lay stretched in the grass, as the thought ran through him.

This is a sport where I run, and try to win. But when I race against my kindred from my race as a sport I enjoy the challenge, and most importantly I race against myself as well, stepping up the bar. But why is the race of life so maddening?...........slowly this went through his mind, as the sweat beads were trickling down, and the sun’s rays touched him, scorching the skin, but the rays were in no hurry, at a constant speed they reached down, as if knowing for sure what they wanted to achieve.

As if in sharp contrast to his thoughts, where the thought of his race, right from birth, runs a race, not sure of why, not even aware of the mysterious force pushing them into this race, and in spite of not being a willing partaker, the momentum catches on so infectiously, that by the time he realizes, he is already running. Not a moment thereafter to ever look at life’s trivialities, nature’s eloquence in its silence, to look at anything in nature as it is,………. devoid of his self-constructed prisms through which life is always viewed…………resulting in a sense of insecurity, making him run faster. But the faster he runs, the winning point seems to move farther at the same speed , evading his stretched legs, not a second to stop and look at the world around. A small hesitation means, loss of his position in the puzzle, resulting in more of insecurity and fear driving him deeper and deeper into this mad neurotic spiral. Ultimately not aware of why he is even here, in this race, he still continues with the mad rush. All in the so called spirit of competition and need to survive, the race continues. Will there ever be a point of elation at the end? He is not sure.

After all, all this mad dog race is, for him to survive, and survive he does, for he wants to enjoy life, find a certain fulfillment, a point where he can be with himself…….but the very process which he adopts or rather is forced to adopt by that mysterious whip, drives him to a diametrically opposite situation, it is like the mirage in the desert, the more he runs, the more it moves away from him………..is there ever an end to this madness? Will the race among the members of the race ever end, where all can walk with each other in complete harmony, where one can be at peace with oneself without destroying the other, with complete understanding of the other and of his own self.

What is it that I want to achieve and will my present way of life ever achieve that? The wet cloth on his face was beginning to dry up, and he was shaken out of his stream of thoughts by the setting sun………………..will he rise up a different man to be one of a kind?

Why me............?

It was a warm morning, the sunshine gently caressing him, as he sat close to the window, his face trying to push its way out between the vertical round rods of the window. His frail soft arms trying to reach out and touch the neem tree standing close to his house, rather his grandfather’s house. He was five years old, and all these years he had been with his grand parents. The nice sprawling house, where he had enjoyed all of his infancy, but he was not sure if he really enjoyed it but he lived there, and all these years he lived the same way as today, his routine the same and unchanging, except that nagging question in his tender innocent mind, slowly growing in size. It was very similar to the balloons he inflated for his birthday, slowly but steadily growing. The child didn’t know why it was bothering him, but the pain wouldn’t leave him.

Every day he used to get up, his grand mother fondly waking him up, cuddling him and enjoying his presence and his innocence but unaware of that pain deep in the crevices of his grey matter or the depths of his heart. After all he couldn’t articulate it well, but his eyes were talking and alive but who pays attention to unsaid yearnings, when people cant listen to spoken words!!! She used to brush his teeth, gently comb his hair, as his grandfather came ambling back from his walk and sat on the rocking chair reading his newspaper, he would slowly go and sit on his lap, pushing the paper away. His grandmother brought his milk, and he would sip it slowly as his grandfather pampered him, caressing his hairs, feeling those tender fingers. The child slowly and silently sipping his milk, while seated on his grandfather’s lap , observing the neem tree. The day used to pass, with his shower which was the fun part of his day, as he messed the bathroom, turning things topsy turvy tiring his old grand parents, which they enjoyed, though physically they couldn’t match his exuberance of life.

Today as he sat , peeping through the window, his eyes slightly watered, for no immediate and apparent reason. His hands still stretching out and trying to reach the swaying leaf of the tree, which occassionally he would catch. Suddenly there was a lot of squawking from the tree, he strained his neck further trying to find the reason for the commotion, and there it was. A small nest, about ten feet from the window, nicely couched among the leaves not visible easily, and the mother sparrow gently landing in it was the reason. Two small chicks, with their pink necks opening their cute small mouths to be fed , and the mother sparrow slowly feeding the bits of food from its mouth and ruffling the feathers of the chics. As the branch swayed in the wind, unmindful of the lack of stability they were enjoying their mother, and her affection in fullness and probably they were trying to talk to her, explaining the events during her absence, and also probably asking her the reason for the delay….a small trickle rolled down the cheeks of the child, the longing for his mother, which he felt deeply but being a child never could express.

The week end was approaching and the whole house was suddenly getting noisy, noisy with activities of somebody’s arrival and he knew who it was. It was always a very pleasant experience initially but slowly the happiness waned out growing into yearning and indifference. His parents were supposed to be coming, for the weekly visit. Both the parents were working, with great careers in life. They were busy with their schedules and didn’t want the child to be left in a creche or with a maid, so the choice was to leave him with his grandparents. The intention was to provide him with a home and more responsible people to take care of him and at the same time they could handle their careers visiting the child every weekend without fail. What was once a day of rejoicing and reunion for the child was slowly becoming one of a painful ritual, a ritual which ended like any other, but left a scar in him growing deeply.

His parents arrived in the afternoon and as always came with lots of gifts and sweets. His mother gave her full attention to him, probably a deep ineffable sense of guilt (?) prevailed, a sense of longing in her which she couldn’t express, visible in her eyes. That day the child didn’t care for any of the gifts, he just hugged her, holding her tightly, and the mother slowly aware that her child was responding differently today than earlier. Why was it? Slowly she enquired about his well being and the child with his face buried in his mother’s breast let a sound of consent escape his soft lips.

Why… are u so timid today, are u not well? Asked the mother
Illai ma, am fine……… I want to show you something, and he pulled her to the next room to the window.
What is it that u want to show me? Asked the mother impatiently.
His grand parents were watching this , not knowing what was running in the child’s mind, to them it was a child with his mother happy and enjoying and they continued their discussion with their son in law.

Slowly he took her to the window, and with his soft tender arms pointed to the branch.

Anga paaru ma….
What? I don’t see anything
See near that branch, where there is so much leaves, see straight along my finger amma and he strained his soft little forefinger, thinking he could touch the nest and show her………
Slowly she could see what he was showing
Oh the nest, how cute isnt it? Two small chicks, said the mother, appreciating the beauty of the tender little sparrows
Amma..today morning they were very happy but now they are not. You know why? Their mother left them. She came fed them and flew away., that is why they are sad amma.
She turned towards him, no my child they are not sad, they are young , why will they be sad? She asked
Why amma, can't young ones be sad? They don’t know to talk but they also feel isnt it?

The mother slowly felt the pinch, and turned to face him.

Why chellam , are u affected by the birds?
No amma , I also feel the same way. Sometimes, I feel like crying, but I cant, I don’t know why…..but I think I know why amma .
What is this chellam , you are with thatha and patti , they keep you so happy take you everywhere, and appa and I bring you so many gifts everytime, we come, what makes you sad?

Amma , they give me everything but ……when I want you, you are not there? Enakku nee vennum.
Take me with you please, the child cringed holding back its tears, and still trying to maintain his composure. I know thatha and patti are kind and good, but I want to be with you.

I am your amma da, chellam don’t feel sad……..am here now isnt it?

You come and go, I don’t even know that you have left and I have to wait till you come, instead you don’t need to come at all amma, I feel so sad when you leave, so if you don’t come, then you will not go, and I wont feel sad………….the innocent lips quivered………

Amma, the chics spend more time with their mother than I get to , why me amma alone, my friends in this flat also have their mothers with them the whole day, but I have you sometimes but I don’t have my mother always……….

She hugged him close again, trying to avoid the discussion and carried him to the hall to be with the others. The child was quiet , not the same playful menace, anymore. It was like his sense of confidence was waning, the fact that he was not with his parents, kept coming up., but for some reason nobody ever discussed that among the elders.

To them , their careers were important enough, and the reason was to provide a better childhood for the kid. That’s the irony of life, to provide something better for your loved ones, you lose them a bit, then you provide for what you lose, but vain as we are, justifying or brushing aside a genuine question is easy, cos as cowardly as we are , our choices are never made from facts but from personal selfish needs. Further more, the grandparents , they always love the grandchild and are always ready to care for them, but is it not the responsibility of children to take care of their offsprings, and give their parents a certain level of easy life? After all we have a reason for that, - if they are willing then why not?

If we ever try to understand the child, will there not be a question of why am I left with somebody else and not with my parents in the child's mind? The lack of skill in a child to articulate is often misconstrued as tacit consent, but the turmoil in the mind is never looked into. In the formative years the child needs its mother and father for a sense of confidence, to develop traits and habits which can make it a more self reliant person in the future. Is a child a mere product of accidental copulation, where two single cells accidentally come and meet and grow? Does the child not have a right to be with its parents? If the mother cannot be a mother, true to the spirit of the word, then why procreate? Being a career woman is not wrong but don’t blame the child if it belies our expectations, after all it was our choice. When we cant give our fullest to it, then why………..me?, that’s the child’s doubt. Why beget a child? If marriages are for mere social status , and procreation to prove the individuals virility, then isn’t there a better way to do it than messing with the life of a flower? Will the parents, apart from the child be affected?

Why……….me?

The Institution

Hi............in case somebody is still reading all this...............been quite sometime since i did something interesting and satisfying, so thought, why not get back to pristine stillness? and am here again, though just for a brief while only...........................read on.

The college exams were over, and he had done well in all his subjects. His parents wished that he do his masters, somewhere abroad and have a great career and luxurious life, at the same time a deep conflict against this and to choose what he wanted to do, was running deep inside him. It was the first day of holiday after his exams and he had to meet her that evening.

She was the important aspect of his life, not just important but an aspect of significance. She had entered his life long ago, and then there was a brief break and they met again. They had parted ways when they were in the 8th grade in school, they had parted as friends. Friends not just as people who were known to each other or familiar with each other, but there was something more intrinsic about it, a touch of fear, shyness, at the same time a deep empathy for each other. It was not physical as it seemed, but a physical attraction was not to be ruled out, but before things could become clear, she had moved from there with her family and he had continued his studies.

In that calm atmosphere of stillness in his house, as he sat alone, his mind traced its way back……

After his years in school, when he joined the college, he saw her, the familiar gait, which was at once confident and yet modest, she had grown taller, and looked pretty and attractive, so much so that as she walked, eyes turned towards her. Those eyes of the onlookers, which did look at her body for a second , but before lust could predominate, a sense of awe and respect stood its stead in those eyes. Yet she carried herself, oblivious to all these happenings around her. It was that mix of attitudes in her which impressed him. The brilliant boy that he was in academics, who had his own set of values and principles, who had never smoked or tasted alcohol in life, never flirted with girls despite his looks and opportunities….. so much of goodness so rare to find in a boy. He just believed in certain basic things – treat anything or person for what it is, regardless of the attributes which are evanescent. A very simplistic statement but which was deep rooted in him and acted as the rudder of his life.

He approached her from where he sat, slowly hesitatingly. She was walking down the corridor alone, and when within a few steps, he mustered all the strength he could and hesitatingly…..

“Excuse me, are you shyamala?”

The head which was hitherto bent low, as if keeping track of the ground’s firmness, slowly lifted up and , a moment’s hesitation, and then like the rising sun, which brings life to all that was in a slumber below, a smile spread across her face, slowly first and then, the eyes followed the lips in smile and it was her whole being, filled with happiness, a silent happiness, which did not manifest with any noise or gesticulation but you could feel it. It was like the ripples in a lake, spreading all over, but yet not spilling out….

“You are Sundar, isn’t it?”

Simultaneously they said “yes!!!!”

Then they picked up the threads where they had left in school. Her father was now a big man in the government’s bureaucracy, lot of power and money. Yet she never let that rub off on her, neither materially nor mentally. She preferred a low profile life, which was in complete contrast to her parents.

His father was always a rich man, an industrialist, who was a business magnate. Surprisingly, sundar was never one prone to ostentation. He also preferred a quiet modest life. But apart from this, there were other things which brought the two together. Their attitude to life, society, its customs, rituals, traits, and practices….. and the empathy they felt to the underprivileged, all in all it was a dormant volcano deep inside them, which occasionally showed its presence, during the course of some discussions, nevertheless was still only dormant.

He never had a big circle of friends who mobbed him, on the contrary, it was just a handful of his class mates with whom he used to hang around, and spend his time, either picnicking or in the library or in their homes. One of this group was shyamala. The others in the group were 2 other boys and one more girl, apart from shyamala.
As days passed, the proximity between shyamala and sundar grew and they became very good friends and were absolutely free with each other. The friendship and transparency was so good that they would call each other to meet, sit for 2 or 3 hours in a wooden bench in the park, under the mangled arms of the old banyan tree, watching the small children play with their cycles and toys in the park. They would not exchange a single word during the entire time, sitting next to each other, and at the end leave with a single word….. ‘bye’, yet totally comfortable with that silent conversation. Never was there any demand for anything, there was no courtship between the two, no effort to impress the other, it was a natural existence of the two together. Never during these times of meeting did they realize the existence of the other, for them, it was a state of non-dual being, very similar to the experience in an orgasm of sex, where there is no mind and no-thing but just being. The relationship was totally unconditional.

His reverie was given a rude shake and he came back to the present. His father had come back from office . The car was entering the compound and it was the loud horn that brought him back to the present. His mother was yet to come back from her party . She had a regular get together with some of the rich and famous of the town. She would be back any time. Anyway, it was not new to him. It was well past evening, and it was time for him to leave and meet shyamala.

It was about 6 30 pm and the meeting place had remained unchanged all these years. It was the same park under the same banyan tree, only difference was that the wooden bench had lost its color, and had been weather beaten. As soon as he arrived, she followed into the park and with the normal greeting , they sat down. Today was not to be a session of silent conversation. They had something to discuss.

“Shyamala , You know that the exams are over”.
“yes., so …?” she queried.
“I am thinking of doing my masters, probably in the US”.
“OK”
“What do you say”.
“Sundar, what do you think I should say”. Was there a tinge of disappointment or indifference? It was not perceptible clearly even if it was.

“Shyamala, I am asking you for an opinion. Am not sure myself, if I should pursue further. It is not that I want to go abroad, or make money, but just the fact that I don’t know what to do further.”
“Sundar, neither am I any different. My studies are also over now, and I am not interested in studying further, nor am I interested in a career. So with I confused myself, how do you think I can help you?”
“But sundar, if career and money are not of prime importance to you, there should be something deep in you which is important. Is there something like that.”
“I don’t know shyamala, but probably if our conversation goes ahead, I think we may have some clarity”. “What do you think.”
“OK, that’s fine with me.”
“See, as I said earlier, it is not the quest for money or a famed career, probably because I have enough money, or maybe due to the fact that money, beyond a certain limit has no attraction. It is not that am relying on my father, but am sure I can get a decent job to support my livelihood”.
“Go ahead…..” said she
“But Sundar you were interested, or atleast you expressed interest, in community service, in a remote village , where most of the people are still underprivileged. Is it still nagging you , or has it died a natural death?”
“Shyamala – it is just vegetating, and aimless but yes it is still there somewhere in me.”
“Will it still interest you if you got an opportunity to pursue that?”
“Maybe yes.”

“OK Sundar, give me some time, I will try to find out if an opportunity exists, I will talk to my father and find out”.

That ended the day, and he left home. On the way he dropped her at her place. The lights in the front porch were still on and her father was reading the newspaper. He dropped in, finishing the courtesies, took leave and walked down the quiet road towards his home.

It was not quiet completely, there was the inner him keeping him company. Shyamala was looking very different today. Amidst the greenery of the park, that quiet lonely bench, under the tree, her hairs gently brushed by the breeze as they dropped to her forehead, gently caressing her cheeks, while she turned towards him brushing her soft hair of her face….. in that moment, there was something wonderful happening in him. Watching all this, the subtle nuances of nature, with her in front of him, so close to him, and talking and yet sometimes seemingly distant, a confidence born not out of knowledge or arrogance, but confidence by itself in its pure form, born out of spontaneity and keen awareness to details, as she talked him through. He knew that there was an increased attraction to her, was it the setting, the environment, which was playing tricks with him or was there something genuinely happening. He never wanted to evaluate it, but he was sure of one thing, being unconventional as he was, he couldn’t term that feeling as love, nor was it lust, what was it???? …………He had just missed the gate of his house, and something caught his attention , something familiar , it was a person standing near the gate of his house. It was his mother, she was waiting for him.

“What happened to you, don’t you remember our house?”
“No amma, just preoccupied.”
“with what”
“The discussion I had with shyamala.”By now his mother had dropped her sense of curiosity and became more inquisitive.
“What was it about?””Nothing specific, generally about career etc… we decided to talk it later”
“But you were planning to do your MS isn’t it?”
“Yes amma , but not sure, anyway leave it alone for now.”

His father had joined in, and gave his few words, regardless of its worth.

“Sundar, instead of troubling yourself, why don’t you just help me with the business, anyway you have to run it all one day by yourself”
“Am not sure appa, so lets not assume anything. OK Good night.”

With that he left and hit the sack.

It was a pleasant morning. The house was in a cul-de-sac. It was perched on an elevated portion of the city, a small hillock offering a panoramic view of what lay below. The morning’s fog still hanging, the sun gently persuading it to lift off, and making its best effort to penetrate to reach the earth. The distant cries of the birds as they set off for the day, the cycle bell of the milk man, slowly the sound, reached his ears. So did the quietness which underlay the sound of the morning. He got up and finished his chores and went down for his cup of coffee. As he climbed down the stairs, the soothing music of a flute wafted through, the player was lost in a trance probably, not tampering to express his skill, but being unaware, he was getting lost in the mellifluous melody which emanated, as he was playing without any motive. He climbed down listening to it and saw the newspaper lying on the table, slowly sipping his coffee, he turned to the last page first, and moved in. There was an ad asking for a qualified person to work for a charitable organization. It was in a distant village, far from the city where he lived. The description of the job and location, stirred a sense of nostalgia in him, a feeling for which there was no basis or past to identify with. It was a very unique sensation rising in him. As he read through the article, he observed what was happening in him, without interfering. It was not just a sensation perceptible to the faculty of senses, but something more subtle , which touched his very being. He called up Shyamala, and explained it to her. They discussed in detail over the phone and he decided that he would apply for the job. It was a busy day for him, to get his resume readied and to mail it. Shyamala was with him all along, and silent. Very unusual , normally she would be happy to see him get to do what he liked, but why was she so distant and aloof today.

“Sundar, can I come with you?”
“Where?””Wherever you go , if you get the job.”
“ But why?? Shyamala”
“I don’t know, I will come with you, if I like it , I will hang around for some more time, if not I will get back, what do you say”.
“Lets first see , if I land the job, we will consider this later, in the meantime, see how your parents feel about it.”

With that Shyamala left home.

As he entered into the house, the phone rang, it was his friend, Raghu.

“Sundar , I need to talk to you.” He sounded flustered.
“OK, is it urgent?”
“It is important, regardless of its urgency”.
“So where do you want to meet”.
“It is not just I Sundar, but we…”
“So who else, Raghu?” don’t beat around the bush.
“Priya and I, want to meet you.” “It is something personal and I felt that I can discuss with you only.”
“I see, OK come home in an hour’s time, am free , parents will not be at home , so we will have some time”.

It was 10 minutes past nine, still no sign of Raghu or Priya, but surprisingly, Shyamala came in. She was alone at home, and had nothing to do , so wanted to spend time with Sundar.

“Hey , what a surprise, how come you are here suddenly, that too unannounced.”
“Why, are you expecting somebody, am I intruding.?”
“I am not sure if you are intruding, atleast you are not intruding with any of my work, but Raghu and Priya wanted to meet me, they should be here any minute, I don’t know what it is all about, if they want some privacy, you may have to excuse us, but if they don’t mind, I have no issues.”
“Oh, OK, no problem, if they want me to leave you alone, I will.”
“No hard feelings, shyamala, but you and I are beyond these verbal formalities, isn’t it? We know to respect each other, so just hang around and lets see.”

Shortly, Raghu and Priya arrived. They were surprised to see Shyamala there, but Shyamala was one of them, she was part of the inner circle, and they had no problems if she were to stay back.

But Sundar made it clear “ Shyamala, you can be a silent observer, and give your inputs, if and when you are asked for, OK”.
“Sure, Sundar, no probs.”

“Raghu, what is the matter between you and priya.” Asked sundar.
“We want to get married.” Said Priya, suddenly.

It came like a bolt from the blue. No one knew that they were planning this, neither did they give any indications of such intentions. Nonetheless, it was not a matter of concern. The slight uncertainty in the situation, passed.

“Raghu, the exams are just over, and you are not sure of your career , either. So what is the hurry about getting married. Why Priya, is there any sudden reason” asked Sundar
“Nothing Sundar, we both love each other” said Raghu.
“Bullshit”, came the blunt unexpected reply from Sundar. All 3 were taken aback by this retort from him.
Sundar continued “OK, Raghu, do you need priya.?”
“yes.”
“Are you dependent on her?”
“I am not dependent on her for money or anything material, but emotionally I think I depend on her, I feel lost and lonely without her”.
“So you depend on her, but is dependency love.? Whether it is being emotionally dependent or whatever , is that love? Do you know what it is to love? Does love need another? Have you ever thought deeply about your relationship with her, and so with you priya. It is more of a need that you have, which is deeply self centred but superficially glorified as love, and an unexplored fear which makes you think that you should get married.” as he turned to face her.
“You use the word love without knowing what it means. Just because you see this used in movies and books,left , right and center, you just eat what has been regurgitated and spit it out again. Think sanely Raghu, and you too Priya!! You are not kids. Yes you are old enough, and you know the world well. The constraints and competition to survive, to lead a family, successfully, to stand on your own. First try to address the prime responsibility of yours at this time of your age. All you have now for each other is pure passion. Don’t ask me where passion ends. I cannot answer that now. But between the two of you, I don’t see any big issue, to get married, once you settle properly.” The outpour stopped temporarily.

“But Sundar, it is so difficult for us not to see each other”, replied Raghu.
“This is again a problem of watching too many movies, the same words, without understanding a single syllable of what is spoken, you moron. OK , If you get married today, how will you support each other monetarily. You need a certain amount of money to fulfill your basic needs. Let us not get into defining basic needs now, lets have it as food, shelter and clothing, as the bare minimum. What can you do?”
“Instead, if you have a genuine interest in each other, the best thing is, talk it over with your parents, tell them your preference and how you plan to go about it. Without even addressing the first step, you are planning to reach the top. It is absolutely ridiculous Raghu.”

Shyamala was observing all this in complete silence. She had never seen Sundar so vociferous, yet the clarity of his thoughts and ability to stand outside of the situation and think through it surprised her. She had never seen this in him before. But if it was a situation in which he was involved himself, could he be lateral again?

“What if our parents don’t accept?” asked priya.
“You tell me what you will do Priya?” sundar countered with a question.
“I don’t know”.
“Will you yield to the psychological or emotional blackmails to which parents usually resort to? Get married to a person they choose and then in your later years , say that your association with Raghu was kiddish. I am not saying that parents are wrong or right neither am I judging anything now, but have you looked into it holistically at all?”.
Everybody remained quiet, for a long time. It seemed interminable.
Suddenly Sundar screamed “Priya, snake near your leg”.

Yelling in fright, she raised her leg and crouched on the chair , slowly looking around for the snake. There was no snake.

Her eyes filled with rage, “Sundar, we came to discuss with you, it doesn’t mean you will make fun of me and hurt our feelings” said Priya.

“Hmmmm….. when I screamed snake, why did you raise your legs”, asked sundar calmly.

“Are you dumb, a snake is a snake, and the response is natural” replied Priya.

“No Priya, spend some time, silently at your response to that situation, and tell me”.

Raghu and Shyamala were confused, it seemed to be a complete digression from what they came to discuss. But nobody dared to interrupt Sundar when he got going, not out of fear, but just because they knew he would bring them back.

“I think it is my instinct to survive” said Priya.
“You didn’t waste time to consider, if the snake was existent, and if so was it poisonous or not, but still you did that, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“It was because of the deep urge in you to survive, to live, am I right.”?
Shyamala was getting the drift and she was smiling to herself.

“So , Priya, if the feeling of love (if that is the word you want to use) is so dominant and strong in you not just as a blind conviction but one born out of complete attention to the facts facing you, you will find a way to overcome all hurdles. I am not telling you to be instinctive as an animal. The hurdles may or may not exist, it may be a mere figment of your imagination but if they exist and if you are clear about your needs, then come what may, you will work through it. You will win finally, not just in the act of getting married but being successful in life overall. But remember, you should have the courage , the fortitude to confront life and bear its consequences. I am not giving you a solution on a plate now, but first sit together with Raghu and your respective parents and understand your priorities. Don’t start your discussion with a conclusion, because then there is no discussion but just reinforcing your conclusion. Be open minded, have the guts to look into yourself and your relationship, understand the underlying commonality which brings you together and the differences which separate you. See if those differences can be resolved through a transparent discussion Then, that act is by itself a marriage. The tying of the thread and the rituals add no value otherwise. Don’t be worried about those trivia, but focus on the big things in life as of now. . If there is nothing common between you then stay away, let not passion ruin your lives, but whatever it may be finally, it has to emerge from the process, which should be totally unbiased and you should be able to shed all inhibitions, during the discussion. You know when you dig a well, you just dig and the water emerges, it is not that you make a deep pit and fill it with water, so should the discussion be. Set aside the images you have created of yourself and of each other, bare yourself completely and explore.” Sundar ended.

Again a deep silence, the only sound was a single sparrow chirping in the tree in the garden, the occasional whirring of the compressor in the refrigerator.

Finally Raghu said, “Sundar, I don’t know what to say, but I think we know where to start now. Thanks da, bye”.

“Raghu, don’t be formal, I can help you as much as I can and if it is within my capabilities, but am not going to tell you to do something which is more emotional and less rational, good luck, bye”.

The two left. Shyamala stayed back.

“Sundar, can you make some coffee., pls.?”
“OK”.
She walked into the kitchen as he worked his way through the coffee maker,

“Sundar, can you remain as objective as you were, if the situation involved you?” she asked.
“I don’t know if I was objective or not, but to me addressing the issue per-se , any issue for that matter is most important, and I am ready to spend time as honestly as I can, even if it involves me.” He replied.

They drank the coffee in complete silence, and after sometime, Shyamala left.

Shyamala broached, sundar’s career interest and the probable opportunity in faraway Nedungunam village. Her father was genuinely interested, and even appreciated the boy’s interest. Her mother wasn’t so sure. Then came the crucial point in the discussion.

“Appa, I plan to go with sundar to Nedungunam and spend some time there.”
“Are you crazy? To go to some god forsaken village, where there is no basic amenities like telephoe or TV, you will go mad, shyamala,” interrupted her mother.
“Amma! That’s fine, I just want to try, and I need a break anyway from the monotony here.”

Her father didn’t argue much, he just said, “If that suits you go ahead, but think well before you decide”.
“Thanks appa” “I will inform Sundar tomorrow about this.” There was no more thinking, it was over.

The next day she called him up and conveyed her parents’ consent to her traveling with him to Nedungunam. He was happy when he heard it, but the offer letter was yet to come. It was for the job of a school teacher for primary level students in that village.

Two days letter, in the afternoon, he heard the front door bell. Opening the door, he found the local postman with a cover for him.
It was finally there. The offer letter from the school in Nedungunam. The salary was a paltry Rs.800/- pm, and he could stay in the quarters normally used by the teachers who worked there. But he didn’t care about the perks. He called up Shyamala,

“Hey, the offer letter has come. I plan to leave on Sunday afternoon. Have to join from Monday onwards.”

She was overjoyed, and the preparation began. It was Friday. He called up all his friends, and planned to have a get together on Saturday. The reconnect was a nice occasion, quiet yet it had all the aspects of a youthful party. They left around 9 pm. Sundar walked shyamala to her house.

“See you tomorrow morning at 10 am at the bus stand”.

It was a peaceful night. They both slept well, deep and undisturbed. The morning was fresh as ever. There was a slow excitement building into them. The parents in both the houses, were a bit depressed, but not sad. Interestingly, Sundar’s parents didn’t oppose the decision, so much so, they were ready to support him in anyway he needed. It was a farewell mixed with pride, fear, and curiosity.

They boarded the bus to Nedungunam. It was a long journey. Sitting next to each other, the bus had an old tape recorder which played songs from the recent hit movies. Neither of them talked . Watching the passing sceneries, filled with dust, squalor and filth all over, people hammering the life out of pumps for potable water which was never there, people indiscriminately crossing the roads, with scant respect for rules, it was just observation without judgement. Slowly the bus left the city and moved out into the rural vastness. Vast stretches of land , green fields, paddy ready for harvest, gently swaying their heavy heads in the breeze. It was a heaviness ready to yield and give, not one which wanted to establish itself. There was grace in the heaviness. In the distance, there was a little girl carrying a pot on her head, as she made her way through the bund between two fields, swinging a small stick in one hand. There was grace in that walk, despite the load on her head, there was no indication which made you feel that she was too young for that work. She felt the heaviness, similar to the load of the paddy plant, but again one which was being borne to help the family which resided somewhere near those fields. A distant bleating of a goat, probably calling out to its straying kid. The blue sky, absolutely cloudless, the sun shining in full cry, as the bus made its way.

After about an hour or so, the bus stopped in a small wayside restaurant. People could relieve themselves, and bite a snack or two before the bus reached its final destination which was an hour from here. The feel of the village was already there. The eyes innocent, yet watchful, no show of pomp and splendour yet a subtle elegance, the level of mental corruption as yet not as bad as in the urban cities, where it had become the way of life.

The driver honked twice, calling all the passengers, who scuttered back to the bus, some with bananas half eaten, somebody’s packet of peanuts spilling in the sudden pandemonium, a mother consoling a crying child……..It was life, everything together, never to be chosen or rejected, just to be faced and lived. The bus moved on. Most of them slept during this portion of the journey, and finally they arrived at Nedungunam. A very remote and old village. This was the only bus which would arrive and leave shortly serving as link to the distant city. But for this, the city was an object mostly heard of in stories from some of those weary travellers.

They got down from the bus, he was the only person to be in a jeans and t shirt, and stuck like a sore thumb in the crowd in the bus stand. She was in a conventional sari, except for that egalitarian look which distinguished her from the other women passengers in the bus.

He had to find the house of the village headman, who was to be his primary contact on arrival. There was a horse cart, and the cart man was respectfully approaching them.

“Are you from town, the teacher for the school?” he asked very submissive in his stance.

“Yes sir.” Replied sundar.

“This way please…..” he guided them to his cart.

They loaded their bags in the cart and slowly moved off. The village was about a kilometer further away from the bus stand, which seemed to be the busiest place in the village where you could see atleast 20 people together at any time. That was a crowd!!!

It was around 5 pm as they rode along the fields, the setting sun, the crows shouting their way back to their nests. The moon slowly beginning its ascent from the east, and the chill breeze refreshing them. It was mostly a quiet ride, except for the occasional cajoling of the horse, by the driver. As they moved in, children dressed only in shorts, playing with marbles on the muddy streets, young girls carrying their baby brothers, cast curious glances at the cart and more importantly at the passengers. Somewhere a temple bell was ringing, signifying the time for evening prayers. Cows were being herded back , and the cart’s movement raised little amount of dust, which shone dimly when caught in the haze of the setting sunlight. The cart turned into a wider street, and the houses looked a bit more affluent here. Looked like this was the affluent society in the village.

There was division here too, the poor and less privileged lived in a certain portion of the village, while the more fortunate ones lived here, as the cart entered. It slowed down and stopped in front of a house. It was a two storeyed building. The heavy wooden doors, slowly pushed open as a well built middle aged man, walked out. He wore the look of richness, his dhothi and shirt, starched milk white , the black border in his dhothi a perfect contrast to the whiteness. A long white cloth on his shoulder, beautifully folded, with a golden border. He approached them, and respectfully inviting them, with his palms touching each other, in the traditional way.

“Welcome, welcome…. I am Rangarajan.”
“How was the journey, hope it was comfortable. Come in sir, come in Madam….” And he led them into his house.
“Tonight you can have your dinner here with us. My wife and kids have gone to the temple. They should be back any minute. I stayed back knowing that you will arrive any time. Further, we have cleaned up the house for you. It is at the end of the street, you can use the cart and get yourself dropped there. I will send one of my men to help you set things up.” As he was talking, the sound of slippers being removed and chatter of children slowly increased..

“Looks like they have come.” It was his wife and kids.
“This is my wife Shanthi. This is my first son, Raghavan, and daughter Srimathi. He is 12 years and she is 8 years. They are in your school only.” He had identified him with the school already.

“Sir, I am sundar and this is Shyamala. We both studied together and this is our first time coming out of city.” He did not elaborate about who their parents were, as he did not want to sound very imposing. He just said that his father had a small business in town and her father was working in the government. For now that was enough.

“Shanthi, I have requested them to have dinner with us today, so please prepare accordingly.” He said.

Dinner was served within an hour. It was a very nice meal, vegetables from the garden at the back of the home, rice from their own fields. He had about 25 acres of land, and was a very wealthy person by local standards. He did like to show his opulence off as and when he could, in an attempt to impress his stoic audience.

“Tomorrow morning, please come to the school at 9 am. I will send one of my men to guide you to the school. I will introduce you to some of the other important people of this village there. Good night.”

“Thank you sir, Good night” and they climbed into the cart. The house allotted for them was at the end of the street. It was an old fashioned house, with tiled roof, a small verandah with bamboo sticks forming a grill. The house had a wooden swing, which creaked hauntingly in that silence as they touched it. There were 3 rooms quite big, a kitchen and a hall. Rangarajan had provided for some decent bedding and some basic utensils for the kitchen. For the two of them it was a lot.

The cart man helped in unloading the luggage and bid goodnight and left. There was electricity, 40W tungsten bulbs providing a cool illumination. The floors were of brick, with a plaster of cement providing for what could be termed as smoothness.

They were alone, just the two of them. The silence was overwhelming. The only sound was that of the crickets in the night, and an occasional frog croaking from the temple pond which was not too far. They were too tired to talk or discuss anything, the meal at Rangarajan’s house was good, and they slept, a blissful sleep.

Suddenly they heard a loud knock on the door. It was as if somebody was trying to break in. Sundar woke up in a fright, took some seconds to comprehend his whereabouts, and all of it came back to him. He was in the village and somebody was knocking the front door.

“Coming,” he shouted.
“Sir, Zamindar wanted to deliver this milk to you.” He said.
“Who is Zamindar?” asked sundar.
“The gentleman with whom you had dinner yesterday sir. He is the zamindar of this village.” I will take leave sir.

By now the noise had awakened shyamala. Gently she lazed in the mat, never wanting to get up. But soon realizing where she was, she got up, adjusting her hairs and dresses. Sundar came in with the milk, and saw her folding the mat. The sun was slowly streaking in through the glass in the ceiling. The rays, trying to touch her body, adding a gloss to her hair, as she slowly set the bed right. She turned around suddenly……

“Hey, good morning…. Whats it in your hand,” she asked.
“nothing….milk for the coffee.”
“What are you staring at me for anyway” she asked again.
“nothing….”.and he walked off.

He opened the back door of the house. It opened into a big garden, a big tamarind tree, a well with a pulley and bucket, a wash stone. Beyond the compound wall extended the green fields, people were already ploughing and had begun work. It was a busy day already in the village.
Shyamala came from behind with the brush and paste.

“Are you lost…?” she queried.
“I don’t know shyamala. It was absolute stillness, and a keen awareness till you called me. There was no center to observe from but a great level of attention was paid. I was and I was not”. He replied.

“you tend to keep me confused always sundar, I enjoy those vague replies of yours.”
“You will experience them someday don’t worry” he said smiling.
“By the way, shyamala you asked me if I was staring at you inside., and I said nothing, do you remember.”
“hmmm…” she said brushing her teeth not looking at him,
“Actually , I lied. You were so beautiful to look at. The face so calm, eyes open but still not seeing, your hands working on the blanket but not aware of what it was doing. You were so lovely.” He finished and went inside. There was no blushing or shyness, just a statement of fact.

She was stunned. It was so difficult for her to comprehend that sundar could be so observant and appreciative. She was happy. She went in and made the coffee. Together they made a breakfast, and got ready to go to school. Being the first day, they wanted to be on time, and not hurt the sentiments of the people in school.

From the front door, a voice “Sir, are you ready, can we go to school?” It was the person from Zamindar’s house.
They left. As they walked along the road, the voices in whisper recognizing them as guests to the zamindar’s house, some guessing they were from some newsmagazine for an article, but not one guessing correctly. As they walked down the road, people moving away to the sides, letting them pass, not all of them moved though, the well dressed , saw them, acknowledged their presence and continued. The difference was discernible. There was an untold rule of status, a partisan attitude prevailed. Sundar was surprised, though he didn’t express it.

They arrived at the school, on time. Rangarajan was sitting in a chair opposite the center of the table. There were 5 others, at the side, occupying a chair. Three chairs were empty. The guide left them outside the room and left.

“Come in….pls come in” called Rangarajan.

“This is Mr. Moorthy, our village tashildar, this here is Mr. Deivamani, he is the manager of the bank here, this is Mr. Abdul Wahid , a member of the wakf board in town, but he has his properties here, his children are in the gulf, last but not least, this is Father Xavier. He manages the local church near the bus stand. His son is in the US. These are the most important people of our village. Now can you introduce yourself, Mr. Sundar?” concluded Rangarajan.

“First of all, please don’t address me as Mr. Sundar, am not that old or worthy of such a formal salutation from you who are elder to me in all ways” started Sundar.

“I just finished my PG and have always been interested in working in such an atmosphere, and wanted to put my skills to the best use as a teacher, to be with children and with nature away from the pollutions. And to me a village was the best choice, and I like to do that which satisfies this urge in me. So am here. My parents live in the city and have a small factory.”

He never wanted to elaborate on who his father was, for that would project a completely different image of him in the minds of the people and they may either behave differently or would fear to keep him in the job. His father was a very famous business magnate in that part of the country.

With that done and finished, it was Father Xavier .,

“Sundar, how do you think you can help the students. Many teachers have come and gone, but what makes you think you will stick here. We are tired of this constant exodus of teachers?”

“Father, I am not assuring you anything except the fact, that as long as you don’t drive me out, I plan to stick on. As of this moment that is my decision, but you know the vagaries and uncertainties of life. I don’t plan to teach just science and maths, I also want to understand the children, as pure and innocent they are, their conflicts and their unexpressed desires, their conditionings and prejudice with which they have been brought up which will only make them more divisive. If I can work on this and help them, that’s enough for me father.”….he finished.

It was the Tashildar … “You are the first teacher who speaks differently. You seem different from the others in terms of your convictions, I hope we will be able to help you do the best Sundar, good luck.”

With that the meeting and formalities ended, and Rangarajan took him to the class. He was to handle the eighth grade. The students were sitting expectant. Sundar thanked Rangarajan, and said he would take it from there. He first introduced himself and requested that they do the same. He found that Raghavan was in his class, faint smile of recognition escaped the boy’s lips and Sundar acknowledged it.

The first day was interesting. Sundar didn’t focus on the subjects. It was more of general discussion, about their backgrounds, and games. Around 2 in the afternoon the classes ended, and all the kids ran home. Sundar began walking back home, and decided that he should write to his friends and parents. On arriving, he found a nice meal awaiting him. The aroma of cooked food tingling his nostrils.

“Never knew that you could cook food shyamala.” He said as he removed his slippers.
“You have to eat it whether you like it or not, and remember you can complain about the food only with my consent, not otherwise.”

So that curbed his freedom of expression. But the food wasn’t that bad afterall. He told her of his intentions to write to their friends and parents. So the afternoon was spent writing the same matter in all the letters and before the last clearance was done, he just managed to dump the letters into the post box.

The next day as he entered the class, it was Raghavan.

“Sir, all the teachers we met till now have asked one question, which you have never asked.”

“What was that”

They asked “what do you want to become? But you didn’t ask that, why?”

“Raghavan, every person aspires to become something or the other in life. Some want to be an engineer, or doctor or take to some other profession. It is important to earn a livelihood, I don’t deny that, but there is something more important than just earning a livelihood. Education should not be limited to subjects alone. It should help in making you more sensitive to the realities of life, the poverty, anger, envy, jealousy, ruthlessness in the name of competition, all this is life. Further, whatever you say today, about what you want to become, is based on what you know today, there are so many other things in life and career options which you don’t know today. Three years from now, you may have a different choice. If you want to become an engineer today, after 5 years you may want to become a pilot. Moreover, as kids, your aspirations are mostly a continuation of your parents’ ambitions. So all that is important for you now, is to do your duty well in the present, the future is just a consequence of the present. If you discharge your current responsibilities thoroughly, you will have lot of options to choose from in the future, and by then you will be more clear about what to choose, because then you will also know how to choose, as long as you are intelligently aware. Don’t worry Raghava, you will all succeed well, now lets get on with the lessons.” So saying he started his class for the day. Sundar finished his lessons and went home.

A week later he received replies from friends and family. Raghu and priya had decided to study. While they broached the topic of their marriage, the families were surprised, but more surprising was the fact , that when they explained their intentions clearly and their priorities, there was no issues. The families agreed and all was going well for them. Sundar and Shyamla’s parents were doing well. Shyamala’s parents were not sure if she should be staying out . They were looking for her to get married and settled down, but that wasn’t a priority item on her list . It was several months since she had moved into the village with sundar. They remained close to each other, a sense of liking for each other, very friendly, a relationship filled with giving for each other, very less demands, with lot of contentment. Their closeness was not devoid of physical intimacy but that was not the fulcrum of their existence. It happened just twice in their months of living in Nedungunam.

Months passed, and it was the day of the harvest festival. The village was in a festive mood, cattle all decked up and treated well, as a thanksgiving for their efforts. Farmers moving loads of sugarcane, and paddy . In the evening there was a function in the village temple. Amidst all this fun and fanfare, the subtle differences still prevailed. The social hierarchy, divisive in itself was so strongly rooted that its influence penetrated down to the children. Despite the fanfare, the dispute between the husband and wife about the formalities to be completed by the in-laws from the wife’s side, formalities a brother had to complete for his sister , which was purely materialisitic, reminded one of the market place where everything was for trade. The seeming smiles were based on a distant anxiety and expectation and hopes that they will not be let down. Wherever the hopes and facts didn’t match , it ended the day with disaster. The concept of the festival , its intent was all thrown to the wind, while what remained was pure envy and hatred, seething in deeply, never verbalized, lest it would damage the image to which they were living upto. The image of a happy family, happy society, loving parents and caring brothers, which had been so carefully nurtured and cultivated. Despite the pseudoism in it, nobody dared to question it.

The next day, shyamala went to the zamindar’s house for some errand. She spent a few minutes talking to them , and suddenly it started, she felt sick and let herself lie down on the floor. The village doctor was called for, but then it was nothing serious. The doctor was so happy, and congratulated shyamala. She was pregnant. Shanthi was thrilled and started pampering her as if she was a small child. Shyamala was not moved, though she felt happy. She was not sure, when it could have happened, but then it had happened, so now to the next step.

Sundar came home that evening, and she informed him.

“Congrats! Shyamala, so let us inform our parents” he said.
“Sundar, do you understand what you are saying? We are not married formally and…..”
“Don’t worry shyamala, I will handle it”.

The next day Rangarajan and Father Xavier met sundar. They were very happy on meeting him . Shanthi had been planning to invite them for a grand lunch that week end and sundar agreed to be there.

That week end while they were at Rangarajan’s house for lunch, the conversation slowly moved ahead

“so what are you planning sundar, will you send her to the city for delivery? Village may not be very suitable for you”

“That’s a long way off, interrupted Shanthi, the vallaikaappu has to happen first, isn’t it. Are your parents coming to see you”, she asked.

Sundar was eating his food, and in the same tone he replied.

“Mr. Rangarajan, all these formalities and rituals are for people who believe in them, not for me and shyamala.”

“If you don’t believe in them, then why do you marry Sundar?” he retorted a bit puzzled.

“Sir, in the first place, we both are not married, not married in the sense as you use the word marriage.” he let the words sink in.
Nothing of this kind was heard of in the village till then, and it was a bolt from the blue. Nobody had imagined that things would come to this kind of a turn in life. To them, the couple were the ideal ones, made for each other and they took everything for granted, as was known within their traditions and practices.

The entire assemblage was stunned, not knowing how to react or respond, Rangarajan was halfway with his meals, his kids were alongside and having their food. The only unperturbed faces were sundar’s and shyamala’s. The lunch was finished in silence. It was just the harbinger of the storm to come.

They went home. Towards the evening, Rangarajan’s servant came home and called sundar.

“Sir, the zamindar wants to see you and madam.” Please come to the school now.

Sundar was puzzled, but he was sure of what he was doing so he didn’t have anything to fear, neither in him nor outside.

As soon as he entered the school, it was not a small gathering, the top brass of the village, their wives and members from the farmers community of the village were there. It was an assemblage of about 25-30 people. Sundar was not prepared for this.

“Sundar, I discussed what you said with the elders, and we have something to say” started Rangarajan.
“This is a very traditional village, and shyamala being pregnant before marriage is something which is atrocious. This will set a bad example, further more you are a teacher, a guru, and you cannot set such an example to the students. Hence, we have decided that you should leave the job and also the village. We will give you 2 days time so that you can wind up things here”, Father Xavier said, accompanied by a consenting nod of heads from the others.
You have been an excellent teacher, a good socialiser and we all liked you so much, so if you have anything to say, please do so now.

As he finished, there was murmur all over, in different corners. Sundar remained quiet. He looked at shyamala’s face, to find if she felt disgraced or humiliated. All that he could read in her face was utter calmness, and impassive but nothing whatsoever as he thought. She was watching him now, this was the situation which involved him and her, and how was he going to handle this? She had not seen him go through this situation before, but this was the acid test.

The loud silence in the room was occasionally disturbed by the ripples of sound from the murmurs, the stares of the people, slowly becoming hostile, casting glances at him which meant nothing but despise and animosity. To them, he was an epitome of something unholy and so was she. The silence continued for about 3 minutes.

Slowly Sundar got up. There was no plan in mind, nothing which was preconceived as an answer to be used against or a justification well thought out to be provided. After all there was nothing to justify. But in a place where tradition and sentiments are so deep rooted as in the human mind, it is not easy to explain or make people see the facts. Not that he was against anything, but he never wanted to do something just because the world did it. He was not meant to be a copy or imitation, because for him conformance, and imitations were not life but death.

“Sirs, I thank you for your courtesy and kindness. I am not going to justify anything here , because you need to justify and defend only when you are wrong or have committed a sin. As far as Shyamala and I are concerned, we have done none of these. We are husband and wife. Yes, what we have done and will do, is against what you consider as values , I don’t deny that. At the same time, it is not my intention to convince you of what I consider as values. But let me explain our position. I am not explaining this as a ruse to beg pardon, but atleast you should know what life and marriage means to us”, he slowly started.

The ladies were upset when he said that he was not asking for excuse or that they had not committed a sin.

“I am not here to cast aspersions on any of you here. But during the course of my talk, if any of you are offended, let me apologise at the outset”. The room was slowly getting quieter. Heads and eyes remained focused on him. He was getting their full attention slowly. His approach was different. They expected him to fight or cry and crawl on his knees, but here he was talking clearly and without any sense of remorse and at the same time the tone lacked any tinge of arrogance.

“What does marriage mean to you all? A ritual in which the boy and girl are to remain together. You are given an opportunity to see each other before marriage, to ensure that the physique of the other person satisfies your senses and definition of beauty. A mere exposition to confirm that the lust in you can be satisfied. Even then, the girl cannot easily say no, if she didn’t like the boy, because of her constraints, be it from her family or her own. There is no freedom to choose. Then, the discussion on the dowry, depending on how much the boy is worth. As if the parents want a return in cash for whatever they invested on their own child…… How does it sound to you.? Have you people ever thought about it? Now please don’t make an effort to answer my questions, just let it sink into you. The girl and the boy get married, all the rituals performed, so many chantings done, for which you don’t know the meaning of even a single word, but yet the chanting is done. If there is a paucity of time, an additional dakshina will offset the chanting or the ritual. Have you ever followed the ritual thoroughly, spent time to understand its meaning? For instance, in a Brahmin marriage, till the last ritual is completed, the bridegroom should not shake his hand with anybody else except the girl to whom he has just wedded. Don’t ask me why and am not sure if it is right or wrong, but that’s how it is. How many of you do that? As soon as the thread is tied around the girls neck, there are a thousand hands shaking his, and this guy gleefully responds and so does the girl. OK then, you have the ritual of the first night, when an auspicious time is chosen so that the off spring which is a consequence of the nuptials has all the virtues as conferred during that time. But what happens now? Given the facts of life, family is planned, which is not wrong. But then you go against the intent of the ritual but still you do the ritual, whom are you fooling in the process, your own numbed senses and nothing else. At the end there will be a group which will complain about the food and the facilities, a person from the bride groom’s family whose ego was not satisfied during the occasion by the bride’s family throws up all tantrums, is this what you call marriage?. If you are ready to spend just 10 percent of the expenses and help an orphanage or one person who is underprivileged, will it not be more meaningful?, to me it is.”

Suddenly he turned around and looked at Rangarajan’s wife

“Madam, you pay so much attention to this happening here and you also believe in rituals, but why is it that you are not wearing your sacred thread around your neck today?” he startled everybody including Rangarajan in that gathering.

At once the lady was in wails, crying , desperately feeling her neck searching for the chain, but in a few seconds she found it , it was there. Her eyes red and seething with anger, she looked at sundar

“This ridicule was not called for on me sundar”.
“Sorry madam, I sincerely apologise. You see the irony is, your husband is sitting right in front of you and alive. The thread is just a representation with a lot of sentiments built on it. You seem to be so attached to that thread, than to the fact that your husband is hale, healthy and alive.”, so saying he turned around. This came as a rude shock, but then there was an atmosphere of agreement.

“Gentlemen, marriage is an institution, which mankind has built to ensure certain values are sustained. The husband and wife, to be unconditionally loving to and caring for each other, ensuring that their off springs get the correct value education to live in the society, with all the sensitivity and sensibility required for a human to live. But what is being offered today, your own children are divided, divided by caste and hierarchy. With nobody else but just you to teach them all these divisiveness, you ensure that they are as corrupt as you are, you are making them so falsely arrogant and highly ignorant of each other. They look at each other through the attributes, and in that distorted vision there is no complete meeting of two people at any level for that matter. If this is what you consider as holy, the healthy way to live and if this is the way next generation is to be brought up, based on numb sentiments and emotionalism, go ahead and do it. I don’t want to pick names, but there are males in this society, who have illicit relationship with women, apart from their wives, who are from different castes. Not that am promoting casteism, but referring to what is happening here within your framework. They are sitting in this room right now. So what respect do you pay to the institution which you are advocating now? Well, friends, I don’t believe in any of the sentiments or customs or rituals. To me life is to be lived fully, lovingly, ready to help anybody and everybody unconditionally. I have no regrets if you decide to replace me. But remember, until and unless you question your way of living, introspect honestly to yourself and examine your interactions with every person, be it a collector or a servant…..then you will see the beauty of life and the ugliness in each one of us covered so glamorously with culture and tradition. Anyway, we have informed our parents and they will be here tomorrow, further shyamala and I are husband and wife. All that I plan to do is to get our marriage registered, not because of anything else, but the law requires it to be done. Sex to us is not one of lustful pleasure that is to be enjoyed with one and all, sex is a culmination of the relationship between two people, and sex as an act is one of meditation where there are no two people but just a continous blissful state of being. Again am not against marriage as such, but am against marriage as is prescribed and practiced today . But we thank all of you here for your hospitality and friendship. Thank you and good luck”. He finished it.

Shyamala was dumbfounded. This was not just an ordinary college boy , but there was something deep in him, the capacity to look into anything and learn from it , without being ashamed to acknowledge his ignorance if it came to that. They walked home silently that evening.