Imagine: Your grandchild is sick, and you
do not have the money to treat him in a hospital. The branch secretary of a
political party (TUMK) is collecting people from your town to attend a
pre-election party rally. He offers you a sari (with the party's flag colors)
and Rs. 500 for being present in the rally, which is scheduled to be addressed
by the party leader. Wouldn't you do it for your sick grandchild?
Andaal, an old woman has no other
option. There is no bound to Venkatesa Perumal's commitment and loyalty to the
party, where he serves as both its union and district representative. He is a
man made from the party's funds; a man who is what he is because he works for
the party and takes substantial cut for himself to add to his riches.
'Will all
those goddesses give you MP and MLA posts? Our leader gave us those posts, so
we put up posters. What's your problem?'
'It is the
same people who demand that Rs 3 crores be deposited for an MLA seat and Rs 10
crores for an MP seat, who lecture about democracy. But our party is not like
that. Whether it is an MP candidate or an MLA candidate, no one has to spend a
single paisa. Everything will be taken care of by the party. What more does a
party-man need? Do you know there is no party like ours in the whole of India?'
Andaal, Kannagi, Sornam, Gomathi,
Chellammal and many other women and men are being carried in the vans. There is
vanload of people, truckload of people and Venkatesa is collecting people from all
the surrounding colonies. This is nothing new.
Few kilometers from the hometown
of Andaal, at Vriddhachalam, election rally is summoning as many men and women
as possible. Party members like Venkatesa are leaving no stone unturned to
gather a crowd of thousands. When Andaal and her neighbors reach the venue,
they are awestruck by the grandeur of the arrangement – decoration, flags, festoons,
banners, cut-outs, LED screens, dais, space to land the helicopter of the
leader – and the sheer number of people attending it.
All that was important for when
the minister arrived was a good crowd.
There is no sign of the leader who
was to attend the rally at 10 am like Venkatesa had said earlier. While the
women and the whole crowd wait for the leader in the sweltering heat, hours
pass by. With time, the initial enthusiasm begins to falter, and it grows into
exhaustion, frustration and anger. People feel hungry, thirsty and restless. Chapter
after chapter, the story is nothing less than a sequence of real and dramatic
events – beaming with satire to the political parties, and brewing dark humor underneath.
'You have pushed
me from the chair and now I have no place to sit. I'll go right now ad call my
street men and teach you a lesson. Am I the only one who came here for the cash?
These bitches also gathered here for the cash. In this, where does caste come
from? All the bastards only do caste politics, who does party work?'
'The one who
fell at their feet got rich. In his party, the more you fall at the feet, the
more money and power,'
The early hours spent in gossips among
Andaal and other women points to a political ecosystem: people and their vote
bought for money; people expecting party to give them money for their vote; the
people in between taking their cuts – realities which all know, criticize, disdain,
but follow and can't live without. We know there is a big systematic fraud and corruption
in the broad daylight. But it is too big to resist and fight against, and all
we can do is become a part of it. This is not the moral of the story. But, you
know…
'Being a
party member is like climbing a steep mountain… Our party is worse than others.
The other party people will cite rules and defy not only the panchayat
secretary or the district secretary but even the leader. Not in our party.
Here, we are not even allowed to stand upright. Whatever we do, we must be flat
on the floor. Join palms together and bend. We cannot even breathe loudly. If
anyone steps out of line, overnight the man will lose his post. The real truth
about a party or a post is that one stands on top of the other's head and
proclaims that he is the best.
'… Who will
vote nowadays if they are not given money? In these times even the party-men
expect to be given money.'
Waiting, waiting and eternal
waiting for the leader to come, in the blazing heat, noise, crowd, dust, death,…
In these tense hours, the story unravels caste favoritism, how politics play
caste and how people themselves protect it for their benefit. We see the
intricacies of party politics at the root, caste politics as well as dominance
of one over the other – hell with the rights and fairness! I'll have to quote
the whole story since this represents reality to its raw nakedness, like an
open wound. Party gathers people to show their power and strength, but what
about those people, who are their strength?
'There are banners
and cut-outs as long as ten towns. And a stage as big as a village, a huge TV
on which you can see the whole street. They have dragged all the people in this
country by van, bus or car, stacked like cattle and goats and dumped them here.
But what is the use? There is not an inch of place that is secluded for women
to pee. What party are they running?'
The wait for the leader amongst thousands,
soon turns to a torture they all want to escape – where there are fights for
the chairs; where you have to hold your pee for hours on end because you'll be
crushed by the crowd if you separate yourself from your friends and try to find
a place to relieve yourself; where people are fighting because they cannot withstand
those of lower caste sitting along with them.
The story is laced with humor,
fine detailing, and crude dialogues with local colors. Imayam's characters are
not idealists, they are people from normal walks of life. The uninhibited
conversation fuels the story, since this is how common people vent out their
frustrations. I came with this phrase: Money is a dark power; politics is even
darker. When these two find each other, darkness is poured all over.
By the time the leader arrives and the meeting ends, much damage has already occurred.
Tiruneeru Sami
Annamalai, a South Indian boy and
Varsha, a North Indian girl are a couple with two kids. Both of them are scientists.
At the beginning of the story,
Annamalai books tickets for the family to have their children undergo tonsure,
ear piercing, and a naming ceremony in his hometown, Tamil Nadu, at their kuladeivam
(family deity or deity of the clan) temple. Varsha disagrees to the plan and is
adamant about making the long trip only for the sake of the ceremony which could
be done in any Tamil temples in Delhi. Both of them think that the other one is
being stubborn and unreasonable.
What starts as a simple
disagreement soon escalates into a serious confrontation between Annamalai and
Varsha. Annamalai does not want to break the family custom of performing such
auspicious ceremonies at the kuladeivam temple – a burial place of Tiruneeru
Sami. But who is Tiruneeru Sami, if he is not a god? If you are unfamiliar with
the concept of Siddha, you will find that, especially after the peak of the
conflict, Imayam has wonderfully woven a narrative resembling a folklore and a
myth, which seems to offer reverence to these men.
"We are
our own burden, the mind alone is our enemy, kill the mind and still the mind.
The mind is a devil, kill it." He lived his life like that.
'Annie Besant
came to our temple and built an arch with her own money. Vivekananda stayed
there for five days and meditated. Eyden, who was our district collector,
visited it. Bhagwana Ramana came and paid his respects. Sir, Bharati, the modern
poet of Tamil Nadu, wrote about him as the light that came to drive away the dirt
in our heart and the diseases in our body.'
This story also questions our
beliefs – does one we revere must have a place in the ranks of gods? The discomfort
of two cultures – of South and North India – mingling together is just a part
of the story. Here, the discomfort between two belief systems is rather more
serious. And this can hurl us into more darker depths of our reservations and force
us to make choices of divergence. Does one have to be false so that the other one
becomes true. In matter of beliefs, two truths cannot co-exist?
In among the disagreements, fury, abuses, misunderstanding and stubbornness, Annamalai seems to have convinced at least a member of Varsha's family about Tiruneeru Sami and the tide seems to be turning.
Samban, Son of
Krishna – An Untold Tale
Samban was the son of Jambavati
and Lord Krishna according to Hindu Mythology.
This is the story of Samban, who
was cursed with leprosy by his own father, Lord Krishna. The unavoidable fate
seems to have its roots in the Mahabharat war, when Gandhari had cursed Krishna
for conspiring to kill her 100 sons.
The milk that
has come out will not go back into the udders. The butter that has been churned
and separated will not re-form into curds, the fallen bloom and the withered
fruit will not get back onto the tree. Karma cannot be erased.
After being cursed, Samban leaves
the palace without any riches or attendants. Guided by the great sage Narad,
Samban embarks on a journey to find the Sun God temple, crossing forests,
mountains, caves, beasts, and streams in search of a cure for his disease. He
reaches a leper colony after seven years of travel, but the search for
salvation from the curse does not end there. He takes a group of lepers with
him and begins another phase of his quest for a cure…
Imayam has once again
demonstrated his exceptional talent for storytelling and spinning a fable out
of mythical characters. The story of Samban presents a modern flavor of retold
myths.
We'd like to applaud the efforts of Prabha Sridevan for her flawless translation of Vazhga Vazhga and Other Stories.
Author: ImayamOriginal Text: Tamil
Translator: Prabha Sridevan
Publisher: Penguin India https://www.penguin.co.in
