The village experiment!

AIM: The purpose of the experiment was to live like a villager, to immerse ourselves in that lifestyle.

APPARATUS USED: We (The two social scientists carrying out the experiment - Me and Manoj) knew no one in the village and we had no experience of this sort before. We worked for food, slept on sack bags and played Kabaddi for recreation.

PRINCIPLE: One of the things in my bucket list is to live in an Indian village for a year. I would love to do it right away but there are other things to be done like clearing civil services, making money etc. that have to be taken care of. Therefore, this time around, me and my friend (Manoj) visited a village in Tamil Nadu and stayed there for five days, as a kind of warm up for the eventual one year stay. The village we chose was Sethumadai, some 33 kms from Pollachi, near the Tamil Nadu - Kerala border.

PLAN/ PROCEDURE: The plan was pretty simple. Go to the village. Find a place to stay - preferably without having to pay rent. Find a job - preferably as an agricultural labourer. Survive for five days. Return home.

The posts that follow give an account of how this experiment turned out.

A bus journey gone awry!

(An imaginary account)

'Buffalo, pig, hippopotamus or a rhinoceros?' wondered Sekar. He was contemplating about the huge hairy figure sitting next to him wrapped in a silk saree. As was his habit, he often associated people with animals. He thought of his class teacher as a duck, his aunt as a fox and his schoolmate Swathi (on whom he had an abundant crush) as a peacock. But this old lady sitting next to him was huge, rude, smelly and disgusting. She was also putting vetti scene and frequently throwing off his ipod earplugs by shifting her extra large arse. So... a buffalo, pig, hippo or a rhino? Whatever she was, she had managed to become Sekar's arch-enemy in just 15 minutes. First she took his window seat and made him sit near the aisle. She didn't request for it, she just shoved and grinded her way through until she comfortably wedged herself into three quarters of the place and left Sekar dangling at the edge. When Sekar glared at her, she just said 'Show some courtesy boy, we old people suffer a lot.' Sekar gritted his teeth and adjusted his ipod. Soon he was contemplating if he could classify her as a skunk-cum-anteater. Yeah, with her protruding nose and revolting smell, this'd be reasonable, he thought. Right then there was a sudden jolt, the lady was asking the conductor with her Bose-speaker throat if he could play some movie in the TV. She paid for a video coach and she wanted some video. The bus was going to Bangalore and there was only one kannada movie disc available. 'Perfect' she said. Sekar sucked air through his teeth, then gritted them. The movie started. Slowly in a resigned fashion he removed his ipod as the kannada film was way too noisy to let him hear songs. The hero came in a car, wearing a three-piece suit and a pattaapatti (multi purpose boxer shorts). 'Ithu classu' he said, pointing at the suit, 'Ithu massu' he said pointing at his underwear. And then started hitting the bad guys. Sekar closed his eyes and tried to stay calm.

He started rehearsing his presentation for the 'Young scientist' competition. That was the reason he was traveling to Bangalore. He had come first in the state level meet for his 'Green chulha' model, a non-polluting chulha that would be cheap and would use firewood as fuel. He was going to Bangalore for the national meet. He checked under the seat where his mud chulha lay. He would stay calm, he would rehearse his lines and he would carefully leave with the model, no matter what the neighbouring wild animal did, he thought.

And then there was a vigorous shake. Sekar opened his eyes and looked around alarmed. He had just seen 'Engeyum eppodhum' movie which dealt with a bus accident and read about a landslide in Leh. As he looked around trying to figure out if it was an accident or an earthquake, he found the arch-fiend shaking with laughter, her eyes glued to the TV screen. Sekar looked at the TV. An aged comedian was giving a bikini-clad woman, some tennis lessons. The comedian had said he'd make the woman a Sania Sarza. Very funny. Sekar looked at the TV screen and then to the shaking boulder next to him. IT WAS GROSS. Crrrrunch. There was a sound and a spray. The giant lady was eating a pineappple. Just trying to squeeze two pieces in at once. So some juice sprayed into Sekar's white shirt. Then she ate some cucumbers. Then some chips and murukku. Sekar closed his eyes. The noise of the woman eating was like listening to King Kong fighting T Rex. Then, there was a different noise. Like a cloth getting torn. Sekar looked at the lady. The mountainous lady had let out a voluminous fart. Sekar was close to tears now. He was glaring at her very hard when the lady turned and spoke 'Old age, Gas trouble' she said. Sekar didn't know if he had to shut his eardrums or nostrils. He let out a deep breath and fought back the tears. Again, a sound as if a baby was blowing out candles in a birthday cake. One more fart. By now, Sekar was sure that he was in more agony than the victims of the Bhopal gas tragedy. He stood up and traveled standing for the remaining 4 hours. The Kannada hero was giving a lecture on girls and Indian culture, the giant lady was nodding in agreement and Sekar was telling himself that it'd all soon be over. Just a few more hours.

He stood and endured and waited patiently for Bangalore. And Bangalore did come. Eventually. And the woman got up. Sekar turned the other way. He felt that he'd start crying if he looked at her one more time. And there was a noise. Like a pot breaking. The chulha! Sekar turned immediately and looked under the seat. Half of the chulha was damaged. In the middle of the damaged portion was the leg of the rhino-lady. Sekar shivered with anger, tears rolled down his eyes but before he could begin to speak, the hippo-lady nudged him and went rolling out of the bus. Slowly the bus grew empty. Sekar just stood there. After a few minutes, he took up the broken pieces of the chulha, packed them crudely and walked out of the bus. RAKSHASI, he thought. He went to a nearby shop and got a water bottle. Just then, his mobile rang. It was his mom.

'Hello ma'

'Have you reached Bangalore Sekar?'

'Yes ma'

'Be careful pa. Are you alright? I just saw the astrologer, he scared me with some stories.'

'Ma, this is not the time for it.'

'This astrologer is very powerful da. He said before Karthikai deepam, you'll have a gandam (danger).'

'What gandam?'

'You'll be attacked by some dirty wild animal, it seems. He told me to donate 11 coconuts to the temple to avert any disaster. I just donated them and I called you to warn about this.'

'What wild animal? You mean...'

'He named some deadly animals da. Like a pig, buffalo, hippopotamus, rhinoceros.'


*********************************Curtains************************************

Of mothers, among other things - A. K. Ramanujan

I have long been wanting to blog about what I've been reading, listening and seeing i.e., I don't just want to blog about my views and and experiences but also put forward my thoughts on the books I read, the films I watch and the music I hear. In that regard, here is a beginning.

'Of mothers among other things' is a poem by A.K. Ramanujan. Accurate description of physical objects, vivid imagery and an intense affinity towards his childhood experiences in India are characteristics of his poetry. What I find most appealing when I read Ramanujan's poetry is his tone. It is not his magnificence that sweeps the reader but what arrests the mind is his matter of fact tone. With many subtle hints to tell us of his inclinations or neutralities, he weaves dark humour, subtle irony, dry facts, first hand experiences, a spectacularly subcontinental vocabulary and rustic realism into beautiful verse forms which may not often rhyme but always carry a rythmic sense.

So I have taken a poem of his - 'Of mothers, among other things' and have recited it here:

Youtube - Ramanujan's poetry

In case you are not familiar with the poem, please do listen to it to enjoy the following paragraph better.

My views on the poem:

Ramanujan is an expert in the description of physical objects. He notices trees, rays and the texture of things with a keen eye. The whole poem revolves around the act of his mother rushing back from the rains to tend to the crying voice in the cradle and picking up a grain of rice from the floor. The images this action invokes in the author's mind followed by the tides of memories that arise which in turn push forth a torrent of emotions amalgamates into a moving verse form. This is a feeling that would bring a lump in the throat of many readers, especially to those hailing from the subcontinent where due to tradition or social set up, the selflessness of mothers and the sacrifices of women reach unbelievable proportions. The tragedy of the 'mother's' life is also brought forth in the poem when he mentions that one of her fingers became permanently crippled because of accidentally getting caught up in a mouse trap in the garden. He does this, as in many of his other poems such as 'Obituary', in a conversational tone, hardly making a fuss.

Ramanujan's description of the light which emerges from the tasselled gaps of tree leaves and hits the three diamonds of his mother's rings and then bursts forth into a 'handful of needles' is spectacular imagery. In his own words, Ramanujan says 'English and my disciplines (linguistics and anthropology) give me my outer forms...; my thirty years in India, my frequent visits and field trips, my personal and professional preoccupations with Kannada, Tamil, the classics and folklore give me my substance, my inner forms, images and symbols. They are continuous with each other and I can no longer tell what comes from where.'

The kaleidoscopic pattern in his poems brings forth the vigour and colour of India with all its oddities and distinctions. The beauty of Ramanujan's English narrated with vernacular fluidity, sometimes complemented by accurate scholarship and at other times by deeply felt emotions and scenes go into the making of many a literary gem.

Being vetti!

Lot of difficult choices to make these days. Watch movie, call friends, roam about, sleep, eat, keep gaping at Facebook, keep checking all tweets, there is just so much to do and so little time! God, it is tough to be vetti! But I keep reminding myself that life is complicated like that, only the test of fire makes fine steel, and that it is important during these difficult times to stick to the basics and hold on. So I just do two things basically - Watch TV and sleep. If I'm too bored of watching TV, then I sleep. If I'm too bored of sleeping, then I watch TV. Keeping it simple. Yeah, I'm talented that way. Next. Rest.

Post exam plans and forecasts!

So what do I do now that I've got nothing to do? Apart from indulging in the cardinal sins of lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy and pride, what can I possibly do to get wasted after getting pissed? Here are some potential plans followed by forecasts of the 'weathermanastrologer' on what'll actually happen.

Plan: Eat, sleep, work out and nourish the body.
Forecast: Clouds suggest that there is a certainty that I will get pissed, sleep like I'm on drugs and neglect good food.

Plan: Watch and enjoy movies, probably start thinking about a script to work on.
Forecast: The low depression in South Andhra suggests there is an 80% possibility of this happening.

Plan: Work on the blog and probably on a website.
Forecast: Definite possibility of this happening.

Plan: Travel to various places, preferably where the weather is cool.
Forecast: The retreating monsoon promises definite possibility of this happening and a good accompanying shower.

Plan: Visit friends, trouble them with persistent presence. Give so much trouble to family that they would never complain again about me not visiting them.
Forecast: What instruments we have agree that it is going to be a hard cold winter for my friends and relatives.

Till next season, stay indoors, stay safe :)

Exams end, but questions remain.

Why do I want to become a civil servant? The Mains exam this time is over and the results notwithstanding, I have made up my mind that this is what I want. To become a civil servant. Why?

- Social anger. Every time I board a train, buy a ticket or watch a cinema, I find so many things that disturb me. The sea of humanity that I see in electric trains everyday look like they're standing in a queue to file out petitions asking for help. Poverty, disease, disability, unemployment! So you feel like you want to help. How? Volunteer, agitate, through activism and all that. It requires far too much effort, will power and grit and the effect is far too minimal. The best way to contribute is through effective policies and its efficient implementation. Being a civil servant gives you that scope.

- Another reason - all other things are taken care of. You have a respectable, stable job, your parents are happy, there is decent money to be made (scrupulously), the job is interesting, you are exposed to a lot of avenues for self-improvement. And the chief thing, studying for it is a pleasure. As much as I complain and dramatise about the studying experience, I know in my heart that I'd rather study more than 12 hours a day for civil services than slog in a corporate job for 9 hours. The portions, questions and the whole process is damn enjoyable. And of course there is the uncertainty factor - you may get in or you may not. That provides the extra spice to the whole dish.

That's that then. I'm working to become a bloody bureaucrat.

And then, there were none!

The civil services Main exam has come to a close. God, it was like the close of commonwealth games. Couldn't wait to get out of it. I had nine papers and therefore the following poem inspired by the nursery rhyme 'ten little indians' and of course, Agatha Christie.

Nine little exams had me studying late,

One was a bummer and then there were eight;

Eight little exams were too difficult to govern,

One had general questions, left were seven;

Seven little exams demanding many tricks,

One was an essay, so there were six;

Six little exams made me nose dive,

English came to the rescue and then there were five;

Five little exams made me all sore,

Hindi almost choked me and then there were four;

Four little exams, let them all mighty be,

Was prepared for history, so left were three;

Three little exams still, Oh what shall I do?

Wrote some story and then there were two;

Two little exams haunting like an Injun,

Literature was not bad, and then there was one;

One little exam between me and fun,

Scribbled something out and then, there were none! :)