Keerthi's day out - The Boston Chronicles

What do you do when you have a four day weekend in a new country? Shop , Read , Mope Around and may be travel. I chose the last option and my oh my I've been paid back quite well. A close family friend offered to show me around Boston and I jumped at the chance with glee - who wouldn't for Boston is a city steeped in History - so much of it that one day has not been sufficient to see all the sights.

The day started bright and sunny - which was to me an indication of things to come. With that thought in mind and warm clothes on person , we started our day with a drive to Alewife station on a cute Honda Civic. The drive was very pleasant and so were the sights - so much so that I wanted to stop by and take a pics. That would have meant quite a delay and hence I let it pass and concentrated on what was to come.

Alewife station sounds like the name of a pub or an old English buttery . But in reality it is a train station where we caught the first of our many trains. It was also one of the many English sounding names that I've come across since I've travelled to the United States - Worcester , Devonshire et al a couple of other's I've come across - but that's the story for another blogpost and before I can digress , let me get back to destination one - Harvard Squire and yes this station is where you disembark if you want to check out one of the most prestigious institutions in the world and check it out we did. It was queer to find out that the university is open to public as a tourist spot but the feeling vanished as I stepped inside the gates. We roamed around taking a couple of snaps , seeing some sights like the library which used to be Gore hall , the war memorial and the founder's statue. We'd have seen more had our tummies not grumbled - but grumble they did and hence we rushed for lunch at this place called chutney's in JFK street.

 

 



 After a huge lunch and a very desi Masala Chai , we validated our options and took the train to Kendall - yet another puritan sounding station in the Boston area. From Kendall we took a brisk walk to the bank of River Charles  and we were greeted with a spectacular view of Boston's Skyline. The deep blue of the river , the towering buildings in the background and the cool wind blowing made us want to linger but walk on we did ( after a couple of photographs of course) to yet another university - this time the Massachusetts Institute of Technology.

 

 

 

 If Harvard was about Old red brick buildings steeped in history , MIT was about the new world , the abstract sculptures and concrete structures bearing evidence to the fact. The Two institutions are on the opposite side of the spectrum going by how they look - but they share a common goal - growth of wisdom , a sentiment so lovingly engraved on one of the Harvard gates. It was with this feeling that I left MIT for Boston.

 

 

  

 

 

 

Boston for me would be synonymous with the American Independence movement. The city has borne witness to the birth of a great nation and is littered with monuments everywhere. It's a vibrant vibrant place , teeming with people all around , reminding one of Bombay or Delhi - cities which never sleep. We covered parts of the Boston Freedom Trail but it soon started becoming dark and we turned back after a cup of coffee- back to Hudson , taking a train to Alewife and the driving back to Hudson - back home to TV and dinner , carrying back memories worth a lifetime!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Foot prints ...

Most people discover Rahman the music director first and fall in love with him , but being the contrary nerd that I am , I fell in love with Rahman the singer . Any Rahman fan worth his salt will have certain songs , which converted him from an enthusiast to a fan , and from a fan to a acolyte. For a vast majority , his soundtrack in Roja was the starting point and Chinna Chinna Aasai would be mentioned many a times. For many others , it would be Veera Pandi Kottayile or Tanha Tanha. But for me , it was his number ‘only you’.

I was all but five years when Roja released . Well not quite five and not quite six to be exact , and at that age , music just didn’t interest me. Did I listen to ARR’s songs – yes , but did I pay attention to it – no. After his phenomenal success with Roja , Rahman kept churning out hits and I kept climbing trees , and making a nuisance out of my tomboy self until the inevitable happened . On a rainy afternoon in September , in the year 1997 I finally discovered Rahman. My parents had purchased the audio cassettes of Vande Mataram and Gurus of peace the previous day and having nothing to do but to sit at home and enjoy the rain , I popped the tape recorder open and placed Vande Mataram inside and epiphany happened.

As ‘Only you’ started playing I fell in love – in love with a voice which seemed to convey the feel behind the lyrics , a voice which was so different from the norm those days – a voice which was raw yet mature. As days went past , I also discovered Rahman the composer , and came to love his compositions – but it was Rahman the singer , who reigned supreme with me. Fifteen years have gone past since , but Rahman the singer is still a hot favorite.

So here’s my tribute to AR Rahman completing 20 years as a composer – a compilation of some of my favorites – sung by the master himself!

1. Chinna Chinna Aasai : This song of Rahman has a lot many things going for it. Lovely orchestration , beautiful singing by Minmini , and wonderful scenery from my beloved Tirunelveli. But the zenith of the song is that yelelo humming by our maestro. Every single time I listen to the humming , I can visualize the beauty of a lone boatman navigating a serene river and you feel as if nature is singing a beautiful lullaby.

2.Columbus : Not many Rahman fans like this song and I’m not sure why. The typical weekend song , that I listen to, on most Fridays when I travel back home , Columbus has nothing spectacular going for it unlike some songs of the master , but the lyric and the honesty in ARR’s voice is commendable. Not a great song , but a favorite nevertheless.

3. Only You : I’ve talked a lot about this song at this post , but braving the risk of sounding repetitive I am going to talk about it again. This in my opinion was the best song from Vande Mataram. Lovely lyrics , super singing accompanied by kick ass percussion. I don’t know if people see their motherland as a lover , but the lyricist of this song certainly did and Rahman through his brilliant singing conveys the emotions so beautifully.

4. Dil se : What can I say about this song except for the fact that its magnificent. Rahman excels again as a composer and as a singer leaves you spellbound with his vocal range. He proved that he was a consummate singer and added another feather to his singing cap. I was in class seven when the music release and was hooked to this song the moment I heard this – I am still hooked , fourteen years later.

5.Piya Haji Ali – Fiza was a good film and I ended up seeing it in theaters due to the Haji Ali song composed by Rahman. I didn’t understand much about Sufi music then , but this song in its serene glory impressed me pretty heavily . ARR entered into the Sufi realm of which he is a master now , with a quiet bang. Another gem in the master’s crown.

6.Vellai Pookal : Vellai Pookal to me is an ode to peace. a lovely melody which Maniratnam had cleverly used as a prologue before jumping into the core story where we are introduced to Amutha. This one is a must listen for the superb lyrics written by Vairamuthu and superb singing.

7. Lukka Chuppi – Every single time I listen to Lukka Chuppi I end up crying . Lata mangeshkar in magnificent form supported by ARR conveys a mother’s emotions so beautifully. One of the most underrated songs by ARR and the best song of the album IMO.

8. New York Nagaram : Rahman was not very frequent in the Tamil scene starting 2000s and by 2006 the top spot in the Tamil Music Industry was seemingly up for grabs , until ARR came back with this gorgeous beauty. Sillunu Oru Kadhal was not a great album by Rahman standards but new york nagaram stands out even today for that splendid tune and wonderful singing.

9. Tere Bina – Tere Bina is what I’d call a semi qawwali . The entire song is a beautiful package starting with the Dam Dhara strain, Rahman’s pitch perfect singing and Chinmayi’s lovely cameo. An all time favorite which I constantly hum to the irritation of my friends

10. Naan varuvene / Jaa Udd Jaa : The best song of Ravanan was the one not included in the soundtrack. This song starts when the visually stunning movie ends with Veera’s death. A haunting melody with exquisite orchestra work , Naan Varuvene is a vintage Rahman tune to be cherished by music Lovers.

Other Mentions – Al Madath Maula , Khwaja mere Khwaja and Kun Faya Kun : I did not number these songs in my compilations not because I don’t like them , but because I can’t rate them given the divinity they ooze. All three are favorites of mine , and for some reason always give me a reprieve from stress and depressed. When I feel down all I need to do is play one of these songs and I’m back to normal.
One of these days I’ll come up with additional playlists on ARR , but here are a set of my favorites sung by him and hopefully you’ll enjoy them too.

Until the next compilation ,
Adieu,
K

Very Very Special ...

Dear L,

I do know for a fact that VVS stands for Vangipirappu Venkata Sai. But for me and a million other cricket fans , it would always expand to Very Very Special - Special , because of your superb batting skill and technique ; Special , because you made my generation believe that it was indeed possible to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat , case in point your splendid knock in Mohali on what seems a tour from long time ago. You were to me the hero of the test , having scored a superb 73 in the second innings, fighting cramps  fatigue and the suicidal tendencies of your tail ender partners amongst a gazillion other things.

I also remember that before you made that 73 , you also had a very forgettable outing in the first innings - a single digit score , that set tongues wagging again , calling out for blood.It was always like that wasn't it ? That your place in the team was the one that was most questioned , no one giving a damn about the fact that one could indeed have an off day and god forbid , an off tour or an off season . Trust me I used to be so perplexed about  the fact that people were questioning your place. There were never any questions when Sehwag got out in the nastiest manner possible , because that was how he played. Tendulkar was never questioned simply because he was God. Rahul , your partner on the crease and at the slips , could have off days too , but you were expected to perform every single time , failing which the axe was called for.

Human minds are fickle or so they say. If that wasn't the case , why did everyone , including self , question your position on the team , when you slipped. I didn't know and to be frank I didn't care. In fact I didn't even bother to find out why , until today - a black day for Indian cricket fans , as you walked into the sunset following your partner into retirement.

I was not that much into cricket when you made your debut , against the most formidable side in test cricket today , in 1996 and I guess not many nine year old girls were into test cricket then. I did not see that match and have not seen it till date , but most people tell me that your knock in the second innings of that match was the cause of the above mentioned problem. My father tells me that you made a splendid half century . Some of my older colleagues talk about the repertoire of strokes you exhibited that day. A few of my friends talk about your fighting spirit but unfortunately none of them call it special. A legend was born that day without the pomp and splendor that was normally associated with the event.  May be it was that air of simplicity around you , may be it was that appearance of ease in your stroke making ; people took it for granted  that a man called Laxman would always pull them out of trouble - never mind how deep the shit was.

The problem lay in the fact that while a machine's efficiency was expected from you , which was met with in most of the cases , you were at the end of the day a human , a human prone to mistakes , a human who did fail sometimes. When I think about your sixteen year career , the first thing that comes to my  mind is the success you enjoyed against Australia . According to the judgmental humans who watched your career , they were by far your most favorite adversaries , never mind your splendid performance against the West Indies or the South Africans and if I look closer to home the Sri lankans.   You loved playing against the Aussies didn't you ? I would like to think so , given the fact the a majority of your batting milestones were chiseled in an Ind vs Aus fixture. What many of us failed to realize was that you loved your other opponents too. In fact you loved  everything about the game , be it batting , be it fielding at the slips or shouting at a stupid lower order batsman for taking a suicidal run. I still look back to that day some years ago , when you measured the gap between the slips , as Gautam Gambhir stepped up to relieve you of your slip duties for a while. It brought a smile to my face and along with it the realization of the commitment you had for your duties. But sadly enough , I forgot all of that the moment you hit a rough patch and the rough patch for many of us was the Tour of Australia , in early 2012.

As you fumbled and failed on that nightmarish tour , the voices calling out for your blood became louder. Whatever little support you had vanished the day Dravid retired . Many of us steadfast Dravid fans believed that you deserved to go before our master , given your horrible outing in England. The voices kept rising as we heard of our young future's domestic successes and due to the mistaken belief that they were being kept out of the side ,out of deference to the failing seniors - until you decided to put to a stop to it in your own way.

When reports started leaking in , that you were planning to retire - I was one of the many who thought that it was time. Why, I even tweeted that the decision was in good stead and it was necessary to blood the youngsters in before the 2013 SA series. I did not cry as I did when I read of Dravid's retirement. I did not wince as I did when injury forced Boucher out of action. Why I did not even indulge on Nostalgia , as I do when sportsmen I watch call it a day and I am very very ashamed of this fact.
 
 As you walked into the sunset , head held high , with a shy smile that hid your inner sorrow , I realized that you were a hero that many of us mere mortals took for granted. I now know I am not going to see you in action at Hyderabad - not on the cricket field at least. I know without an ounce of doubt that I cannot take victory for granted when we are trailing behind by 200 odd runs with 8 wickets down. I know that however talented and prodigious your successor might be , he will never match you in terms of presence or stature.


Today , you made me realize what was under my nose for all these years - that you were a supremely talented human being , who always kept punching above his weight , despite the brickbats that were directed at you , without any reason. I did not realize it much earlier , but today as I pen this letter I realize the fact that you were a super talented cricketer , a splendid human being and last but not the least , a humble hero.

As I realize the magnitude of your action , I thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the lovely memories you provided and humbly apologize for the thoughtless abuses .

                                                                                                          Bidding Adieu with a heavy heart
                                                                                                          K 
                                                                                                             

 
 

Pot Pourri....

Mathematics has always been a favorite subject and yours truly can claim to be an expert in the rudimentary aspects of the subject - ie , counting. Therefore I when I flipped the dates on my calendar today morning , I was surprised to note that my last blog post had been nine days ago - nine whole days , which didn't feel quite long in hindsight. May be it didn't seem long as too many things were happening around me , things which related to the greater good , happenstance stuff and minor irritants caused by my favorite guy in the entire universe , that dude Murphy of the famed Murphy's laws. Therefore when I opened my blog and started typing away , I realized that there were one too many things to write about and the best way to go about it was to make an Aviyal ; a mish-mash of everything. So here goes - an Aviyal of events - good and bad , people crazy and otherwise !!!!

The Big Bust Theory :

It all started on that fateful evening , when tatadocomo went through a huge nation wide outage. The network went Kaput for 12 hours and it took ages for services to be restored. While friends around me felt handicapped without their mobile and claimed to be dying ( a bit overmuch that - like something out Philip Pullman's books where a person dies , if their pet animal/soul mate/whatchamacallit is separated from them) , I stayed calm , waiting it out and accepting that such things do happen. The elders always say that Good karma will be rewarded with good things but in my case it was not to be so. the network came back , but with it came so many issues that there came a stage when the customer care number became the most dialed number on my cellphone and my sleepy murmurs included 'Hi! I'm calling from Coimbatore and have been facing some issues'.

I had dreams of bashing up the poor lady from customer care for hanging up in the middle and gnashed my teeth many a times at the sheer cleverness of the network to create such an issue ( If you are wondering what its all about , its just that my network went bust. if My GPRS works , then telephony will go down and vice-versa). I have finally reached a stage where I've calmed down ,taken deep breaths and have finally decided to get rid of my operator. As I write this blog , I've started the procedure to port my mobile number to another operator.

Hopefully the network I'm porting to will offer better service and the customer care reps will not stalk you to offer packages , call you five times after you've paid the bill to confirm your payment ( They really do that trust me , asking the cheque no , time of payment , size of the drop box et all) and generally act like pests. They say hope is eternal and it is with this hope , that I am moving to what I think is a better network.

The Auditory Explorations :

I've always been a huge music buff , so much so that my Ipod is one of my must have items inside my backpack and on days when I don't have it with me I truly feel bereft. It has much to do with the fact that I cart around 25 GB worth music inside it , which caters to my every single mood and whim. My playlists range from Raja to Rahman , Naushad to Pritam , seamlessly integrating the Burmans with Boney M and Adele with Asha Bhonsle.

That said , I've often shied away from listening to new groups and new music due to my fear of not enjoying the new styles and being labeled as a music retard.But off late , to my surprise , I've found the courage to explore varied genres of music and frankly I've enjoyed every thing I've listened to , starting with Coldplay - who were unknown entities to me , a couple of months ago and whose albums always play on a loop nowadays. My other discoveries from this year and the last include Loreena Mckennit , The Dubliners et al and last but not the least  Advaita , whose music can be labeled Carnatic Rock at its best , whose members include a splendid sarangi player and superb classical vocalist. Their albums "Grounded in Space"  and "Silent Sea" are must buys and give an indication of how rich our indigenous music is.

How can I ignore Coke Studio , when I talk about indigenous music ? The Pakistan series has completed its fifth season this year and is known for the wide variety of Asian music it  showcases - this year being no exception. The Indian edition in comparison had a lukewarm first session ,and has started with a bang in the second session. Having seen the chakwal group in action and the rock star Sawan Khan Manganiyar sing away to glory, I can only wonder at the musical richness our ancestors have bequeathed to our custody and try my level best to spread awareness. Hopefully , One day , I will get over my speechlessness and blog about the musical heritage of our country - till then I'm afraid people have to make do with my outbursts of happiness through Twitter , Face book and what not!


 No Country for Young Women :

Off late , the print and the visual media are filled with articles on crimes and offenses committed against women and the recent Assam incident takes a cake in my opinion. A member of the most honorable fourth estate not only had the gall to engineer the whole incident for media publicity , but went ahead to proudly upload the video to youtube , and other media , bringing unwanted publicity and another round of torture on an innocent victim.

The head of the news agency which was responsible for this appalling act claimed that only loose women were molested and continued to tweet links to the video footage of so called incidents where loose women were preyed upon - as if the so called animals in our country are honorable enough to let a woman in a churidhar kurta pass through unharmed.

What disgusts me is the fact that some one can plan a heinous crime against a woman just to get those extra TRPs and get away with it , squeaky clean , having people offer mock resignations and feigned remorse. As I write this , youtube is highlighting several such videos as the most viewed , offering them on the first page .

Organizations that are responsible for women welfare are asking women to dress safely ( dress conservatively I understand - but safely? is there even a definition of what is safe?). Women are asked not to venture out of their homes unnecessarily and very soon , women might as well be asked to stop coming out of their homes to earn a living.It makes me wonder if the crimes are going to stop if these diktats are going to be followed - I would think no.

In my humble opinion it's not a woman's fault , that she lives in a country where Lechers are allowed to run free and victims are penalized. Its not a woman's fault , that few men can't act their human self and think that their gender gives them the right to act the way they do.

I really hope that we as society take stern actions against heinous crimes and treat women as they are supposed to - a citizen of the country who is entitled to all the rights , privileges and freedom that comes along with the citizenship 

And the light goes out , Slowly:

As I was boarding the cab yesterday , my cellphone beeped. It was an alert that a friend of mine had posted something on twitter - Rajesh Khanna , the actor had passed away. While I've not watched a great many of his movies (but I have liked the ones I've seen - Aaradhana , Daag , Anand ,Bawarchi to name a few)I can state with absolute conviction that most of his movies were musical hits - so many lovely melodies - who can forget the soulful melodies that became an integral part of our generation : Kahin door jab din dhal jaaye , zindagi ek safar hai suhana , kuch toh log kahenge , mere dil main aaj kya hai , o mere dil ke chain , mere naina sawan badho - to name a few from the top of my head. Death is nothing but the next great journey and something tells me that somewhere up above , Hrishida is planning his next with Rajesh Khanna with Music by RD Burman , Kishore featuring on the vocals.

The end , but not quite :

Whew , another long winded post at 1400 odd words. I wonder if someone is going to be really patient to read through this long rambling of mine , but as they say - one might never know. Hope you've enjoyed my Aviyal and I'll be back with yet another blog post soon or may be not - what with the cricketing action in store and the Olympics on the horizon .

Hasta La Vista until we meet next,
K

Leela

She danced liked the wind on a moonlit night ,
Where stars were shining , in his eyes so bright.
Hearts enchanted , limbs entwined,
Round and Round as her anklets chimed.

She danced for her Lord , his presence divine,
The dholkis thrummed with flute supine ,
A song of joy , love and Chance
Dance she did like a woman reborn.

The flutes went on and the night went on ,
and dance she did ,as she was torn
For her dear Lord was a princely God ,
And it borne upon him that this was odd.

They often claimed that Love was blind ,
Barriers it shunned and hearts did it bind.
Yet her swami , in his heart did mind ,
that a King like him with traits so fine ;
had married a cowherd , hardly worth a dime.

Absence made the memories fade ,
Years went past as her hope too failed
Yet on moonlit nights , she danced and swayed
Decked like a bride , should her Lord arrive.

On moonlit nights , she danced and cried,
For her man had left as his love had dried.
On moonlit nights , she danced and cried,
Her river of tears never did dry…..

Redemption

he wind was howling like a Banshee , sending a chill through his spine – an eerie sound which indicated of another blood bath , one similar to the famed battle of Kurukshetra , where lives had been lost to restore pride. In those days , the duty of a Kshatriya was to wage war and win. It was a society where even plundering and pillaging had to be done ethically. Wars were fought and kingdoms defeated but dynasties were not dethroned. It was a society where a Kshatriya’s worth depended on his battle scars.It was a society where each man had his job cut out for him , where Shudras served , Vaishyas traded , Brahmins chanted and Kshatriyas ruled – anyone who dared think different was cut down , like the noxious weeds in paddy fields were wont to.

His thoughts were interrupted as the wind howled again , this time with great ferocity knocking down their humble shelter , forcing his team to scurry out into the open , cursing their luck as they took cover from the pounding storm beneath the crumbling ruins of what had been a  Masjid – a place of worship , that had been desecrated by the men who’d pledged their lives for Jihad – the holy war where the only thing which did not matter was religion , they very religion that seemingly dictated one’s violent act , a religion which made men destroy their place of worship – just because a few helpless Hindus had taken shelter. It seemed to him that there were a lot of similarities between Kshatriyas of the yore and jihadis  – both had an ethical framework and a divine cause , which were ignored in the pursuit of glory and bloodshed – both were capable of altering their holy book of principle to suit their whims and fancies , often trying to justify their selfish needs and unethical practices through them, sometimes destroying the very fabric of society. Things had not changed much between the Bharata war and today’s Jihad and that thought gave him some comfort , as he took shelter beneath a warm boulder.

He was the only son – the only son of doting parents , whose sole purpose in life had been to grant his every wish. He was the kuldeep of his family , the sole heir to his father’s empire and a worthy successor. He was a good looking ,well educated, intelligent lad , whose only flaw had been his thirst for more , a never ending thirst which had lead to strife and bloodshed , a war which had claimed everyone dear to him – his friend , mentor , idol and father. An empire had collapsed , due to his greatest vice. His greed and inner turmoil had destroyed his entire life in an instant.

He had been born a Brahmin – a blue blooded one at that , whose ancestors were the great sages , who had been revered by their contemporaries – yet he was not brought up like one. He did not learn the vedas , did not debate on the upanishads and could not remember the mrityunjay mantra to save his life. He was his mother’s eternal shame and his father’s pride – his father whose only weakness was his son , a weakness which had been exploited mercilessly , leading to death and despair.

He was a broken man after his father’s death , a man who was simmering with rage that he had been isolated from his mates. He had given in to his turmoil as his comrades had died one by one – destroyed by the traps set by the Kapatdhari who was worshiped by millions. His rage had grown as he saw his mentor die , a man who had taken him under his wing , who had been his brother in all but blood , a man who had died trying to claim his birthright . He had gone crazy then , his rage engulfing him like the flames of the forest fire which had a tendency to destroy everything in its path.

As he burned the camp of his victorious enemies , he had rejoiced , rejoiced that he had become a true Kshatriya – a conqueror of the highest order. As he stood by the raging fire , he had failed to realize that he had become a monster , a monster who would be cursed to roam the earth for eternity – a monster who would not be included in the paens that were composed in the honor of his fallen comrades. In his greed and shortsightedness , he had committed a blunder that day , a blunder which he was trying to right with his actions.

His thoughts were interrupted as the wireless came to life – the enemies had been sighted right above their camp and it was up to them to capture the peak – which was the enemy’s key post above the arterial highway that brought supplies to the front. As he donned his fatigues , his entire life flashed before his eyes – his glorious past in the land of the blessed , his meaningless cursed existence which had plagued him for 20 centuries , his life as an army man which had been his only meaningful journey .

He left the camp all alone , with his backpack loaded with what he deemed as essential supplies.  He was carrying a heavy payload , yet he felt light – light like a feather known for its agility , light unlike how he had felt all these centuries . As he embarked on his journey of redemption from which there was no return , he started chanting the Mrityunjaya Mantra – He was a brahmin and a Kshatriya – He was Ashwattama the cursed , on his way to redemption.

PS: At the end of Mahabharata , Lord Krsna curses Ashwattama to roam the earth for 30 centuries , in return for the one atrocious act he committed. If the events of Bharata had indeed been real , Ashwattama’s curse would have ended by the 20th century. This was my take on his path of salvation. He had committed the sinful act of setting the Pandava’s camp alight to avenge  Duryodhana. In my fanciful thoughts , he’d have died a Kshatriya , a honorable one at that trying to save his country.

PPS : For those of who , are curious to know , Ashwattama the soldier , commits suicide and takes with him the enemies who are better armed than his team are , to save his country and comrades

PPPS : Do share your thoughts on the same

Love All

There is a very interesting fact about the game of tennis. Every time a game is about to begin , and the players get ready to serve , a call of love all is made. As a kid highly ignorant of a game , I often wondered what the statement indicated . I came to know later that it indicated a fresh game , where both parties start at the princely score of zero. I was rather disappointed at the explanation given – my highly imaginative mind had built stories around that statement and I was shocked to know that it just referred to the score.

Nevertheless , I started following the game , which was soon to become my second favorite sport – after Cricket , of which I am crazy about and of which I have better knowledge of – thanks to the cricket craze at home.Tennis is a rather intriguing game – it highly concentrates on an individual , his performance , strengths and weaknesses. It glorifies personal excellence , reiterating that while team work works , it is the strength of the individual which contributes towards the success of the team – which is very different from the basic principle of Cricket , where the team is important than the individual.

This is highly evident from the fan following in Tennis – people are fans of a Nadal , Federer , Djokovic , Navaratilova as opposed to cricket where Barmy Army supports the English team as a whole. Even when Navaratilova  switched her national allegiances , her fan following didn’t dwindle much.It was much later that I came to know that national pride did matter in Tennis , so much so that two stalwarts , legends in their own right , swept aside their differences to earn the top honor for their country – The tournament was the prestigious Davis cup and the stalwarts in question were Pete Sampras and Andre Agassi , who contributed towards one of the most intense rivalries known on the tennis court, spilling over even when they played together in an exhibition match against Federer and Nadal.

As John McEnroe once said – they were never good friends and never could be . Yet these men were sportsmen enough that they could ignore their personal issues and concentrate on a common goal . Contrast this with India – a country not so rich in tennis stars , a country where people still talk about Ramanathan Krishnan , Amritaraj Brothers , a country which still relies on its aging stalwarts to fight for the country’s pride – two men who are best buddies turned foes – each well known for his exploits on the tennis court.
It all started with an innocent question and a sensible policy. The London Olympics was in question and the AITA wanted to ensure a medal by concentrating on quality rather than quantity. There were four players in contention – Somdev on the mend from an injury , Paes ,who had a direct ticket to the Olympics by virtue of his rank , Bhupathi and Bopanna.

Logically , Paes was allowed to choose his partner – yet he graciously deferred to AITA which made an announcement that , Bhupathi would be the lucky partner . This made sense as the pairing was a successful one and had played together as late as 2011. The decision meant that Bhupathi was also free to play the mixed doubles partnering Sania. All was hunky dory until Bhupathi issued a joint statement with Bopanna , stating that they had been playing together as a team since the last 8 months and deserved to be chosen ahead of Paes.

This was the start to what has become a mud slinging contest between all the parties involved and no one has come out unscathed yet. The players in question are busy sending messages to the print and TV media , furiously retweeting the statements of twitterati , supporting them – instead of sitting together and trashing it out.

Out of the three , Bopanna is the prize bull. He is the partner of choice for both Paes and Bhupathi – yet he  has refused outright to pair with a man who has been his Davis cup captain. In a passionate letter to the media , Rohan describes the loss he had to undergo – the  break-up of his partnership with Quereshi , in order to have a shot at the Olympic medal. He reckons that he cannot partner Leander , as the partnership with Mahesh was formed with the grand event in mind ; a partnership which has yet to yield any result.Bopanna’s words come across as a sincere opinion from a champion – but in my humble opinion it is fake. If a player wants so badly to win a medal for his country , he would have jumped when offered a chance to partner Leander , even though he had disagreements with him. His letter to the media reeks of moral up handedness and  blatant partiality to another man.

Next comes Bhupathi , who stood to gain the most out of the deal. Had Leander partnered Bopanna, it’d have been Lee partnering Mirza in the mixed doubles , given the experience he had and his reputation as a formidable contestant in the format. Had Bhupathi accepted the AITA decision , he had a good chance at the men doubles medal and in addition , he would have been the preferred choice to partner Sania , given his partnership with her. As I read his letters to the media , I am confused as to why a player of his repute can’t see beyond personal differences. His airing of the dirty linen in the public has not won my favor too. His suggestion of leaving Leander out of an Olympic team , to send what in his words is the best team in doubles – rankles me. To me it appears that Bhupathi with Bopanna is conspiring to evict a man who has won his right to be there.

Lastly , there is Leander , a man who has behaved admirably in my opinion. While he has accepted that his preferred choice is Bopanna , he has been ready to team up with anyone the AITA suggests , as he wants the best for his country. Therefore I agree with him , when he says that pairing him up with young rookies like Yuki Bhambri and Vishnuvardhan is unfair. He is not speaking from a personal context here. He sincerely believes that having a player who is ranked at the top will help the country have a better shot at the medal and I tend to agree with him.

As we near the deadline for the Olympics nomination , which is on Thursday , things seemed to have reached a stalemate with no one ready to compromise.I am not sure what the solution would be , but I wish Leander would partner with the young Yuki – and try hard to win . If that happens , life would come a full circle for Lee , who started his tennis career as a 19 year old partnering the much senior Krishnan , for Davis cup rubbers. If the AITA does send two teams , with Bopanna – Bhupathi being one of them and Leander – Yuki/Vishnu the other, I would agree to the decision but would support only one of the teams and that would not be the Bhupathi – Bopanna duo.

As I write this message , I wonder if these guys have an inkling of how unsportsmanlike their behavior is. It is in this context that I wonder if ” Love all” has a greater implication than what is said – may be it is a constant message to the player , asking him to respect peers for their skill and expertise , asking him to shed rivalries off the field , asking him to sweep aside personal conflicts when it comes to greater causes. “Love All” to me seems to be the need of the hour now in the context of Indian Tennis – a warning for the men to regain their focus on the greater cause – Olympics.

Mahabharata Chronicles V

It was a chilly night - a chilly night where the wolves howled - howled with misery at the fate which had wrought a cruel blow on the house of Kuru ; a race of Kings , Warriors and Statesmen , a race of men destined for fame and glory ; a race of men who were dead - slain by deceit , at the altar of death by the hands of Dharma , the very hands which reeked of injustice, the very hands which were seeking out to snuff the flame - the very flame that was burning bright within his emaciated body , burning bright despite the calm of the surrounding waters.

He was the eldest son - eldest son of a figurehead king ; a king who'd been overlooked for a younger brother , a king whose sole duty was to hold the throne and the province for his so called nephews, sired upon others , a king who was so helpless that he had to bow down to what was not the norm , a king who was a doormat without ambition
.
He was the eldest son , but not the heir-  and the fact had bothered him - bothered him until he had burned , burned like that house of lac at varanavrata , burned with jealousy , jealousy for the sons of Kunti , for the vagabonds who had usurped what had been his rightful place.

He was named Duryodhana ;the unconquerable , a warrior of the finest pedigree who had managed to become the king of kings , obtaining suzerainty over everything - everything but for his envy and thirst ; thirst to claim what was his by law and lineage ; envy - envy that his so called cousins were treated with respect and adulation that were meant for Gods - respect and adulation that had evaded him and his siblings - despite them trying very hard.

As he lay suspended within the confines of the river mother , his mind went back to the day when it all had started - the day when his cousins were brought to Hastinapura , dressed in finery befitting princes , finery which had belonged to his glorious ancestors , finery which had been denied to him . He saw his  distant , reticent grandfather lift Nakula in his arms , Nakula who was wearing the yellow gold crown decked with Rubies , the crown which his youngest brother had wanted for his birthday but was denied - denied so that an usurper can lay claim to them.

The usurpers had not stopped with conquering his material possessions - his toys , rooms and attire . They had been greedy , greedy for love , power and position , greedy like their clinging mother who was a vile snake beneath the veil of  a frail woman who needed the support of her brother-in-law ; a woman whose ambition extended beyond making her parakshetra sons recognized as royalty ; a woman who had tilted the balance in her favor singlehandedly ; a woman who had cheated his blind sire ; a woman who had taught him deceit - deceit which he had used to his advantage.

As his cousins stood triumphant at Indraprastha , on a royal platform built on years of deceit and trickery - he had made plans ; plans to regain what was lost with interest - plans to put the usurpers in place - plans to banish the Kaunteyas where the belonged - plans to banish them to the harsh life of Vanaprastha - plans which had been executed to perfection.

He had thought his life's purpose complete then - the pretenders had been thrown out and the throne was restored to the rightful successors. He had then made plans ; plans for the throne and plans for the populace ; plans which had been successful - plans which had earned him the name of a good king , an able administrator and a worthy son of the house of Kuru - plans which seemed to have reached their fruition as he completed the Rajasuya Sacrifice - plans which had been shattered as yet another war had been declared.

He had been hopeful then - hopeful that his eleven akshauhinis would be sufficient to win him the war - hopeful that Dharma would triumph; hopeful that peace would continue ; hopeful of  a bright future for his sons and brothers ; hopeful for a long line of Kurus to rule after him - the line of glorious Kaurava kings , tracing their lineage to Duryodhana - the unconquerable.

His hopes had been dashed ; dashed by his so called illustrious cousins who had practiced deceit , trickery and Adharma to win. The first to fall was his esteemed grandfather - the man who was a role model - a man he had shamelessly worshiped , offering him the highest honor of commanding the Kaurava army - a man who was unjustly killed by his favorite grandson - a grandson who had snubbed his grandfather at his brother's Rajasuya sacrifice , a grandson who had broken the sacred dharma of war  to kill his grandsire.
Next to fall had been his guru Drona , the teacher he revered , a teacher who had favored his cousins , a teacher lied to by his most trusted student and beheaded by his most valiant . The pandavas had taken great pleasure in flaunting their blatant disregard for the rules of engagement. Every crucial loss had been due to deceit and cunning - yet he had moved on ; moved on as he was meant to ; moved on with Karna - the prati surya as his only companion on the path of Kshatriya Dharma - Karna who had been the only Kaunteya who mattered to him - Karna , murdered in cold blood by his brother and cousin; Karna who had deserted his only friend in an untimely manner.

He was one of the last warriors from his side - the others being Kripa ,Kritavarma and Aswattama - Friends who had fought for him - Friends who did not deserve to die an inglorious death at the hands of deceit to support a flawed cause ; Friends who deserved to live what remained of a troubled life in peace , Friends who would be the only ones to  remember an unconquerable warrior , a good king and an able administrator , Friends who would probably be saved by this one action of his.

He had been told that the wolves had howled the day he was born - a chilly night , similar to this one , where he had been unearthed from a pot that had carried him for an year. Life had come a full circle from then.
As the wolves howled that chilly night at Kurukshetra , he made a decision , a decision to fight until death - fight against death - his cousin Bhima , who he knew would kill him by hitting his thigh to fulfill that terrible vow he had made thirteen years ago - a terrible vow which would end his life in an act of deceit.
He was Duryodhana - the unconquerable and he would die ,as he lived - a warrior who followed Kshatriya Dharma , a warrior done in by his cousin's deceit - a warrior of the Kuru race who lived and died fighting for his right.

As the wolves howled by the riverside on a chilly night - he laughed - gusty , loud , hysterical laugh of a man who had designed his own end. He was Duryodhana and he was unconquerable

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PS : This has been quite a day. I finally did a post of Duryodhana that I was meaning to do over the weekend. I was waylaid by the gripping Yuganta - a collection of essays on Mahabharata which is a must read.

PPS : For readers who are wondering if Duryodhana did know Karna's secret - I would think so. They were the best of friends and I suppose that they knew each other's secrets very well

PPPS : Do share your thoughts on this piece :)

Manimekalai

There was a saying in Tamil that a lamp glowed its brightest , moments before it gave up. Though he was not an expert on proverbs , he thought that there was some truth to the saying , as he brought his horse to a halt on the banks of Kollidam on a Friday evening , beside the towering ruins of the Kadamboor palace , bathed in the yellow glow shed by the setting sun.

As he disembarked , he couldn't help but think about his last visit to the place - a visit which had brought him where he was , a visit which had wreaked havoc with many a life , changing many a fate and who better than him , to realize that something had been at play - something supernatural may be , which had nudged fate along a direction that she was not bound to take.

He had been delighted then - delighted that maiden fate was finally bestowing her grace on him - a grace which had evaded his predecessors , a grace which had eluded the Bana dynasty for centuries , a grace which he had accepted wholeheartedly , a grace which had brought him material riches , a grace which he had belatedly understood to be a double edged knife - a grace which had deprived him of what would have been his greatest treasure - mekala.

He had first heard her name from Maran - Maran who had been chanting Mekala's name in his drug induced fervor , Maran who had begged him to take care of Mekala if something happened to him , Maran who had been melodramatic to the extent of getting him swear upon Nisumba Soodhani that Mekala would be taken care of - all this drama for a knife wound , a knife wound so trivial when compared to the deep gash on his thigh . He had been jealous that night - jealous that Maran had someone to return to , someone he loved with all his heart and soul , someone who loved him back,  if his instinct was true.

It was later , much later that he'd learned that the mystery woman was Maran's sister - the rather plain princess of Kadmboor , well known for her pedigree than her beauty.It was a well known fact that the Sambuvarayars had been searching a groom for her for a long time - her plain looks and average traits winning no favor with the handsome princes of the Chola empire and the surrounding region.He'd been given to understand that the search had proved quite futile that they were considering the option of sending her to a Buddhist monastery ; until fate had intervened - until Maran had met the impoverished Bana prince - who'd do nicely.

He had been outraged then - outraged and disgusted that a person who was supposedly his best friend , had seen him as merchandise - merchandise which could be his to command , given the right price. He was about to refuse , when Maran had told that he would find in Mekala , a loving and devoted wife - a woman who'd fill his lonely heart with love , a woman who'd be home - home to an orphaned pauper , who was a prince in name and whose sole possession was his intellect and bravery.

He'd given in then - given in to the promises of love , devotion and attachment , and to the desire of belonging - belonging to people who'd call him their own - people who'd become his one day. He had then began to dream of Mekala , of her gratitude , devotion and love. He'd made a promise to himself that day - a promise to treat her as the world's most beautiful woman - a promise to make her feel the most cherished wife ,a promise to sacrifice his lofty dreams of a beautiful companion , a promise to become a devoted husband to a woman he'd hardly known -  a promise he's kept until that fateful night at the Kadamboor palace - when Maran had condescendingly put him down in his place. It seemed that the Sambuvarayars had struck gold - their girl had been chosen to wed the much older Maduranthaka , the effeminate son of Sembian Madevi , who was going to make a push for the crown.

Maran had told him in not so many words that he was welcome at Kadamboor , so long as he kept to himself like an unwanted guest - an unwanted guest who was grudgingly welcomed and hesitantly put up. He had tried to move on then - move on as fate had meant him to ; move on to a better future - a future which had brought with it priceless gifts - a solid friendship ,  tender love , respect and valor.

Life had seemed to cruise on and he had weathered every single tribulation that had come his way from treason to a murder trial. Life had seemed to cruise on until he'd been accused to be heartless by his dear friend - a friend who was soon to become his brother-in-law , a friend who was bothered at his indifference to the plight of a woman who had become insane - insane with love and grief , insane to the extent that her immediate family had become strangers.

He had been oddly unaffected then - unaffected to the plight of a woman who had nearly become his wife - unaffected to such an extent that he was gently chided by Kundvai - the woman of his dreams to make a visit to Kadmboor to meet Mekala for one last time - as the letter from Maran claimed.

He had traveled to Kadamboor then - Kadamboor which had seen so many upheavals in the recent past ; Kadamboor which had been burnt to cinders ; Kadamboor where a lamp was glowing ; glowing brightly before an unfortunate and untimely end
.
She had been singing that day - singing the very song that he'd heard when he'd first met her ; singing a song about love and wait ; singing from the neerazhi mandapam where she'd been found half dead and sane ; sane after a prolonged period of insanity. Something had shifted at the region of his heart that day - something powerful which had goaded him to embrace her , embrace her and lull her to sleep as one was wont to do with a babe , lull her into a slumber from which she'd never woken up ; lull her into peace as his heart became restless - restless with love for this woman whose greatest ornament was her inner beauty - beauty which had not been visible to the outer world until her unfortunate end.

As he glanced at the majestic  Kadamboor ruins , he heard a song ; a song he'd last heard an year ago ; a song which brought back memories of unrequited love ; a song so powerful that he wanted to cry ; a song which reminded him of lost treasure - a song which had been sung by Mekala - Mekala , his lovely princess , the day she died - a song which moved Vanthiyathevan to cry - cry like a babe over his treasure which had been stolen by the cruel lady called fate.
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PS : As a huge fan of Vanthiyathevan , I've always believed that he had some connection to Manimekalai beyond empathy. I've sometimes wondered if he'd loved her , a love which he'd recognized after her untimely demise. This post came out of that thought :)

Mahabharata Chronicles - IV

The Sun was setting over the horizon , creating a splash of orange and red , which strangely mirrored the river of blood that was drenching the ground below - blood of the brave whose stench would be associated with Kurushetra forever.

It had been fifteen days since the blood shed had begun ; fifteen never ending days where cousin had slain cousin ; teacher had maimed student - blood links broken by affiliations. Fifteen long days where his treacherous heart had fought a battle with his calculative mind and had conceded defeat.

As he gazed at the setting sun , he couldn't help but think about the day that had passed, a day which had started bleakly; ending in triumph, despair and loss. As he glanced at his rejoicing troops , he felt empty inside - an emptiness which was evident from the way he stood - legs apart ; shoulders drooped and eyes clouded. It was as if he was a mere mortal again - a mortal who would have to rub shoulders with his fellow brethren - a mortal privy to the ills and maladies that plagued men - a mortal who had fallen prey to greed and desperation - a mortal who had known what it was to be God and play with fate - and play he did with abandon until it all came crashing down.

The world saw in him an epitome of honesty and yudishtra had known , even at that tender age , that his image was one of the key factors that would play a role in making him king - king over what had belonged to his foster father once - king over what should have been his , had he been Pandu's blood.It was an image which he had  been forced to adopt at a tender age of five , while his brothers had been let go scot free. It was an image that he'd adopted when he'd set foot at Hastinapur , an image which had put a fullstop to his childhood , an image so overwhelming that he had sometimes felt heavy , heavy as if hundreds of Bhima's iron statues were piled on his head and he'd have to navigate the mighty Ganges with that load . He had felt like Narayana the protector - who shouldered the Booloka , Swarga and the netherworlds. He had felt god like until it all came crashing down , until his image was shattered to pieces by his own words , shattered to defeat a man who had taught everything he'd known including his deceit , a man whose greatest weakness had been his son - a son whose revenge could prove costly to his side.

It had not taken Yudishtra a long time to determine that his Guru's claim of impartiality was nothing but a sham , a smokescreen created to appease his boss Bhishma , a bid to become rich by being appointed the mahaguru of the Kuru Princes. But it had been years later that he'd discovered the real reason behind the sham.

They had been sent to the river to fetch water for the Abhishek of  Lord Shiva's moorthy and as boys of their age were wont to , they had all complained about the menial task when acharya had told them that the first to return would be rewarded - heavily , with knowledge of divine astras. While the others had grabbed their pots and were off to the river , Yudishtra had stopped to examine his brother Arjun's pot - Arjun who was the apple of Drona's eye and his greatest and most favorite pupil. He had been satisfied after a long time that day ; Arjun's pot had a narrow opening , very similar to the one he had , very similar to the one his brothers had. It was as if Drona was sensing the fact that they were equals - equals in stature , talent and determination. It had made him feel good , feel tingly all over , until he'd had a chance to look at a pot - a pot with a mouth wider than all others ; a pot which had been handed to Aswattama , Drona's son.
He had wanted to shout then - Shout at Arjun for believing his guru blindly when the man had claimed him as a favorite ; shout at Duryodhana who'd made Arjun his target due to the blatant favoritism that he had been shown; shout at the world in general where men like his guru thrived. He wanted to shout , shout until his voice was hoarse ; but he's kept quiet. He'd kept quiet despite the questioning glances Arjun had given , despite the fearful glances Drona had thrown. He had kept quite because he had an image to maintain - the image of Yudishtra , Dharmaputra who was honest to a fault and who wouldn't blame others based on his assumptions. He had kept quiet as he's managed to learn a secret that day - a secret that mighty Drona's weakness was his only son.

Just like rakshasas who's life was buried in an egg guarded in an island beyond the seven seas , Drona's life was his son , a son who Yudhistra had protected like one would protect a trump card in a gambling game - a trump card which once played would alter the course of the game - a trump card which might have won him the war today.

As he'd uttered the words "Aswattama hataha naro wa ? Kunjaro Wa" - he'd known that he'd played his trump ,  trump he'd held dear for years together , a trump which had shattered his image as another Harischandra , a trump which had made his chariot , hit the ground - a chariot which had always been four feet above the ground.

As he gazed at his men who were rejoicing ; he had a sense of foreboding ; foreboding that his actions today would result in terrible consequences , a foreboding which was washed away by the joyful cries of his men who were celebrating  victory ; celebrating a death - the death of his Guru.
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PS : In order to defeat Drona , Krsna had come up with a plan to fake Aswattama's death. Drona's only weakness was his son and Krsna had wanted to use that to defeat the man. He had then colluded with Bhima and Yudishtra . Bhima killed an elephant named Aswattama and proclaimed that Aswattama had been killed. Drona had then asked Yudishtra , if it was the truth and Yudishtra had replied in the affirmative , adding in hushed tones that he was not sure if it was the man or the elephant. His hushed statement had been completely driven out by the sound of conches and drums by the Pandava Army and Drona , heartbroken had laid down his arms , only to be beheaded by Drishtadyumna - Drupada's son.
The above is my take on what Yudishtra would have felt then. Yudishtra had always been praised as a superb statesman and that has tempered my view somewhat.
Do share your thoughts on the same :-)

Mahabharata Chronicles - III

It was an important day in his life - a day when his future destiny was going to be determined along with that of his brothers - brothers in blood who were being homed at a relative's place due to the unfortunate circumstances in their father's life , brothers sharing the same father but had been birthed by different women, brothers equal in stature but for the deep affection their father harbored for his most favored son , a son who was so sure of his destiny , that he was sleeping soundly while his brothers lay awake - nervous , anxious and disturbed.

He had been named Srutakirti  - the one with the sharp intellect and true to his name , he had known that he was not the favorite son from very early on. He had been all but two years when Abhimanyu was born - Abhimanyu who was named by his father , Abhimanyu who was his mother's favorite - Abhimanyu who was destined for greater things.

He still remembered the day when his father had caught hold of Shubadra ma and had gone on to explain the intricacies of breaking into the Chakravyuh , so that the baby can get a head start on war strategies . He had been so jealous that day , that he'd demanded that he had the right to be instructed by his father before anyone else including the baby. While his Shubadra ma had laughed at the statement and had beckoned him closer , Uncle Krsna had rudely asked him to mind his business and his father had silently agreed and did nothing to interrupt the palace servant who was called to escort the little prince to his quarters.

That day he'd taken a vow - a vow that he'd make his father sit up and take  notice of what a fine son he had ; a son who was so much like him ; a son who would better than the simpering Abhimanyu  ; a son who was courageous , valiant and intelligent ; a son who held his nerves in times of trouble ; a son who was fit to succeed his father as the commander-in-chief ; a son who'd be worthy of Partha .

He had assumed it to be an easy task - an easy task of aping Arjuna ; an easy task of adopting his father's likes , dislikes , traits and values  - how delusional he'd been. He had tried hard in the beginning. He worked on his archery skills ; sharpened his dressing skills and worked on his dancing . He'd even taken to dressing like his father - despite being very uncomfortable with the poncy attire the man wore - but to no effect. The man whom he'd tried to impress was so tied up in his youngest son , that he failed to notice the efforts his eldest took - efforts to belong ; efforts to blend in with his idol. He'd nearly given up his vow that day - a day when he realized that he was an unwanted cog in his family - a family who seemed to forget that he'd existed - a family who'd not bother if he vanished; a family who did not notice one of their own;  stray away into the forest.

But it had mattered - mattered to a man who had a similar past - who knew the pain of being ignored ; a man who had rescued the child from the dark , deep jungle ; a man who had cared enough to notice an intelligent child who was desperate to belong ; a man who had nursed him back to health ; a man who had become his father - daata in all but name ; a man who he'd taken to calling as baba ; a man who understood his thirst to prove a point - A man who would not feel bad , if his son did not tread his path.

His thoughts were interrupted , as the sevak called out for permission to enter the room - It was judgment day and the maharaj wanted the princes to assemble at the Sabha in half an hour's time.Dismissing the servant , he proceeded to wake his siblings awake - it would not do them good to be late today ; the day when they were to decide their future course of education. As his brothers proceeded to prepare themselves , he flopped into a chair as exhaustion claimed him. He'd had a tough week so far. His archery skills had been put to extreme test , not counting the numerous rematches Uncle Krsna had called when he managed to outperform Abhimanyu. He thought that the old man was flabbergasted - flabbergasted that his nephew who'd had the liberty of extensive training had been outwitted by the outcast of a brother - a brother who was supposed to be a dunce when it came to archery - a brother who had somehow managed to gain expertise without his father's guidance.

His thoughts also wandered to his other uncle Balram , who'd been delighted with his performance with the mace , who'd proclaimed him as a  nonpareil in the art of boxing - who'd screamed his throat hoarse with cries of "Sadhu" every time he had   managed to out maneuver his opponent - who was delighted with his progress unlike his other uncle and who'd be extremely angry if he was late on this momentous day.
As he made his way to the Mahasabha , he thought about the vow he'd made long back ; the vow to make his daata sit up and take notice ; a vow thinking about which - he smiled ; a smile which was eerily similar to that of his uncle ; who was the king of Dwaraka.

As he walked towards the hall ; he could hear a sound cheer - a cheer which indicated that Abhimanyu , the favored prince had entered behind him - A cheer which overwhelmed the herald's announcement of his name , a cheer which ended abruptly as he made his way towards the decorated table beside which his uncles were waiting  - a table which held the objects that would shape his destiny - a table which held a bow which was used by his father and the mace used by his baba.

As glanced at the objects  he was reminded of another  vow - a vow he had made to his baba - a vow not to make hasty choices ; a vow to carve his own path and identity and he chose the mace - that very mace his baba had used to kill Jarasandha - that very mace he'd learn to master and control - that very mace he'd call his own one day.

As the crowd cheered for him listlessly ; Srutakeerti was proud ; proud that he'd made his name ; proud that he had a father who'd understand his decision ; proud that he'd finally overcome the demons of his childhood and for the first time in life he smiled - a sunny bright smile which made him look very similar to Arjun - the unfortunate Arjun who'd lost a son that day.
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PS : In the Mahabharata , Srutakeerti was the son of Arjun , borne to him by Draupadi. While there are numerous descriptions of Abhimanyu and Iravaan , the other sons of Arjun - very little information is available on Srutakeerti - which made me think if this prince was an ignored child - a second child who was not his father's favorite like the eldest and his mother's pet like his youngest.

It also made me think that He'd have had an affinity to Bhima - Bhima who was a middle child like him - Bhima who was underrated despite his many redeeming qualities. These were the thoughts that resulted in this story being written :-)

Mahabharata Chronicles - II

It was often said that the happiest day in a woman's life was the day she got married and Draupadi , being the pampered , naive princess of panchala had thought the same too. She'd conjured dreams about a happy marriage  , a happy marriage with an adoring husband and a house full of kids - a marriage in which equality , companionship and love would thrive .

But she'd been  proven wrong - No one had told her that marriage was a bargain ,a bargain where a woman was married to gain an alliance , to appease bruised egos and to pacify tempers. Royal princesses were told that they had the right to choose their partners , yet when it came to the actual process , they had very little to say.

Most fathers forced their choice on their daughters , without a consideration towards the maiden's heart. Then there were those men who didn't trust their daughter's choice and hence held contests  where the winner would be married off to their daughters
.
Then there were those fathers , who'd already made a choice , but went along with a farce of a swayamvara  , adhering to the tradition. Her father belonged to this category. In fact , his choice was the sole reason for him to beget her - a daughter , who can marry his nemesis's best student - Parth and thus assuage the insult meted out to him by Drona.

She laughed , as she remembered her father's lofty statement that she would be married of to Parth . She thought that her old man had become Senile. The pandavas along with their mother has succumbed to a fire accident - a fire accident where Lord Agni , had burnt their palace to ashes and dust.She had begged her father to let go of his ambition and come to his senses. Her father had scoffed at her statement and had told her that , he would have Arjun as a son-in-law , even if he'd have to drag his person to the Swayamvara hall from the netherworld.

And on that fateful day , her eyes closed in prayer , she had requested God to listen to her father's wish : A wish , which if came true , could assuage his insult , could lift his stature in society, and could ensure that his daughter was married to the warrior she had fallen in love with .

As she had walked towards the mandap , she couldn't help but glance at the faces gathered , searching for a resemblance for her Parth , Krsna's Parth who would come and whisk her away on a white steed , after he proved his mettle by passing through her father's test.

Parth had not come that day - and she had been terrified that she would be married off to some ugly pot bellied monster , who could shoot through the rotating wheel by looking at its reflection. She had thanked her God in abject relief , as prince after prince , tried their hand at the contest and failed miserably. She had laughed , a loud booming laugh inside her head , as she saw many an eager face droop into a disappointed expression on failing the test and losing her hand in the process. She laughed with joy as she realized that she may not be married tonight - she had more time on her hand to wait for Parth.

It was at that instant that Karna stepped forward , Karna - the king of Anga , the bosom friend of Duryodhana who had failed earlier ; Karna - the mighty Kaurava warrior ; nemesis of Arjuna and his equal when it came to prowess; Karna - the last warrior standing ; Karna - who'd surely pass her test.
She watched with macabre silence as Karna strung his bow . She watched as he took his aim and corrected his posture. She watched him as his brows furrowed in concentration - and for an instant , she thought that marrying Karna would not be a bad option. She would not be the celebrated princess of Hastinapur , would not be Parth's ardhangini , would not be the daughter-in-law of the kuru clan. She would the queen of Anga , a small nation ; with no major role to play in the ultimate game of politics. Worse than that was the fact that , she would be called a Suta's wife , would be accepted yet treated like an untouchable , if she married Karna and that was not applicable to the dusky panchali's ego.

Taking  a deep breath in as Karna was about to shoot , she gathered her strength and shouted out " Suta Putra ; do not shoot - you are not worthy of my hand in marriage - you do not deserve the honor of being panchala's son-in-law". As the court came to a standstill at her statement , she saw a Brahmin youth step forward - saw him smirk at Karna ; before he turned to her father and requested a chance to participate in the contest. From the corner of her eye , she saw Karna step back , Karna the mighty who'd been defeated by a dainty damsel's words. From the corner of her eye , she saw her father smile - as the learned Brahmin took his aim and the rest they say was history.

Decades later , as she stood in the mahasabha , she remembered vividly the day of her Swayamvara , a day where a single decision of hers would have made her life better. She was a queen now : a queen , who was being insulted by her in-laws ; a queen who had been wagered away by her husbands ; a queen who was being called a whore ; a queen who was not seen as a human being by her king and princes.
She could have been a queen - a queen of a kingdom not inherited ; but won by blood sweat and toil. She could have been a queen - a queen who was the beloved of her king - a queen who would not need to rely on sympathy to save her honor. As she looked at Karna , whose eyes were filled with sympathy , pity and some other powerful emotion that drew her to him - she realized that she could have been the luckiest woman in the world , but for the spiteful words she had uttered on that fateful day.

It was often said that the happiest day in a woman's life was the day she got married - but in her case , it was a day she'd regret - a day she'd never forget - as she had made a wrong choice - a choice which would haunt her till the end.

Poonkuzhali..

It was the wedding of the century . After all it is not everyday that the favored  prince of the kingdom married his sweet heart , a woman of grace , beauty and royal background.

There was revelry on the streets : At every corner of the street the town heralds were shouting out what was happening at the wedding ceremony. The traders were offering their wares at a hefty discount and the koothu dancers were making merry and were pulling in innocent bystanders to join the fun. The women of the street were decked in finery , and were rejoicing as if it was their son who was getting married.

The houses were freshly painted and decorated with numerous festoons, the streets filled with eager citizens , who wanted to have a glimpse of the newly wedded couple. The Othuvar’s voice could be heard from the temple , where he was singing praises to the Lord Shiva – for having brought this young couple together. It seemed to one that the royal palace was decked like a new bride – a new bride who was waiting for her husband to come and claim her hand.

Amidst all this revelry , very few people noticed that the queen who was supposed to host the celebrations was currently not in the palace , a palace for which she was the sole mistress ; a palace where her enlightened and softhearted husband ruled as the king.

As a kid , kuzhali had always wanted to become a queen one day. To the amusement of her father , she would demand that the family address her as the future queen – a queen who would be adored by her husband , a queen who would be toasted by the nation and a queen who would have a say in the governance of the nation. Her parents had brushed off her ambitions as an innocent kid’s irrational dream and had assumed that kuzhali would reconcile herself to the reality , once she grew out of childhood.

Sadly , it was not to happen. The more her parents wanted her to realize the reality – the more entrenched she was in her dreams. She believed from the bottom of her heart that one fine day she’d meet a handsome prince , who’d whisk her away from her house into the high seas , marry her and give her all the happiness unlike the docile , timid  Amuthan- her cousin who liked her and whom her parents wanted to marry her off to.

When the matchmaking process between her and Amuthan had reached its zenith , she had taken a vow at the Shiva temple , that she would marry a prince or die a spinster , but would never marry a common man . Call her arrogant , but at that point , she strongly believed that Lord Shiva would listen to her pleas and help her achieve her dream. Little did she know that she’d achieve her dream by paying a huge price- her love.

The first time she met him was still fresh in her mind. He was looking for a means of transport to Eezham and she had volunteered to row him across – This prince , who was the apple of his sister’s eye , the pride of the Chola nation and the son of Ponni – who was called Arulmozhi.

She had a tough time rowing that day – The seas were rough ; the wind was hard and the night was dark – yet she did not feel fatigue , as she was gazing into those brown eyes , which seemed to have thousand questions for her – questions which she answered with glances of her own.

By the end of the journey , she was so captivated with Arul , that she had taken on the name that he’d bestowed on her ;  Samudra Kumari – The lady of the high seas ; and had refused to answer to Kuzhali. He had made promises that day – promises not to forget her and she had assumed that this God of hers in a human form , will not forgo his vow. How wrong she had been.

Months passed while she had irrevocably fallen in love with this man , who was fighting a war ; a war with a rival country and a war with his scheming relatives who wanted to usurp the throne from the rightful inheritors. She waited and watched – for news about her hero , for news about her God , who would claim her as his victory prize , once he was done slaying the demons.

Little did she know that her demon slayer would be captured by another – she did not know that demon slayers were not captivated by strong women . They preferred damsels in distress, who had a tendency to faint seeing their own shadow. The truth was driven into her like a nail , brutally and painfully , when she’d seen her prince and the kodumbaloor lady talk – when she heard that her God wanted to marry the Kodumbaloor chit , despite the fact that vanathi had made a vow , not to be crowned as a queen – a vow which she had goaded vanathi into taking.

Samudra Kumari had died that very day – murdered by the very man who’d given her the nom de plume. She burned – with jealousy , anger and helplessness. She burned seeing Vanathi charm her prince into submission. She burned as she controlled her urge to go and push Vanathi back – back into oblivion where she deserved a place. She burned , until her anger died and until what was left of kuzhali was a broken woman – a broken woman with her dreams shattered by the very man who helped shape them.

She had given in to Amuthan then – the timid , docile Amuthan , who worshiped the ground her feet tread , who treated her like a crown jewel, who turned out to be the son of a Chola King , and a worthy successor of the crown.

She became the Queen of the priced Chola throne , a queen who was worshiped by her king , feted by her subjects and lauded by her ministers – yet she burned. As she stood on the banks of cauvery , in the wee hours of the day Arul was getting married – Kuzhali the queen burned , burned with jealousy for the Kodumbaloor lady who had managed to capture her God’s heart.
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PS : I am huge fan of Ponniyin Selvan and like a few crazy PS fans , I would have loved it if poonkuzhali had married prince Arulmozhi. This is a small take of what I think PoonKuzhali would have felt seeing Arul getting married to Vanathi

PPS : I do not intend to demean Kalki or Ponniyin selvan with this work This work has been fleshed out from my imagination and I hope I’ve not offended loyal Ponniyin Selvan fans on the blogspace.

PPS : Do share your thoughts and Comments on this piece