WHEN THE CAUSE BLAMES THE EFFECT

Amos Ammarkallam was a very perplexed man. You may feel that with such a name he obviously would be perplexed, but the cause of his perplexion was not his name, but his only beloved son, Sunny. Amos and his dear wife had showered all their love on Sunny, but somehow nothing seemed to suffice.

Sunny was a complex character and one that both Amos and his beloved wife, Maggie could never ever comprehend. Sunny had been a shy, quiet and obedient boy until the age of ten when he was put into a big school with hundreds of other children.

The complex character that Sunny was, he required constant attention and guidance from his teachers and elders, but unfortunately he never received them from his elders nor his teachers. Both his parents were dedicated to their jobs and hence could not devote as much attention to Sunny as Sunny required of them. His school teachers too could not provide the individual attention that Sunny required since they had to teach classes with total strengths of sixty to seventy mischievous boys on the rolls and it was just impossible for these teachers to provide specialized attention for each of the student’s needs.

As a result only the strong willed and independent minds which studied in the school could grow and rise up in life while the soft, but creative students found their talent being neglected and not being nurtured by the teachers. It is said that many a creative genius had been destroyed for having been enrolled in the school and quite a few of these children grew up  despising school and entering into a warped world during their adolescence, thereby turning into perverts, freaks and addicts who are considered misfits of this unfit society.

Sunny too was one such character who due to a childhood of loneliness and lack of attention had been led astray. In his search for attention, Sunny had gotten into evil company and learned their evil ways. By the time he was fifteen, Sunny was hooked on tobacco, drugs and alcohol; not to forget his forays in the dark.

Usually, Sunny used to obtain money for his vagrant ways from his unsuspecting parents. Once his parents realized that their innocent child had been bewitched by the forbidden fruits of desire, they tightened up their purse strings, forcing Sunny to seek alternate ways of funding his habits, including thievery within his own house.

Things came to such a pass that nothing valuable in any form was safe in his house and even the waste paper which his father meticulously collected would vanish to end up with the khabadi wallah or the wastepaper man and provide enough resources for Sunny to smoke a joint or pop a few psychotropic pills.

It is the nature of such substances which Sunny abused, to enthrall their users and then gradually wreck the mind of such subjects. As a result, Sunny soon started behaving weirdly at home. He would vanish for long periods of time; sometimes even days together and return late at night after everyone had gone to sleep. The reason why Sunny never stayed at home was that he could not enjoy his habits and was scared that his parents would find his behavior under the influence, rather weird and distressing.

It was this behavior of his son which perplexed Amos and coming from a generation which was not used to all these kinds of substance abuse, he really did not know what to do and how to go about helping his son to get back on track. The crowning or should we say defining moment of Sunny’s substance abuse came about when Sunny returned home at two o clock in the morning after having spent two days and two nights on the streets literally painting the town red.

Having entered the house at such an odd hour, Sunny did not wish to disturb his parents and reveal his inebriated condition. He therefore quietly went to the dining room where he found the previous evening’s supper laid out on the dining table for his consumption. Sunny quietly helped himself to a bit of rice and curry which he gobbled down hurriedly since he hadn’t eaten for two days when his Mom woke up on hearing the sound in the dining room and came to witness a shocking sight.

In his inebriated condition, Sunny had helped himself to rice and curry without making the effort to help himself to a plate. He had put the rice on the table with curry on top and was helping himself to it, right off the table top. Sunny was unaware of the anguish of his mother or the very fact that he was eating food direct off the table and not from a plate.

His mother woke up Amos and he rushed to the dining room to witness this horrid scene while Sunny continued to eat his meal oblivious of the fact that he was eating without a plate. After somehow having managed to put Sunny to sleep, his poor parents conferred until dawn to decide what to do with Sunny. They finally decided to seek external help to help Sunny and therefore decided to take him to a psychiatrist known to them.

When Sunny woke up that morning, his parents requested him to be prepared to go with them to an Uncle’s house as they put it, in the evening. Sunny couldn’t care less. He was only bothered about his next fix and only pestered Amos to part with hundred rupees which Amos reluctantly did under the condition that Sunny come with them to the said Uncle’s house that evening.

Sunny agreed to it for he would have gladly agreed to do anything to get those hundred rupees. However, once he obtained the hundred rupees, he sped away to the local peddler for his much needed fix; just like a bee attracted to the nectar of a flower.

Once the nectar had been ingested, Sunny completely forgot himself and his promise to his parents to accompany them to this so called Uncle’s house. When he returned home the next morning after a night out on the town, he found his father very furious while his mother did not even talk to him.

Sunny was ashamed of him-self while his father shouted at him and forced him to accompany him immediately to the Uncle’s house. Sunny had no other alternative, but to go along with his Dad and realized that the Uncle was a psychiatrist Doc only upon arriving at the clinic.

The psychiatrist tried to coax Sunny to communicate with him and promised Sunny that he would let him go after Sunny had answered a few questions. However, this was not the deal and the psychiatrist ensured that Sunny was immediately put into a hospice for the mentally challenged.

It was Sunny’s shame and his desire to please his mother that made Sunny accept being locked up in a facility where the inmates were different from the rest of the world. Once inside he could not even dream of leaving the place without the knowledge of the authorities who ran the place.

He was then kept sedated for a few days until the physical urge and craving for the psychotropic substances diminished and he became more his natural self. The psychiatrist who had brought Sunny to this facility was very pleased with the progress that Sunny made and soon Sunny became a role model for all the inmates of the facility.

Amos and his wife were relieved that their son was doing much better. In fact life without their son at home seemed to be bliss for them since they did not have the pressure of having to be constantly on guard with a son whose behavior they could not predict.

After about forty days of being incarcerated in this facility, the Doctor called Sunny’s parents and asked them to take Sunny back home since he was no more addicted to his vices and could now be let into the real world as a free man who hopefully had learned from his past mistakes.

However, Sunny’s parents were hesitant to take Sunny back home and requested the Doc to keep Sunny locked up for another three months. The Doc was surprised and tried to explain to Amos and his wife that there was nothing wrong with Sunny now and that he could not therefore justify retaining Sunny in the facility anymore. Moreover, the bed occupied by Sunny was required to treat much more critical cases and therefore he could do nothing else, but release Sunny.

On hearing this, Amos was furious and shouted at the doctor for not listening to his request and trying to release his son without his having agreed to it. The Doctor then looked pitifully at Amos and said, “Dear Mr. Amos, I am sorry to say that it is you and your wife who are mentally challenged and who are the prime cause of a normal child’s addiction. Frankly speaking, it is you who require psychiatric help, not Sunny.”

With these words, the doctor left them and signed the papers to release Sunny from the facility. 

BEHOLD; THE PROMISED LAND

The entire gang was in a bad mood; they all had problems at home. They really wondered if the ones whom they loved so much really loved them too. If they really did love them, was anger and hate the manner in which they would reciprocate and reveal their love? 

Whether it was parents, siblings, or uncles and aunts under whose wings they were sheltered, the gang wondered if they really loved those whom they sheltered or was it just because they felt it was their duty and because they wanted to look good in the eyes of society that they took care of them and behaved as if they love them? 

I too had problems at home; being an only child of rather domineering parents, but I shrugged of my worries rather philosophically while my friends were unable to do so. By the way, for those who don't know me, my name is Sunny and I have made several appearances as a protagonist in Suri Ben Noah's yarns.

All these were questions that prevailed in the minds of the entire gang who were my closest friends when they congregated that evening at our usual haunt. I tried explaining to them that love did not mean allowing the loved ones to always do as they pleased and it was the duty of the one who loved to take care that the loved one did not go astray. 

However, my gang of friends were in no mood to listen. They were already high on grass and downers or barbiturates which were the technical word for such psychotropic substances. In their intoxicated state they felt that they should seek their own paths and carve out their own lives the way they wanted to; far away from their home town and far away from the domineering control of their loved ones.

I tried my best to explain to them that what they had thought of was wrong and that they should return home that night but in their intoxicated and inebriated state of mind they were in no mood to listen. They decided to leave Madras and go to Bangalore; for in those days Bangalore was considered to be a hep and happening town with the right climate and the right kind of girls for guys like us to mingle with. 

I laughed at the absurdity of their suggestion and said they would require money to go to Bangalore and fend for themselves until they found a job but my friends were in no mood to listen. They scorned me for being such a wimp and a spoil sport and decided to proceed to Bangalore that very night to seek their fortune as it were in a new world which appeared to be their promised land.

They then took an inventory of their possessions to see how much resources they had to reach Bangalore. They discovered that all that they possessed was only fifty eight rupees which was not even enough to buy a train ticket for a single person to travel to Bangalore. It was then that one of the wise guys in the group suggested that they start walking to Bangalore and that once they hit the outskirts of Madras they could find an accommodating lorry driver who could take them all to Bangalore as a part of their cargo for a mere fifty rupees.

At this juncture, I felt it was my bounden duty to prevail upon them to see common sense and understand their folly. But my friends were too far gone to see reason or listen to it. Feeling pity for these friends of mine and also feeling guilty that I was not being supportive of them, I impulsively decided to join my friends in their hike to Bangalore for I believed that I was a very resourceful guy and could help them in their quest for independence by being an active participant in raising resources rather than a mere spectator who kept pointing out their follies. Therefore, at eleven that night eight of us set out on foot toward the promised land, Bangalore.

Even before we had finished walking a couple of kilometers, the gang started wearying and slowing down. It was yours most truly who then suggested we take a city transport bus which was in those days called “Pallavan” bus by commuters. For just two rupees per head we would be able to reach Poonamalle; a small suburb from which lifts could be bummed of truck drivers to reach Bangalore. The Gang agreed unanimously to my proposal and we then boarded a city bus to Poonamallee. After obtaining eight tickets for sixteen rupees we were now left with a budget of forty two rupees for us to carve out a fortune in an unknown land.

We reached Poonamalle at about one in the morning. We then strolled over to the road side eateries which were normally haunted by truck drivers at night. However, there were no truck drivers to be found there for it was well past the time when these guys would have a late supper before leaving for their far away destinations.

My poor gang members had no other alternative but to trek down for there was no option of trucks to be had. While the boys continue to trek, I would like to introduce my companions to you since I feel it is my bounden duty to brief you on the seven characters who accompanied me on this journey in search of the Promised Land.

The first one was Dilli Babu who was the senior most and therefore, deserved to be introduced at the beginning. Dilli had just completed his Masters in Public Administration. He was a hard core communist who believed in the equality of all men. He also believed in getting all men drunk for Dilli believed in the power of alcohol in bringing about equality amongst all men.

The second character in this story of mine is Venu Shastri who had recently completed his B.Sc., in Physics. Whose sole ambition was to become a sailor in the Indian navy. His father had been a sailor before him and in spite of all the drinking and hard blows that his father had delivered upon him, Venu felt his future lay in becoming a Naval officer in the Indian Navy. He had therefore written his entrance exams for the Naval Officers Training Academy and was awaiting results when he decided to literally walk out of home.

The next character in this whole incident was Bharathan who was being raised by the children of his father’s second wife. His father had been a cinematographer of yore who had fallen in love with a woman of European descent who had been an artiste in one of the movies on which he had worked. However, the artiste had given birth to two children, an elder brother and Bharathan before she passed away from this world. His father had married again and had four children from his second marriage. It was with the eldest of these four children that Bharathan was currently living and from whose unsavory remarks and behavior that he was running away.

The next character in this entire episode was Satya Babu who was the younger brother of Dilli Babu and who would follow wherever his brother led him. Satya had dropped out of a Pre University Course and had led a vacant life until the gang decided to leave home that fateful night.

The next character in this episode was Chandran who was actually the reason for my being part of this gang. Chandran hailed from a village near Madurai but had come to the city since his father as a Government servant had been posted there. Actually his father worked in the same Government department as my own father and we were therefore really very close since our parents and our families knew each other. It was under Chandran’s suggestion that I had become close with the rest of the gang and it was only because I wanted to protect him that I became part of this group which left home in search of the Promised Land.

The next member of the gang whom I would like to introduce here is Raja who was in no respect a king at all. The Raja being mentioned here was a transvestite who liked to dress up as a woman due to his homosexual inclinations. He was the only guy whom I have seen till date who wore a brassiere and not a vest under his shirt.

The last and final character whom I would like to introduce to you is Mohan; a rather dumb but violent kind of guy. Mohan had been unable to go beyond the sixth grade in school for more than five years and had therefore dropped out of school. He made up for what he lacked in the brains department with his brawns. Though thin and puny in appearance he could unleash such power with his fists so as to knock out any one who dared antagonize him. He was feared by even the deadliest of professional thugs in Madras and was considering turning Pro himself when fate brought him to us on this escapade of ours.

While I was introducing them to you, my gang had meanwhile traveled along in a steady march and had almost reached Sripermbudur. In those days Sripermbudur was still a sleepy village for Rajiv Gandhi had not yet set foot on its ground and had not yet been blown to pieces there. 

It was almost daybreak by the time we reached there and a couple of trucks as well as their drivers were found there outside a Chai shop on the outskirts of the so called town. We approached both of them and offered the forty two rupees that we had left with us to both of them, asking them to take us to Bangalore along with their cargo but both of them refused.

We had marched more than twenty five kilometres that night and we now had blisters the size of cat’s paws on our feet for our footwear was not suitable for trekking. We were already hungry and the effect of our intoxication of the previous night was already wearing off. We were desperate for we somehow wanted to reach Bangalore but the only two truck drivers in sight were unobliging.

Meanwhile, I noticed that Raja was behaving rather effimately and casting side long glances at one of the truck drivers there. A few minutes later I found that Raja had vanished form the scene. We were all tired and none of us were in the mood to walk any further. For about half an hour we lounged outside a chai shop and also lost seven rupees in the process of having seven chais (Raja was not to be found). We now only had thirty five rupees and were nowhere insight of our destination.

The boys were busy tending to their hurting feet and not at all bothered that Raja was missing. I was rather worried when finally Raja emerged from behind one of the trucks with a cocky smile and a rather subservient truck driver behind him. Raja proudly informed us that the truck driver had agreed to take us to Bangalore. We were greatly relieved and did not bother much about how Raja had convinced the truck driver to take us along with him.

We happily boarded the truck and after eight uneventful hours we reached Bangalore at seven that night. Meanwhile we had spent the remaining thirty five rupees on a sparing lunch or rather snack for all eight of us at noon that day and we were totally out of money when we landed in Bangalore that night. Bangalore was cold and we were rather unprepared for it with our flimsy t-shirts and trousers. We had no woolens or warm clothing for we were Madrasis to the core.

It was Diwali’s eve that night and we were out in the cold, shivering, hungry and shelter less.

We walked around Brigade road and then went into MG road just to keep the cold away from us. It was at a corner of MG Road that we came across an old sign that read “Madras Cafe”. We were hungry and desperate but did not have the money or the guts to go in. We looked on hungrily at the entrance to the restaurant as people walked in and out; entering with hunger and then returning with satiated and gratified expressions on their faces.

Dilli who was the boldest of the lot even suggested that we walk in, eat to our hearts' content and run away without paying the bill. However, being the sanest of the lot, I told them clearly that this kind of behavior would only land all of us in jail. It was only at that moment that we espied a middle aged gentleman, observing us from a distance. He appeared all white and holy for indeed the man was dressed from head to toe in pure white. He had on a milky white shirt and the whitest of dhotis to match as much as the white colored chappals did. His forehead was filled with whitish grey sacred ash and he appeared as divine as the divinest of them all.

Noticing that we were observing him he came towards us and introduced himself. He claimed that he was Shivalingam a building contractor in Bangalore and that he was a native of Tamil Nadu with roots in Madras. We were really glad to meet up with a native from our own town; so much so that we then confided all our woes to him and told him how hungry we were. On hearing of our hunger Shivalingam was shocked that people from his native town should suffer such hunger on the eve of Diwali while the whole of Bangalore was rejoicing and celebrating Diwali. He therefore requested us to come with him to his house where his wife would feed us and treat us to the best Diwali of our lives.

Having no other alternative and being hungry, we followed Shivalingam to his residence in Uolsouor which was a small suburb of Bangalore those days. His wife was a pleasant faced woman who appeared to be scared of her husband and obeyed all that he ordered her to do. As soon as we reached his house in Uolsouor he called upon his wife to prepare a hearty feast for us; the gang of eight from Madras. He told us that he would get us all jobs the day after Diwali and that we would all rise like the phoenix from the ashes of our lives in Madras.

His wife was an ever smiling woman whose face had a perpetual smile which looked as if it were a mask but our hunger refused to question her smile and we devoured what ever she dished out to us that night. Soon we became weary for we had had a rather tiring day and we therefore decided to go to sleep early so that we could wake up early in the morning and join the Shivalingam family in the Diwali celebrations of circa 1986.

The next morning, when I woke up I found myself in a hospital bed with a bottle of saline dripping into my vein and no one beside me to share my pain. It was indeed not the Diwali that I expected for I felt weak, drowsy and tired. I tried to move my limbs but they refused to obey my command as if they had a will of their own. My eyes were unable to focus and I could not see clearly and my ears could only snatch pieces of conversation though I was unable to listen clearly.

I heard that they were planning to harvest our organs. Harvest our kidneys which they could then deliver to clients so far away that they could not know anything about us and how our organs had been procured. As these words fell on my ears, though faint and sedated, my mind could understand that we had fallen into a trap, a trap which had been set so that my friends and myself would be the victims.

I knew I had to do something desperate to get us out of this situation we were in. I tried getting out of bed but I felt very weak and faint. The movement of my hand was restricted by the needle taped to it through which saline was dripping into my veins. The sight of the saline bottle really made me afraid and in desperation I felt my abdomen with my left hand to check if I had already been operated upon while under sedation. Fortunately my abdomen was smooth and unscarred and I heaved a sigh of relief.

As I lay on the bed I could hear a couple of doctors whispering to a blue suited bald headed guy who seemed to be the king pin of the organization that our kidneys would be harvested at midnight and shipped in special containers to a far away place. By this time, I was high on panic and looked around widely to see if I could get any sense of the time of day. I managed to have a glimpse of the window near by through which I could make out the fading light of sunset and I realized that I had very little time to save us all.

I quietly closed my eyes and waited for the sun to set so that I could make a break from the hospital where I was held. Soon the sun had set and I could hear the wailing call for prayers from a mosque near by. My room had remained lit with electric tube lights even during the day and the fall of dusk did not affect the lighting in my room. However, the passage of time had strengthened me and I knew that now was the time to make a dash for it.

I slowly managed to raise my self out of the bed, pull out the needle with the attached tube from my forearm and gently stand up. I teetered at the brink of a dark abyss but managed to force myself to stay upright without falling. I then realized that I was not dressed in my customary clothes but was devoid of all clothing and had just been covered by a sheet. I realized I was stark nude but did not have the time to feel ashamed.

I desperately staggered out of the door and made a dash through the desolate corridors while a couple of startled nurses looked at me with shock and mouths wide agape. Before they could react or scream I had staggered out of the corridor and into the dimly lit lobby. It was then that I realized that this was no ordinary hospital but more of a slaughter house kept primarily for the purpose of harvesting human organs. The only person in the lobby was a rough looking male with a mustache curled at both ends. He was more startled at the sight of me than I was of him and before he could attempt to catch me I fled out of the building on to a dark street with no one passing by except for a few cars that whizzed by with a blur of lights.

Bangalore at that time of the year was pretty cold and I had nothing on to cover myself. As the cold hit me I began to run fast to warm myself. Seeing me a couple of stray dogs began barking and chasing behind me. 

Far away in the distance I could see a group of people walking and I rushed towards them to obtain their help. It was only when I reached them that I realized that they were a group of Hijiras. Seeing a young male like me in complete naked splendour they became pretty excited and one of them who was bolder than the others seemed to fancy me and even tried to fondle my privates while offering to give me a blow job. However, the eldest of them all who appeared to be the leader of the group rebuked the bold Hijira and prevented any further mishaps.

The leader of the group was also conversant in Tamil and when I narrated my tale of woe, offered a rough shawl to drape around my waist and gave me the directions to the nearest police station. Following the directions which the leader of the Hijiras gave me, I walked down a market street and the late evening shoppers on the street stared at me in amazement. I was oblivious to them all and walked down the market street which I later came to know was the Uolsouor market road. My thoughts were only on saving my friends.

It was around eight that night when I finally reached Uolsouor police station. I rushed in to explain my tale of woe but the policemen in the station were apparently waiting for me and pounced upon me as soon as I entered the station. As blows from their lathis rained upon me, I lifted my arms to protect my face and realized that I had made a mistake in seeking the help of the local police station.

Apparently the local police station was hand in glove with the organ stealing gang and had been tipped off by them over the phone about my escape. They knew that I would come to them to complain about the gang and had waited patiently for my arrival. I realized I had been very naïve in expecting justice from the police and fell down as the blows continued. It did not seem like my lucky day at all or rather my lucky night and I wondered how I was going to save myself and my friends from the fire into which I had fallen from the frying pan.

It was then that dame fortune smiled upon me for at that moment the local Superintendent of Police happened to come on a surprise visit to the station to check on things and found me being brutally attacked by the local policemen. On seeing their Superintendent of Police the policemen of the station became nervous, stopped their third degree treatment to turn around and salute the newly arrived superior. 

Relieved of the recurring blows, I rushed to the Superintendent to plead with him for the life of my friends. Fortunately the Superintendent was a native of Tamil Nadu and upon hearing that we had come from Madras and had fallen into the trap of the organ smugglers, he was furious with the Inspector of the Uolsouor station. He ordered that I be given proper clothes to wear.

All that happened after that, happened as if in a dream. The superintendent realizing that the local policemen would warn the shady hospital of the raid on the hospital, ripped out and tore away the wires of the telephones in the station; for those were the days before the mobile phones came into existence. 

He then ordered all the cops in the station to board a van while he took me along with him in his jeep from which I showed him the way. The police swooped into the hospital and not a single individual inside the building was spared. All my friends were still groggy but happy that they had been saved. We were all taken to a government hospital where we were given a general check up and made to sleep for the night.

The next morning the kindly superintendent was at our bedside and after a hearty breakfast we were taken back to Madras, escorted by two policemen to ensure that we reached home safely. 

We then realized that for us the Promised Land was Madras and all of us lived there happily ever after until we grew in our professions and migrated to distant lands; each one going in their own direction. 

I SALUTE YOU

His name was Andiappan which literally when translated in Tamil meant “The father of the penniless” or could also mean “The father of the beggars”. You could find him on the busy roads outside the Madras High Court from early morning to the night wearing a dirty green torn shirt and pants of the same colour with more holes than material. His hair was bedraggled, unkempt and full of dust and grime. He wore khaki coloured canvas shoes which had seen much better days and from which his toes used to stick out to say hello to everyone.

Though he looked dirty and had a long disheveled beard, he looked majestic for he always walked with an erect spine. He had a crooked stick in his hand which he used like a baton or at times like a rifle and used to tuck it under his arm to march up and down the busy thoroughfare which skirted the Madras High Court while simultaneously shouting out orders to his invisible platoon. The vendors and regular users of the road considered him crazy in the head and left him to his own without bothering him. It was rumored that he had been a soldier during the Japanese invasion of Burma in the Second World War and had gone off his rocker due to the torture inflicted on him by the Japs who had taken him a prisoner of war.

Military Andiappan, as he was called would march straight up and down the road and whenever he came across somebody on the road that appeared affluent he would go up to them, click his heels and salute them in typical military fashion after which he would politely request them in chaste English to give him a rupee for his lunch or dinner as the case maybe. In most cases the people thus requested would be impressed by his command over the English language and give him some coins to appease him. Andiappan would not stop with that but would pocket the coins and give them a smart salute followed by the imitation of a twenty-one gun salute.

Andiappan frequented the cross roads near the Madras High Court for nearly forty years, but was never found to sleep on the roads. It was said that he lived in an old abandoned ramshackle hut on the outskirts of Madras from which he would come in the morning and return at night. Andiappan became such a regular feature in the locality that even tourists from other lands would visit him and take pictures of him. Andiappan would happily pose for them with his ram-rod stiff appearance while his crooked stick would be used as a rifle cradled in his arms and resting on his shoulder.

I used to be a regular visitor to the area during those days and would come across Andiappan during my visits. He would address me as Captain and salute me in his inimitable style after which he would put his hand out as was his wont and I would give him whatever loose change happened to be in my pocket on that given day.

It was on one of such visits that I found Andiappan was missing and questioned the local street side sugarcane juice vendor nearby about his whereabouts. The vendor mentioned that Andiappan had not been seen in the vicinity for more than a week and that he did not know what had happened. I then coaxed the vendor to tell me where exactly Andiappan, resided since I had become quite affectionately attached to this crazy soldier.

Learning that Andiappan lived in a place called Ambattur, I set out to visit him the next day which happened to be a Sunday and a holiday for me. On reaching the suburbs of Ambattur, I began questioning the locals about Andiappan and gradually found my way to where he lived. The dilapidated hut in which Andiappan lived was located in a desolate lane which was not too well frequented by locals.

As I neared the hut I found a heavy stench emanating from the hut. Using a handkerchief to cover my mouth and nose, I cautiously made my way forward and gently pushed the sackcloth screen which covered the empty threshold of the hut. The hut was buzzing with flies and in the darkness I could make out the form of Andiappan lying in a corner of the one room hut. Even in death Andiappan remained ram-rod stiff and rigor-mortis which had set in had ensured that he remained stiff.

I was overcome with nausea and hurriedly went across to the nearby police station to inform them of what had happened. They in turn informed the local hospital which sent across a mortuary van to collect his stiff corpse.

I returned to the hut with a couple of policemen in tow to ensure that his body was taken care off properly. The men who came with the mortuary van were shocked at the decomposed state of the corpse and appeared hesitant to even carry it to the van. It did not look like a case of murder or suicide but merely a natural death caused by old age. After a few rupee note exchanged hands they were persuaded to do so and the van moved away from the lane.

Curious to know more about Military Andiappan, I went again into the foul smelling hut and found that all of his meagre earthly possessions were kept in a small tin box which was found in one corner of the hut. Curious to know what was there inside the tin box, I carried it outside the hut where I could breathe in some fresh air and in the presence of the two police men opened the box.

Inside the tin box I found documents that said that Andiappan was a retired Captain who had served meritoriously in the British army during the Second World War and had been decorated with the Victoria Cross Medal for his brave feats of valour during the war. I was also shocked to find documents which revealed that Andiappan was receiving a full pension of a thousand rupees per month which was being deposited in a bank account.

Under these documents I found an old, black and white photograph now turned black and yellow in which young Andiappan in Military outfit was found standing beside a beautiful cultured lady who appeared to be his bride. There were also other documents to show that Andiappan’s wife had died of cancer. There was no proof of him having been imprisoned in Burma or being tortured by the Japs. I therefore deduced that Andiappan had been unable to bear the shock of his wife’s demise and therefore gone off his rocker.

Finally at the very bottom of the tin box, I found a dirty looking bank passbook which had a lot of entries written by hand, for in those days computers were unheard of; along with the pass book there was a letter which appeared to be his last will and testament. While the passbook showed that Andiappan was a very wealthy man and had over a million rupees to his credit in the bank, the letter revealed that Andiappan had never ever spent a single paise of all the money that he had begged on the roads alongside the Madras High Court and had saved it all so that it could be utilized for cancer research after his demise.

I was amazed by this discovery of such a noble soul. A true Indian Stalwart in every sense of the word. Two days later after post-mortem had been completed to prove that Andiappan had died a natural death, I managed to bury his body in a nearby cemetery dressed in military regalia and in typical military splendor. I was accompanied by two representatives of the “Madras Hope for Cancer Research Foundation” to whom I then handed over the passbook along with his last will and testament so that they could fulfill his wishes. 

As his body was lowered to the ground, yours truly whom he affectionately called Captain stood at attention and clicked my heels as I put up a salute that would put any military officer to shame. This was the least I could do for a man who had saluted every one on the roads of Madras before begging them for money which would now be used for cancer research.

MONEY ISN'T EVERYTHING

When I was a little boy, I lived in a small town where every one knew every one else and no secrets were hid from our neighbours. Further down the street where our house was situated, lived a rich man who had four sons. The rich man possessed a great deal of wealth and it was rumoured that he had enough money for the next ten generations to live in comfort.

Since the rich man had amassed a lot of money he believed that it was not necessary for his four sons to go to school. The four sons had never seen the inside of a school since they were born and while we sons of lesser mortals trudged our way to school and waded our way through our text books the four lucky boys used to spin tops or play marbles outside their house. As a little boy, I used to grumble at my fate and feel jealous of those four lucky boys who never had to go to school or taste the vicious bite of the School Master's cane.

  

Time flew and we soon grew into adults. After a lot of effort, I managed to obtain a lowly job in a non-government organisation as a pen-pushing clerk. Meanwhile, the rich man passed away leaving all his wealth to be divided amongst his four sons. Even after dividing the money the sons had enough and more to live a royal life for a few more generations. After receiving their rightful share of their father's inheritance, the four sons who had now grown into manhood began to reveal their true nature.

The eldest son took to drink and went on a binge of non-stop drinking. Soon his liver began to bloat and he died shortly thereafter leaving behind neither heir nor will. The second son was disdainful of his elder brother. "I am not like my elder brother," he thought. "I am not one to waste my life by drinking".

However, the second son was a dirty fellow and kept his surroundings unclean. He never tidied up his house or swept the floor. Even servants who tried to clean up the house were dismissed from service for removing things from where they had been kept by their master. As a result dirt accumulated in his house to the extent that dirt exceeded even the wealth that was accumulated by his father and the man was wallowing in unimaginable filth and dirt. Pigs used to play in his yard and used to enjoy themselves immensely for here was a man after their own dirty hearts.

One fine morning the second son fell ill and developed high fever, was nauseous and weak. By that evening, the man had sunk into a coma. Many doctors were called to save the man's life, but all their efforts were in vain. The Doctors diagnosed that the man was struck with a rare virus and that nothing could be done to save his life. The poor rich fellow died that night.

Observing the plight and demise if his two elder brothers, the third son thought to himself. "Oh! My poor brothers were so stupid. Though they had all the wealth that they needed they could not save themselves from death. However, I am not like them for I neither drink nor am unclean. So, I will live for long and really enjoy the fruits of my father's riches".

Though the young man was not addicted to liqour like his eldest brother or unclean like his second brother, he had a passion for gambling and considered himself to be a great cardsharp and a wizard with the dice. Initially he used to gamble with small sums of money just to while away time and entertain himself, but as he tasted success and kept winning small wagers he began to think of himself as a genius with cards and dice. He began to believe that he was invincible and that nobody could defeat him in these games of chance. He even began to dream of going to Las Vegas one day and showing the American gambling fraternity a trick or two.

Moreover, the death of his two brothers brought him more money since they had passed away without any heirs and their share of their father's inheritance was divided amongst the two surviving brothers. This emboldened the poor fellow and his unlimited wealth pushed him to play for higher stakes. Even if he lost a lot of money he would continue to play until the tide would turn and he would return to his winning ways. His inexhaustible reserves of wealth kept him in many a game for days without end and what began as a passion turned into futile desire and then into a raging madness.

One day he was attracted by an invitation which he received for a big game which was to be held in the Mecca of gambling in India and he rushed to that city with all his wealth -both movable and immovable, disposable and otherwise- in his hands. The game was indeed as exciting as promised in the invitation and our young gambling Don was victorious in the early rounds.

As time passed the tide of luck turned against him and he began to loose heavily till all the wealth available with him was exhausted. By the next morning, he had even lost all the deeds to his properties and was forced to gamble his wife and infant child away. The new day brought with it a sad state of affairs and the pitiable gentleman was left without a dime in this world. He did not even have money to get himself a meal. Even the clothes on his own back were removed by his creditors. The disillusioned gentleman was so upset with the turn of events that he did not know what to do. He returned to his erstwhile home and hung himself on the branch of a tree in what was once his garden.

The youngest son of the rich man looked upon the fate of his three elder brothers with disgust. He was very careful not to fall pray to vices. He kept himself healthy and his surroundings clean. He used to go for long walks. His body was truly strong and he possessed a lot of stamina.

One day, he went for a long walk away from the town. As he walked down the road he came across a big illuminated hoarding kept by the side of the road with something written on it. Since the lad had not gone to school he could not decipher head or tail of what was written on the signboard. "Stupid fools" he thought to himself. "These fellows have nothing better to do than scribble and scrawl on big boards", he thought to himself as he walked past the board with his hands in his pockets, merrily whistling a joyful tune. Meanwhile the evening sun had set and the roads turned dark. Suddenly the young man stumbled, found the earth giving way under his feet and fell into a deep ravine and died. Meanwhile the signboard stood resolutely with the words "Danger deep gorge ahead".

NOTHING TO FEAR BUT FEAR ITSELF

It is going to be that time of the year when students after their harrowing experiences in their search for admission to colleges of their choice are finally able to breathe free and the academic year begins. 

Students who have been successful in handling the stress of obtaining admissions now find that they have to cope with another form of stress, which has become almost a ritual in most academic institutions of higher learning and excellence. You are right, in guessing that I am referring to the issue of ragging which is now prevalent in all educational institutions across the country.

The very thought of ragging takes me down memory lane when I entered college during the mid seventies and faced this phenomenon. I’m sharing my experiences with you for there is a lesson here that I learnt and I would like others to also read and understand. 

Actually, I was ragged twice. The first time was when as a kid fresh out of school I entered a college within the heart of Chennai city which was known for its bullies and timid thugs. I had just joined the one year pre – university course which was the norm during those days. Being a raw kid I was very much in awe and fear of my so called seniors who rode rough shod over me. Their ragging ranged from making me strip off my clothes and be paraded around the college in my underwear to buying cigarettes and Chai for the seniors. It was a great relief to me when the first three days in college drew to a close and ragging subsided into friendly camaraderie.

It was in this college that I came to the conclusion that studying was futile. The quality of the students and staff of that college made me come to that conclusion and as a result after completion of the course I dropped out of academic pursuits for almost three years. I decided to find myself some clerical employment and grow up the ranks rather than waste my time in college. 

During those three years I worked as an apprentice clerk in a precision engineering company, washed soda bottles in a bottling plant, served as a lead singer of a band playing in a cabaret restaurant and even tried my hand as a tutor in a tutorial institute wherein the principal lied to the students that I was a post graduate in two subjects.

My stint as a tutor rekindled my interest in academics for I found I could understand varied social sciences and teach post graduates after a cursory reading of the prescribed texts. I therefore enrolled for graduate studies in political science at a reputed college in the suburbs of Chennai which had a campus of over 500 acres. This college too was known for its ritualistic style of ragging the juniors there. However, this time around I was no fresher and my varied experiences during the three interim years had made me worldly wise. Moreover, boys who had been my juniors in school were my seniors here and my reputation for using my fists to settle disputes had preceded me to this college.

Within seconds of entering the campus and walking down the long drive way to the administration block, I was accosted by a rather ragged looking chap who came up to me wheezing and panting as if he was suffering from terminal tuberculosis. He looked at me with what he considered a tough look and called out to me, “Hey junior, come here and salute me”. I looked at him as I would at an insect that had made an appearance on my dinner plate. I gazed deep into his eyes and replied, “You must be kidding!” and walked away with my nose up in the air as if he were a piece of excreta. The poor lad was flabbergasted at my response and didn’t know how to react. “Hey”, he screamed out to another bunch of seniors who were a bit farther away as he ran up to them saying, “There is this young junior pisser who refuses to salute me and says I must be kidding”.

Meanwhile I had walked away, found my classroom and vanished from their sight. Word soon spread around the campus about a junior who had been sarcastic with a senior. When I came out during the break and walked to the cafeteria I found that I had become a star attraction and some seniors were nudging their chin towards me and pointing me out to other seniors. 

I remained nonplussed and got my self a cup of chai from the cafeteria as I casually lit up a cigarette. A bunch of seven or eight seniors surrounded me at that moment and while one of them plucked away the cigarette in my hand and stamped it on the ground, another took a jug of water which was on a table in the cafeteria poured it on the ground and asked me to swim in it. I innocently looked at the guy and told him that I did not know how to swim, though I hurriedly added that I was willing to learn if one of them could teach me how to swim in the jug of water that they had poured on the floor.

By now the seniors had reached boiling point but they did not really know how to handle me. Meanwhile, a few of my old schoolmates who were now studying in the same college had noticed my presence in the cafeteria and whispered to the other seniors about my notoriety and misadventures in school. They warned the others who were unaware of my exploits that it was advisable not to tamper with me for they would find their hands or legs broken the moment they stepped out of campus. As a result I had a fairly dull induction period into the college and I found seniors going out of their way to come and befriend me.

On the second day, one of the guys came up to me rather conspiratorially and whispered that he had some grass which he would like to share with me and asked me if I would be interested in a reefer. I was surprised that the guys had changed their tack within one day but I knew that this too was a form of testing me. As mentioned sometime earlier I had been part of a band as a lead singer during my three year anti-sabbatical after my pre - university course. During my stint with the band I had come across many muggle smokers, since most musicians of those times were into the habit. I had also picked up the habit from these musicians and therefore grass was nothing new to me. I therefore readily agreed since it would at least break the dull monotony of my second day in college. We therefore went to a tree located behind the cafeteria which I later came to know was affectionately called the philosophers tree.

As we rolled up our smokes and lit up, a few more seniors joined us in ones and twos. I knew this was all an act and that they had planned to join us gradually so as to not raise my suspicion. However, I remained unconcerned and kept on smoking away merrily as they kept on rolling and pushing many more joints between my welcoming fingers. We must have smoked quite a lot but being a past master at this habit, it did not affect me at all and I was merely enjoying the trip with Mary Jane while those seniors who had been smoking along with me started giggling and behaving silly.

In fact, a couple of them became so stoned that they started rolling on the floor giggling away; merrily oblivious of what they were doing. After a while, I walked up to the cafeteria and got a lot of cold lime juice which I made all those who were giggling away drink; for I knew that the lemon would have a sobering effect on them. After a while the bunch of seniors who were hanging around with me sobered up and looked at me rather sheepishly for their ploy had back fired on them. They had thought that they would get me stoned so that I would make a fool of myself but in reality it had turned out the other way. After a few words of advice to the seniors to be careful with grass for it could drive those with weak minds rather insane, I left for home.

The third day which was supposed to be the last day of ragging was completely uneventful and I proceeded to head back home that evening. Since the college was outside the city it could only be accessed by electrified local trains and most of the students from the city commuted by these trains as I too did. Having found me a nice comfortable seat by a window I was looking forward to going back home when all of a sudden a huge crowd of seniors swooped upon me and occupied all the seats around me. They then called a young boy who was selling roasted peanuts in a small basket and forced him to hand over the basket to me. They asked me to take the basket around the compartment as well as the neighboring ladies compartment which was also full of girl students from the same college and asked me to imitate the peanut vendor and sell the peanuts in the moving train. I was laughing to myself, but agreed to go around selling the peanuts since I was outnumbered by a large number of seniors.

I quietly accepted the small basket; placed it on my shoulder and walked around the moving compartment calling out “Kadalai, Kadalai, soodana Veru Kadalai” in Tamil. Roughly translated I was just shouting “peanuts, peanuts, hot groundnuts”. As I went around the compartment one or two members of the public assumed that I was really a peanut vendor and thrust out one rupee coins asking me to give them peanuts for a rupee. Without hesitation I took the small aluminum measure kept in the basket for this purpose filled it up with the roasted peanuts and after measuring the same I packed it neatly in a cone made of waste paper which was also stuck into the basket. I seemed to be pretty good at the business for I happened to sell ten rupees worth of peanuts within a few minutes.

When the train reached the next station I got down from the compartment walked up to the next compartment which was a ladies compartment and started peddling my wares there. It was quite a pleasant feeling to be the lone male in a coach full of women and I did not bother to return to my earlier compartment until my destination arrived. At my destination I just left the basket on the station platform and walked away with the proceeds from the sales of peanuts jingling in my pockets. My poor seniors did not know what to do and I am sure they must have had a tough time with the peanut vendor whose basket they had given me.

The next day when I went back to college, they could not do anything about my behavior the previous day for traditionally ragging was only during the first three days and it was the fourth day that day. 

Wanting to teach these seniors a lesson, I decided to have some fun at their expense. I gathered all the juniors whom I could spot on campus especially those who had suffered the most during ragging at the hands of the seniors and told them that the fourth day would henceforth be called juniors day and that juniors would be allowed the privilege of ragging the seniors for one day as a reward for having suffered at the hands of the seniors for the past three days. I asked the juniors to go round up all the seniors whom they could lay their hands on and tell them that I wanted to see them.

It was indeed a memorable day for the juniors. All the seniors we could catch that day were dunked into a water tank, forced to climb trees and chased with good humor. But sharing that is not the intention of this post. 

This post is to merely analyze the psychology behind ragging. Ragging only takes advantage of the fear and insecurity of the juniors in new surroundings. Some proponents of the culture of ragging tell me that ragging ensures bonding and camaraderie, but that is pure bull. As a senior I found that I could bond better with my juniors when I reached out to them with love and friendship rather than a bullying attitude.

My experiences while being ragged taught me that there is nothing to fear but fear itself. There is a proverb in Tamil that says, “Like a chasing dog which chases a running dog which runs in fear”. If only the dog being chased overcomes its fear and turns around and bares its teeth at the chasing dog, the tables get turned and then the running dog becomes the chasing dog.