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.