The world's greatest festival!

It is polling day.

An enormous crowd greets you at the polling station. You thought you could beat everyone by reaching early. Others have thought likewise. There are multiple lines, multiple rooms, and the invariable confusion. Self-styled leaders step up to take the initiative and keep the flock together. “Everyone! This is the line to room number 4! I repeat, to room number 4 only!”

“Oh! I thought this is the line to room number 2!” someone suddenly wakes up. “Room number 2? You can walk in!” Call it Murphy’s law, the room you have been assigned to, has the longest line. You wonder, how long it is going to take. One hour, two hours maybe?  Some give up too soon, “I think I will come back at noon! I am certain there will be no crowd at that time!” You have half a mind to inject- “Saar! If you go home now, you will never come back!”

“I do not have this paper-receipt, with the room number earmarked. But I have the e-receipt on my cellphone. Is that enough?” someone asks. “They are not allowing cellphones. You need the paper. You can get it outside, at the counter,” is the rebuttal. “They are surely allowing cellphones!  The only problem is, you cannot switch it on!” comes a third opinion, adding no clarity to the situation. “Better to get the paper receipt also!” is the conclusion.

Waiting is not easy. Though the morning is young, the sun is harsh. The line barely moves- as though, you are waiting on a treadmill. A motley crowd mills all around- the young, the old and the overly old. Some are bent with age and can barely walk. They are escorted by their caregivers to the polling room directly. Friends, acquaintances, workplace colleagues- you get a chance to meet everyone. Meeting once is 5 years, isn’t too bad after all.

“This is like Tirupati. At least, at Tirupati, we would have earned some punya for all this waiting!” a stray conversation bit reaches your ear. There is a fitting response too, “This is greater punya, I would say! Yathaa raajaa…tathaa prajaa! You need this punya…so that you can float for another 5 years!”

The serpentine queue moves slowly but surely. Observing people, their body-language, their conversation…keeps you busy. You are now at the threshold of the room.

The din and clatter of the world is left behind the moment you step in. There is a hush...like the silence in an examination hall. Even the sound of the ceiling-fan is magnified several times over. There is one “presiding officer” and a few “poll officers” seated behind tables. Your identity is carefully matched. In a sheaf of papers, he quickly spots your picture, taken 20 years ago, and ticks it off. Another officer waits with the “indelible ink” swab. One part of the mind wants to ask him seriously, “Sir! Is the ink in-edible or indelible? Can I go home and eat breakfast?” Thankfully, you shake off these frivolities. You lay down your entire palm face down, as though, he is about to apply nail-polish to each of your fingers! "Can I choose crimson color...instead of this blue?" you are itching to ask.

All it takes him is one quick swish of the swab. You now wait for your turn...to step into the EVM counter.

Standing in front of the EVM, the focus must be total. The options are many. In a momentary lapse of concentration, your finger may stray, and you may inadvertently press the wrong button. That’s what happened to Kumbhakarna. After enormous tapas, Lord Brahma appeared before Kumbhakarna. A moment of indiscretion cost Kumbhakarna dearly. He wanted to ask “nir-devatvam” as a boon- “may no deva have lordship over me!” At the opportune moment, his tongue slurred, the visarga got transferred to another syllable in the word, and he blurted out “nidraavatvam”- “may I enjoy sleep!” Of course, Brahma gave him no second chance. He readily agreed- tathaastu, “so be it!”, and vanished! All this runs through your mind.

Kumbhakarna’s story is so powerful that you sleep off…right in front of the EVM. “Hello! Hello saar! What are you doing ? Press the button!” an impatient polling officer wakes you up- "Uttishthata! Jaagrata!" You shake off Kumbhakarna’s story. You make the selection decisively.  The EVM beeps, your candidate’s visual appears in the tiny screen and finally, you are done!

Once out of the polling booth, you cannot contain your smile. It is time for a round of selfies with the indelible ink on the finger prominently displayed!

An enormous sense of pride and achievement runs through your being.  It is a feeling of being “part of the process”, a feeling that you are an “active contributor” to the world’s largest democracy!

Laughter and its variants!

They say – laughter is the best medicine. Medicine is mostly bitter, but thankfully laughter comes in different flavors. At one end of the spectrum, are those that laugh as though they are consuming medicine. It is a carefully, calibrated laughter- it flows in a trickle, in ounces and teaspoons, just this much...and no more!

I watch comic films wearing such a laughter hat. “Didn’t you understand the joke?” my wife typically asks, scrutinizing my grave expression. “I did understand the joke. That's exactly why I cannot laugh!” Stand-up comedians should be thankful that I am not in the audience. By now, they would have lost all self-confidence, and banged their head on a concrete wall, watching every joke fall flat, with not a ripple registered on my placid face!

At the opposite end of the spectrum are the popular comedy shows on TV. The anchor normally employs a laughing sidekick to liven up the show. The sidekick has just one job- to laugh at the drop of a hat. For every innocuous comment from the anchor, the sidekick claps his hands and laughs uproariously. “I went to the market and bought potatoes!” the anchor comments. The sidekick repeats the sentence- “I went to the market” and breaks into a bout of convulsive laughter to the extent he can’t complete the sentence!

Watching him, we get irritated, “This is too much! They must have fed him "bhaang" or Laughing Gas! No wonder, he laughs for the silliest reason!”

Rakshasas and asuras are known for their special laughter, called “atta-haasa”. They must have a great sense of humor. The moment they make an appearance, on TV or in dramas, they break into an evil laugh, for no palpable reason. Asuras are trained to laugh in a low baritone, in the “mandara sthaayi”. Atta-haasa of this kind typically starts with the syllable “eee”.  Soon, the “eee” breaks into a gurgle, and swells into a sumptuous round of “ha-ha-ha”, so much so, the entire place reverberates with their booming laughter!

Today’s generation replies on social media with the ubiquitous “LOL” and “ROFL”. I have always been tickled by ROFL- “Rolling On the Floor Laughing”. Someone replies with ROFL sitting in a train. Think about it- one moment, they are sitting on the side-berth, all normal. They read your whatsapp message, and the next moment, they go rolling down the train’s aisle! How do the co-passengers react to this spectacle? And imagine multiple people on the train, all replying with ROFL. Soon, the train will resemble a "mini-Tirupati", with dozens of folks, rolling over each other, doing a veritable “anga-pradakshina”, down the train’s aisle!

We had a teacher in school, who often said, “Don’t loaf! If you loaf so much, you will cry later!” We took the sentence at face value, with a practical message- “Don’t loaf around and waste your time. Later, you will regret it and cry!” Only towards the end of the year, we deciphered her peculiar pronunciation. She actually meant, “Don’t laugh! If you laugh so much, you will cry later!” It took us an entire year to understand her hidden message. Laughter is a double-edged sword. Laugh too much, and it will come back to bite you later!

Laughter comes in several styles. In one, the person is laughing, but not one sound emerges. Only the eyes crease into a straight line, the face turns red, and the shoulder rocks. He is like a volcano, the lava is smoldering, but it is all bottled within.  After several minutes elapse, suddenly, out of the blue, the volcano explodes, into a round of resounding laughter. There are others who laugh with their mouth closed- so much so, each laughter bout is a snort, much like a bull, snorting through its nostrils. In some cases, the laughter is high-pitched, “peals of laughter” as they say, like the laughter of hyenas. It can be scary, especially at night. And still others laugh so much, that they hold their sides and plead with tears in their eyes, “Don’t make me laugh more! Please!” In such extreme cases, the laughter ends in a hiccup. With each hiccup, they laugh still more, leading to more hiccups. It is a vicious cycle that knows no end. No wonder, my teacher instructed, “Don’t loaf!”

We are told laughter is a 100% human response. Animals can express all emotion- they can show affection, they can cry (we are told), but they cannot laugh. And who has come to this conclusion? Humans have decided for animals that animals cannot laugh! Think about the irony. Who knows? Animals may be intently watching humans make a fool of themselves.

One fine day, when humans finally succeed in their self-destructive ways, much like the mythological character "Bhasmaasura", all the monkeys and elephants and hyenas will assemble in the open, and break into a collective laugh. 

After all, he who laughs best, laughs last! 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The fort at Gingee

A few months ago, we did a 10-day trip around Karnataka. As we drove long distances each day, I had a specific job at hand- to sit beside the driver, Mr Murti, and engage him in conversation. That way, we were sure, he was alert and attentive at the wheel. The following is an account of one such conversation piece, reproduced verbatim.

“Murti saar, in all these 25 years of driving, have you had any paranormal experience?” I suddenly asked, to break the lull in the conversation. “What do you mean by paranormal experience?” Mr Murti asked, all puzzled. I spelt it out, “Something unusual…something inexplicable- involving spirits and ghosts, the kind we see in the recent Kannada film ‘Kantara’!”

Mr Murti thought for a moment, “Yes, I had one such experience. We were driving close to the Gingee Fort.” “You mean Gingee, that place in Tamil Nadu?” I asked. “Yes, the same Gingee!” Mr Murti clarified.

I knew Gingee (pronounced “jinji”). I had passed by the place many years ago. From Chennai, as you drive towards Tiruvannamalai, you take a turn to the right, just after Tindivanam. Gingee is on that road.

The word “Gingee” has an esoteric ring to it! Just intone the word “Gingee” repeatedly- it has an unmissable oddity, both in its wording and sound! In Tamil, it is called “Senji”, but trust the British, to come up with a twisted, Anglicized version of the name called “Gingee”!

The fort at Gingee arrests your attention.  You cannot drive past it nonchalantly. A gasp of “wow” escapes your mouth, and your eyes turn wide with wonder. The landscape reveals a gentle roll of the hills. Seated on top of a rocky hill, not too far from the road, is the Gingee Fort. Ramparts of the fort are still intact and well preserved. There’s the king’s fort on one side, the queen’s quarters on the other, and the road slices right through the middle of the ruins.

It was this Gingee Fort that Mr Murti was referring to. Murti saar continued, “It was dead at night. The driver-side window was open. While driving past the fort, I felt as though someone slapped me on my cheek from the window!” Mr Murti’s face turned pale. “Slapped you on the cheek? It must have surely been the ghost of a primary schoolteacher!” I joked. Mr Murti did not respond. He was caught up in his recollection. “I felt some enormous force was pushing the car from the opposite direction. I tried to accelerate. I couldn’t. Some power was decelerating the car, so much so, it was slowing by the second and coming to a halt. I was mortally scared. But I had some presence of mind. Immediately, I closed all the windows, pressed the accelerator at full throttle and hurtled past the place. Soon, things became totally normal!”

Mr Murti’s narration made my hair stand on end. “What was that?” I asked. Mr Murti explained that his experience was later corroborated by others. It was apparently common knowledge among drivers- either you totally avoided Gingee Fort after sunset, or if you had to drive at night, you ensured that the windows were shut-tight, and you never slowed the car.

“You do not have to believe me!” Mr Murti added, “Just search for Gingee-Fort and ‘mysterious incidents’ on the internet!" "Several drivers were not as lucky!” Mr Murti trailed off.

The topic was too spooky. I shifted the conversation immediately to Cricket and other irrelevant things in life. In a week’s time, the trip was over, and we were back home.

Once home, I had to read about Gingee. Somehow, in school, it had never figured in our history textbook. The fort has stood for over 800 years, (renovated multiple times), from 1190 AD onwards! Its occupants were many, in a reign of successive kings. Shivaji, in his time, called it “the most impregnable fort”. Over the centuries, the Marathas held the fort, followed by the Mughals.  It was captured later by the French and finally by the British! The “Battle of Gingee” and the “Great Carnatic wars”-all that action happened right here.

The fort at Gingee…like a silent sentinel, it must have witnessed such tumultuous twists and turns in its long and checkered history. What voices…what stories…from a dim and distant past…lay captive within…echoing through those stony embankments and rocky hillsides?

Any takers…for a leisurely stroll around Gingee, late at night? Who knows, you may catch the tinkling of anklets and the jingling of bangles. And perhaps, spot a lady draped in flowing white, rocking on a swing, and the yesteryear song in the air- "Ayega…ayega…ayega…aanewala…ayega...” Who knows?

Any takers?

Money is more important than education!

When we were in 7th standard and had just entered the echelons of the “Secondary block (7-10 grades)” in school, we were exposed to a “debate” for the first time. The topic was “Money is more important than education”. Green House spoke “for the motion” and Red House against it.

We sat in the audience, palms cupped to the cheek, eyes fixed on the 10^th standard gladiators, as they battled it out. It was indeed a clash of the titans! As a Green House student, it was amply clear- on which side of the topic, I stood.

Debating involved a peculiar style. You started your speech with a flowery address, “Respected chairperson (and made eye contact with the principal), members of the jury (and looked at the judges), my “worthy” opponents (and glared at the other House) and my dear friends (and smiled)!” The Green House speaker felt there was no debate at all. It was an “open-and-shut case”. The topic was a “statement of fact”- yes, money is more important than education. What is there to say? You need money to get education. And through education, you eventually want to make money. When both the path and the goal was “money”, what was the debate about?

The argument was clinching- as though the debate was over before the first ball was bowled. Further, he taunted the Red House speakers, “My worthy opponents, did you join this school for free, by any chance? Ask your father! Ask your mother! How much of “hard earned money” was spent on your education! And still…you dare say, money is less important?”

It was now Red House’s turn. Defending education was an impossible task. Red House folks spoke in a pompous monotone, “My dear friends, may I ask…may I ask a basic question? What is education?  Education comes from the Latin word “educare”- to nourish.” All this was too cerebral for us and was met with a round of yawns. The speech sounded like a sermon from a pulpit, as though great-great-grandfather was preaching, wearing a Dadabhai Naoroji cap and stroking his white, flowing beard.

The crux of the Red House argument was this- Education was the “summum bonum” of life. (By the way, what does summum bonum mean?) We are humans because of education. Remove that, and we will all be animals! (This sentence was met with a round of catcalls, but that’s a different matter!) Also, education need not be considered as “pursuit of knowledge” alone. Learning any basic skill is education. And only through that skill, you can make money.

The next Green House speaker tore into Red House’s argument- dismissing it summarily as “baseless and puerile”.  (By the way, what does “puerile” mean?) “Gentlemen! he is twisting the word “education”! By giving it a different spin, he is not sticking to the framework of the debate. The topic is about “formal education” and its importance with respect to money. He concluded with a phrase that has stayed with me to this day- “Red House’s argument has no footing whatsoever- it is like a post-dated cheque on a crashing bank!”

The speech was met with a thunderous applause from Green House. Shouts of “Bravo! Bravo!” rent the air. No one knew what a “post-dated cheque” meant. It didn’t matter. That one phrase was enough- like a sledgehammer, it struck Red House right on the head. Serves them right!

As the debate proceeded, it was unclear what was going on. Education depended on money and money depended on education. It was a chicken and egg problem of mutual dependence, with no clear-cut exit strategy. The speakers were confusing themselves and the audience with them. “Yaar, he is scoring a self-goal yaar, by praising money, when he is supposed to praise education!” the audience giggled and discussed among themselves.

The results were about to be announced. We waited with bated breath and prayed fervently, “Dear God! Please God! This one-time God, let Green House win!”

Red House won!  We were shocked, "How did Red House win? They were blabbering and bleating “meh-meh-meh” like goats! How could they win? As usual, Red House cheated and won!" Red House folks erupted- jeering and thumbing their nose at us, rubbing salt into a festering wound! Teachers had a tough time, restraining boys from opposing camps who caught each other’s collar and came close to fisticuffs! Tension and emotion ran sky high.

Let’s face it- the judgement was partisan and unfair. After all, the judges were teachers who “colluded" with Red House. As educationists, how could they allow money to win over education? We smarted under that loss.  Like Javed Miandad’s last ball six nailed India, Green House snatched defeat from the jaws of victory. We couldn’t look at Red House folks in the eye for a whole year.

The next year, all the houses were shuffled. Some of us, Green House students, now turned Red. And once you got a coat of Red, the worldview changed. Obviously, education was more important than money! What was the debate about?

Where are the keys?

Over 15 years ago, we had just moved into the new flat. On one of the first days, we found ourselves locked out! “I thought you had the keys!” my wife said. “I thought you had the keys!” I retorted. Many a happy family has thus been marooned, the culprit being the main door fitted with an automatic lock.

You have exactly 2 choices- break down the main door, or have someone get into the home, in stealth mode, through the window. We think our homes are safe, secure, and out of bounds from nefarious elements. All it took the security person, was one leap from the neighbor’s flat to our restroom window. That done, he entered our flat and let us in! So much for our “notional” sense of security.

We immediately made friends with our neighbors. We gave them a set of keys for safekeeping. But what if the neighbors are on a holiday and we get locked out? We gave another set of keys to the housemaid. What if the housemaid is also away on that fateful day? We needed still more “redundancy”. Now, everyone on the planet has our housekey. Yes, this way, we will never get locked out again!

Housekeys are slippery fellows. You stuff it in your pant pocket on your way to the office. In the evening, just as you are about to enter your flat, you feel your pocket, and he’s gone! Where did he go? Where did he go? You dig your fingers deeper into your pocket- the front pockets, the back pockets, just about everywhere! He has slipped away. You cannot describe that feeling- the panic, the helplessness, the futility of it all. The brain is totally foggy- from where will you start your search?

Some stories have an unusual ending like the twist in an art film. Your wife lets you in- and you mumble, “I don’t know where I lost the housekey!” She replies, “You never took it to the office in the first place! It is still by the washbasin!” Sometimes, after coming home, yes, after coming home, you cannot find the key. This takes the cake- you used the key to get in. And now, the key is gone! The ridiculousness of it all taunts you. A room-to-room search is conducted, combing every nook and corner, shelf and drawer. The key is nowhere. The entire home is upside down- if ever there was a key, it is now likely buried deeper in this debris.

And guess where you found the key eventually? No! Not in the restroom or inside the refrigerator! It was still inserted on the main door lock! I doubt whether this is oversight- I sincerely believe keys have a life of their own, and a morbid sense of mischief too. They tip-toe out of the house just to send you on a wild goose chase!

One thing about keys- they are faithful to the core. Only the houseowner knows how to operate them. A thief has no hope in hell of entering the house, even if he has the key. Every key has its special character, a quirky behavior, known only to the master. In some cases, the key must be inserted the other way, with the teeth facing up. In other cases, you need to insert the key midway, give it a little jerk, till you hear a click. Thereafter, you can open the door. Miss that vital point, and you will be twirling the key endlessly.

A single key, without a keychain, is like a bachelor. He’s too wild, and given his wayward ways, you are sure to lose him very soon. Sometimes, he tunnels his way down your pant pocket. You come home, and find a tiny hole in the pant pocket, and sure enough, he’s gone! “Why would you carry a single key, without a keychain? That’s surely asking for trouble!” you are asked repeatedly.

Keys with keychains have other issues. You develop some bad habits along the way. You get into a habit of twirling the keychain, as though you are wielding Lord Vishnu’s discus. It looks stylish all right, but at the most opportune moment, just when you are leaning over the embankment, with a raging ocean below- you twirl the keychain, and this one time, out goes the keychain along with your key…into the swirling water! Your eyes bulge, your mouth is ajar, and you let out a strangulated yelp, but there is little more you can do! At least with a single key, this accident wouldn’t happen!

Way back in college, I once got locked out of the hostel room. I forgot to carry the key, and my roommate had locked the room and gone off. He returned much later in the evening. He said, “You know what? I never carry the key with me! I leave it every single day under the locked door!” In his excitement to demonstrate his innovative solution, instead of pushing the key towards himself, from underneath the doorsill, he ended up flicking it the opposite way. The key now lay several feet inside the locked room! Now, there were 2 fellows locked out, and 2 sets of keys…both inside the room!

Ahi Mahi Ravana and deep fake news!

As a child, if there was one story I loved to hear, it was the one centered on “Ahi Mahi Ravana”. I pestered my uncle repeatedly to narrate the story. The plot was filled with intrigue and suspense. Each time I heard my uncle, it was with the same wide-eyed wonder. “And then, what happened uncle? And then?”

An adaptation from Krttivaasa’s Ramayana, the story went as follows. Ravana had lost almost everyone in the battle against Rama. Ravana’s brother Kumbhakarna was no more. His mighty son Indrajit was felled by Lakshmana. Ravana was distraught. How can he combat Rama? He suddenly remembered Ahi-Mahi Ravana. (In some versions, there is only Mahi-Ravana, but uncle’s version had 2 separate characters Ahi and Mahi Ravana, based on a Tamil film in uncle’s time).

Ahi and Mahi were Ravana’s sons. They ruled the nether world, paataala loka. The moment Ravana thought of them, Ahi and Mahi immediately materialized. Hearing Ravana’s predicament, they calmed him down. “Why didn’t you tell us earlier? We can easily take care of Rama and Lakshmana!”

Meanwhile, in Rama’s camp, spies informed Vibhishana that Ahi and Mahi had been summoned by Ravana. Vibhishana was terribly worried. He cautioned Hanuman, “Ahi and Mahi Ravana are “mayavis”, master magicians. We must be extra careful! Do not allow anyone close to Rama and Lakshmana. Remember, Ahi-Mahi Ravana can take any form, at will. The security must be top-notch!” Hanuman was confident, “Vibhishana, don’t worry! Not even a fly can touch Rama and Lakshmana!”

Hanuman beefed up the security. With his tail, he created a huge conical fortress. The entire vanara army sat inside the fortress, all around the circumference. Rama and Lakshmana were placed at the center. Vibhishana himself manned the fortress on the outside, doing the rounds. Each time Vibhishana passed Hanuman, he warned him, “Be careful Hanuman! You never know what Ahi-Mahi Ravana are up to!” During one of the rounds, Vibhishana wanted to re-assess the security inside the fortress. “Hanuman, let me in. I want to double-check that all is fine!” Hanuman let Vibhishana inside.

Vibhishana was suddenly back doing the rounds. Hanuman caught Vibhishana by the scruff of his neck, “I know you are Mahi Ravana! You think you can fool me by taking this fake Vibhishana form? The real Vibhishana just went inside!” Vibhishana struggled to speak, his voice choked by Hanuman’s vice-like grip, “Hanuman! I do not know what you are talking! I…I…I am the real Vibhishana. I do not know whom you let inside. That was not me! He was fake!”

It was a Trojan Attack- you couldn’t differentiate between the real and the fake! Hanuman was caught napping. He rushed inside the fortress. The entire vanara army lay unconscious. Rama and Lakshmana were gone- whisked away to the nether world by Ahi and Mahi Ravana!

Today’s world is exactly like the world spun by Ahi-Mahi Ravana. If you read a piece of news, you later learn, it was fake news. Videos are faked, even the voice is faked. Recently, a song was released in the voice of musicians, who no longer exist. It’s like Maareecha faking Rama’s voice, so much so, even Seeta was tricked. Generative AI is already here. It has taken over- creating a virtual world, blurring the boundary between the real and the unreal.

How will it change the world? Earlier, the “chashmadeed gawaah”, the “eyewitness” played a pivotal role in cracking many a riveting crime case. Will his account be tenable anymore? “Yes, you were an eyewitness, but what your eye witnessed was not real. It was just a hologram, a fake reality!”

What is real? What is unreal? Those searching questions are suddenly our questions- questions that only a philosopher grappled with. Till now, the rule was simple- you “see” an object, and hence the object is “real”. We are set to revise this rule- “You see an object, and hence, that object is unreal!”

“And then uncle? And then? What happened to Ahi-Mahi Ravana?” Uncle continued, “Well, Hanuman had to go to paataala world. Rama and Lakshmana were held captive. It was not easy to kill Ahi-Mahi Ravana. Their “life” was carefully protected- across the seven seas, in a secluded place. Hanuman had to blow out 7 flames, all at the same time, to take the life out of Ahi-Mahi Ravana. Rama and Lakshmana were eventually freed. Hanuman once again came to their rescue!”

“And then uncle? And then? What happened after that uncle?”

The elephant at Kumbheshvara temple

 

Elephants are some of the most lovable creatures. Recently, I had the opportunity to visit Kumbhakonam. The elephant at Kumbheshvara temple stole my heart! Unlike other temple elephants, this one was completely unchained. Imagine- an unchained, untethered elephant, standing on its own, in total freedom!

Elephants are like magnets. They arrest your attention, so much so, you can scarcely take your eyes away. This elephant stood on the pathway leading to the main shrine, on a little perch filled with fine sand. What was distinctive about this elephant was the brown hair on its head! A few long, auburn strands of hair hung from the sides of the head elegantly. In its youth, it must have had a full crop of auburn hair, the kind we find in the Jungle-Book cartoon character! Scanty, brown hair stuck out from the top of the head, like tiny bristles! The face was pocked with pink freckles, that gave the face a stately and mature disposition.

The visage, between the eyes, was painted with a white design. It was not overly large to disfigure the elephant’s face, but just enough to make it look totally adorable! Elephants’ eyes are tiny- but they are expressive. As it greeted each visitor, you could see the mouth crease into a gentle smile with a peculiar glint in the eyes! The ears flapped, the tail waved, and the trunk was ever animated!

Just beside the elephant, a mega dance program was in progress. Rows upon rows of chairs were filled with people. At the far end, was a stage, and troupes of classical dancers regaled the audience. Silhouette of the gopuram, lit with a row of lights was pasted against the night sky.  Music blared from the speakers- now playing “Bho shambho” and now playing Lalgudi Jayaraman’s musical composition. The elephant seemed to enjoy the music and was an equal participant in the dance. It crossed one front foot over the other, in a steady rhythm, doing its little jig, even as the program continued!

I picked my chair carefully, and sat as close to the elephant as possible, just behind its tail! A thought did cross my mind- what if the elephant turned around and made a sudden charge? That sea of humanity, yours truly included, and the dancers dressed in all their finery, will soon be running helter-skelter!

But I nipped such imaginative thoughts in the bud. After all, it was the perfect vantage point to observe the dance, the elephant and the steady trickle of visitors who were irresistibly drawn to it. The elephant followed the drill to the letter. It picked the rupee note from the visitor’s hand, deftly handed it over to the mahout who sat beside and placed the trunk on the visitor’s head in a mark of both affection and benediction.

If it was mother-child duo, it was extra careful and placed its trunk ever so gently on the child’s head.  There were bold children and there were children who panicked and froze, refusing to go any further. The elephant waited patiently, till the child lost all fright and gained an element of composure. All along, its movements were fluid and languid, as it visibly enjoyed the entire setting!

When it was dinner time, the mahout stepped away to bring sheafs of green grass from the other side. The elephant waited- with no chain, no mahout, and no restraint whatsoever.

It was 9 pm. The temple was to close for the night. The mahout made a little gesture. On its own, the elephant got down from the sand perch and walked towards the shrine. It swayed from side to side, its majestic gait, a sight for sore eyes! The elephant’s gigantic frame was now noticeable, as it passed the temple’s doorway, and towered over everything in its wake!

Once home, I learnt that the elephant’s name was “Mangalam”.  Apparently, Mangalam was the recipient of “The best-behaved elephant” award!  

What a bundle of joy!