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P.V. Sudhakaran and N. S. Radhakrishnan may be leaving, but the temples they built will stand testimony to their friendship
IT was an unusual farewell that the Press Club of Chandigarh witnessed one evening early this month. People sat around round tables all over the terrace as, one by one, many of them went to the lectern and paid glowing tributes to the two friends who were leaving Chandigarh, where they spent over three decades.
What struck me, an invitee, most were not the panegyrics that were showered liberally on the duo but the statement a Marxist friend made: “I have heard many people referring to P. V. Sudhakaran as a god.” There could not have been a better compliment than being called a god in flesh and blood! The function was under the aegis of Sree Ayyappa Samajam of which Sudhakaran was the moving spirit for a long time. Lord Ayyappa, who presides over the Sabari hills on the Western Ghats, is one of the most egalitarian gods in that He does not make any distinction between His worshippers. He welcomes anybody who accepts Him, irrespective of his status or religious identity. After all, the Lord’s bosom friend was Vavar, a Muslim, whose mosque the devotees visit traditionally before they begin their arduous climb. Today an Ayyappa temple is an index of the growth of the Malayali community in a particular place. I still remember a Malayali friend introducing me to Chandigarh about five years ago with these words: “There was a time when we had to go to Kerala or Delhi to bring certain delicacies like banana chips. Now we can go to Sector 46 and 47 to buy all such provisions. And for spiritual solace, we can visit the Ayyappa temple there.” Legend has it that the Lord manifested Himself in His present form at Sabarimala but in Chandigarh it required the efforts of many for the temple to take shape. Land was obtained at Sector 47 but the dream of a temple remained unfulfilled for a long time. It was at that juncture that Sudhakaran, a Punjab Tractors Limited executive, stepped into the temple arena. He was known as much for his RSS links as for organising the Kerala Arts and Sports Club under whose banner such trailblasing plays like G. Shankara Pillai’s Karutha Daivathe Thedi (In Search of the Black God) and Kothuk Nanappan (Mosquito Nanappan) were staged. Mortar and bricks alone do not make a temple, which has to adhere to certain vasthu and religious prescriptions. Sudhakaran is ecstatic recalling those days when a Namboodiri Brahmin from Kanippayyoor Mana, an authority on temple architecture, was contacted to prepare the master plan for the temple Finding a sculptor, who can sculpt Ayyappa’s idol, was another problem. “The sculptor has to follow certain personal purity regulations while sculpting the idols. What’s more, the idols have to remain in water for some days.” Sudhakaran is proud that all the rites prescribed in the manuals were followed in the consecration of the temple, which involved 14 days of rigorous rituals. It is a matter of immense satisfaction that the Ayyappa temple has now become a source of solace for thousands of His devotees in the tricity and beyond. The farewell was occasioned by Sudhakaran’s decision to quit the Punjab Tractors job and settle down at Pattambi, on the banks of the Bharatapuzha, in Palakkad district. A retired life is not what he contemplates as he has many a plan up his sleeves. Sudhakaran will not be alone at Pattambi. Tamil-speaking N.S. Radhakrishnan, a colleague he befriended at Punjab Tractors, will be joining him as his neighbour. “We built our houses so close to each other’s that he draws water from my well”. Theirs is a friendship that has stood the test of time. Radhakrishnan was at one point vice-president of the Sree Ayyappa Samajam. He was also an important functionary of the Sri Murugan temple at Sector 31. The two temples came up almost simultaneously. There were many occasions when articles of one temple were used in the other, the common link between the two centres of worship being Radhakrishnan, who served on the managing committees of both. After attending the function and listening to both Sudhakaran and Radhakrishnan, I knew why the South Indian community in the tricity would miss the two friends, who now look forward to building a community of Chandigarhians in
Pattambi. |
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They never forget that only one spoon of sugar goes in your daily cuppa. They wake you up on time to catch an early flight. They help you lay the table. They come home with an A+ report card. They convince you to let them cut their new denims. They shock you with a huge phone bill. Their lachrymal glands become active each time your volume rises. They muster up courage to catch a cab late night after work. They move to a home full of strangers and make them her family. Yet, each time you look back, they are always there for you.
They are your daughters. Idolise them, feel envious, pamper them, adore them, give them sneering looks, call them feminists or label them as fighters. But, you can’t stop loving them. Today, on Daughters’ Day, we salute them and wish the less fortunate ones a brighter future.
— Team Life Style
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The media may be harping about successful women who have defied gender bias,
but what’s the reality? We run a reality check on Daughters’ Day
After all, haven’t you been reading about the likes of Kiran Bedi, Kiran Mazumdar Shaw, Sanya Mirza and Indira Nooyi raising the bar (and not eyebrows), not just for themselves but India? And aren’t you surrounded with women, who’ve moved on from being domestic divas to jet set travelers, corporate honchos and what not? In fact, aren’t these new age, liberated women seen everywhere — corporates, hotels, airplanes, shopping malls, discs and your TV sets? Well, welcome to the world where everything black can be bleached to seem pure white. Things may seem bright for a select few, urbanised, well-educated women, but what about the rest? Media might be flashing it’s brightest spotlights on women who’ve debunked gender bias and moved on, but we pause to peep through the pale ochre dust of injustice that has smudged many a glorious marvel—called woman! Reality Check 1:
Newspapers flooded with gruesome reports on female foeticide. Reality Check 2:
NGOs, politicians crying hoarse to weed out dowry deaths. Reality Check 3:
Woman abuse (physical or emotional) making headlines. If not for dowry, then for pay packet. If not for pay packet, then for domestic expectations. And if not for all this, then just for committing the crime of being vivacious (read ‘inviting’), successful. Reality Check 4:
Our women becoming their husbands’ property post marriage, losing the right to contribute financially or otherwise, to their parental household. Reality Check 5:
Men holding control in rituals and customs, be it lighting the parents’ funeral pyre or the family puja emphasising on the patrilineal descent. Reality Check 6:
An increasing number of baby-girls being dumped in street cribs outside the local orphanages, in an obsession to carry on with the family lineage. So friends, rejoice not if you watch some red-ribboned, powder-faced girl, pushing aside a short- panted snooty nosed boy. Don’t be contented either, just watching a bespeckled Jassi suddenly throwing her spectacles to the winds to emerge a proud swan or an Indian girl romping through the football fields, bending her moves in truly Beckham style (Remember Bend it like Beckham?). And yes, despite all those fairness cream commercials drilling it constantly into your head, don’t take it that shedding her salwar kameez and dark skin can help any girl get off the bus and onto the aircraft of life. Rather, sit up and take notice. Every woman indeed has the right to dream. Ensure she turns it into a reality by simple things -- say no to female foeticide, educate atleast one girl-child, dump prejudice and if you spot any instance of gender bias around you, get councilling. And parents, cherish your daughter…who knows, she’d grow up to put on her walking shoes and match daddy’s footsteps, stride by stride, to lead him one day? |
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Confessions of a proud daughter
Don’t we have enough number of days to celebrate, then why another day? It is a smart move by these greeting cards companies, said one. Another way to mint money, said another. Why are we getting westernised? asked another. But, as a daughter I was rejoiced. A celebration and privilege that I enjoy each day now has a name — Daughters’ Day.
Well, let me tell you if you were not born as the girl child (as they call it) then you are missing on a lot in life. Right from sporting pink ribbons in your hair, to dressing up as a fairy on the annual day, to getting a classmate (guy, of course) helping you with homework, to being offered a lift on the bike by your brother’s friend, to swinging to an all girls night out, to giving orders to the men at workplace, to bag the best woman employee award, to pamper yourselves with a one-week bridal package, to be privileged to be the first person a toddler calls out to, to be loved and hated at the same time as a mom-in-law....guess all this enough to leave you envious. So, we’ll just stop here. And then, the day comes at a time when not just the city, the country, but the entire world is rejoicing over the achievements of our daughters. Did you not catch the warm welcome Sunita Williams received at Ahmedabad airport, this week? Did you not whistle when Komal Chautala and Preeti Sabarwal in Chak De India, made India win its first hockey match in decades? Aren’t you proud to be in a country with a woman as our President? Isn’t the fighting spirit of the 35-year policing career of Kiran Bedi an inspiration? Hasn’t watching TV become a habit all because of Ekta Kapoor’s efforts? Well, all this actually makes me wonder what and where are all the sons? We daughters are leading the Cola-obsessed nation. We bagged the Booker this year. We are raising our voices for the unprivileged. And, we are proud to be proud daughters of proud parents. Aren’t you? |
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The Pioneers
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Matka chowk
The chowks of Chandigarh, designed with loving care and maintained with uncommon tenderness, are faced with the peril of losing their liberty. The chowks were built with freedom and beauty in mind – freedom from the rigours of strict traffic control and the beauty of breezy green islands – dividing yet connecting in the most pleasing way, aesthetically.
Now, the chowks are turning out to be the wrestling grounds for overflowing vehicles. In big cities, there is no free spirit when it comes to traffic movement. Huge traffic signals abetted by fearsome constables, regulate traffic tightly. Traffic can only move when dealt with in a totalitarian style. Chandigarh gives a lot of leeway to traffic. There are very few traffic lights and on an easy day one can reach his or her destination in an amazingly short time. The chowks are truly cool, a symbol of Chandigarh’s passion for pleasing city planning and penchant for the green. Each chowk has an individual landscaping — some have splendid flowers in winter, some have innovative art form as in the Matka chowk and each of them is a part of the spirit that this city was founded on. It is sad to see the density of traffic and the ferocity with which the people are negotiating the chowks these days. Does anyone even look at the chowks anymore? Some of the chowks of Ambala road are a fearsome sight at rush hour. With virtually no sense of ‘yield and go’ – big and small vehicles as well the two wheelers and the rickshaws jam the chowk. At that moment, you wish there were traffic lights there – something that really goes against the grain of having the chowks. Chowks are turning out to be a place where big vehicles assault the smaller, the most intrepid and foolish go ahead at the cost of jamming everyone else, the young on two-wheelers play with death, and some like me really feel sad at the future of the chowk – for I see traffic lights springing up on all of these chowks. The Tribune publishes the number of trees cut down for civic construction. Not all deaths can be counted in numbers. What about of right of way and decency on the roads? What about leisurely strolling in Sector 17 on a Saturday evening? How about finding a parking spot at the Rose Festival? How about going to the movies without having to buy tickets in advance? I know progress is unstoppable. But, I am afraid of the avalanche that would wash away so many things that are Chandigarh gems we hold dear. I don’t want to lose the flowering Amaltas, the birds at the lake, the neighbourhood sabjiwalla and the occasional langurs on the road. Do you?
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Authentic Chinese
Dim lights, shaded doors and a mild aroma of noodles welcome me as I enter the restaurant Hong Kong in Sector 11. Straining my eyes to see the lady at the counter, I slowly start figuring things out in the dimly illuminated room. When I introduce myself, the lady in a peach dress smiles. Soon, her husband joins us, “What are you going to write about us? There’s nothing special we do. We are just simple people,” says the elderly man, known popularly as Mr Asee. Unknowingly, he’s already summed up the gist of my story by portraying the simple side of the lives of the Chinese people living in the city.
Quiet, peace-loving and uncomplicated are a few adjectives to describe the Chinese families that are living in town. Ask any person where they could be found and pat comes the reply, “At the restaurant or shoe store.”
Of the four-five families that reside in the city, two have restaurants, and the others deal in the shoe business. Besides, running beauty salons is another favourite choice. Says Asee, whose official name is Hseih Fu Thang, “I opened my restaurant in 1973, when I came here from Calcutta.” Mrs Asee, though, did dabble in hair-cutting as well. “Nowadays I don’t find time to do anything other than running the restaurant,” she says. Ask Asee about the food and his face lights up, “We cook authentic Hakka food, the taste is the same as you would get in China. We cook less-spicy dishes.” Add Liao Ling Yang and Leena Liao, who own the Dragon Chinese Restaurant in Sector 15, “People love chilli chicken, noodles and choupsey,” says Liao, who opened the eat-out in 1974. While Leena, who is a hair-specialist, runs a salon while her husband Liao manages the restaurant. Interestingly, Liao has been doing all the cooking ever since the restaurant was opened. And, for those who want to eat food like the real Chinese do, the Liaos offer help in learning how to use chopsticks! Then, there’s Jenny Lee, who owns Sheng’s Shoe Shop-17. When her husband passed away in 1985, Jenny had to manage the business and take care of her two school-going children. “I had no choice but to run the business. But, the hard work has paid off,” she says. Sheng’s was the first shoe shop in Chandigarh and it still continues to sell only genuine leather products. “With faux leather flooding the market, the competition is tough. But when it comes to official purposes, leather is always the first choice,” she smiles. Although these families have inter-mingled with the local culture, they do their best to preserve their culture. Without too many occasions to celebrate their traditions, they try to observe at least a few festivals. The Moon festival that falls on August 15 (according to the Chinese calendar) is one such occasion. “We just cook a big meal and spend time with our family,” says Asee. So, is their second generation more Indian or Chinese? Yvonne Liao, studying at St Stephen’s School, loves Indian food. “Yvonne always complains that I don’t make nice rotis,” grins
Leena. |
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For instant relief of upper back pain do shoulder rolls i.e. in a standing or sitting position with arms at sides move shoulders up and down ten times. |
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Ringing with disillusionment, Amrita Pritam’s above lines come across as slightly ‘out of context’ at the first glance. And when, we begin our ‘Daughter’s Day Special’ with verse as disappointing as these lines, you’ll probably feel we’ve got overwhelmed (as Lifestyle featurewriters, you’ve so oft read us resorting to hyperbole).
1905: Suzanne RD Tata becomes the first Indian woman to drive a car.
You are a drummer, director Priyadarshan. The drum rolls herald the resurrection of a super flop of yesteryear, Parda Hai Parda as Dhol Kiska Bajega. With the beats of your instrument, Priyan, you have cobbled together an assortment of moolah-crazy morons and let them loose in a marathon of absurdities to tickle our funny bone. Your foul-mouthed foursome, Sharman Joshi, Tussar Kapoor, Kunal Khemu and Rajpal Yadav, are supposed to be paupers, but wear jazzy clothes, they do not have money to pay rent, but spend ample cash on visits to discos and bars on swanky mobikes; they are inseparable buddies, but in their bid to woo the girl of their dreams, Tanushree Dutta, they go to the extent of disowning each other. You cannot drum up support, Mr Director, for either clowns masquerading as comedians or buxom beauties making desultory attempts to look gorgeous. Your pronouncements about treating comedy as serious business sound hollow when you add the thriller element to your movie. A farcical goon with his clumsy gang looking for a mysterious ‘dhol’ can hardly be thrilling.
You need to gird up your loins to sit through Loins of Punjab Presents. So much hype, so little to write about a desi idol contest being organised in New Jersey. What can you write about a ruthless socialite, Rita Kapoor (Shabana Azmi) who looks more funny than wicked; an over-protected contestant, Preeti Patel (Ishita Sharma), who seems to be attending a wedding than participating in a musical competition; or a bhangra rapper, Turbanotorious B.D.G. (Ajay Naidu), who thinks he is India's answer to Michael Jackson? So, what's so novel about Manish Acharya's ‘funny tale’? Nothing except that the director has a penchant for creating absurd characters and sequences, all to impress moviegoers that he can afford to waste their time and the financier's money on his flirtation with slapstick.
What happens when you watch Manorama Six Feet Under unfold with just six persons in the auditorium? You don't feel down in the dumps but get hooked on to an engaging account of a government engineer, Satyaveer (Abhay Deol), also an amateur novelist, whose world revolves around a caring wife, Nimmi (Gul Panag), a child and a brother-in-law, Brij Mohan (Vinay Pathak), becoming a detective at the implorations of Manorama (Sareeka), wife of a powerful politican, Rathod (Kulbhushan Kharbanda), who wants Satyaveer to spy on her husband, and getting caught in events beyond his control.