... to the Tamil of today

The only problem that I have with David Shulman's biography of Tamil is that for a book authored by a person of his caliber, and for a book published by Harvard University Press, there are quite a few inconsistent spellings throughout.  Even Tenkasi is spelled as Tenkaci in one context.  In the opening pages, the pallavi of the Carnatic music is written as pallava.

But, otherwise, what an awesome learning experience it has been for me!

Shulman writes that the Tamil world had changed almost beyond recognition by the middle of the nineteenth century.  Manonmaniyam Sundaram Pillai played an integral role in the revival and revitalization of Tamil.  I recall his Tamil Thai Vazhthu from the school days.  Shulman lists many more who worked on recovering the old Sangam texts and providing commentaries about them.

In the early 20th century, the struggle to get rid of the bastard raj also became a struggle to re-establish Tamil.  Unfortunately, this became entangled with anti-Brahmin and anti-caste issues, which were also extremely important, and are important even today.  But, the co-mingling of these issues led to a political movement to also get rid of the Sanskrit--associated with Brahmins--words from the Tamil language.

Shulman writes that "the very intensity of anti-Sanskrit feeling that we see in the Pure Tamil fanatics is itself a sure sign of the deep interdependence of the two languages."  But, politics does not care for such nuances.  And despite the maniacal efforts of the fanatics, "Tamil today, like the Tamil of yesterday, indeed like nearly all major living languages, remains saturated with borrowed vocabulary."  The language lives on.

Shulman ends the book with a contemporary Tamil poem, by Manushya Puthiran.

We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality

Throughout my school days, I knew there were people who belonged to the "scheduled castes."  SC, as it was often shortened to.  As I got closer to completing high school and getting to college, I came to understand firsthand the affirmative action--reservations--for various groups, including for SC.

The extended family with whom I interacted a lot were all brahmins.  Brahmins friends with brahmins, and brahmins marrying brahmins.  When we visited grandmothers' villages, the streets were all brahmin households.

My first real awareness of the separate-and-unequal existence of peoples came when I went with my father and his uncle to visit with that uncle's friend.  I went along because that older man was also the grandfather of a classmate of mine.

I was perhaps in the beginning phase of my teenage years.  The questioning self was slowly being made.  All I sensed was that there was something seriously wrong with the world.

We crossed the main road.  And then went to another part of the village.  There were no brahmins here.  Muslims were in a different part.

Much later in life, without explicitly talking about racism, I asked my father whether he was ok with such geographic separation of religions and castes and subcastes.  His reply was a simple one: That's how things were.

The older I got, and especially after getting to America, the more I thought about all these.  In one of my early letters to my parents when I was in graduate school, I wrote about the luck of the draw.  I wrote to them that had I been born in a different house, I might have grown up a Muslim or an untouchable.  The randomness of these bothered me, and it pissed me off that the traditional explanations conveniently justified all these as divine!

A couple of years ago, when proudly posting my family's old photographs in Facebook, it occurred to me that only those of us who grew up in privileged backgrounds even had photos from the past.  The poorer people, and the lower castes, had barely anything and, therefore, there was no question of photos of their grandparents and greatgrandparents.  A privilege that I had taken for granted.

Last year, I went to a gathering of a few old school mates.  I felt uncomfortable that it was an all-brahmin crowd, with three exceptions.  I went to an 80th birthday celebration, and it was mostly an all-brahmin crowd there too.  The paths don't seem to cross much :(

MLK famously observed that the long arc of the moral universe bends towards justice.  Maybe.  Had the randomness in the cosmos made me a Dalit and not a brahmin by birth, I know for certain that I would have been an angry young man, an angry middle-aged man, and perhaps a bitter old man, unable to forget the atrocities that were committed against my people.  After all, even as one who was born a brahmin, who lives in the US, I am not convinced about any arc bending towards justice.

There's something seriously wrong with the world, and I can't do a damn thing about it!

Race and caste in the two largest democracies

Matt Yglesias, who inherited the last name from his Cuban grandfather while the other three grandparents were Jewish, questions this bizarre ritual of race and majority and minority, and notes:

America has never operated with a stable conception of race. The factoid that 50 percent of our latest baby crop is other than non-Hispanic white is true only relative to the 2000 census scheme. There’s no reason to believe that this particular categorization will continue as bureaucratic practice or social reality.

Crazy stuff.

Whenever I am asked for race/ethnicity information, I choose whatever I want to be that very minute.  As I have blogged about earlier, sometimes I have been an Asian Indian, sometimes a white, and sometimes an African-American.  I believe I am correct in all the three choices: born in India. But, then born as a brahmin in India means that there is the perennial question of whether brahmins were at least part of the group that wandered into the Subcontinent from the Caucasus, which then means I am a Caucasian!  And, hey, ultimately we are all descendants of ancestors who decided to look what might be there outside the African continent and, thus, I am an African-American, too.

On the other side of the planet, India's effort to count people by caste is well underway. Unfortunately!  The purpose?

As with the British census it is seen as a means of classifying and categorising the social universe into groups entitled to or not entitled to certain benefits.

I tell ya, we humans are crazy anywhere on this planet!

Oddest question at Kanchipuram: "What is your gothram, sir?"

The driver warned me that I would not be able to go inside the Varadaraja Perumal Temple because it would be closed during lunch time, from noon until four.

I was awfully tempted to ask him whether god has lunch and takes a siesta as well; but, am glad I resisted that urge to wisecrack that way in a town of a thousand temples :)

A thousand-year old structure, with a great deal of history and art.  A century or two older than the the Leaning Tower of Pisa, for instance, which is one heck of a tourist attraction.  (Yes, been there, done that!)  The tower at this temple hasn't leaned in any way over all these years.

To the inquisitive tourist that I am, there is a lot to see in Kanchipuram and I had to pick and choose.

There was no skipping this temple, though.

Even the doorway is massive and impressive.  The doors, with solid wood and iron reinforcements has a stone doorstop, which itself deserves a photograph.

I was almost through the doorway when a thirty-something looking brahmin came rushing.

He pointed to my camera, and then pointed up to the sign that said there was a five rupee fee to use the camera within the temple grounds.

"Where do I pay for the ticket?" I asked him.

The brahmin, clad in a traditional dhoti and bare-chested with the namam on his forehead, said he would get the ticket for me.

"No problems.  Just show me where the office is" I cautiously replied.  I know I have become one paranoid American tourist.  But, that is better than to cry later!

"I can help you.  I can even open those closed gates and you can take photos there" the brahmin said.

"No, thanks.  I will get the camera ticket and look around on my own."

"Why are you so afraid?  I only want to help you."

I laughed.  "Well, things are that way these days" I said, and gave him a five rupee coin.

"You be here, and I will bring you the ticket."

Of course, there was no way I was going to trust this guy--I walked right behind him.  From behind a tree materialized a guy with a receipt book and the brahmin traded the coin for a receipt, which he handed to me.

Now, we were standing very close to each other and there was no breeze.  I smelled alcohol breath on him.  Yes, alcohol. At about 1:45 in the afternoon.  In a place religious Hindus consider to be one of the holiest of holy temples.  As Shakespeare wrote, "So are they all; all honorable men."

"What is your name, sir?"

"Sriram."

"You are from ....?"

"From Madras.  But, been in America for a very long time."

"I see. What is your gothram, sir?"

I laughed big time.  "I gave up on those things decades ago."

Meanwhile, another "guide," who was wearing a pair of pants and a shirt that was tucked in, walked up to us. He had been siting a few feet away, beside a White European-looking woman.  I wasn't sure if he was coming up to try to rescue me, or to assist the brahmin into trapping me.  Am I paranoid about people, or what!

The brahmin looked at him and said, in Tamil, "he is Sriram from Madras. He has been abroad. And seems to doubt me."

With a chuckle that "guide" replied, "maybe he will trust you if you are a real iyengar."

I walked away, but always watching out for the alcohol-smelling iyengar who wanted to know my gothram.

Fiddler on the Roof

I heard on NPR earlier this evening that the composer of "Fiddler on the Roof" died.
One of my favorite musicals ever.

The blessing for the tsar is one funny, and poignant joke. An intense subtext of sadness throughout all the humor. And just wonderful tunes.
Perhaps I was all the more attracted to this musical because of my background--music as a serious family hobby and the Indian movies pretty much as musicals too, and the brahmin background so much similar to the Jewish traditions ...
So, hey, thank you Mr. Jerry Bock

Love and marriage, in India

India is changing, and rapidly too. Naturally, this is reflected in marriage as well. My marriage to a non-Hindu was a pretty big deal years ago. I don't think such issues matter that much anymore. Since my marriage, here is the listing of a few "non-traditional" ones (out of the eight younger cousins):

• Male cousin married a non-Tamil/(not Brahmin too?)
• Female cousin married a non-Tamil (not Brahmin too?)
• Female cousin divorced--a first in the family
• Female cousin married a non-Tamil-Christian

Four of the eight--50%--have stepped outside the traditions, even though only one out of these is outside India. The rest live in India, and all are professionals. So, all the more for me a reason for me to think that this writer in The Hindu is on to something:

[Let] us take a look at the “New Indian”, a recently emerging metropolitan creature who is perfectly happy to live in India, warts and all. Even if an overseas work assignment is sought it is more for the experience, the independence away from the family and for enhancing the résumé than for leaving the homeland for good. Apparently, the grass is green enough on this side. Paav baji and masala dosa are as much enjoyed as pizzas and hamburgers; Kumbakonam degree coffee as much as Cappuccino; tender coconut water as much as energy drinks; Shah Rukh Khan as much as George Clooney; the salsa as much as the garba; Art of Living as much as Stephen Covey. In other words, the New Indian does not reject India and Indian. Other things from other parts of the world just get added on. The New Indian’s patriotism is not of the jingoistic, chest-beating variety. Being an Indian is just a fact of life. It’s who s/he is. It doesn’t need to be cried out from the rooftops, nor does it need to be a well-guarded secret.
The New Indian is more pan-Indian in perspective, perhaps on account of leading a more mobile life. Born in Ludhiana, educated in Kolkata, MBA from Lucknow, working in Chennai and married to a Hyderabadi is no longer an exceptional scenario. The New Indian does not make a big deal about language; it is seen as only a tool for communication and no longer defines identity. The New Indian lives life more consciously. As a result, relationships are more emotionally intense and personal experiences more meaningful. However, the New Indian is also impatient, brash and in-your-face. Frustration tolerance is poor. Instant gratification is demanded and the tendency towards impulsive decision-making is high.