Snapshots of a Holiday

January 16, 2014

Sowmya Rajendran Feminism, Food, Men, Parents, Travel, Women 26 Comments

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I’m just back from a holiday with a friend of mine from college. The first time I’ve taken off somewhere without my daughter. For six whole days. We went to Tranquebar, a ‘heritage Danish town’ in Tamil Nadu. We were initially planning on going to Varkala but another friend who was supposed to be part of this trip backed out. Since we thought Kerala was unsafe for two women to travel by themselves, we dropped the idea and decided on Tranquebar instead. 

My father, a lawyer, has a client in almost every nook and corner of Tamil Nadu, so we had a car to ourselves with a driver. Accommodation was taken care of. The client kept checking on the driver periodically to make sure that we were safe. My friend and I found this rather quaint – some years ago, this would have annoyed me tremendously but my claws have grown blunt with age, I fear.

Tranquebar has the sea and nothing else. There is an old fort by the sea which offers a breathtaking view of the angry, frothing waters. We sat there and chatted with the wind roaring in our ears, the sound of the waves crashing against the ominous rocks below. We spoke of many things. Our friends from college. The professors we knew. Feminism. Marriage and motherhood. Communism. Silly jokes from our college days. We spoke for hours on end. The food at the Bungalow on the Beach – the only restaurant in Tranquebar – was amazing. Much of our holiday centered around when we could plan our arrival for the meal without seeming to be overly gluttonous. By the time we left, we’d sampled three-fourths of the menu between the two of us. 

On Day 1, we were walking by the beach when we spotted a big family with several men and a few women and children. The men in the group were looking at us as if we’d arrived from some other planet. Then, one of them came towards us and said ‘Exkyoooozzz me’ in a Prabhu Deva style, assuming that neither of us knew Tamil and that we were ‘Northie’ tourists who could be made fun of. When I asked him in chaste Tamil what the hell he wanted, the other men laughed. Then, an older man from the family came towards us and said that they were celebrating his son’s birthday, so would we like to stand in the photograph? We declined this invitation to become decorative pieces and went our way. 

Since we had the car with us, we visited a few towns nearby. We went to the Thanjavur temple which was built a thousand years ago. It was massive, beautiful, and as we sat down, cooling our bare feet in the shade, I tried to make myself look for a story in the sculptures or pretend to be more interested in the architecture than I really was. But then, my friend didn’t care about it much either, so we gave up the pretense and gossiped further, lying down on a cold rock and watching the pigeons fly over the temple. 

The next day, we went to the Velankanni Church. I was not very impressed by it. It’s certainly not the most beautiful church I’ve been to. I saw people of all faiths praying with extreme piety on their faces. The road from the church which leads to the beach is bizarre. There are many places there where you can go and shave your head and make an offering. So you will see people with bald heads smiling at you from all hoardings. There’s one of a bald Aishwarya Rai beaming at her jeweled hands very contently. 

On the Velankanni beach, we saw a crowd gathered around a child who had lost his parents in the crowd. As the crowd was debating on what to do with him, his father arrived and took him. Then, he turned around and slapped his wife thrice. Because obviously, it wasn’t his duty to watch the kid. His wife barely reacted which makes me think that this was nothing new in their lives.

We went to the Karaikal beach from there. As opposed to the Velankanni beach which has way too many people, Karaikal had few tourists and the stretch of sand is also much wider. We watched fishing boats go past us, dreaming of the fish we’d eat for dinner once we got back to the hotel.

On Day 4, we went to Poompuhar. The home of Kannagi and Kovalan. Anyone who has any cultural link with Tamil Nadu should know this story. Kannagi is seen as the last word in virtue and chastity. She who burnt down Madurai because her husband was falsely accused and killed by the king! Never mind that her husband was sleeping with a courtesan and had neglected her for long enough! There is a museum in Poompuhar which tells the story of Kannagi and Kovalan through etchings on plaques and it is any feminist’s delight to rip it apart. The all-bearing Kannagi and the errant yet ‘brave and kind-hearted’ Kovalan. Slow claps.

We were walking from the museum and to the beach (yes, this trip was all about beaches), when a man walked towards me, swaying slightly. He came close enough and said something dirty in Tamil. Again, he thought I didn’t know the language. I shouted immediately and abused him right back. He was wearing a saffron dhoti and black shirt which makes me think he was on one of those religious vows. He was startled and walked fast past us but I turned around and abused him even more just so everyone in the area would know what had happened. I’m no Kannagi when it comes to virtue but I’d have burnt him gladly if I could have.

On the last day, we were eating breakfast when a group of officious men landed there. They were the cronies of an IAS officer (or so we assumed). Before Mr IAS could come and eat his breakfast, these men had come to see if ‘all the arrangements were satisfactory’. Anyone would have thought Mr IAS had come to supervise Tsunami relief work instead of eating idlis. Throughout the time that he was there, the cronies acted like Mr IAS was God and any displeasure from his end would bring upon the end of the world. This happened on Pongal day, so the hotel staff had set up some Pongal celebrations. Some pots and a cow that was resolutely decorating the place with its dung. One of the cronies announced to Mr IAS that this was ‘avar tradishinaal Thamizh pestival Saar’. Mr IAS nodded seriously, concentrating on his papaya. A while later, when we were on a walk, we saw Mr IAS departing in a car with the red bulb glowing furiously. There was a car in front of him and a car behind him. Did I tell you that in Tranquebar, the traffic on the roads consists of a few goats and dogs only? 

After breakfast, we went to the Vaitheeshwarar temple near Sirkazhi. We had to take our train from Sirkazhi in another forty minutes, so we didn’t spend much time looking at this temple. It was old, large, and beautiful. As we were hurrying outside and laughing about something, three boys who looked to be about 15 years old, were staring at us. Then, one of them clicked a photograph. They continued to walk past us. I turned around and yelled. I made them stop. Then, my friend grabbed the phone from him. We deleted the photo. I gave him an earful about his behaviour. I had a good mind to fling the phone on the ground and break it but the thought of missing the train forced me to keep the admonition short.

The driver who was also supposedly our body-guard never knew about these instances, of course. He waited till our train came and bade us farewell as he’d been instructed to do. I wasn’t planning to tell my parents about these two incidents as they are paranoid enough as it is when I travel anywhere. But the next morning, when I was back in Chennai, my father announced the headlines from the TV that a Danish woman tourist had been raped in Delhi. He said Delhi was really a terrible place. I ended up telling him about what had happened then. This was probably not a wise thing to have done because next time I go anywhere in Tamil Nadu, I might just get a commando task force to follow me around. Even to the bathroom. 

I flew back to Pune the following day. Back home to my daughter with a plastic Thanjavur doll and a jute basket I bought for her. This was a trip that had everything I wanted from it – great conversation, the sea, delicious food, and undisturbed sleep. The unpleasant incidents I’ve written about did not spoil the holiday for me. They are inevitable if you are a woman traveling in India. Instead, I’m determined to travel even more this year. There’s only so much they can do to keep you down.

Bromance

June 17, 2013

Sowmya Rajendran Men 15 Comments

I’m very puzzled by how men can remain friends with each other for years and years without ever discussing anything that means anything at all. Or maybe it’s just the men I know. Typically, any event or party M and I attend, I will come back home full of conversations about someone’s terrible in-laws, somebody’s new baby and the godawful labour pains, the uselessness of somebody’s husband, water cooler politics, books read and movies watched, views on religion, and so many other things. I’ll ask M what he talked about with the men there (this sex segregation isn’t deliberate but it typically happens in most places) and he’d say, “Nothing much.” For two hours?! Really?

All the men I know are interested in gossip, so this has nothing to do with their disinterest in the same. My brother, who has been in the US for over ten years and is a formidable scientist, is more aware of all the family politics going on in India than I am. He asks my mum for it diligently, every time they Skype. My father, too, who didn’t know who Kareena Kapoor was until very recently, is of the same category. The thing is, he will not ask for it directly but oh dear, he so does want to know! He adopts a sophisticated line of questioning when he wants to get his dose of gossip and of course, my mum sees through that in no time at all! M used to do that earlier as well, but we’ve now established that we’re both interested in other people’s business, so we can just talk about it openly. No need to do a ‘Oh your friend has changed her relationship status on Facebook?’ *pregnant and leading pause*

Recently, two of M’s friends visited us with their respective wives. While the three guys went out to get lunch, the three women stayed back at home (sort of like cavemen days, huh?). The three of us know each other primarily through our respective husbands but in no time at all, we’d discussed a wide range of issues – ranging from the personal to the international. By the time the guys got back, I felt like I had a good understanding of these women and where their lives stood at the moment. I asked M what the guys had talked about and he said, ‘The traffic.’ And as an afterthought, their jobs. I’m not questioning male friendships at all but I just don’t get it. How do you build trust and become close to someone without you know, telling them your frank opinion of your mother-in-law? All my friends, when they met M before we got married, said something about him to me later. I didn’t have to ask. They told me automatically. And not stuff like, ‘Oh what a nice human being!’, okay? That never seems to happen with men (or does it?). Whenever M is on the phone with his friends, the only things they seem to discuss are either something career-related or acquaintances. Sometimes, baby-related anecdotes (which in itself, I think is huge progress).

So all the men reading this and all the women who have a better understanding of male friendships, please enlighten me: how do guys do it?

Eye Candy

March 14, 2013

Sowmya Rajendran Mallu, Men, Movies, Women 35 Comments

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I ordered Those Pricey Thakur Girls and The Zoya Factor by Anuja Chauhan after reading this rather enlightening discussion on chick-lit in the comments section of the Bride’s blog. The plots in these books are all more or less like Pride and Prejudice. Hot boy snubs almost-pretty girl, major misunderstanding happens, useless relatives get in the way, everything gets sorted out and hot boy and almost-pretty girl hook up for life. But despite this predictability, they make for great reading because the narrative centers around a contemporary, Indian female voice that’s genuine and very, very relatable. Not Woman’s Eray at all.

What I like most about these books is the way in which the women talk about the men. To be precise, the way they check them out in a non-Twilight and Indian way. And without making any big statement about it, break the whole pathi-vratha notion that a lot of people seem to have about Indian women.

Just last week, I was watching Neeya Naana in which the discussion was on violence against women and why it happens. This portly auntyji declared that women were to blame because if a man were to see a naked woman, he gets ‘excited in his brain’ while if a woman were to see a naked man, nothing happens in her brain. And this, she said grandly, is Science. Clearly, she’d never been in a room with 54 girls watching Eric Bana and Brad Pitt lunge at each other in Troy. I think that scene must have been played in our BA Lit class a million times because we were studying the Iliad and needed err…motivation.

Being in a girls’ college meant that there was very little eye candy around – the only boys we were guaranteed to see were the Loyola types with their falling-off-the-ass jeans and unwashed hair. Having spent my adolescence in PSBB where every boy wore a blue checked shirt plus viboodhi for his birthday, the Loyola variety never had any appeal to me. I remember the year Stella Maris opened its doors to co-ed colleges to participate in our culturals. For the Western Music event, the precondition to participation seemed to be dreadlocks and dreadful pants. But there was one engineering college (I think it was SVCE) which had a band and all with a drummer who wore a checked shirt and gold rimmed glasses. He had even oiled his hair. He played the drums like he was writing his Sanskrit exam. I cheered for him the loudest, I remember.

When we went anywhere as a group, there would invariably be one chap we zeroed in on to ‘watch’. There was one guy in a memorable Pondy trip whom we ended up naming (rather unfortunately) Appu (because we suspected he was Mallu). This Appu character would generally lounge around in a kurta, completely oblivious to the fact that a bunch of girls was solidly checking him out. He had that salt and pepper hair thing going and a very refined baritone despite the fact that he was rather skinny. Even now, though I’m sure none of us can remember Appu’s face much, we all sigh a bit when we discuss Appu.

And then there was Surya in Khaaka Khaaka. Until that movie happened, he was a mega bore and closely resembled the type of guy who falls in love with you because you lent him your sharpener. But in Khaaka Khaaka, he was simply fabulous. N watched the movie five times in the theatre and she’s the type that turns up for most movies minus her contact lens. Khaaka Khaaka was also the sleepover movie of choice for the longest time and I remember one very loony night during which we replayed the Ondra-renda song from it multiple times just so we could lech at Surya in his baniyan magnificence.

When the Principal announced one fine day that Surya was going to come to college as the chief guest for something, I remember the entire college yelled so much that the Principal (who was also a nun) requested everyone to behave with restraint, decorum, and modesty. However, I chose not to stay back and see him in person. Mainly because I was afraid he’d say something dreadful like ‘Hello dears’ and kill my carefully constructed fantasies. Now, anyway, he’s lost it, turning fully into an I-know-I’m-charming-ladies type. Sigh.

Recently, when N and I were running around in Delhi, we ended up checking out the same guy (who cannot be named because there’s an off chance that someone we know who knows him might end up reading this – heee, I love being so juvenile) and agreeing upon his unusual hotness. I showed M his picture, eagerly waiting for him to agree with us. But M only shook his head and said, ‘He’s OLD!’ and couldn’t see what’s so great about him. A, on the other hand, agreed with us and even abused his wife a bit for being married to him. This is what friends are for.

Reading Anuja Chauhan brought back some very happy memories and I fully recommend it to any auntyji who has doubts about what goes on in a woman’s brain when she sees a naked man. Anuja Chauhan isn’t Science but some out of syllabus reading never did anyone any harm.

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