This year, 2020, started with wild bush fires in Australia and people living down under hopped-skipped-and jumped like kangaroos to get themselves in to a pouch of fire-safe water. It is believed that about 500 million animals had perished and about 15 million acres of forest was lost due to the raging fires! This was just an introduction to Global Disasters, which grew-up quickly and relentlessly to become the signature tune for the year. And then, a never before seen infectious disease, COVID-19, spiked-in and spread faster than wild fires, across Continents, liberally using one of humankind’s best known inventions – the aeroplane. Now the planes are grounded, the wings of flight are almost broken, and the virus is freely wheeling around the world using the drift of human fault lines.

I wish a nano Spiderman would sling a web around each Sars-Cov-2, jailing it inside – rendering the deadly latching spikes inactive. I wish Superman could reverse-rotate Planet Earth – like he did to bring back his dead girl friend to life – to when the Coronavirus first showed up, so that the World Health Organization discovered it had a brain, and walled China into preventing people flying the virus in and out of China’s Wuhan . I wish Batman had kept the virus contained and spread all over himself – they do nothing to Bats – rather than using an intermediary Joker in trying to save the world. Batman’s best intentions apart, I wish many more superheroes appeared on the scene, like a stealth Black Panther, Wonder Woman, or Iron Man, and saved the World from the pandemic. It has put all of us in masks and made us wash our hands to the bone while pushing us physically apart. Nobody to kiss? Nobody to Hug? In a first, the good guys are locked-up, for their own safety, while the enemy prowls round.

Earlier, the President of the United States of America escaped impeachment to carry on with his kind of mangled, divisive politics. Sporting legend, Basket Ball great, Kobe Byrant died in an unexpected Helicopter crash. He was up in the air, but the basket couldn’t hold the weight of his achievements. It had to let go. It did.

Talking about going, the forever dishevelled Boris Johnson levelled the European Union to ‘Get Brexit Done’ in late January, and then went on to have a baby, outside marriage, and successfully tackled the virus, inside his body, as well. Last heard, Boris was counting the number of his children!

At the Oscars, was it a coincidence that ‘Parasite’ infected all of us with its brilliance and walked away with lots of golden statues? South Korea got an inkling of things to come and acted with grace and speed – we’ve all seen that, to wide acclaim. They taught the World a lesson, or two.

When Nissan’s disgraced Boss escaped from Japan and landed in Lebanon little did we know the chemistry that was in store for Beirut. Stored Ammonium Nitrate chemical it was for over five years until it blasted the living daylights out of an already multi-dimensionally suffering Beirut. Meanwhile, James Bond’s ‘No Time to Die’ is yet to be born. I wish Bond was around, with all those beautiful girls ‘unmasked’ frolicking around him, to tell us to ‘Die Another Day’. We lost count, after Easter. This silly thing was supposed to be trumped by then, wasn’t it? Did it? New comers Joe Biden and Kamala Harris are supposed to have the answers. And ‘Comma-la’ (should be Kama -la) is already walking Chennai’s Besant Nagar Beach with her Grandfather – in flashback, while she asks her Chithis (Aunts), sprawled over India, to break good-luck coconuts.

The superb logo of the Tokyo Olympics 2020 showing the emblem sun at zero, physically distanced the five-Continent rings for a while and counted itself to the year 2021. The sun sets to rise again in the Land of the Rising Sun. Nevertheless, the fireworks of the Opening Ceremony was conducted, to spend the crackers, and to rave e-You-Tube views!

I read that a studious girl, Ashanti Palmer, not only graduated from a New York High School as Class Valedictorian but also with perfect attendance, never missing a day of school from pre-kindergarten to High School. Could she have done it now? Maybe, her aggressive going-to-school was a bellwether – gulping down precious school time by the ton, in case there was no going at all. Children are beginning to forget how a School looked like; and believe that everything comes out of a small hand-held screen. What else? Babies?

Talking about New York, I was mighty impressed with Governor Andrew Cuomo’s slick, no-nonsense, apolitical handling of the pandemic, with his daughters, one of the girl’s boy-friend, the House Dog, and his awesome Secretary, to show up every day and drive away the bad spirits. I was inspired by his leadership and felt that there was nothing much to look up to the White House in Washington. I watched his daily, science based, data driven, Press Briefings in the USA, to learn and understand ‘what’s happening in India’ (My! India’s Press briefings were a disaster in itself), and that thing called the ‘new normal’.

While all this was happening, India showed its might in superior, weaponless combat on high cliffs and cold ice, over an invisible Line that China tried to mentally shift. Imagine if we had weapons in hand? The Rafale Fighter Planes that India had ordered from France flew-in to be around, should we change the rules of combat. Enter the Dragon’s Den? Meanwhile, the prince of the Congress Party complained that the Prime Minister stole the Air Hostesses (Remember, his father always flew well-attended flights with them) who could not be found on the planes, when they were delivered. And that was worth an act of stealing. Chor hai? Some thought that every Indian deserved an Air Hostess landing in his Bank Account!

With such action and drama could Bollywood be left behind? A talented upcoming Actor who played the cricket innings of India’s Ticket Collector-turned-Ball Collector & Keeper, Captain Cool, could not manage the web of deceit that overwhelmed his acting skills and gave it all up for an everlasting act in Heaven. He became more well-known after death than during a clueless life in this World. Was it spin bowling, or the fast in-swingers that did him in? Hope the CBI has the balls to find that out!

2020 is not over as yet. There is hope out there. We look up to the skies when confronted with the vicissitudes for life. We can learn a lot from Birds. India’s Nagaland State is called the Falcon Capital of world. Yearly, around one million Amur Falcons storm the State for roosting and breeding their kind, from Mongolia en-route to the final destination­­­­ of South Africa. They travel up to 22,000 km, one of the longest in world, on their own without booking precious tickets on Air India’s Vande Bharat Mission Flights. And they don’t have Air Hostesses to serve them. The Prince will hopefully learn and come to roost in a New Delhi Bungalow probably vacated by his gone-girl Sister.

Here’s wishing that the flight through the rest of the murky, dangerous 2020 is smooth, after all. This year is one helluva fight to stay alive. Hang On. The next number is the series is, ‘One’. Tomorrow is another Day, is my favourite ‘gone with the wind’ saying.

Over the past weeks we have been tormented by police brutality in the Southern State of Tamilnadu, India, where a Father-Son duo were apparently tortured and done to death while in police custody. It was the culmination of a series of missteps and over-reach by the Police while enforcing the Close-Shop Rules of the Coronavirus Pandemic Lockdown. Obviously, they were arrested for breaking down-shutter rules, failing to close their Shop strictly at 8pm – the ordered time. While an investigation is underway on what actually happened, and the sequence of events is being constructed, there is an outpouring of rage by the community at the local level, and society at large. It’s always difficult to prove a thing, after it has happened – with conclusive evidence – even when it’s absolutely clear on how it occurred. What did they do to deserve such maximum punishment, passed off as death due to inherent conditions over an iron-load of untruths? Why couldn’t the Police simply seal the Shop, after a couple of warnings, if indeed there was a violation? Many questions linger. Meanwhile, there is fire of injustice burning, and can probably be doused only when those responsible are punished and brought to heel, in kind. Will they?

I take a step forward and say, ‘should not we throw out the present British Colonial Era Policing System, where the Police have taken it upon themselves – and we have allowed them – to wield fearsome, unimaginable powers. Is it not time to bring in change and reform? And should not we usher in a practical, citizen-friendly policing system? The same Police who stand like lamp-posts, every metre on a dry, never-ending Highway, while a Chief Minister passes, saluting, bending and bowing as they would do to the Queen of England, transform the very next moment, to throw a booted kick or land a lathi punch on someone brought to the Police Station for questioning. The spring-back anger of servile bending gets unleashed on a poor petty criminal. Servants of the people? My foot!

The British had developed the policing system in India to keep dissent under check, to arrest and punish people fighting for freedom and independence from their rule, in addition to the normal crime prevention and detection duties. When they left, and we got our hard-earned freedom, they passed-on the System, which we have have diligently watered and grown – used by the Government and Politicians to freely demonstrate their hold, power and authority. Is this that the Police are for? When was the last time we overhauled the Police System? In simple words, the purpose of the Police is to enforce Public Order based on the foundation of the Rules of the Land, prevent crime and civil disorder; ensure safety of possessions of citizens and public property, and assist people in many ways, such as way-finding on the streets of the Cities and Towns.

In today’s India no one would wish to walk into a Police Station, unless called or asked to do so. And if called, it’s with fear and trepidation that the move is made.

We need to redesign and reinvent the Policing System to make it relevant to the present-day requirements. It should be such that it is a ‘social’ participation between the Police and the Local community, nurtures trust and a sense of obligation in the community and breeds an unspoken arrangement where people help each other, and ultimately form a strong glue to hold everyone together.

Should not the Police System be designed ‘keeping in the cross-hairs’ that crime can be deterred by increasing the perception that criminals will be caught and punished – with convincing evidence? The certainty of being caught is a vastly more powerful deterrent than the punishment itself. This should act as a Crime Stopper.

Let’s look at the Japanese Kobon System, practiced in one of the safest cities in the World, Tokyo, Japan, as an example. The Japanese believe that criminal behaviour is an illness that needs to be cured and this influences the structure of their Policing.

Policing should be done at a local or even an individual and family level and integrated towards developing a Community Watch System. On similar lines, of the Kobon System, we should set-up small Police Boxes in every Ward / Block (Tehsils)/ Village (Gram Panchayat) consisting of a simple office (without a lock-up) and manned round-the-clock by say, six to ten officers working in shifts. These Police Officers shall not wield the great Indian lathi, or any weapons. However they should be well-versed in smart hand-combat (remember the valiant heroes of the recent Ladakh Indo-China Conflict) disarming techniques and negotiation skills. They should be super cool, smooth operators. These are separate from the regular Police Stations in the locality where sit the Officers with the lathis, guns, the weaponry and the firepower. A certain number of Police Boxes may be under the control of a regular Police Station in the area, which should be a visible reminder of Police presence. The Officers posted at the Police Box should serve a period of at least five years in the Box so that they get familiar with the neighbourhood.

It is the job of the Officers in the Police Box to know what’s happening in their area of control-with a public order controlling perspective, keep a record of people coming in and leaving as often as a couple of times a year; events and activities happening; be informed on the old, the disabled and those suffering from transmittable diseases; besides convicted and released criminals. They also promote safety measures and advise people on ‘target hardening’ – making it harder for an offender to access means of committing a crime. With modern surveillance systems it should be easy for a Police Station at the local level, and the Higher Officers sitting at the various Headquarters, to keep track of citizens in an unobtrusive manner.

The Police Boxes act as a first level of continuous surveillance and monitoring means, keeping the Police Station updated on any changes and reporting crime and calling for action to be taken. In the event of a crime or an unrest, they quickly move to the scene only after informing the Police Station of the locality, should back-up be required, to calmly take stock of the situation and investigate. They should be assisted by Detective(s) – specialised in investigation and reading of crime signs – who is either placed at every Police Box or shared among a few Police Boxes in the area. The Detectives recruited should be specially trained in close collaboration with the Police and deployed in the Police Stations and Police Boxes across the Country. Almost all criminals in India get away and beat the system due to ‘lack of sufficient evidence’. This hole should be plugged.

In the event of a theft or crime, a citizen approaches his area Police Box to make a Complaint and any First Information Report (FIR) is made at the Police Box based on the statements of the affected. A separate report on the investigations conducted by the Detective is sent to the main Police Station for further action. All arrests are made by the Officers of the Police Station in collaboration with the Police Boxes.

Detectives, who should be in plain clothes, and when necessary wear uniforms, go about the job of investigation much like Sherlock Holmes in coordination with the Police Station or Police Box. It may be worthwhile for Detectives to carry licensed guns, mostly for self-defence (shoot below the knees, mind it).

The Police should publish relevant data on the Police Officers manning the Policing Stations and the Police Boxes so that the citizen knows the background of the Officers they are dealing with. The methodology of police action and arrest procedures for various kinds of offences should be published and made absolutely transparent; it should be ensured that citizens are fully aware of their rights, especially when it pertains to arrest and being put in a Police Station lock-up. The Police Boxes will serve this function well.

The Police should clearly define use-of-force, and what constitutes an ‘excessive use of force’, educate the people, and apply it commonly across the Country.

The Police should be independent of Political interference, receiving Orders only from the Head of Police who is turn is advised by the District Collector or Minister  Incharge of the Police, or maybe even the Governor of the State.  The Police – Political – Lawyer nexus, presently on tacit display, should be broken.

Getting the police and community together regularly is a sine quo non of the new System. Hold round-tables with Police Stations and residents, and have neighbourhood Police Boxes participate; hold a community meeting to get inputs on the changes to ensure they are in fact helpful to the community in a continuous improvement mind-set. The Police Box can also organise and train, what we can call, ‘Citizen Police’. They are residents who agree to take classes on public safety and conflict prevention, who are then called to assist in volatile situations. They may help to ensure that the area’s protests say, against any police brutality remains peaceful.

I’m not a trained Police Officer to suggest a detailed road-map on how to structure the new system, but as a Citizen, a member of the Local Community this is what I would like the Police System to be. Town Hall meetings may be organised to garner more thoughts and opinions. The experts should debate, weigh-in and ensure we have a brand new Indian Police in place before 31 March 2021, or at worst, before the first Anniversary of the Tuticorin Father-Son death.

Let’s shake up the Indian Police System, like never before; before using it again.

Over the past few weeks I’ve read so much about the disease COVID-19, and the Virus causing it, that ever so often I involuntarily run my hand through my hair, ploughing the surface of my head, to see if any spikes are beginning to protrude: if at all, they probably need to lock on to others, to spread the word. This is an attempt in trying to bring together all that I know, to grip the tiny nano fellow, and measure it up for a better understanding of the invisible enemy around us, in these pandemic times.

Throughout life on Planet Earth, Human Kingdoms face constant attacks from various villainous tribes of the Kingdom of the Bacteria and the Kingdom of the Virus for gaining precious territory within our skin-walled bodies, which are full of rivers of water, nutritious life-giving minerals and bountiful resources. Against these attackers we have a two-layer defence system integral to the Fort of our body. We also face life-threatening attacks from the external Kingdom of Animals, and our own human kind too, against which we have developed complex tools and an array of mechanisms, which we skilfully deploy on sight. That’s altogether another big story.

Coming back to the wonder that is our bodies, in the first layer of defence we have physical barriers: our skin, nasal hair, cilia; mechanism of clotting – a clot traps entry of pathogenic Bacteria & Viruses; the acid in our stomachs dissolves invaders who dare get that far inside; sweat glands – produce chemicals that kill Bacteria, etc.

If the enemy overcomes the first line of physical barriers, our second line of defence, the great Human Immune System, kicks-in. And the most common fearless man-hunting tribes appearing at the gates of our Immune System are, Bacteria and Viruses. There is nothing more fascinating than the Human Immune System, which has a stockpile of clever arsenal to recognise and outwit any stealthy trickster, getting past our quite versatile defences.

Bacteria are microscopic, simple, single-celled organisms having a cell wall and all the components necessary to survive and reproduce on their own, without much of outside help. Bacteria are one of the oldest living things on Earth, having been in existence for over 3.5 billion years. Less than 1% of bacteria cause disease. Take a deep breath and slowly move your hand to your belly-button: there are over 2,000 species of bacteria quietly living in that region. Say hello to them? Most are beneficial for our health: we might just call them FRIENDS, with some benefits.

Viruses are not considered to be living, in the true sense, because they require a host cell, a factory of machinery, stores of raw material supplies, and energy, to survive and to reproduce, which they cannot do on their own. Viruses typically consist of three key building blocks: RNA (Ribonucleic Acid), Proteins, and Lipids – which acts as a membrane, holding the various elements together. They have only one piece/strand of genetic material, either RNA or DNA (Deoxyribonucleic Acid), but not both. Viruses lack the capacity to independently read and act upon the information contained within the cells of our body – they simply hijack them. Most Viruses cause disease, that impairs our capabilities or, in some rare circumstances, knocks us out plain dead.

The Virus that causes COVID-19 is called the Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome Coronavirus-2 (SARS-COV-2) and was first detected in humans about five months ago. This particular coronavirus has never before appeared in the Human Kingdom, hence the term ‘novel coronavirus’.

The coronavirus are a large group of viruses with RNA strands, and Scientists have identified hundreds of Viruses to date. They are mainly responsible for respiratory related illnesses. They are zoonotic, meaning they can spread from animals to humans, often through an intermediary animal, which they use as a kind of ladder, or a bridge to conquer a wealthy Kingdom. In the past 20 years there have been two coronavirus outbreaks in the World emanating from the animal (in these cases, Bats)-to-human transmission path: 1). SARS (Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome) in 2002, and 2). MERS (Middle East Respiratory Syndrome) in 2012. In the case of SARS is it believed that the virus passed from bats to an intermediate animal host, the Civet Cat, before jumping to humans. In the case of MERS it is believed that the virus must have originated in bats and travelled through Camels before climbing on to humans. Studies have shown that bats are a natural reservoir for a wide range of coronaviruses (COVs): they are immune to them and remain unaffected. The COVID-19 disease causing coronavirus in believed to have made a leap-of-faith from bats to humans through an intermediary animal, a Pangolin, or perhaps even a Snake. Studies say that the Virus could not have latched itself on to a human cell protein, directly from the bats, hence the devious route. The investigation is still on and we should be knowing once Scientists have credible information.

The SARS-COV-2 Virus is a tiny-nano size (90 nanometers particle, billionths of a metre), technically called a Virion. It contains four different proteins and a strand of RNA, a molecule which, like DNA, can store genetic information as a sequence of chemical letters called Nucleotides. In this case, the stored information, the Virus Genome – the written code, is simply how to make proteins that the Virus needs in order to replicate or make ‘photo-copies’ of itself. (The Virus genome is less that 30,000 genetic letters long. Ours is over 3 billion).

The RNA is enclosed within a bilayer lipid (a kind of fat) coat which anchors the four proteins: the Spike Protein, the Envelope Protein, the Membrane Protein, and the Nucleocapsid Protein guarding the RNA. The frontline attacker – the cell gate battering ram – the Spike Protein, is like a crown (corona, in Latin, means crown) protruding from the lipid layer. These spikes help the virus to easily engage, hook-up and attach itself to target cells, as if on a blind date. The bilayer lipid coat breaks down easily (the chink in the armour) when it comes into sufficient contact with a solution of soap and water, which is why hand-washing is simple and effective in destroying the Virus – spilling its RNA contents into the drain, to be washed away. The Virus just falls apart. Soaps contain fat-like substances known as Amphiphiles, structurally similar to the lipids of the Virus. The soap molecule competes with the lipids in the Virus’s coat to replace, and to ultimately destroy them. The lipid layer is also soluble in alcohol, ether and chloroform, which is why hand-santizers can dissolve them too. Wow, that’s cool. Why worry about a cure when you can keep them out so easily?

Once attached to a target cell, the Virus fuses with the cell, shedding its lipid coat, and vomiting its RNA, which then releases a shopping list of instructions on how to build and assemble new Viruses. The Virus commandeers the body cell and uses the factory machinery and stores supply to manufacture more Viruses, before the body’s immune cells detect the intruders and raise an alarm. The smart Human Immune System is capable of producing neutralising Antibody proteins that are able to stick to the Virus-spike proteins, and prevent attachment to the target cells. Generating these antibodies – to spike the Spike Proteins of the coronavirus, is often the goal of protective vaccination.

Once infected, human body cells make the ultimate sacrifice, lay down their lives, and deliberately invite their own destruction by sending SOS signals for the Immune Response System’s ‘Rapid Action Commando Forces’, called T-Cells, to be deployed. T-cells are a type of Lymphocyte cell produced in the Thymus Gland (hence T-Cell), that can recognise fragments of the virus displayed on infected cell surfaces. When the T-Cells arrive they start firing with all guns drawn, releasing a payload of toxic enzymes that kill the infected cell. This strategic martyrdom is organised by the Immune System to deprive the Virus of its replication factories and can lead to the reduction of viral load in the patient. It takes several days for antiviral T-cells to expand and antibodies to be generated. Here’s the silver lining: memory cells ensure that if we encounter the same Virus again, we can react immediately with pre-existing defences, and lots of wisdom. Once bitten, twice shy? Sars-Cov-2 being new to humanity so we have no protective immunological memory, at the moment. Vaccines prepared, using harmless parts of the Virus can help us build protective memory.

Now, going back to where the invasion starts. How does the Virus enter the human body? Importantly, the Virus cannot gain entry in to our bodies by itself – we have to let it in. Welcome coronavirus? Oh, No! The Virus enters the body through the nose, the mouth, or the eyes, spreads to the back of the nasal passage and to mucous membranes in the throat, attaching to the body cells that produce a protein called ACE-2 (Angiotensin Converting Enzyme). Bats have a similar protein, hence it maybe a familiar hunting ground for the coronavirus. A home away from home?

The Virus circulates through droplets in the air, spread by coughing or sneezing by an infected person, or the by droplets landing on surfaces, which then by our touch of hand gets into our mouth, nose or eyes. The Virus borne in the droplets can lie on surfaces, depending on the type, from a few hours to several days. Hence, masks can do a lot, prevent our hands from ourselves, and if unknowingly infected, curtail the throw of sneeze or cough from affecting others. Virus ridden particles are inhaled and come in contact with cells lining the throat and larynx. These cells of the body have large ACE-2 receptors on their surfaces.

Many people, called the Asymptomatics, don’t even notice they have got an infection and so go about their work, to their homes and public places, infecting others. Early symptoms are usually cough, fever shortness of breath, and look to be like Flu or Common Cold. Symptoms typically appear between 2 and 14 days after exposure.

Occasionally, the Virus can cause severe problems, when it is hungry for more space. This happens when it moves down the respiratory tract and infects the lungs, which are even richer in cells with ACE-2 receptors. Many of these cells are destroyed, and the lungs become congested with bits of broken cell. In such cases, patients will require treatment in the Intensive Care Unit of a Hospital. Even worse, in some cases, a person’s immune system goes into overdrive, attracting cells to the lungs in order to attack the virus, resulting in inflammation. And this inflammation prevents the lungs from being able to oxygenate the blood and remove carbon dioxide, which culminates with the patient gasping for air and suffering more serious illness. This process can run out of control, more immune cells pour in, and the inflammation gets worse. This is known as a ‘Cytokine Storm’. In some instances, this can kill the patient.

How do we detect the coronavirus in our bodies? Typically, a swab is taken from the nose or throat of a person as a sample and tested using a diagnostic test called The real-time RT-PCR (Reverse Transcription Polymerase Chain Reaction) Test, which is highly sensitive and can deliver a reliable diagnosis as fast as, in about three hours time, though Laboratories generally take between 8 and 12 hours, even days, to deliver a result. This is one of the most accurate methods available for detection of a coronavirus, and has a lower potential for contamination or errors as the entire process is done within a closed tube.

In order for the coronavirus to be detected early, Scientists convert the Virus RNA into DNA by a process called ‘Reverse Transcription’ (RT). They do this because the RNA is too fragile and difficult to study, and only DNA can be copied or amplified by an already well established process called, Polymerase Chain Reaction (PCR), for easy detection. Once the RNA is converted in to DNA numerous copies can be made quickly and accurately for a thorough analysis.

The other test is called the Rapid Antibody Test, which is a Sereology Test – where a blood sample is taken from a person and tested for any antibodies, created by the body to fight off the virus when it last visited, without a Visiting Card. Antibodies are brand new proteins, ‘Y’ shaped, manufactured by the body to out-wit and kill an intruder, it recognizes.

The Antibody Test measures the amount of Immunoglobulins (Ig), also know as antibodies, in the blood, actually three specific types called, IgG, IgM, and IgA. Briefly, IgG can enter tissues and fight infections and protects against long term infection, IgM, is the first to be made by the Immune System to fight a new infection, and IgA protects against infection of mucous membranes.

In the case of COVID-19, Doctors mainly look for IgM, which develops early in the infection stage and IgG which shows up after you have recovered. So, if you has lots of IgG you would be having some kind of an immunity from the new Virus. For how long? That’s yet to be determined.

The Antibody Test results can be made available in seconds, by the addition of a Reagent solution to the blood sample. A positive result means that a person has had been infected by the Virus in the past, and probably has the fire-power to prevent a repeat attack. This so-called immunity varies from Virus to Virus and may last from a few months to several years. That’s the wisdom of our bodies.

In summary, the RT-PCR Test can tell you whether YOU HAVE THE CORONAVIRUS and the Antibody Test can tell you whether YOU HAD THE CORONAVIRUS.

Finally, we have a fantastic Immune System, within a body of unbelievable powers, which should be treated with enormous respect and allowed to do its work. We should feed it well with a balanced diet of food, water and exercise, and a strong positive mind, so that when there is a clear and present danger, the chemicals of the body trigger hidden weapons and generate new ones to match the onslaught of new resourceful inside invaders.

Are we The Last Kingdom? Time will tell. Tomorrow is another day.

Disclaimer: The source of the information in this article is ‘hunted and gathered’ from various publications available in the public domain. And the sole purpose it to educate and provide a better understanding of the coronavirus, if not already. At the time of  publication it is known that the novel coronavirus first emerged in Wuhan, in China, late last year and has since infected more than 4.4 million people and killed nearly 302,000 worldwide.

I consider myself an handsome reader in English having studied in an English medium Boarding School from my first kindergarten school days, in the late 1960’s. As a consequence, I evolved into ‘thinking in English’, as the way my brain goes about its business, internally processing, translating and outputting into other languages, as required.

I’ve read, and keep reading, as many books as I can, and as often as possible. It all started with Enid Blyton’s, Famous Five; Captain W. E. Johns’s, Biggles series; James Hardly Chase’s, Never Love a Stranger; Alistair MacLean, The Guns of Navarone; Louis L’Armour’s Western Novels; Oliver Strange’s, Sudden series; P G Wodehouse’s, Jeeves and Blandings stories; Leo Tolstoy’s, War & Peace; Boris Pasternak’s, Doctor Zhivago; Sidney Sheldon’s, Master of the Game; Frederick Forsyth’s, The Day of the Jackal; Robin Cook’s, Coma; Ken Follet’s, The Eye of the Needle; Michael Crichton’s, Jurassic Park; Jeffery Archer’s, Kane & Able; Ayn Rand’s, Fountain Head…and the many fabulous Novels (E.g.,Dan Brown’s Da Vinci Vide; Donna Tartt’s, Gold Finch) of these times.

I’ve hardly read in my mother-tongue, Tamil, by choice, but never shied away from grabbing a read in the yesteryear popular magazines – Kumudam, Kalkandu being my favourites. I’ve read the weekly episode stories of Chandilyan, who wrote historical fiction, and Tamilvannan, who gave us Tamil’s first ever James Bond kind of detective, Shankarlal, to mention a few. Over the years, from my College Days through the Job Working stage my Tamil reading dropped to zero while English reading reached Himalayan heights.

I’ve never hesitated to discuss the books I’ve read with like-minded people and during one such occasion, a few months ago, I was challenged, by a well-read Medical Doctor, to read the Tamil Classic Ponniyin Selvan, written by Kalki Krishnamurty, in Tamil. This is was in the background of the ‘Game of Thrones’ series running on Television – I had read the book version. The good Doctor gave me a copy of the original hard-bounded book, to get going. I hesitantly started and once into the flow of the story there was no looking back. It was a return to my mother tongue. A homecoming.

“I was quickly reminded of John Keats sublime sonnet, ‘On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer ‘ and felt about the same:

“Much have I travell’d in the realms of gold,
And many goodly states and kingdoms seen;
Round many western islands have I been,
Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.
Oft of one wide expanse have I been had I been told
That deep-brow’d Homer ruled as his demesne;
Yet did I never breathe its pure serene
Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold:
Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
When a new planet swims into his Ken;
Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes
He star’d at the Pacific – and all his men
Look’d at each other with a wild surmise –
Silent, upon a peak in Darien”

Well, I discovered Kalki’s Ponniyin Selvan and in it traveled through the realms of the saga of the great Chola King Raja Raja Chola. After finishing the two borrowed volumes – of a set of five, I ordered my own, from Anantha Vikatan Publishers, and continued reading. I couldn’t put it down; and every evening, after work, found a favourite place to curl-up and read the wonderful story, which had enough twists and turns to give ‘The Game of Thrones’ a run for its throne.

Ponniyin Selvan is a fictional story based on real time historical characters of South India, Tamil Nadu’s Chola Era, when the Pandiyas have been trounced in battle and the Chola Dynasty was beginning to flourish. It’s about the early years of the Chola Prince Arulmozhivarman who becomes the great Raja Raja Chola. When a young boy, when the Royal Family takes a boat ride on the River Cauvery, Arulmozhivarman falls into the River and is saved from drowning by a deaf-mute woman, a once-upon-a-time lover of the King, and lives to swim with the title Ponniyin Selvan – the son of river Cauvery, for the rest of his life.

Kalki breathes life in to the characters, with Vandhiyathevan Vallavarayan, Poonguzhali and Kundavai, almost springing out of the book to sit beside me, while reading: I could feel their breath on my face. The beauty of Nandini shines through the pages as did the spying antics of Azhwarkadiyan Nambi, and the regalness of Arulmozhivarman. The Characters are brought to life by the drawings and paintings of famous Painter Maniyam Selvam, who sketches in each Chapter transport us to the Chola era places, giving us an image to hold on to.

The opening scene of Vandhiyathevan, on the day of the unique Tamil Festival Season of Aadiperukku, Aadi-18 (5th August), carrying a message from his Master, Prince Aadithya Karikalan (elder brother of Arulmozhivarman and next in line to the Throne) in Kanchipuram, to the King Sundara Chola, in Thanjavur, riding his horse on the banks of a fully pregnant Veera Narayana Lake-fed by River Cauvery, is unforgettable. Kalki talks about the fertile richness of the Cauvery Delta region and one can almost smell the paddy fields. Seeing the many messengers physically riding through the story, carrying and delivering messages, I almost reached for my mobile phone to call Arulmozhivarman – to warn him about a danger, or WhatsApp a message to Kundavai to impress upon her, the honest intentions of Vandhyiathevan, to protect the Royal Family.

Many parts of Tamil Nadu seemed accessible by riding a boat on the Ponni (River Cauvery) and a system of canals and lakes to manage floods was a highlight of the period. The Veera Narayana (Veeranam) Lake of the story, for example, had seventy-four canals to take its waters to the Chola Empire’s farmers.

Moving on, a striking character in the story is the truly and absolutely fearless, brave, beautiful, lotus flower-wearing, fiercely independent-minded, awfully skilled, boat-woman, Poonkuzhali, singing her heart out in these haunting lines,

‘Alai kadalum ooyinthirukka Aga Kadal thaan ponguvadhen’

“When even the sea and its waves have calmed down, why is it that the sea of my heart is still bubbling over?” She is secretly in love with Ponniyin Selvan who she ferried from Tamil Nadu’s Kodikarai to Sri Lanka and has been smitten by him ever since. The Prince returns the favour by calling her ‘Samudhra Rani’-Princess of the Sea’.

Juxtaposed with women in Ponniyin Selvan, Poonkuzhali is on a league of her own – far ahead of other woman in the story. She effortlessly steers her boat, single-handedly, back and forth across the sea between Tamil Nadu and Sri Lanka, as she does holding on to her unique views. She broke my heart many times over.

The story is told through the eyes of the chivalrous Vandiyathevan, descendent of a warrior clan than once ruled the land. He is almost the hero of the story and secretly finds himself a heroine in Princess Kundavai – the elder sister of the Chola Princes. Their love is told in a very subtle manner leaving much to our fertile imagination. Kundavai is firmly focussed on raising and mentoring Arulmozhivarman to become a great King and expand the boundaries of the Chola Empire, up to the Ganges in the North. She also finds a royal match, Princess Vanathi, for her brother who she hand-holds, trains, grooms and transforms, from an often-fainting girl to a bold and upright woman – to become the wife of her brother. This is to ensure that the goal of making the Chola Empire a great one is achieved, with the right life-partner; and that a royal heir gets made to carry on the job (In fact, the son, Rajendra Chola, or Raja Raja Chola – II out classes his father – Ponniyin Selvan )

The absolutely beautiful Nandhini is the mischievous villain of the story, seeking revenge, with her Father, the Pandiya King being killed – beheaded in front of her eyes by the ferociously hot-headed Prince Aadithya Karikalan. They are actually child hood sweethearts, from very different backgrounds – brought together by Palace circumstances. Their love is a tragic one. Nandhini’s single-minded objective is to exterminate the Cholas and bring back Pandiya Rule. She marries the very much older Periya Pazhuvettaraiyar – the head of King’s Security, only to stay close to the seat of power, to get protection, and plot the fall of the Cholas. Throughout the story, Nandhini keeps her husband out of her bed – while knocking down everyone who sights her (with the lone exception of Vandiyathevan), and I assume, their marriage is never consummated.

The heir to the throne, Aadithya Karikalan, is murdered in mysterious circumstances and Kalki never reveals who actually killed him. The murder gets pinned on Vandiyathevan who musters all his skills to escape the humiliation. Often Azhwarkadiyam Nambi and Kundavai pull him out of life threatening situations. He is also briefly imprisoned for the ‘crime’ he did not commit – vouched by the reader. Who killed Aaditya Karikalan, is something you have to figure out yourself.

In these times of the deadly Coronavirus there is a mysterious illness – for which there is not cure – stalking people in Sri Lanka at that time, and Prince Arulmozhivarman carries the disease to India. When he reaches the Indian shores on a boat steered by Poonkuzhali, and with Vandiyathevan, he is almost given up for dead, but is treated and nursed, in quarantine, by Buddhist Monks in Chudamani Vihara, Nagapatinam, and recuperates after almost (the now mandatory?) two weeks.

There is a twist in the end with Arulmozhivarman gladly offering, sacrificing, the throne to his Uncle’s son, Senthan Amuthan, to peacefully focus on his pursuits of expanding the Chola Empire. He ascends the Chola Throne after fifteen years taking the title Raja Raja Chola-I. Senthan Amuthan carries the title Uttama Chola and reverts to his real name of Madhuranthaga Chola, discovering that he is in fact the son of Chola Queen Sembiyan Maadevi. Senthan Amutham is in love with Poonkuzhali ever since he knew her and ultimately marries her. The Princess of the Sea, Poonkuzhali actually becomes the Queen – though she despises the royal life! She would have loved to be left to herself and sing her heart out on the waves of the sea, and to the Prince of her heart.

The Cholas of the period followed Shaivaism – worship of Lord Shiva and Raja Raja Chola ultimately builds the great Brihadishvara Temple at Thanjavur dedicated to Lord Shiva. Vaishnavism – Worship of Lord Vishnu was the alternate belief and there was often a constant debate on which one was better. Kalki presents this aspect through Azhwarkadiyam Nambi who doen’t lose an opportunity to debate or pick up a fight, on the issue. He conceals his spying activities masquerading as an ardent follower of Shaivaism.

While reading through the five volumes, Kalki shoots many a shooting star – streaking across the skies – which is interpreted as a sign of something important about to happen. Kalki’s narration takes us through real places such as Kanchipuram, Kollidam, Palayaru, Thanjavur, Madurai, Thiruvaiyaru, Uraiyur (now Thiruchi), Nagapatinam, Kodikarai – the tip of the Tamil Nadu nose – and Sri Lanka.

The story is too good to be told in a two to three hour movie that ace Film Director Manirathinam is attempting. I would prefer that someone makes a Television Serial, running for more than year, to effectively tell the story.

Meanwhile, you should all read Ponniyin Selvan, and could fall in love with Poonkuzhali, or Nandhini, maybe Kundavai. But the light-hearted Vandhiyathevan Vallavarayan is my hero.

Happy Lockdown.

We have breezed through the year with so much happening all over the World and I thought I’ll put to word a few that caught my eye and touched my heart.

A Swedish kid – Greta Thunberg – leading the Climate Change Movement, on her own oxygen, changed the climate on Time Magazine’s Cover, riding a cool yacht across the Atlantic and reaching the shore of the Magazine’s Person Of The Year honor. Meanwhile, in the United Kingdom, a tropical plant produced male and female cones outdoors for the first time in 60 million years, in an event Botanists say is a clear indication of Climate Change in the wind of Greta’s sails. Many more seas to cross, and travel is looming in the year ahead. Read somewhere that the last four years have been the hottest years on Planet Earth, since record-keeping began. That kid will grow-up on us.

A Japanese Woman, Naomi Osaka, won the Australian Open Tennis Women’s Singles Title, for the first ever time raising her game like the rising sun. I guess she saw the tennis balls shining like the sun and was clever enough to use it to blind her opponent for a courageous win.

American NASA’s New Horizon, seeking new horizons, flew past Ultima Thule, which at 6.5 billion km away is the most distant ever exploration of an object in our Solar System. The radio message takes 6 hours 8 minutes to traverse the great expanse of space between here and there. While the message travelled, India’s ISRO launched its ambitious Chandrayaan-2 Mission to the Moon, hoping to land Vikram, the Moon Lander, on the surface and roll out the red carpet for Pragyan, tucked inside its womb, to rove the Moon. However Vikram caught a cold, just 2.1 km above the surface, sneezed too violently, and crash landed on the Moon. So near, yet so far. Failure is at best a hard-landing lesson: we are already thinking about Chandrayaan-3 and an Indian on the Moon; the spirits of Neil Armstrong willing, along with a fiercely competitive and hardworking ISRO. It’s been fifty years since Man first landed on the Moon and we are still fascinated by its invisible honey.

Man keeps expanding the boundaries of the known Universe; almost every other month we come across a new discovery of further unkind emptiness in Space and sizzling kinds of life forms in the deep oceans and forests on Earth – why sometimes in our own backyard! January also saw the death of George, the only living Tree Snail of its kind: ‘He is survived by none’, read its Obituary. In July, Scientists were shocked to find that a young female Arctic Fox had travelled over 3500 km from Norway to Canada in just 76 days, and amazingly covered 155 km in just one day, when it crossed the Greenland Ice Sheet. Wow, that’s a real Fox act.

India strikes terror across the Border in Pakistan, in an unbelievable macho moustache strike on terrorists and Prime Minister Narendra Modi romps home to Election victory in a magnificent win. He followed through by making his buddy the Home Minister, and the combo delivered political fireworks, from bringing Jammu & Kashmir into mainstream India by abrogation of a toothless Article; and amending India’s Citizenship Act making it easier for religiously persecuted minorities from the neighboring theocratic States to become citizens of India, inside 5years – without source documents, rather than the norm of 11 years – with documents, provided they entered India before 31 December 2015. In the meantime, people who previously could no understand basic traffic rules, or read to understand, woke-up and read exactly what the Amendment did not say. Fear, and the wrong way to an unreachable place, is the catalyst for not getting things done and making unholy noises.

In Paris, The Notre Dame Cathedral lighted up its past History, probably wanting a fresh make-over; Japan’s Emperor abdicated the Crysanthemum Throne, in a first of its kind in Japan – the oldest hereditary monarchy, in favor of his son who became the 126th Emperor. Banzai (10,000 years) – Should be achievable with the Harvard-educated Empress to help him!

Australia’s Scott Morrison won in a freak Election – period Australia. When it gets too hot in Australia the nectar in certain flowers ferments and turn into alcohol. The Bees that get drunk on the nectar aren’t allowed back into the hive until they sober up (else they might mess with the Queen?). Maybe Scott and his party stayed sober enough for the Queen to approve.

Donald Trump towers to be the only the third US President ever to be impeached after being the first US President to step into the hermit Kingdom of North Korea. One, Two, Three… is a series for winners and losers. Never mind, if Obama caught Bin Laden, Trump hunted down Abu Bakr Al-Baghdadi of the ISIS using the best of dog-power he could find. About that time NASA Astronauts performed the first ever All Women Space Walk – cat walking about the International Space Station in their beautiful space suits – without make up. In yonder Britain, Boris Johnson’s carefully ruffled hair may finally ‘Get Brexit Done’. He won on that simple slogan.

French Inventor Franky Zapata crossed the English Channel on a jet-powered fly-board, on a second attempt, while Spiderman was spinning his new web in yet another Far From Home movie.

India’s PV Sindhu won the World Championship Badminton Gold, in one of many firsts, for women in India. Not to be left behind, Boxer Mary Kom continued to defy age and marriage, winning medals more than Gold, while athlete Hima Das become a track superstar. Off the track, Wing Commander Anjali Singh become the first woman to be appointed as Military Diplomat in Indian Missions, abroad. Indian Women are a hard-working progressive lot, for sure. Beauty, Brains and physicals – it’s playing in India to full House; only, the men need to find their place. Beware, the Kung Fu Nuns from the Himalayas and Ladak region are changing the game by up-skilling women in the art of self defense.

Respected, all-round, omnipresent Politicians Arun Jaitley and Sushma Swaraj pass away to the Heavens above: Despite Arun waiving the GST for Sushma’s life; and Sushma, in turn, ensuring special medicines arrive from abroad in double quick time – on a simple tweet request from Arun, they both failed to make it beyond the border of 2019.

Here’s wishing that the year 2020 is at least a little bit better than 2019, in all aspects. Cheers to that!

With the advent of the mobile phone we have been smartly introduced to the silent mode, which enables us to get along with our work, without worrying about the noise generated by someone nearby, or even remote. I’m sure the designers of the mobile phone must have lifted the idea from our own daily lives.

When ‘just married’, my wife and I, often found solace in the Silent World. We start discussing a topic – often forgetting to listen to each other; each one pinging the mind on what to say next, rather than become all ears, listen, and make a sensible reply; and end up fighting like cats & dogs. In the end, suddenly there is an eerie stillness, not a word, not a sound, and we finally agree to treat each other silently, no confrontation. We find our match in the silence, allowing it to fill the space between us. This may last a few hours, a day or even more, with only the ‘basic sounds being made’ to live the daily grind. Over the years the Silent Treatment has survived, evolved, and taken many avatars, but refuses to become fully extinct.

That takes me back to the School Days when as growing-up kids we fought over boy-boundaries, pencils, rubbers, scales, compass boxes, comics, books… and what not? When the trade between partners breaks-down we end up saying the famous line, ‘I’ll not talk to you again’. We are enemies, and enemies don’t talk to each other, do they? Most often we show the white flag, call truce, patch-up, and are back to talking again. How many times have we done this? I wonder.

When in College and University we follow a similar pattern: there are some people we just cannot tolerate, or simply do not want to talk to, often the end-result of a ‘bare the fangs, rowdy’ first meeting. Here, more than the silent treatment it is a cold disengagement; our personal version of a Cold-War.

When I returned to my Hometown, after a glorious run around India, and some parts of the World, I settled down in my own Flat in a small Apartment Complex built by a close bloodline relative – The Owner. With the confidence of the many places I had lived, I decided to take up the task of painting and re-furbishing the Apartment, dreaming of making it a ‘Paradise on Earth’ (Why, Kashmir?). The Apartment wasn’t maintained well and needed some decent paint work to be done. I went about talking to the stakeholders, planning, tendering, calling for quotes and shortlisting a Contractor. Meanwhile, I sounded the Flat Residents, including The Owner, on the cost involved, secured their approval, made the cash flow, and got the work started. Midway, I had to handover the work to another Person as I was starting my new Apparel Manufacturing Business in a nearby Town. Further, the cash also dried-up as The Owner reimbursement himself on previous Expenses; another Resident, tied to The Owner, did not pay up his share; and in addition, we had to talk to everyone on the need to collect more. My emails to all concerned were on an even keel, and somehow the written word made the Owner testy, and he went into the Silent mode.

It’s over four years now, since The Owner and I have spoken – the last time was, when he was after me to copy-write his Resume, he knew I was a damn good Writer and a storyteller – during which time the talk was primarily over email. We do bump into each other in the parking area or at the few Weddings I attend, but he looks the other way, suddenly discovers a new-found friend, launches into a Chandrayaan orbit; or puts his ear to a nonexistent ‘silent’ mobile call. The relationship is truly broken. We never drew swords, fired a rifle shot or wrestled each other on the mat.  The Silent Treatment continues to this day.

While starting our (my wife & me) Own Women’s Apparel Manufacturing Business, we set up Factory and Shop in a nearby Town, off the never-fully-finished painted Apartment of my Hometown, on the undivided property owned by my wife’s late Father. She thought she had a share of what was left of her Dad’s Estate; the Law said so; until one day her Brother decided to make a new Law, dispatches an Army of Blood-line relatives, led by a  ‘fair’ double-MBA US Residing Cousin, to talk to her on leaving; ignoring facts, and failing to acknowledge that she has an equal share of the property. Girl, there are blood curling debts and issues which the poor rich Brother has to encounter, she was told. They fired a broadside of unforgivable lacerating words, which made wounds deep inside, and stormed out never to speak to us again. They were people we dined and laughed with all these years. The unfinished paint work stuck here and too and manifested into the Silent Treatment. We play the cat & mouse game when and wherever we meet, especially in Family Events, to avoid each other, exercising the neck and back muscles – stretching to the maximum. That’s a Tom & Jerry moment we’ve learnt to celebrate!

Nearer Home, it’s been months since I’ve talked to my Dad; had a proper conversation; a Dad-Son talk. We seem to disagree on everything except the word disagreement. We have now weaponized it into a Silent Treatment grenade, which pin is pulled whenever we meet; the devastation causing us to scurry into our own thick-walled bunkers, for our own safety.

A relationship is surely dead when subject to the Silent Treatment. Isn’t it?

Suddenly I found a long and ever-growing list of the ‘Silent Treatment Fund’ in many other Groups, beyond mine; and when I silently turned around, opened my ears,  and listened to the neighborhood I found about the same silence. So silent I could hear my beard growing!

Why do we – the thinking and talking Homo Sapiens, do this? We have disagreements, opinions and judgments that vary as much we are all so different. But why can’t we accept this and move on? Agree to disagree? Become better listeners; listen to understand instead of listening to respond? I remember, Aristotle famously said, ‘It is the mark of an educated mind to entertain a thought without accepting it’. Why cannot we just entertain thoughts, and not chase them to destruction?

This Diwali season, maybe a bust of crackers would make the right noises; the sounds to be heard beyond our individual walls!

Over the past few months we’ve seen – what many effortlessly called a polarising, gruesome Election – Chowkidars Sticks, Tea-cups, Aircraft Fighters and Navy Ships being thrown about in gay abandon by so-called jobless liars, thieves, fascists, Hitlers, Dynasts, over the brave voters who seem to have calmly made up their minds very well and voted back the 52 inch-chested (the Chest of seats grew larger than anyone predicted) Narendra Modi as Prime Minister of India. While the North of India queued North – as far as choking Mount Everest – to support Modi, the South of India, riding a severe Hate-Modi Cyclone blown by the regional satraps, went deep South and hardly contributed to the expansion of the chest.

In Tamil Nadu, the Party of the Rising Sun which incidentally has a ‘forever rising son’ as its brand new Chief, capitalised on the Hate-Modi winds; he even briefly threw away his red-black border white dhoti and high collar white shirt, wore  Red T-Shirts and Black Pants and danced on the dirty streets to convince the voters that the Challenger, Pappu, can indeed become Prime Minister and learn new dance moves; more than he himself becoming a scorching hot Chief Minister-which should have been the primary goal.  Ultimately, for the Rising Sun Chief, it was a case of, ‘Operation Successful: but Patient died’. He won by convincingly pandering to narrow-mindedness and regional pride instead of looking at the big picture of India as a country where multiple cultures co-exist and thrive peacefully and where we should integrate this differentiation and move ahead with the strength of unity. Of course, if he does this kind of integration how would he keep alive his Tamil base?  The ‘Rising Son’ wears a Russian name and has a habit of tarring any Hindi words – on name boards – he comes across. Claims his Dad taught him the basics of rubbing. What about Russian? I guess, it’s more like English. Is Hindi more foreign than English and Russian? Ask any Tamilian and they will tell you about the misery they face when confronting someone speaking Hindi in the course of Business or even when dining-out in Chennai; or still more when they move outside the State riding on a Tamil tongue!

When I attended a Christian Wedding in Kollam, during the Elections, the father of the Groom simply and firmly said, ‘Modi will not return as Prime Minister’. He had the weight of religion behind him and navigational expertise in his domain: I was struck by the firm confidence, as if his God had made-up the minds of India and mysteriously told him so. I said, ‘I do’ believe that he will return as PM. Now, I have the last laugh! Meanwhile, he has decided that the Earth is not enough and has plans to land on the Moon and settle in faraway Mars.

Over the Election period, most of who I spoke to in the South – Tamil Nadu in particular – for some inexplicable reason wore a visible Hate-Modi mask. When I asked them why, many were unable to convincingly explain. Who is Modi? Where was he when Cyclone Gaja was ravaging Tamil Nadu?  Reminded me of Ayn Rand’s, ‘Who is John Galt?’ The motor of Jallikattu runs all over Tamil Nadu and fishermen find fewer letters about them being written to the Prime Minister, from a Chief Minister who out-witted the Rising Sun Chief in keeping his throne.

While all this was happening down South, in this epic Lok Sabha Election, including breaking Temple Scales by a Wordsmith – millions of blue blistering barnacles – Congress Member in God’s own Country; and a French bearded Son-in-law of a famous saffron-clad-Actor-cum-Party-Founder spewing the choicest venom on the Prime Minister, there was a silent pro-Modi Wave gathering storm in the North which many failed to detect, despite high-tech gadgetry; some got a whiff, but could not put a cigar to it!

In the East, a Bengal Tigress, wearing a permanent scowl caged herself to the Hate-Modi Group and when the Prime Minister called to enquire about a Cyclone that was knocking at her door, she refused to open and answer, saying she will talk to the ‘new’ Prime Minister. Well, sometimes the old becomes the new – Jai Sri Ram! Oh, Mother Kali!

In the Northern ravine-ridden Hindi heart-land, a fierce Woman with a permanent hand bag, almost an extension of her hand – even in the statues of her in the State, tried to put her Elephant on a bicycle and ride to Delhi – we know the results of such foolhardy daring, don’t we?

To cap it all, the scion- the Challenger, a dimpled Prince of the Royal Ruling Family of India -popularly called ‘Pappu’ had his hands full, mouthing a ton of lies on an imaginary sum of money finding its way to a real Business pocket, which just could not hold any at all, and required a nearby Brother to stitch-up and make it count. Pappu, along with every known Politician in the Opposition, thundered that Modi will not return, and on the sly found himself a safe seat in the South, to sit on, knowing that the Northern Amethi will kick him out – driven out by a gutsy lady, of the Modi clan, who fought tooth & nail, over a period of five years, to see this day. That was the first indication of a Modi Tsunami!

India’s own Games of Thrones, and ascending the Iron Throne in Delhi, was finally over, this season.

The  reasons for the Return of Modi will be analysed and dissected in times to come, but I think the reason why India voted for him is that this man means business and there is a certain trustworthy sincerity, honesty and bluntness in his style – like it or not, which tells us that he will make India a better place to live. Given his innings of the first five years, where some sound path-breaking changes such as the GST and Swachh Bharat Mission (among others) was introduced; besides showing that India has real muscle, he deserved another shot at the goal post.  India is tired and fed-up with the ordinary Politician who keeps showing us something that is not there – Modi can be felt and is a visible presence; wears his religion up his sleeve and has brought a sense of National Pride. Some say this is a New India, which went beyond caste, religion and regional vote-bank politics. Hope the South goes North soon and fuses into one seamless Country. The Lotus requires sunlight and water to thrive, grow and bloom; floating on the lake of a wonderful India.

Over the past weeks I’ve been visited by two modern-day Monks: one, an University Engineering batch mate, came riding on a borrowed motorcycle; and the other, a past Engineering Consultancy Job Colleague, came driving a newly minted Car having purchased it recently – after selling his version of a Ferrari. They hustled into Town, alone, in a span of two weeks between them.

The Motorcycle Monk was over fifty, bespectacled, balding-with a clean middle, guarded by short cropped border bushes; and the once lavish spread of beard of turning-white hair, was now shaved-off, brought down to display a clever lush Gandhi-moustache. We used to call him the Gandhi of our circle, due to the obvious looks, and spartan lifestyle – except the topless part. He was once a gone-far-beyond Computer Engineer and gave it all up under a Big-Brother-Is-Watching Syndrome.  He tries his best to keep away from the Google, Facebook… and other super-sleuth, beneath the surface social media automatic monitoring systems. He warns me about the state of Surveillance Capitalism we live in, and that a carefree, untagged world does not exist anymore.

He contributes, in whatever manner he can, to Non-Governmental Organisation work and maintains a low ground-level profile. Somebody needed a motorcycle  to be transported from Bengaluru – where Tamil Nadu Licence Plates are a horror – to Madurai and he grabbed the opportunity to discover more of himself on a solo ride and do a ‘motorcycle march’. Other than the mandatory Helmet, he arrived with nothing much of a riding gear, bending-off from the normal route, to see me at Attur. I had to give him the typical Indian style directions: go straight, turn left, then right, then straight, then right… and nevertheless dispatched my Manager to escort him to my Office. I was blessed, and treated him to a good vegetarian meal and some sparkling conversation. He thanked my mother-in-law for the wholesome delicious food (he said so)  and touched her feet to show respect. I saw him off after more than an hour – only after issuing another set of rumbling directions to curl him back on to the original route to Madurai.

The Car Monk, having studiously learnt the ‘Art of Living’, was on a mission to serve humanity the Ramakrishna and Vivekananda way; and was on a solo drive to touch the various Ramakrishna Mission Math Pins on his Google Maps, by which he sweared his way-finding and sense of ‘direction’.  I sent him my location on Whats App (and a detailed left, right, forward direction, which he completely ignored) and behold he was at my doorstep, arriving from Madurai.

When he entered my Office I introduced him to a pretty Customer – who was looking up to me- that the new entrant was a friend and previous Work Colleague. The Customer then gently reminded me that two weeks ago I did the same kind of introduction, of another friend. Same-same, but different; there’s a connection, I guess, in the small things. He sat on the cushioned chair like Swami Vivekananda – legs folded in the  standard meditation pose and I could see the stirrings of a predominantly black and white beard on his shining brow. He wore brown beaded strings on both wrists and similar beaded necklaces, which seemed to weigh down his neck; otherwise it was a blue jeans and a blue-checked shirt attire.  He was clutching a smartphone, which kept sending notifications every once in a while, which he ignored. He began his discourse and we talked about garment design and fabrics and then transcended into sensible eating and healthy living. His wife, a learned and decorated Doctor of Nutrition – a Wellness Coach, had put him and the family on a natural path of saving Humans and the Planet, besides educating the World on how to live better by swallowing the right kind of food. He declared that his grown-up healthy sons (he showed a photo of a pair of beaming muscular boys) have to this day not drunk any kind of milk other than the original mother’s milk. His normal diet consists of a careful mixture of fruits -wet and dry- in the morning; followed by vegetable salad for lunch and a small helping of non-white rice  and vegetables for dinner. Snacking and oil-fried food was a strict no-no, as were most ‘white’ foods.

I lead him to the Dining Table for Lunch, and when I introduced him to my mother-in-law. He touched her feet in reverence: when I did I last do this kind of a thing? That’s a faded memory. We keep the conversation going over a simple vegetarian meal which we washed down with ease. I had the oil-fried appalam repaired with a direct-fire cooked one and we talked about how it tasted so different.

On the way out I, by habit, told him again about the left, right, centre directions to Salem Ramakrishna Ashram, to which he cooly said, GK I ain’t listening and do not intend to, my Google Map directions will take me there. It did!

Once the breeze of Monks had moved to less-greener pastures, I reflected on the emissions generated by them. I found myself wary of revealing too much on social media and started looking at food in an Adam-Eve sort of way. Apples, oranges and green organic vegetables danced in my dreams – away from the glare of Big Brother. Period!

Last but not least: I had written this Article a few weeks ago and was looking for an opportune moment to publish, when the Indian Air Force Balakot Air Strikes happened and another friend, an Army Major, native of a village near Attur, walked-in, even while I was trying to grow my spiral Abinandhan moustache. We spent the next one hour talking about heart-full meditation, talking trees and how we can live better lives. That’s Monk number three… and he too came alone, riding a car and this time there wasn’t that pretty Customer around!

Have a mindful meditative weekend ahead!

In the region where I live, I’m surrounded by tens of thousands of square-metres of Wedding Halls – Kalyana Mandapams, of various hardware facilities and operating systems. Basically, all have two main functional areas: the Main Wedding Hall, were the religious-or otherwise, marriage ceremonies actually take place; and a Dining Hall where guests are treated to a mind-boggling array of sweets, savouries and the best of foods of the season.

While the Wedding Hall is decked-up to be a visual feast, to exercise the eyes, the Dining Hall tests the limits of the taste buds and the digestive powers of the stomach. The Main Hall decorations are theme-based and Professional Adorners or Wedding Planners are often called-in to work on a concept so that the awfully well-dressed guests themselves adorn and complement the beauty of the venue, making it a memorable photo-opportunity. Guests move around coyly greeting each other; and there are chairs, invariably the hard plastic kind, where you can sit back and the survey the ‘Wedding fashion cat-walk’. Many guests must have spent months ‘planning their red-carpet entrance’ and the layers of cloth, the metres of silk saris with matching bejewelled blouses (a small area of great intricate work) speak their own language. Sometimes, you can catch a girl so beautifully dressed that you wonder whether she is the Bride (or a would-be Bride, drawing attention with come-hither looks), or charmingly trying to steal the Bride’s Day. Whatever, many a heart skips many a beat!

The Dining Hall, by the standards of the Main Hall is a dreary room with never-ending lines of tables and chairs, and seriously-uniformed Attenders running around in file-formation, like food-carrying ants, loading the banana-leaf plate, neatly laid on a paper table-spread, and ‘first sprinkled with holy water’ before applying weight. When one comes down to sit for the meal, one is baffled by the network of rows and columns of rainbow coloured food on display, guarded by the mandatory towering water bottle…and a courteous Attender waiting to serve more! Most take a quick little peck off each item, neatly fold the leaf (remember, always in your direction – as a sign of satisfaction) and quit to make merry at the open Food-Court where ice-creams, fruit salads, coffee, tea and the kind are in full flow, and thronged by the After-Main-Course-Food-Eaters. Lotus-Eaters?

One of the best scenes of the Wedding Halls, is the long queues lined-up to greet the Just-Married Couple, on stage, sit-in for the photo-moment and make Kings of the photographers who command the proceedings. I often wish the couple get down from their high perch and mingle with the guests in the Wedding Hall, leaving the stage to the Musicians and Photographers, to fill the voids.

The only conversation that I can recall, and rings often, after leaving a Wedding Venue, is the host, with folded hands, sheepishly asking, ‘Have you eaten?’ God bless the couple!

While all this is happening in the neighbourhood, I can hardly find a place to play a Wimbledon Tennis game, kick a World Cup Football, basket a ball, do an Usain Bolt dash, or prepare to run a Kenyan marathon. Why cannot we build as many Indoor and Outdoor Stadiums and Play Grounds as there are Kalyana Mandapams? When children come home for the holidays, there’s hardly a place for them to play, resulting in them getting betrothed to the mobile screens, wedded to smart phones and flirting with mobile-app games. We have pushed them to that level, haven’t we? When I get a chance to talk with these kids, I find that many are into some kind of a physical game, which is encouraging, but they struggle to ‘find a match’ to exercise their interests or kindle their playing passions. No wonder India fails to find and send awesome talent to the Olympics, despite millions lurking in the shadows (and perhaps enjoying a hearty meal in a Kalyana Mandapam)

Maybe, we could organize a Wedding as a Cricket Game with the Groom trying to bowl-over the Bride while the Bride’s Father keeps wickets, the Groom’s Father doing the Umpiring, and immediate relatives spread on the field, while the guests watch. They can mingle over field drinks and after the tiring game, create enough inner-space for a filling gorgeous Lunch or Dinner. Maybe the Couple can be dressed in tennis gear and play a love-game of Tennis about the nets with appropriately-dressed guests swaying their heads as the game unfolds! Maybe the Stadium itself can be turned into an Open-Air Kalyana Mandapam with the stage erected in the middle and the Guests watching and cheering from all sides. Gladiator Weddings?

I beguiles me that while we create so much facilities for people to get married we fail to think about the kids they will be producing, in the long run. Play they must, on the open grounds and fields, build up reserves of strength and energy to run and play the game of life, before they themselves head to the nearest Kalyana Mandapam!

I’ve deeply resolved that when I get the chance and wherewithal I shall get involved in creating a Play Stadium for the young chaps, as well as the old guys (to walk their tired legs), in my locality! Hope, you do too!