The curious sexual tastes of Tamils who watched these movies astounded me. The women of their dreams were barrel-sized with birthday-balloon boobs, beach-ball buttocks and elephantine thighs. I used to see posters of these women with their legs apart, their nipples and privates were covered with no more than ribbons.
While the tastes of the men made me wonder, the antics of feminists made me anxious. Armed with tins of tar, they would blacken the breasts and the thighs of the Amazonian women in the posters. Sometimes the parts of the posters featuring the nipples and cunts would be torn by the sex starved men. May be they would have thought that they could see the real parts by tearing the papers. I used to wonder if these feminists who rubbed tar on boobs and cunts in posters with rage were any different from the men who torn the posters.
(Kokkarakko claims that women have been devising ways and means over the years to make their figures look more appealing. One day, he visited a lingerie shop in Chennai and began to wonder if he had mistakenly walked into the hardware store. Some bras looked more like breastplates – and he was told they were called underwire bras – while other bras looked like they were designed to cover butt-cheeks rather than boobs.)
Twenty-five years ago, I was invited to a feminist conference. My speech featured a few lines from Germaine Greer’s essay, Lady, Love Your Cunt. The feminists took umbrage at my speech and there was a huge uproar that resulted in my being unceremoniously evicted from the place.
The following incident was narrated to me by Santhanam. It occurred in June 2014. Santhanam and his brother were returning home from their walk in Nageshwara Rao Park in an auto when his brother decided he wanted to buy the day’s newspaper. As his brother was walking to the shop, Santhanam noticed someone up to something odd in front of the O Kadey’s Restaurant. A tall, strapping young six-footer with an ID card suggesting he was employed in a software company and a leather bag dangling from one shoulder was busy shagging. Santhanam was shocked. He looked around and spotted a man talking on the phone. “Sir! Look at what that fellow is doing in public!” he spluttered. The man on the phone thought Santhanam was asking for directions and signalled him to wait. The young man was wanking off furiously. Santhanam yelled in his direction. “Dei! What the devil do you think you’re doing?” The man climaxed that very instant, zipped up and casually walked away. Perhaps he was only urinating, Santhanam thought as he walked up to the spot to examine the ground. But he wasn’t urinating. Santhanam was smart enough to tell semen from piss.
I wanted to see this place for myself, so Santhanam took me. There are many places where a person can jerk off. You can even do it in the middle of the road and pretend you’re peeing. After peeing, it is socially acceptable for a man to hold his dick and give it a little shake to prevent residual drops from wetting his underwear – or his pants if he did not fancy underwear – and this can be mistaken for masturbation. So, it is certainly not impossible for someone to masturbate in the middle of the road. But what Santhanam told me did not add up. The fellow, according to him, was standing in the middle of the road and masturbating with his erect penis in his hand. “Was he facing the wall or the road?” I asked. I was doubtful as the spot where the incident supposedly unfolded is so congested that one would find it hard to even spit. The Parvathy Bhavan Restaurant, the New India Assurance Building and the O Kadey’s Restaurant all formed the street-front. Beyond the street-front, there were petty shops selling newspapers, cigarettes and snacks. Where could the man have been standing and wanking off? He could have afforded to do it where Santhanam said he did it because it was 8:45 on a Sunday morning, but the place Santhanam kept insisting he did it was the entrance of the New India Assurance Building. What was even more incredible was that the man wasn’t facing the wall; he was jerking off facing the busy road.
My confusion persisted. If he was so desperate to jerk off, he could have gone to one of the restaurants and done it in the toilet. Maybe public masturbation gave him a thrill. That was most likely it. Porn sites these days feature videos of sex in public places wherein couples copulate on the sidewalk in broad daylight and crowds surround them to gape or to film the act.
Santhanam also informed me about another interesting incident. His eighteen-year-old daughter, Divya, was a fresher in an engineering college. One day, she brought home a friend called Rekha who was studying in another engineering college in Thanjavur. The girls were discussing various colleges and Santhanam and his wife joined the conversation. When Santhanam enquired about Rekha’s college, the girl said that it was a shithole.
“Why?” Santhanam asked.
“Vellore is the best,” she said.
“And why is that?”
“There is no maternity hospital near our college, but it’s always easy to find one in Vellore. Lucky girls who study there!”
“What does the proximity to a maternity hospital have to do with your opinion of the college?”
“Oh, come on, Uncle! Don’t act like you don’t get what I’m implying. In Vellore, if you want to have an abortion, you don’t need to go far.”
Santhanam and his wife were deeply shocked to hear this from a girl who came from an orthodox Vaishnavite family.
After she’d left, Divya asked her father, “Appa, did you hear what she said? Don’t imagine that today’s youngsters are saints and angels.”
The most appealing sights in Majnu-ka-Tilla were the hundreds of kondrai trees. These trees earned themselves the name “golden shower” as they appear golden when in flower. There are hardly any Sangam poems in which flowers are not mentioned. The golden shower was a favorite of the Sangam poets who did were generous in their praise of nature. Whenever I see a golden shower, I remember a song from the Kurunthogai that I’d learned as a child:
These fat cassia trees
are gullible:
the season of rains
that he spoke of
when he went through the stones
of the desert
is not yet here
though these trees
mistaking the untimely rains
have put out
long arrangements of flowers
on their twigs
as if for a proper monsoon.
(Kurunthogai 66*)
My lifelong interest in trees and flowers developed when I started reading Sangam literature, especially the works of Kapilar. In Kuninjipattu, Kabilar has mentioned the names of ninety-nine flowers in his Kurinjippaattu.
The flowers which are named in this song are:
1. Kantal Malabar - Glory lily or Indian Coral tree or Scarlet Bahunia.
2. Aampal - White water Lily
3. Anicham - Blue Pimpernel / Scarlet Pimpernel
4. Kuvalai - Fragrant water lily
5. Kurinchi - Square–branched conehead
6. Vetchi - Scarlet ixora
7. Senkoduveri - Rosy–flowered leadwort
8. Tema - Sweet mango
9. Manichikai - Purple Heart Glory
10. Unthoozh - Large bamboo
11. Koovlilam - Bael
12. Erruzh - Paper flower climber
13. Chulli - Porcupine flower
14. Kooviram - sacred garlic pear
15. Vatavanam - Shri Tulsi, Ram Tulsi
16. Vaakai - Sirissa/women’s tounge
17. Kutacham - Indrajao
18. Eruvai - Small Bulrush
19. Seruvilai - White–flowered mussell–shell creeper
20. Karuvilam - Mussell–shell creeper
21. Payini - Indian Copal Tree
22.Vaani - Spindle Tree
23.Kuravam - Asiratic Terenna
24.Pasumpidi - Mysore gamboge
25.Vakulam - Pointed–leaved ape–flower
26.Kaya - Ironwood tree
27.Avirai - Tanner’s senna
29.Sooral - Wild Jujube
30.Sirupoolai - Mountain Knot Grass
31.Kurunarunkanni - Crab’s eye
32.Kurukilai - White Fig
33.Marutam - Indian Laurel
34.Konkam - Golden silk cotton tree
35.Ponkam - Horse–eye beans
36.Tilakam - Red–wood
37.Patiri - Yellow–flowered fragrant trumpet–flower tree
38.Cerunti - Panicled golden–blossomed pear tree
39.Atiral - Hog–creeper
40.Chenpakam - Champak
41.Karantai - east Indian globe thistle
42.Kulavi - Indian cork–Millingtonia hortensis or Patchouli
43.Pulima - Wild variety of Mango
44.Tillai - Blinding tree
45.Palai - Pala indigo plant, wongai plum
٤٦.Mullai - Arabian jasmine, Juhi
47.Kanchankullai - Indian Hemp
48.Piitavam - Bedaly emetic–nut
49.Chenkarunkaali - Red catechu,
50.Vaazhai - Plantain
51.Valli - Yam, Five leagf yam
52.Neytal - Red–blue water–lily,
53.Thazhai - Coconut Spathe of the coconut tree
54.Thalavam - Red jasmine, pink jasmine
55.Taamarai - Lotus
56.Njaazhal - Orange cup–calyxed brasiletto–climber wagaty
57.Mauval - Poet’s Jasmine
58.Kokudi - Indian jasmine
59.Chetal - Night–flowering jasmine, coral jasmine
60.Chemmal - Spanish Jasmin
61.Chirusenkurali - A mountain creeper Water Chestnut
62.Kotal - Malabar glory lily White species of Malabar glory lily Yellow glory lilly
63.Kaitai - Fragrant screw-pine
64.Vazhai - Long–leaved two–sepalled gamboge, Surangi
65.Kanchi - River portia, False White Teak
66.Karunkuvalai - Red Water Lily
67.Paankar - Tooth brush tree
68.Maraam - Lac tree–Shorea talura
69.Thanakkam - Whirling Nut, Helicopter Tree
70.Eenkai - Twisted acacia
71.Ilavam - Red–flowered silk–cotton tree
72.Konrai - Indian laburnum
73.Atumpu - Hare leaf, Goat’s foot vine
74.Aathi - Maloo Creeper, Yellow Orchid Tree
75. Avarai - Field–bean
76.Pakanrai - Indian jalap
77.Palaasam - Palastree, Flame of the Forest
78.Pinti - Asoka tree
79.Vanchi - Rattan Palm
80. Pithikam - Wild Jasmine
81.Sintuvaram - Five–leaved Chaste tree
82.Thumpai - Bitter toombay, a common weed
83.Thulay - Sacred basil, Krishna Tulsi
84.Thondri - Malabar glory lily
85.Nanthi - Indian rosebay, Crape Jasmine
86. Naravam - Indian lavanga
87.Punnaakam - Poon
88.Paaram - Indian cotton–plant,
89.Peeram - Sponge gourd, strainer–vine
90.Kurukkathi - Common delight of the woods, Helicopter Flower
91. Aaram - Sandalwood tree
92.Kaazhvai - Eagle–wood
93.Punnai - Mast–wood
94. Narantham - Malabar Lemon Grass
95.Nagappoo - Ironwood of Ceylon
96. Nallirunaai - Iruvatchi Jasmine
97. Kururuntham - Wild lime–Indian Atalantia
98. Venkai - East Indian kino tree
99. Puzhaku - Crown Flower
Of the ninety-nine flowers he mentioned, I have spotted and identified at least fifty in Nagore. Whenever my eyes alighted upon a new flower, I would feel elated beyond words and I would immediately set about finding its botanical name. Even in the forest, I am always on the lookout for new flowers. The scarlet ixora is one of my favorites.
In Nagore, most of the trees grew near the Vettar. The most common tree was, of course, the beautiful golden shower that came into full bloom during the autumn. The pollen of the flowers was like gold dust. Whenever my friends and I came across a golden shower, we would peel the skin off the firm fruits and remove their neatly arranged seeds. Sometimes we’d perforate the lobes and make the seeds rattle. At other times, we’d make a long hole through the tubular fruit, remove all the seeds and blow. This would produce a loud whistling noise capable of waking up the entire village. This noise, to us, was music.
When I went to Nagore last year, I was rudely shocked to see that there were now a number of huts where the golden showers used to be. The trees were all gone. Not a single one was left.
Once a month, we would walk all the way to Velipalayam to watch movies at Star Theatre. We were familiar with the names of most of the trees along the way. The gulmohar tree with its bunches of scarlet flowers was, like the golden shower, another favorite of mine. On Tuesday nights, my mother observed a fast in honor of Pillaiyar. Only women keep this fast and men are traditionally forbidden to be present at the puja.
According to legend, there once lived a poor peasant who had seven sons and one daughter. The grains brought home by the sons in lieu of wages were full of husk and chaff, so the family was unable to have a proper meal. One day, the poetess Avvaiyar knocked at their door for alms. The daughter wept, saying that they had only husk and chaff to eat. On hearing her plight, Avvaiyar, moved by compassion, gave her some rice grains. She instructed the girl to make an offering of them to Pillaiyar and begin a fast that would rid her of her poverty and bring happiness into her life.
The girl took Avvaiyar’s advice and began her fast on a Tuesday and ended it with a puja at night after her brothers had fallen asleep. As there was no fire, the girl went out to see if there was one still burning and saw a mast tree and a tamarind tree standing alongside each other. Planting one foot on either tree, she climbed. Craning her neck, she spotted a fire burning at a distance. When she made her way to the location of the fire, she realized that it was a cremation ground. When the vettiyan espied her, he asked whether she was a woman or a ghost. She explained her situation to him whereupon he asked her to pray for him as well and he gave her a cake of dung and some burning coals. Upon returning home, she broke some twigs from the mast and tamarind trees and made some dumplings with the leaves, arranged them in the form of two human beings – the vettiyan and the corpse from whose pyre she obtained the burning coals – and offered them to Pillaiyar. Within a few days, the family began to prosper as Avvaiyar had said it would.
Ever since, women have observed the Tuesday fast. The ritual demands that the men of the house should not hear the women’s chants and prayers or taste the dumplings even after they are offered. So, the women choose a house where there are no men. The rice grains brought by each woman are ground and mixed with tender coconut water to form a dough. Adais are made out of this dough and they are steamed. Pillaiyar is fashioned out of the dung cake of a calf and the adais are offered to it. Once the offering is made, the women eat the rest of the adais as they cannot be taken home. Before dawn, the dung-idol of Pillaiyar is submerged in the nearby river with the mast and tamarind twigs, hay and flowers.
During the months of Aadi and Thai, I was tasked with fetching the mast twigs for my mother every Tuesday. As there was no mast wood tree near our house, I had to go all the way to the cremation ground. I refrained from collecting tamarind twigs as ghosts – who supposedly targeted the oldest child of the house – were said to dwell in tamarind trees. As I was the oldest child in my house, I steered clear of tamarind trees.
I always associate tamarind trees with the images of hanging women, most of whom took their lives following a nasty fight with their husbands. In Nagore, men don’t commit suicide; they h
ead to the toddy shops. If women too had the option of drowning in toddy, most of them wouldn’t have committed suicide. The ghosts of all the dead women took up residence in the tamarind trees. I do not doubt this as I have seen many a man vomit blood and die under them. These ghosts do not kill women, but tend to possess them. The fact that several women had committed suicide meant that there were several ghosts looking for bodies to possess. This became a grave problem as the number of possessed women in Nagore only kept increasing. Crazy, possessed women were probably one of my reasons for fleeing Nagore. Even today, I’m afraid of the dark.
As boys, we knew that the ghosts would leave us alone if we went in a group in broad daylight, so we would all go together and pluck the fruit of the tamarind tree. If the fruit was ripe, the flesh inside would separate from the outer shell; you could tell if there was a rattle when you shook it. We used to break off a small piece of the shell, pour some water into the hole and shake it vigorously to obtain a delicious drink.
Now, when I see a mast tree, I think of my mother’s Tuesday fast. I remember people pressing oil from the seed of the tree’s fruit. Bats usually make their homes on mast trees; they eat the fruit and drop the seed husk. If the seed husks are dried in the sun, they can be cracked open easily. The seeds, once taken out, are dried again for ten days after which they are pressed to yield oil. One kilogram of mast seeds can yield 0.75 liter of oil. A mere half-liter of this oil can be used to run a HP diesel motor for an hour.
I have befriended and spoken to a number of trees in Nagore. When I spotted an Arjuna tree in Odisha, near the Puri Jaganath Temple, I just ran to it and hugged it. Hugging that tree did not feel much different than hugging my mother.
In the 172nd poem in the book Nattrinai, the poet writes of a hero who goes to his beloved’s house. He takes her to the mast wood tree under which she tells him, “Since my childhood days, I have nurtured this punnai tree with great love and affection. On seeing this, my mother told me that it is my twin sister. So I feel shy to talk to you under this tree. If you wish, we can find a shady spot elsewhere.”
Marginal Man Page 25