Hope and the Peacock

There is definitely something charismatic; something numinous and charismatic about peacocks. In this discourse, I shall take you through a semi-dark passage in my mind, a carefully preserved and commonly restricted passage that leads to my fascination for peacocks.
It’s a beginning for my own realization while coming to say that peacocks are my idols of Romanticism. Romanticism here is not the virtue of being aesthetically or tastefully romantic, it is the derived connotation for optimism, the idealism in being frivolously, mindlessly optimistic.

The last time I saw a peacock was after the last time I brushed my teeth – this morning. A damp morning it was, probably due to a minor squabble among the pregnant clouds above (the squabble couldn’t have been more pleasant for the humans below). I live in this bungalow, in the centre of a dense, unkempt urban forest, in the outskirts of Tuticorin some ten miles from the Tuticorin port. Along with me, in the expanse of the bungalow, live a dozen frogs with a great family of whiskery grandfathers and sashaying tadpoles, a couple of sleepy, drunk water snakes, a five hundred scurrying squirrels, and hold your breath, a peahen and a peacock. On the first day of my stay here, I didn’t realize the existence of the last two inmates in my compound; I was head-punched and slept like a log that day. But some time around midnight, on the second night of my stay, I woke up with a start. There was a warping sound emanating from outside my window and it was tearing my ear membranes apart. It was certainly some animal, I decided. I first thought it was a rattlesnake (not a far-fetched thought – very possible), or maybe just a crow with insomnia. In my groggy state, I was just plain confused and little freaked out too (I have whatever ego it takes to not admit that I was frightened). Before I could get myself to summon the security guard stationed outside (who was most probably boozed up and knocked out), the sound stopped. I pulled the fattest pillow close to my chest and buried my face into a dream that revolved around boarding into a train and boarding out of a ship. That following morning, I witnessed one of the most beautiful sights ever. With the sun and the vast blue-gray skies as a perfect backdrop, a peacock was perched on the terrace, with all its glory, grace and cosmic glimmer unfurled for me to see. On a later enquiry with the security guard that morning, I came to know the identity of my midnight’s visitors. They were none other than this peacock and his benevolent wife, both in a particularly barmy mood.

To a Buddhist, the peacock symbolizes purity. But to me, the peacock symbolizes optimism – Unrestrained enthusiasm, limitless hope and inexhaustible euphoria – all comprised within that single expression. A couple of days ago I found a peacock feather lodged royally in between two shrubs. I picked it up, went back to my room and placed it near the mirror. I looked at its reflection for a long time. I have heard from my mother about how she, when she was a child herself, had stolen the peacock feathers kept for puritan purposes at home, and with so much of implicit belief and hope, had hid them in between her school textbooks. According to the child in her, the peacock feathers defied the science of reproduction and could multiply if cushioned between the pages of a book. I remember laughing at her and calling her a dreamy kid, with all the maturity my voice could command. I looked at the rich, indifferent splash of colours on the peacock’s feather placed before the mirror. For a moment, I was tempted to usher the feather inside the folds of my “Company Accounts” textbook. After that moment passed, I laughed at myself for laughing at my mother the other day. Even though what she did as a child was puerile, what it now conveyed to me is the amount of hope that little feather had exuded to her.

A peacock’s mood is on a song if it spreads its Resplendence for the world to see. This is the connection I see in peacocks radiating happiness and optimism to its audience. When you look at a beautiful woman tremendously happy and chatty, you tend to get blissful and hopeful yourself. This is the logic I see here too, and in this case it is a beautiful peacock.

I think I can sit hours together and marvel the artist in God, or whatever you choose to call that Anonymous Creator. I shall now go back to stare at the feather. Let me place it between the pages of a book. I hope it soon reproduces. Rest assured, I shall send word when it does.

The Pride of Tamils

Ten Tamils I am extremely proud of (Part I: 3/10)

(I reflect as I type, there is no particular order of importance followed)

1. Palaniappan Chidambaram (பா சிதம்பரம்) - Chidambaram has definitely risen; Risen above all ranks of politicans, and all rungs of politics. In the world of Indian Politics, he has been there, done that; From Finance and Planning to Personnel and IS, he has seen it all. From the lousy, bratty, desk-thumping graduate from Madras Law College, to the bespectacled, fountain-pen-flaunting scholar from Harvard, Chidu had been it all. Alright, Alright, when it comes to Chidambaram, I wish to dwell in the present. To begin with, what befogs me, is the suaveness with which the Staunch Socialist Chidambaram functions with indomitable ease in a country that leans on Capitalism. And to note that this socialist was one of the driving architects of India's successful Neo-capitalism policy, it pushes me to a state of irrecoverable bewilderment. Chidu was entrusted with the toughest job after 26/11 - the thankless job of the Home Minister's. He inherited the Ministry of Home Affairs from the soft-spoken Mr. Shivraj Patil. Shivraj, though a savant in every sense of the word, had only one deficiency: he converted internal security meetings into Sai Baba Satsangs. Successor Chidambaram, like a tornado in a farm land, chucked all peace in the IS Meetings out of the partisan windows. He woke the drowsy babus up with his child-like dynamism and set the sweat-rate high in the cozy cabins of the Ministry of Home Affairs. He revamped the NSG and has set plans to revamp the Indian Police. Today, one year after the Mumbai Blitzkreig, Chidu has pulled the trick, and has lived up to his job. With Kashmir and Naxals enough to itch his mind, lets give his Tamil heart a warm, redeeming hug. For more on PC, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/P_Chidambaram
2. Allah Rakha Rahman (அல்லா ராகா ரகுமான்) - A.R. Rahman is probably the biggest musical seed that was ever planted in Tamil Nadu. His is the curious case of the small seed planted in Chennai, that grew up to be a huge Banyan in California! More than his music (maybe because I am a Dasan of Ilaiyaraaja, whose monopoly Rahman broke), I am electrified by the rapture he commands from the National audience with his International appeal! I think only a true-blue Indian gone global could do that. I saw his Oscar Acceptance Speech; The pride of being Tamil surged in me, when he mentioned his Mother. Which Tamil's success-sentiment is complete without the mention of his/her mother? I was almost there on that occassion when Rahman made us all proud, standing on that high-voltage podium at the centre of the Kodak Theatres and receiving the World's most coveted Film awards. To this Tamil with wavy hair and humane musicality, a cheer from the highest note my voice-box can reach. For more on ARR, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/AR_Rahman
3. Srinivasa Ramanujan (ஸ்ரீனிவாச ராமானுஜன்) - Math Wizard Ramanujan, has more relevance to me, not because of his path-breaking discoveries in the World of Math, but because of the commitment my family has towards him. When I say my family, 99.999% of it comprises of just my grandfather, PK Srinivasan (who shall, to his amusement, from his study in Heaven, which I am sure is filled with a lot of books, research papers and newspapers just like his study here back home, find himself listed in the later part of this congregation of my top ten Tamils). Ramanujan died in 1920, sixty nine years before I was born in 1989. But, one of the first family members I knew, one of the first faces I recognised, and one of the first names I pronounced, was that of Ramanujan. Readers, like many people from the World Math Society mistake, please note that Ramanujan was not a family member by blood though he was from the same Vaishnavite clan. He was more of my family's identity from the external point of you. As regards to what Ramanujan discovered and what all his fuzzy logic included, I am yet to get past the counfounded. All I can say, is in the layman's tongue. I think Ramanujan is great. Two sides to his greatness; I think Ramanujan is a great in the Math World, because my grandpa thought so. I think Ramanujan is great within my heart, because my grandpa fed us everyday with his greatness. For more on Ramanujan's actual contributions, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Srinivasa_Ramanujan

Do save this page on your bookmarks. I shall be right back with the remaining seven after attending to a few everyday rigmaroles. தமிழ் வாழ்க! தமிழனின் புகழ் பெருக!