A Tingle down your Spine

Alfred Hitchcock’s tales Of Horror

A very thin line  divides the immoral from the amoral- people who are indifferent to morality and people who are aware of the difference but make a conscious choice to walk the path of crime. in Alfred Hitchcock’s Tales Of Horror, criminals belong to both these categories ; who simultaneously strike fear as well as inspire awe and who repel and fascinate the reader at the same time. All the characters in Alfred Hitchcock’s Tales Of Horror reflect this bestiality in varying degrees.  Right from Mark Wallace, the scheming husband who cold- bloodedly plants a bomb in an entire hospital wing accommodating patients on life- support systems to merely murder his wife  down to Angela Barrett, the charming housewife and loving mother, who arranges “ accidents” in the smoothest, slickest maner to get rid of inconvinient people, we come face to face with a galaxy of almost professional criminals! These criminals have their own  warped values and justifications; a code system which frightens us by its sheer  absence of  morals as understood in the common sense of the word. The criminal mind is indeed a contorted mind.   This interesting collection opens with the story of a “happily married couple “ who plan to get rid of each other  out of “ sheer kindness” because each of them has fallen in love with a different person, half way into their marital life. Whether they succeed is an interesting twist which  keeps us rivetted to the end, Hitchcock’s ptotagonists are not merely black and white characters but assume different shades in proportion to the degree of their evilness. Mark Wallace is out and out a black character whereas Angela Barrett, who has slightly better human qualities-we know her to be a good and loving wife and mother has shades of grey painted into her psyche. Hitchcock does not sit on judgment-the jury is out to decide who is the most villainous of these thieving knaves, and ordinary, commonplace folk who commit murders and go about as if it is all in a day’s work!! But nobody feels the slightest twinge of guilt  or compunction while carrying out the most heinous crime. Their cold-bloodedness gives the creeps. Hitchcock manages to keep us on tetherhooks as we turn page after  page to find out if the criminal who has executed the “ perfect “ crime does get away with it.

This interesting anthology puts forth a very important point, which I am sure readers will  not miss- what would be the state of the world, if murderers got away with their crime!  Are morality and a normal value system superfluous in today’s society? An intriguing question. Find out the answer while shivers run down your spine!   

Kallidaikurichi Memoirs

Recently, I made a visit to Kallidaikurichi, the quaint little town tucked away in the foot hills of the Western Ghats. This little town, on the northern bank of the great river Tamirabarani in the Tirunelveli district of Tamil Nadu. steeped in tradition and a rich culture is the place where my mother was born and even as the gentle summer breeze caresses the paddy sheaf, the pages of memory unfold gently and slowly before my eyes, engulfing me in their fold.

  My grandfather was an agriculturist, who cultivated paddy, groundnut and sugarcane. A typical agrarian household, the machil or upstairs was stacked with sacks of rice, red chillies, groundnut. My uncle also engaged in cultivation of sugarcane and as  children, we would eagerly wait for the big container, filled with molasses syrup, which grandma would ladle on top of steaming dosas onto our eager plates. Summer holidays were the time of the year,when as a child, I along with my parents would visit Kallidaikurichi. The long summer holidays would be filled with games like Hopping Squares and  Thinnai jumping. Every house in Kallidaikurichi had a thinnai or a raised, flat platform where the men would sit  and talk in muted tones in the summer evenings, after visiting the temple. We, cousins had a great time, high jumping off these thinnais. Rarely did anyone take a bath at home, even though my grand father had installed pipes for the river water supply. Everybody in Kallidaikurichi except infants or the very old and feeble bathed either in the Taamribarani or the Kaalvaai.  For how could a bathroom tap ever replace the cool, refreshingly sweet water of the Tambiraparani or its irrigation anicut, the Kannadiyin kaalvaai  which snaked through Kallidai. Most well to do families had access to the canal with their own private bathing ghats, to which a small garden was invariably attached. This garden with its colourful, sweet-smelling flowers and  coconuts catered to the Pooja requirements of the household The irrigation canal was dry in summer till Mid June  when  water was pumped after the first south-west monsoon shower. 


The festival of Aadi Perukku was celebrated to welcome the monsoon gods and herald the onset of monsoons. While grey clouds billowed overhead and all vegetation looked  sylvan fresh and shining moist, the Kallidai maidens sang “Aadi Chevvai, Thedi Kuli “  and bathed in the startlingly cold waters of Kannidayin Kaalvaai, playfully splashing their mates and holding swimming races! The water which had emerged from the ghats  was always crystal clear and had immense medicinal properties. A dash of wet turmeric paste obtained by rubbing a turmeric piece against a clean smooth piece of rock in the river bed had a lingeringly pleasant fragrance  that modern day deodrants  and perfumes cannot match!  No soap, no powder for the Kallidaikurichi maiden, if you please; she drew her toileteries from bountiful nature.   A bath in the monsoon waters immediately set our stomachs on fire. On aadi chevvai day, we would  gorge on delicacies like Lemon rice, coconut rice etc. after offering these delicacies to Goddess Tamirabarani.  Sitting on the steps of the bathing ghat with feet dangling onto the water and eating savouries was a heavenly experience.In other seasons, we would walk home on the kutcha road in the paddy fields  after a  soothing bath in the main Tamirabarani river. We would carry steel kudams full of the river water, shepherded by the womenfolk. I still remember the  swishing of wet clothes draped around our bodies because we would dress properly  only after reaching home. Thereupon, our clothes would be hung with the help of a long stick on poles suspended from the roof. For spiritual considerations, it was important that the clothes were out of everybody’s reach, till the next day when the self-same stick was  used to remove the clothes and shove them into a bucket, kept in a corner till used the next day. Lunch was a simple affair with children and adults sitting on the floor in straight rows  in front of banana leaves onto which the women folk served a menu consisting chiefly of  sparkling white rice, dollops of ghee,  an avial ( South Indian  mixed vegetable stew cooked in a coconut gravy ), a Sambhar and Rasam along with a thin, spiced buttermilk.

Lunch was followed by a forty- winks ( no more) in the Nadai,  which adjoined the Kottadi or Visitors’ room. There was no need of a fan even in sweltering, summer afternoons, a cool afternoon breeze somehow found its way into the  Nadai, gently lulling us to sleep. Natural air- conditioning at its best! Housing in Kallidaikurichi was strictly on caste basis with the Brahmin streets called Agraharams, making up almost three- fourth of the small town population. These houses were long  and  connected to the next house by a common wall, with a connecting door which was only latched in the night. Thus visitors, neighbours  and even family functions and guests  spilled over to the next house. But nobody ever grudged this intrusion into their privacy- they were too simple and large hearted for that!  Mattresses were spread out  on the floor  in long straight rows, on which our tired limbs would stretch out in a dreamless slumber late in the night after  a round of bed games or a round of story telling by  elders.

 Kallidaikurichi has many temples; our street had a  Pillaiyaar temple at the northern end adjoining the canal. In summer, the leaves of the coconut trees in the temple yard would sway gently with the river breeze, fanning the sweating brow of many a devotee.The presiding deity of Kallidaikurichi is Shri Lakshmi Varaham also known as Lakshmipathi. Muthuswamy Deekshithar of the Carnatic Trinity has composed a beautiful Kriti on this deity in the Raga Aabohi. In the Adivarahar temple, the moolavar sits with  his consort Laxmi and showers his grace and blessings on the townspeople. Garuda seva, which is an important form of worship of the lord, implies the adorning and feeding of Lord Lakshmipathi seated on his favourite vehicle Garuda for one full day in the whole year. This Seva, a grand event with elaborate ritualistic offerings and  adornments which takes place on a Saturday in the Tamil month of Purratasi is undertaken by well- to- do Brahmin families in turn.

Kallidaikurichi, the village, rich in traditions, art and culture has lost many of its past sheen. It saddens me to see the Kannidiyan Kaalvaai, the lifeline of the village  being  diverted out of the village totally for irrigation purposes, thus depriving the residents of its innumerable benefits. I walk through the street where my uncle now lives in the ancestral house and my ears and eyes long for that friendly smile and eager voice asking in Tamil, " Pattuaa? Eppo vandhaai?"( Is that you, Pattu? When did you come?)" But nothing happens. People give me curious looks, but there is no welcoming smile or friendly enquiry. The agraharam which used to resound with the voices of  maamis,calling out and speaking to each other, is now mostly desolate, with  many houses being shut or sold to outsiders. Economic and social constraints have turned Kallidaikurichi also into an empty nest.  Even as my nostrils tingle at the aroma of a bygone of eats like murukkus and appalams, the values and traditions that Kallidaikurichi instilled in me will always be a part of me.  Kallidaikurichi may have frozen in time  but it has handed down over generations a tradition of simple living and family values!

Rest in Peace

My maid Kanta, for the third time in the last two months, asked for leave. I was surprised, because she is a live-in , with all comforts provided and basically, she is one of the rare types, who does not take leave without reason. So I asked her the reason. She sobbed and said “Amma, you know that girl died (referring to her granddaughter).  Wretched girl, she died without enjoying anything.  My son was to fix her marriage and now this has happened. The dead are gone but we have to perform the monthly obsequies and feed our relations. Otherwise, the poor girl’s soul will not rest in peace”. ‘Amma”, she continued. “ I need a small loan; my son is not able to bear the monthly expenses. let me do my bit and don’t worry, I’ll pay it back”. She  would keep her word and so I gave her the money. A little later, the entire brood (she lived in our outhouse) dressed in their Sunday best, marched out amidst gaiety and laughter to perform the “Obsequies”. Mind you, this was the third occasion and there would be quite a few more till my servant and her son decided to leave the dead in peace.

That set me thinking. Kanta, my servant and her son had not been on speaking terms though they lived in the same city. He never visited her  nor did she ever speak about him. There had been some misunderstanding; she had asked him some money which he had refused and that had brought about an abrupt end to their relationship.His marriage had also been a matter of disapproval. “ What  kind of a son is this, who doesn’t look after his mother,” she would say in tones of disgust. Personally I did not think he was too bad because he  had made an offer of money which the wily woman had declined, saying it was too little. “Let him be”, she would say .” I do not want charity. A mother deserves some respect. It is as if I do not have a son”.   Yet now, she was now performing monthly obsequies for a grand-daughter, whom she had not even seen for many years.

There had been some genuine grief on the occasion,for the girl was grown up and died suddenly of a mysterious illness. Grief at the sudden loss of a family member accompanied by rituals for the departed  was in order. But the subsequent monthly obsequies consisting mainly of feasting was a farce and I tried to reason with her. “ After all, the poor girl is dead and gone. How does your ritualistic feasting help her?” ‘ Blasphemy, Amma”, she recoiled, as if struck. If we fail to observe these obsequies, the girl’s spirit will be wandering restlessly, in search of food”. And  she went on with a touch of pride, “My son wants only me to cook the Feast. As Grandmother, it is my traditional honour which nobody can deprive me of. Not only that,our “ Close relatives” will have to be fed or else we will be socially ostracised as not having done our duty properly”.

I let go.  I was totally baffled.  It seemed that the  untimely death of the girl  under tragic circumstances had thrown up a lot of latent issues on human relationships and philosophy. Mother and son were going at it hammer and tongs till the girl’s death. Now however,  a truce had been reached ( God knows for how long ) and Kanta was proud to cook the feast for the Dead. A very simple philosophy emerged-  the dead depart, leaving their near and  dear  to carry on life as usual and not grieve. Kanta was  being very practical about the whole thing- grief had now given place to  Family Honour. It was now all right to feed and clothe well- all part of preserving the Family Honour.

One day, Kanta showed me a saree. “ Amma, my son presented this saree to me for cooking the Feast every month for the past one year”. “However”, she paused. “ He could have at least given me a silk saree for all my efforts”.

I knew then that for Kanta at least, life was back to usual.

Cubbon Park and its Message

Calm before the Storm

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Yesterday, I went to Cubbon Park after a very long time and admired  the fiery yellow shrubbed trees and the old Kutcheri building. I gulped in the fresh air, the greenery, the large tracts of brown ground covered with dry, shedding leaves, the cobbled walkways; in short the vast, vast expanse of virgin green cover that is Cubbon Park. I was thankful that I lived in Bangalore with its salubrious climate  and could still go for a walk in Cubbon Park, fortunately untouched by our politicians and the stifling infrastructural growth that has otherwise choked Bangalore. Cubbon Park is the lung of Bangalore, and like Wordsworth, a feeling of tranquillity descended on me when I was there! Though the Metro work  with its constant clanging and clogging pollutants is going on only a short distance away, still, Cubbon Park has somehow managed to retain its classic grandeur and majesty, right in the heart of a metropolis still in its infrastructural throes.

So that is the garden city of Bangalore, with a royal tradition handed down by the Maharajahs of Mysore, foremost among them being the great Jayachamrajendra Wodeyar, himself a great music composer and a patron of the fine arts. The IT industry has flourished in Bangalore, pumping in the lucre, increasing consumerism, the “cool” culture and the hanging out culture and correspondingly  decreased social values.  Recent Happenings in Bangalore  have become a Tamasha and we Bangaloreans have become a laughing stock. What else can we say of the Karnataka Ministers porno scam and  more recently the  lawyer-police fracas, which led to a total breakdown of law and order. What led to all this beating up,lathi-charging etc. etc. mayhem is still not clear. However one thing plainly emerges- the custodians and counsellors of Law and Order have behaved most disgracefully-like goondas as they are called in Hindi Filmi language. After all, what provocation can be of so serious nature that a rampage of this sort has occurred. Does not this violate all norms of decent behaviour specially from the watchdogs of justice and upright behaviour? Public property has been damaged, senior police officers, even a judge has sustained injuries; all this vandalism by the “ Protectors of the public” seriously calls for some introspection and analysis of certain basic issues-social values have totally disappeared and viciousness  and savagery is making its way into public eye.  A legislator can watch porno in the midst of  Assembly proceedings and can airily explain it away by saying that he was watching to decide whether it was permissible content! His comrades in arms were also watching it for the same reason! Hear, hear! If lawyers and journalists beat up each other and the police look the other way, what about you and me. We may even be bumped off as punishment  and nobody will even open their mouths.

Lastly, what is our government machinery doing amidst all this mayhem? Like Gandhiji’s monkeys, it chooses not to see, hear and speak on anything. After all what else can a lame-duck government, which is in constant fear of being dismissed do?  One thing emerges very clearly- nothing augurs well for the land of Kengal Hanumanthiah and Ramakrishna Hegde and its people? 

                                                                Sham of a Suvarna Karnataka!

Activism of a doggy kind

 The recent move of a dog owner to register a case against a vet  with the Karnataka Veterinary Council on grounds of negligent treatment of his dog resulting in its death is maybe not inappropriate. It is indeed sad that accountability in the veterinary profession is almost non-existent. Maybe this is a sweeping generalization. However incidents of careless,inexperienced treatment of pet dogs specially in Bangalore seem to be on the rise. This has resulted in many avoidable accidents, why even fatalities causing great mental and physical trauma to both the dog and the owner. I speak from personal experience as well as that of pet loving friends. While we do hear of private vets being good and treating even stray dogs for free, the overall scenario is scary! Like Beauty parlours for men and women, plush pet spas and pet stores  seem to have mushroomed in Bangalore where your dog can get the works. Pet care industry has grown by leaps and bounds because the number of affluent pet owners has increased and the there is a greater share in the pie.  While there are pet lovers, owning rare breeds, who will go to any length to avail facilities to pamper their “Cute little puppy”, we are here talking of basic diagnosis and treatment of our very own Spaniels, Pomeranian and Labradors. It seems that there are about 161  registered vets in Bangalore- a reasonable number to tend to Bangalore’s pet dog population but  the issue is whether they have the requisite qualifications, experience and above all the attitude to do their job right.  

A few years ago, my eleven year old Labrador Betsy went suddenly off food and was diagnosed as having kidney failure, a potentially life-threatening condition for an old dog. The vet, to whom I had regularly taken Betsy could have told us the bare truth that she had little chance of survival and perhaps helped to ease her end. Instead he said that a hysterectomy would help and made the poor girl undergo so much of physical and mental trauma, all to make a quick buck at an opportunity. Betsy’ condition deteriorated so much  and repeated calls to our vet met with rude replies at the other end. At one point, he even told me that we could bring a totally sick dog, who could not even stand to his clinic because he was busy. Finally she had to be handed over to CUPA to be put to sleep.Talk of heartlessness! the incident caused us great anguish- after all our beloved pet could have gone without needless suffering.

Recently a pug belonging to a friend was again treated for an eye infection in a Bangalore private clinic. Surgery was performed but the dog went blind in one eye with the infection spreading to the other eye. The friend went into a panic, looking up all vets in the area where he could take the dog to for emergency treatment. I do not have the details, but the latest report is that the dog is recovering.

Now to top it all, comes this very recent incident of an otherwise healthy dog undergoing a surgery and dying on the operating table. Speculation is rife about the actual cause of death but the owner has done well to take his case to the Karnataka Veterinary Council, which in turn has asked the concerned vets to give an explanation within ten days. Whether anything will come out of this is doubtful but it will definitely be an eye-opener to the scores of people in the profession. Hopefully some safeguards should be put in place.  Remember dogs may be dumb but they speak volumes with their eyes and expression. They are our dearest and most undemanding friends. Dog lovers who have been through all this will appreciate my point.

Gurucharanaambujha Nirabharabhaktah

The lotus feet of the Guru liberate from the birth-death cycle

Gurucharanaambujha Nirbharabhaktah
samsaradciraadbhava mukhtah

With the passing of my dance guru Radhakrishnan, an era has passed,- the era of dancing chalangais, tinkling nattuvangam,tireless and repeated rehearsals done with feverish pace to the grand finale of an Arangetram or a stage performance.It has slipped away quietly and swiftly, much in the manner of my Guru’s passing, leaving not a trace behind, only the fragrance of a bygone era.

Raadhai Saar, as he was known to his  close circle of students and friends  trained under the legendary Vazhuvoor Ramiah Pillai and took up Nattuvaangam for Kamala Lakshman, the famous disciple of Ramiah Pillai. Thereafter he started teaching Bharatha Natyam in various cities  where many conoisseurs spotted his talent and requested him to come over to their city and start  dance classes, promising him all help.It was one such assignment that brought him to Sindri, close to Dhanbad in Jharkhand, where my father was working. Raadhai Saar belonged to my mother’s native village of Kallidaikurichi in Tirunelveli District of Tamil Nadu, a place equally well known for industial barons who had their roots there as well as patronage of the fine arts. When one is away  and outside the native orbit, one tends to move in an emotional comfort zone, by seeking out people who  belong to your place. Raadhai Saar was known to my mother’s family and he had been told that my mother lived in Dhanbad, even before he embarked on his journey to Sindri.One Sunday, after finishing his classes in Sindri, he stepped out to look up my mother and thereby stepped  into my  childhood world-shaping and nurturing my aesthetic abilities. 

Mine was a musically inclined family. My mother was a good singer and since I did not have a good voice,she put me into dancing.I had already learnt the basic  Bharatha Natya addavus but at this point of time, my mother was keen that I adapt to the Ramiah Pillai school, with its emphasis on Nritya and Bhava. That was how I started learning from Raadhai Saar. It was hard work in the beginning; to relearn some and redefine many more addavus involving hours of rigorous practise. But Raadhai Saar was untiring in effort and unflagging in his almost child-like enthusiasm. He had the ability to achieve the best results without driving hard, patient and persevering  till the student got the Bhava and Addavu absolutely the way he wanted it. Herein was his greatest ability as a teacher-he was flexible. If a student had a problem in grasping or executing a movement, he would seamlessly alter it to an easier one, not for a moment losing sight of laya or tala. As a trained classical musician, he could effortlessly synchronize addavus with sangathis and mrugaas-for instance, he would choreograph a movement to match the elongated sangathi of the aananda nadanam aadinar pallavi in the Gopalakrishna Bharathi song of that name.

Learning with Radhai Saar was always very interesting. Under Raadhai’s guidance, my mother would sing the padams to which I would dance. Raadhai’s speciality was the Oothukadu Venkatakavi  Padams,  in which he never repeated a sangathi. His  vocal rendering and choreograph of “Parkadal alaimele “ ( immortalized by the great MLV) were exquisite.In those early days of rigorous addavu practice, I rememeber one particular gruelling session when nothing seemed to be going right.Sensing my frustration, Raadhai suddenly broke out into the lively folk dance of Kutrala Kuravinji set to the lilting Aananda Bhairavi song,” Pacchamalai Pavazhamalai”, completely transforming the mood  and need of the hour. 

Guru Raadhai taught  me for  a  short time, perhaps only three years or so but in these three years,I lived and breathed dance which is why, at the end of it, I turned out to be fit for an Arangetram ( Debut Dance Performance). Mine was the first and last Arangetram in the family and it almost became a social occasion, with relatives attending it and my grandparents even making me presents! It was a very happy occasion, with my mother and aunt singing the padams. After the Arangetram, there were a few stage performances but  somehow I started receding from the routine of daily and rigorous practice. Raadhai also left Dhanbad and I also got immersed in my educational pursuits. But we always got news about him. Radhai went on to teach in the Rishi Valley School and other prestigious places. The Tamil Nadu government also awarded him with a KALAIMAMANI title in recognition of his contributions to Bharatha Natyam. By then, my mother had also moved to Chennai  and she once again came in contact with Raadhai, who was leading a semi- retired life-earning pressures were off his shoulders and he was teaching and training dedicated students for the sake of art’s sake. 

Then suddenly last year, a strong desire to meet Guru Radhakrishnan possessed me. After fixing an appointment, I went over to meet him. I was seeing him after a gap of nearly forty years but was happy to see him, pretty much the same. Brisk and active at eighty-two, he was his usual warm self, playing host to the hilt. Together we rewound the past. He talked of his ongoing choreographs and I could catch a glimpse of the old sparkle in him. He insisted that we ( my mother was also with me) have lunch with him, his family hosting us with great affection. While leaving,I presented him with a cache of money, which he accepted after some persuasion. Later on , he was to call me to thank me for the “handsome”present.

That was the last time I saw him. The end came swiftly and peacefully. I always think of him as a competent Bharatha Natyam Guru, innovative yet never veering from his classical roots. Soft-spoken and simple, he lived according to his values. But the greatest legacy that he left  me was the aesthetic awareness that he created in me. Which is why I am able to transport myself into the celestial KANAGASABHAI reverberating with the Lord’s mighty dance, even when I am watching “Nadanam Aadinar” in a concert.

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Passwords (Farcewords) Challenged

As a child, my association with the word, “Password” was defined while racing through the pages of an exciting  Enid Blyton thriller featuring the Secret Sevens. It was a device which  the Hindi movie gangster of old used to utter in a deep, guttural tone  to establish his credentials  in the world of crime. And of course, who has not heard of “ Open Sesame”, the famous password used by Alibaba’s men to enter the wonder cave. Rarely did we come across the word elsewhere.

In today’s world, right from logging in, Password usage is the gateway  to  access some online sites, banking and  e-commerce. The moment, you open a site, a window pops up asking you to register with a Password. Easier said than done, for this requires you to think and key in, smoothly and swiftly.   

When I am in front of my computer,I must confess that I turn into a bundle of nerves, the moment an instruction to create a password flashes on my computer screen. My mind goes blank, as it used to do while writing a difficult math exam in school, long back. I become more nervous even as I realize I must think and type fast to avoid getting logged out. I just type in the first word that comes to my mind when the screen interface gently reminds me that the password has got to be alpha numeric and contain eight characters. By now, I am tense as a coiled spring, for fear that I may get it wrong again. Sheer luck, it  is accepted and I wait in victorious triumph for the site to open. But  nothing happens and I am not able to access the site, after going through the entire gamut of operations. I fret and fume.

I then proceed to a netbanking site, where I key in the password. As the next window opens, I stare with foreboding at  the prompter which glumly announces that the password typed is invalid and I should log in again. It further goes on to grimly remind that I would be allowed only two retrys to login, and in case of a failed login attempt, the site would be be locked as a security measure. I wring my hands in despair.

Next comes the change of password business, where I first have to key in the old password and the new password twice. As the encrypted password appears on the screen, my focus momentarily falters and I am confused as to how many characters of the password have been typed in. I look at the  screen for a clue, but dots on the space for password stare unblinkingly back at me. As I fumble,  I am told that I have been  automatically logged out for security reasons!  I am very sweetly reminded that  I would be allowed one more attempt to change the password, failing which the site would be locked!  Of course I could contact the Telebanking centre of the bank, always at the customer’s service for unlocking the site!

  Oops! I  just realized that I do not remember where I have noted the different passwords  for my railway and bus reservation sites!  Then and there, I decided that the Passwords were not my cup of tea. As for me, I am happy doing my shopping myself at the nearest super-market or   carrying my passbook for entries to my bank.

Lost Souls in a Stark World

Recently the gruesome murder of a school teacher by a ninth standard student right in front of  other students in mid- morning has sent shock-waves among parents, youth and all sections of society. Used as we are to opening the morning paper and reading the endlessly gory reports of  child abuse, student suicides ( they have almost become a daily occurrence that people have stopped to figure out the reasons behind it), yet this latest incident just cannot be dismissed  that lightly.  Where are we headed-  all norms of decency seem to have been given the bye and brutality and bestiality seem to be ruling the roost!

All that happened was some adverse remarks about the boy’s Hindi performance  with an intention to improve his progress. From all reports, the teacher was a kindly person who took an initiative to help weaker students. The boy apparently had hitherto shown no signs of deviant, violent behaviour. Then how did the Chennai incident happen? It is too horrendous to be dismissed as an one off thing-  it throws up a whole lot of disturbing issues. Who is at fault-  the  educational system, society or the children of today. In India, we usually have student suicides which again seems to be increasing at an alarming rate. Students opening fire in classrooms were incidents which only happened in the Western countries where juvenile aggression is attributed to a whole lot of psycho-sociological problems.These issues have to  be thoroughly examined and tough solutions found for we are otherwise headed for Disaster. 

The boy has said that watching certain media programmes prompted him to behave thus. That throws open a Pandora’s box full of squirming vices and vileness.Depraved politicians watch porno while legislative proceedings are going on and are brazenly shameless about the whole thing. Our films also glorify violence and all forms of aggression.

I taught in my Alma-mater for a short while, decades ago. The teenagers of yester-years  are all mature, strong independent women today. I am proud to say that we share a very tender, beautiful relationship through Facebook. But that idyllic student-teacher world ironically is almost farcical today.One thing is certain- children who remained flowers to Jawaharlal Nehru are certainly not that any more.The Age of INNOCENCE is lost. Welcome to the frightening world of Juvenile  Barbarism a harbinger to a depraved posterity.