How I wish I could plunge into my work, body and soul. The people around me, especially during the "Word" cycles, get tremendously serious and businesslike. I look around, bewildered and speechless, as timid kittens turn into furious wildcats and mild mannered lambs turn into raging bulls; transformed before my very eyes, drunk with the heady wine of new found efficacy and power. Tempers fray and voices harden as joint editors stomp around squashing ambitious upstarts and enthusiastic reporters try enterprising new ways of sneaking in additional bylines :and I sit back and watch them, hopelessly dispassionate and stupidly unmoved by the twin motivators of fame and self improvement.
what the heck is wrong with me? ...or them.

There was a young man named Potter,
who went on an elephant slaughter
At the elephant pond,
he took out his wand
and made whirlpools in the water...

So much for Bravado
It was going to be a tour of the baths, with fish at the end of it, done to a turn. It turned out to be a tour of the bloodbaths and events took an unexpectedly nasty turn.

On the 17th of Dec, 2003, 22 students, packed tightly into 3 SUV’s, made their way through the close vegetation of Satyamangalam forest hoping to reach Hogenekal by noon. We would be passing through some of the most sensitive areas in the ongoing Veerappan man hunt. These areas have not been open to the public since 1989. Consequently the excitement ran high, especially since there was to be an armed guard accompanying each of our vehicles.

Our first stop was Palar. The place where Veerappan had blown up three buses in 1991, killing 22 people. Huge craters marked the spot where the buses had been bombed clear off the ground, while Veerappan apparently sat on a tree supervising the explosions by remote control.

On the way, we passed through Veerappan’s village, Gopinathan, where we saw the burnt remains of his old house. We also got a glimpse of his razed fields and property.
The next stop was a seemingly serene river bed surrounded on all sides by a dense green canopy of trees. The sight of so much beauty caused a wild scramble out of the jeeps into the outdoors. All infantile frolicking was brought to an abrupt end, however when we heard that this was the place where the deputy conservator of forests R. Srinivas was beheaded in 1990.

The inspector also made it a point to show us the exact spot his headless body was found! We scrambled back into the jeep in a considerably more sober frame of mind. The atmosphere had turned deadly calm. The two burly STF men didn’t seem all that burly anymore and the green of the trees had taken on a distinct tinge of red.

By the by, we came across another bloody spot. This was where 6 sub inspectors met with their grisly end. It appears that Veerappan and his band of merry men were lying in wait and ambushed a passing convoy killing everyone. At this point some of us turned slightly worried. This was dangerous territory. And there was not a single soul in sight for miles. The inspector who was traveling with us however brushed aside our fears saying Veerappan was afraid of the police and would not try anything today!(This meant either of two things; either he didn't know what he was talking about or he had shady connections with the man himself. Both possibilities left me speechless)

We finally reached the little settlement on the banks of the river Cauvery where the STF had arranged lunch for us. This turned out to be simply marvelous and more than made up for any apprehensions we had suffered on our way. We were served fish, freshly caught from the river, piping hot rasam and soft white rice on banana leaves. After this we were taken on a boat ride across the river to Hogenekal in Tamil Nadu.

Here some people made phone calls while others visited the local pay toilet. The boat ride back was very enjoyable. A coracle was commandeered by the STF to take us back in groups of 8 to 10 people. By the time we reached the other bank, it was already dark and we stumbled our way up the roughly hewn steps to the cowshed above. After a feeble attempt at "Antakshari," and another splendid meal, the group gathered around the bonfire, courtesy STF, and swapped ghost stories.

In the middle of all the spine tinglers, we heard the scariest rumour of them all. The STF received news of some unauthorized movement towards our area and ordered everyone into the shed, on the double. The seriousness of the situation became all too apparent when the guard at the entrance, removed the safety catch of his rifle. This action was followed by an audible gasp from all who saw it. The rest of the night was spent in a delirium of acute fear and anxiety, with the exception of a few; who were too tired to stay awake. Murmur, and the smoke from the two paraffin lamps, filled the air while suspicious noises from the darkness beyond, drifted in. In the early hours of dawn some dogs set up a great howling, which was accompanied by shouts that seemed to come from across the river. At that point some of us started praying hard, while simultaneously making impractical resolutions that we hoped to keep if we got to see New Year.

The next morning we took to our feet and left the place in a hurry. Veerappan could wait. We had a bus to catch home…

Did you really believe you were a Jew, then?
But the Jews burned, you know, in their ovens
and the ovens were huge,
big enough to roast millions and millions
so the smoke spread around the world
like an eruption from Vesuvius or Krakatoa.
Cities were buried under the ashes, and people
are still being discovered
in strange poses
withered like bad seed
inside a husk of stone-cold lava,
shaped forever and ever by a single moment.
Doesnt that sound more like it? Like yourself,
I mean, still a victim of course,
but not a Jew,
and besides, you weren't religious
or political either, until you met your Hitler,
which brings us back to this thing about the oven.
Was it really just the easiest thing to do?
Couldn't you get any pills?
Or wasn't it planned?
Yes. You were scrubbing the floor maybe,
another floor in another flat not your own home,
and all the fault of that man that you were so down.
We all know that feeling, and who's to say why some
decide to go and others stay,
but you've got to admit
one way you go on living
and the other way you're finished with it,
and it's a fact that corpses don't get any poetry written.
I just want to get it straight whose alter
you thought you were kneeling at
with that pillow
under your cheek and your nostrils
sniffing for that fine perfume, the gas,
to come seeping out of the unlit oven.
Yes, we're back to the oven again, its important
the way you put your head in there
like a meatloaf
or one of your favorite
Betty Crocker peach pies, Sylvia,
but this time you didn't strike a match.

Edith Speers in "Overland", 1986

Heres the rest of my blog about my granny as promised.
We did go down to the graveyard, the gates of which loomed large and spooky. We tried opening these but found to our dismay that they were locked and bolted. Granny, being the intrepid warrior that she is, picked up her skirts and stepped up to the problem. She immediately identified a gap in the hedge by the road and grabbed-a-hold of a vine from a nearby tree, swinging over to the rubber estate on the other side. (You think i'm joking do you?) After looking at each other for a pained second, my mother caught the swinging vine as well and landed not very gently on the red earth thither. I swallowed a lump in my throat, caught the swinging vine as well and landed with a great thump on the red earth thither. We made our way through shrub and thicket, finally reaching the other side of the gate through the illegal method adopted above. We trudged up the hill, reached the grave, paid our respects and trudged down again. Took the same adventurous detour and finally reached the road covered in scratches. Granny at this point wore a huge grin and seemed completely thrilled with herself. Till a young boy walked up to the gates and lock and chain notwithstanding, pushed...With a loud creak the gates swung open. We never thought to check!!! Granny wore a sheepish smile the rest of that evening.