Bogan Sankar's Charge of Bigotry and Why I Write.

Last year an editor of an online magazine asked several writers to write a column on why they write. He contacted me too. For many reasons I never got around to writing it. Now is a good time to write that long overdue column. When I say I am not a professional writer or a professional historian what do I mean? What motivates me to write?

Two quotes, from Will Durant’s ‘uses of philosophy’ in ‘Story of philosophy’, pretty much can be called my credo. 

“Life has a meaning. To find its meaning is my meat and drink” - Robert Browning

“(We’re) one of those who don’t want millions, but an answer to their questions” - ‘Mitya in The Brothers Karamazov”.

10 years ago I was exchanging emails with a cousin about EVR and his wife, seeing the futility of the conversation, suggested, "Aravindan, take it to a different forum. Write a blog". I started writing for a very small group of 5 or 6. I've never been a member of any blog aggregator and since I did not know how to type in Tamil and being that Facebook did not take off until 2011, for me, the readership was severely limited. Today sometimes a few hundred hits happen, sometimes a few thousand and few become viral. But, what remains consistent, I hope, is how I write. If anything I handle weightier topics now and take far greater care on verifying facts.

Facts matter. Its that simple. I realized an innate nature of me quite recently. A relative of mine was cursing another relative. I could've kept quiet but I could not. I refuted the charges, quite vehemently on behalf of someone I did not share a deep relationship with. Sometime around that time I had taken up on behalf of a then Facebook acquaintance with another cantankerous and very pugnacious person. The exchange was that the latter was misinterpreting what the former wrote. I could've jolly well gone my way but I could not. I had to wade in. Thereafter the pugnacious person, for a while, trained his guns on me and finally blocked me. No big deal. For the record the person I stood up for did not return the favor. I did not expect it either. I just told myself its not his nature and it was not a quid pro quo I expected. 

Nearly a 100+ people heard Thamizhachi Thangapandiyan claim that Tagore took back the title Mahatma he had bestowed upon Gandhi. Yet only one felt compelled to come home, rummage through books, verify and cross reference facts and write a blog debunking that nonsense. That included rushing to Amazon and buying a book. Soon after that I came across another video where she praised Protestant missionary Ziegenbalg and portrayed U.Ve.Swaminatha Iyer as a casteist. I wrote, with facts, that Ziegenbalg learned Tamil, not out of love for the language but to communicate with the 'heathens' to proselytize them. 

Propagandist falsehoods that reduce complexity to simplicity, mainly to malign, abhor me. The abhorrence becomes loathing when facts are not just perverted but mixed with outright lies. Mathimaran, a notorious rabble rousing speaker is an eager peddler of such stuff. I've had a fondness for Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan, Gandhi, Nehru and Bharathi from my college days. When Mathimaran maligned Radhakrishnan and Gandhi I felt compelled to react, with facts. When he ridiculed India's Independence Day it was me, of all people, who felt compelled to write why August 15th is a great day not just for Indians but for mankind as a whole. After hearing his speech my mind and thoughts, through out the day, kept returning to the memory of millions of ordinary Indians who sacrificed their all for liberation and I felt a rebuttal is necessary to honor at least their memories.

More than any of the above I've total abomination of bigotry and intolerance of all hues. There was a time, before my blog on Brahmin hegemony of Carnatic music and the recent rumor mongering about my religion, I was thought of as an apologist for Brahmins simply because I've written consistently about the Nazi like hatred of the community in Tamil Nadu and condemned the hate filled politics whenever and wherever I've seen posts on social media that were plainly anti-Brahminical. Whether it was Swathi's murder or Brahmin hatred in Tamil associations, anti-brahminism as a social phenomenon I've always felt I should actively condemn it. And condemn it repeatedly. My dad used to say that even an amoeba, a unicellular organism, reacts to its surrounding and how can we, as mankind, not react. 

Bogan Sankar, a prolific poet on Facebook, after I called him out for peddling bigotry he in turn called me a Christian bigot. Note, I only said he was peddling bigotry with a specific post of his but he turned around and accused me personally. Even when I rebutted him earlier on the Devadasi issue I was careful not to call him personally a bigot.

Bogan was once popular for writing snippets mocking Jeyamohan on Facebook. That was when we became acquainted. For a while, though we had our disagreements here and there, he expressed, dare I say, an appreciation of my fact based approach. Today in an addled state of mind he guffaws when I cite that saying, "hey I said even then I disagreed". One can disagree with stupidity because it is stupidity or one can disagree with a view point, however well articulated it may be, because one holds contrary facts or worldview. Only in the latter case would one even offer a note of appreciation. 

So why does Bogan think I'm not just a bigot but, specifically, a Christian bigot? Simple. The only times we seriously disagreed and the arguments became heated were about some of his contentions regarding Christianity and its history and likewise about colonialism. 

That Aravindan had written reams rebutting falsehoods about Gandhi, Nehru, Bharathi, Savarkar, Golwalkar, Brahmins, even India are all forgotten. That I refuted, what in my opinion was, incorrect perspectives on Church history becomes reason enough to label me a Christian bigot.

It was a staunch Hindutva acquaintance who once asked me "Aravindan have you read Golwalkar? Can you, in all honesty, say he admired Hitler?". I took up his question and I read Golwalkar's books, especially his 'We or our nationhood defined'. Then I wrote a detailed blog and I, despite my revulsion for Golwalkar's politics and ideology, concluded that Golwalkar did not admire Hitler and that his ideas of nationalism mirrored that of Gandhi's or Ambedkar's to a great extent. 

Researching for writing has always helped me expand my understanding and always I've been more impressed by the complexity of history. Only when I researched about Savarkar I came to know of the extent of suffering and sacrifice that the entire Savarkar family had undergone. About the humiliation heaped on Savarkar's brother I wrote, 

"The Raj decided to make an example out of Babarao by parading him in chains through the streets of Nasik. He was made to wear an yellow cap to signify that he was being sent to the dreaded 'Kaala Paani' prison and he had to balance a set of clothes and a water bag on his back. One has to remember that the Savarkars were, like Tilak, Chitpavan brahmins and for them the humiliations carried a sting that is too difficult to imagine today."

I've never made bones about the fact that my reading is 99% non-fiction. I don't know about Bogan's reading habits. He has, in his infinite wisdom, opined that somehow my lack of reading in fiction affects my ability to perceive history. Sure, one could say that but one has to provide evidence. An ability to imagine, connect the dots and a spirit of empathy can more than compensate lack of reading fiction. When I read about the humiliation heaped on Babarao I could pause and imagine what that must mean for a Chitpavan Brahmin. When I read that Dalits, in Maharashtra during the Peshwa regime, have to wear a spittoon on their necks when they walked a street lest any saliva dribbling out of their mouth accidentally, it is not just that inhuman humiliation that stuns me but the tragedy of a father or a mother explaining to a little child of theirs why they've to walk around, unlike others, with a spittoon tied to their necks, is the heart breaking one. One doesn't have to be a Tolstoy reader to be capable of that. Not just Tolstoy readers but Tolstoy himself could be heartless and tyrannical. 

Speaking of expanding my understanding the finest experience was knowing what an intellectual colossus Bharathi was when I managed to acquire, at considerable expense, all 16 volumes of his collected works that Seeni. Viswanathan put together. The best reward I got for writing a review to popularize the amazing anthology was a reader wrote to me saying he bought a set for himself. I cannot say how much it thrills me to learn more about Bharathi. How he responded to a critical female reader, his harsh criticism of Vivekananda on the latter's views, his love of science, his ethics as a journalist and more.

My current interest is studying about the history of how Christianity took root in India. While some, just some, might know about the efforts of Arumuka Navalar in South India to defend Hinduism from the relentless propaganda of missionaries by making Saivism change there are even less who'd know of a great debate between Muslim scholars and a missionary priest in Agra. 

Much of Aristotelian science is now known as wrong. But, Will Durant reminds us, asking the right questions is already half knowledge. When I published my blog on Brahmins and Carnatic I gave a detailed bibliography that included books that several knew though not all knew all the books cited. Nobody gave me a list of books to read when I decided to tackle the topic. Questions and more questions led me to the books. Why did I ask the questions? Simple. T.M. Krishna talked about M.S. and made some assertions. He did not cite any academic reference or books. I took the assertions and questioned them. Yes with google. As I was researching on Church history I just googled about the relationship of Muslims with Christianity and I came across a wonderfully produced book and that book, a series on the topic of Christianity, referred to another book about Hindus and Christianity. It's an Alice in Wonderland phenomenon.  

Both personally and professionally I've found that my best strength is to connect dots and to see a connective tissue between seemingly disparate themes. Reading about American history has certainly made me understand and appreciate parts of Indian history much better. I've been appalled by Indian women speaking about minorities in a chilling manner. Then I came across a book that explained how White women could outdo their husbands in racism. Then a bulb went off. I know I irritate many with my endless talk on American history. It is simply fascinating that these two countries, most important democracies, have so many parallels that are instructive in understanding about each other.  

Few things animate me as much as connecting the dots and bringing a fresh perspective to even well worn topics. Aravind Panagariya wrote an acclaimed book on India's economic choices and he gave a passing grade to Nehru. Too often I exasperate many with my carping about someone not being a historian or a specialist. Panagariya is an economist but he's not a historian. In the West a Physics degree holder is not considered as qualified to write the history of Physics. What did Panagariya miss? He completely missed even mentioning the biblical refugee crises that, Yasmin Khan, historian of the Partition, identified as a key determinant of economics. Also, Panagariya, did not adequately contextualize the choices of the Nehru era against the world stage. Those were my key findings in my largely appreciated blog on Nehruvian era economics. 

So what do I mean when I say I am not a professional writer or a historian? I think I've said this quite often that people like Bogan take it too literally and I blame myself for being little casual with that confession. I don't earn my bread by being a writer. I'm more of a blogger who picks what fancies him at the moment and writes. The lines between a blogger and writer are getting blurred though. On the non-fiction side I can collect a decent set of my blogs and turn it into a very readable book and by the standards of non-fiction in Tamil it'd be miles ahead. But when I say I am not a professional writer or a historian I am thinking in terms of someone like Francis Fukuyama. If someone like me wrote a book on Nehru my comment would be, "he's not an academic or a professional". Nehru, just to pick a topic, needs to be badly updated. The last comprehensive biography of Nehru was published decades ago. Recent scholarship on Cold War and books focusing on Nehru era are unknown to many in Tamil Nadu. 

While I am not in the league of Fukuyama I can certainly steal a march over the run of the mill history professors in Tamil Nadu and many who dabble in non-fiction in Tamil Nadu. That's a low bar to clear. I'm quite confident in my ability to flesh out a perspective that'd be refreshing. Case in point is my recent article I wrote after coming across Jinnah's correspondences. Bogan is yet to produce anything that comes close in that genre. While he mocks that I am twice removed from humanities as a discipline he'd not know what the discipline itself is. He's more than welcome to say I cannot write poetry but when it comes to writing history he has no record beyond a few scrawls on Facebook. Another column that I am proud of is the one I wrote after perusing microfilms of US Consulate filings from India. That column addressed a popular rumor about Gandhi dispatching Bhulabhai Desai on a peacekeeping mission to Jinnah. While I'm humble enough to know I'm not Fukuyama I'm not into self-debasement to think Bogan can write better history than me. I know Bogan would flaunt a post of mine where I said he can write poetry as long as he leaves writing history to others, others meaning, not me. Again, when I said that I was referring to the legends and real professionals that I adore.

To be called a bigot one has to heap abuse on what one is not and be blind to any fault of what one believes in. I'm neither. I've written a highly critical blog on D.G.S. Dhinakaran, I've written Nehru's criticisms of the Church activities in India, written in 1940, are still relevant, I've been unsparingly critical of the Catholic Church's conduct on the sex abuse scandal (on Facebook posts) and even my post on papal visit had its fair share of criticism appropriate for that column. 

That said when Bogan lambasts the Church of being opposed to science implacably and impeding the progress of science I demur because it is indeed a fraught relationship between science and Christianity but it is a complex and layered one. Galileo, Isaac Newton and Stephen Hawking are buried inside Churches as a mark of honor. The last two are buried at Westminster Abbey. Galileo is buried in the same Church as Michelangelo (he was buried elsewhere earlier but the Church later relented). Yes religious conservatives continue to challenge Theory of Evolution but in US, the Christian West, there are fantastic secular scientific establishments that wage court battles and put out fantastic books to defend evolution and debunk other bogus theories. 

On the other hand while Hinduism is not explicitly against science it is not uncommon, especially these days, to find Hindu dominated scientific institutions peddling cockamamie theories at Science conferences. When science and religion are seen as incompatible and one goes to war with another there's at least an element of honesty there. On the other hand playing a game of 'everything can be true' only engenders an intellectual complacency towards even understanding why religion and science are two different paradigms. It is not without reason that Fritjof Capra's 'Tao of Physics' remains a bestseller in India. 

Pointing out the above doth not make one a bigot. Similarly, Bogan tried to foist the complete blame for abolition of devadasi system on Christian missionary propaganda. I had dismantled that argument in an earlier blog. Bogan happily dishes out criticisms of one religion, in propagandistic manner, then when his errors are pointed he screams, 'Christian bigot'. Even if I was a Muslim I'd do the same.

One fine morning Bogan Sankar posted this, "J.C. Kumarappa's view on conversions and Christianity can be eye-brow raising. Kumarappa says the Church,too, is a military. Colonialism used conversions as a hidden tool to recruit for military (or military like). Usually people say Hinduism is not a religion. Kumarappa says Christianity is not a religion and that Christ did not start Christianity nor was he a member of it. J.C. Kumarappa's full name is Joseph Cornelius Kumarappa".

No wonder I commented "Kumarappa is an idiot". I then pointed him to read Rupa Viswanath's The Pariah problem" which explains how pariahs, as they were then called, demanded to be converted. Incidentally my recent readings on history of Church in India completely attests to what Viswanath said. Just because Kumarappa is Joseph Cornelius should we swallow his quote as wisdom? That was, I say it again, a patently idiotic remark. Those who know me know that on any given day on social media I'd have called something or the other stupid or idiotic. And they often truly are. Apparently Bogan tried to remind me of this in some other argument and I had denied calling J.C. Kumarappa an idiot. Some are under the impression that social media posts are research articles and that I should remember everything I've ever said. Bogan claims I ran away when he posted a screen shot of that exchange. I don't think there's anything in that to run away from. But here's the interesting part. Why did Bogan think that such a remark is ok to post? Why would I not point out that that's stupid.

I've several Hindu friends and relatives who'd post uncharitable DK style posts on days of Hindu festivals and I've reacted against that too. That's just who I am. I've wondered that most of my posts tend to be rebuttals or denials and I've figured out that perverting facts and intolerance irks and if I knew better facts I feel compelled to react.

As much as I call myself an American today and I consider Tamil more as my second language I attach no important to what is purely an accident of birth like religion. To call myself a Christian is an insult to the millions like my father who are indeed good god-fearing and church going Christians. Also to ignore my Hindu heritage is an insult to that part of the family too. And it is not Bogan Sankar's choice to impose an identity on me. I'm not calling him a Muslim or a Parsi. I don't think I've even called him a Hindu. 

If I can be critical of the papacy and televangelists I can jolly well be critical of Hinduism or any ism as for that matter. If I can be critical of Soviet Russia or America it is every bit my privilege to be critical of India. Even if I am uncritical of something and  partial to being critical of another that is still my prerogative and what'd still matter is my criticism is valid. Bogan Sankars of the world don't get to decide what I can criticize and cannot criticize. What anyone can demand is intellectual integrity and an honesty in discussion. That is what I owe a reader or a friend or an acquaintance. 

Another reason for me consistently saying 'I am not a historian' is because I've rejected many others for not being historians. Once I posted a photo of nearly all Time magazine issues that had Nehru on its cover. Bogan, as usual, came running to opine that Time magazine had featured Marilyn Monroe too on its cover. Then he cited Chester Bowles (whom he consistently referred to as Fowles), Ved Mehta and Kumarappa as those who paint an unflattering picture of Nehru or at least one that's less complimentary. I said Bowles was a diplomat and not historian and likewise Mehta was a journalist. Bogan replied that Bowles was a diplomat during 'watershed moments in Indian history". Bowles was a diplomat to India during November 1951- March 1953 and from May 1963- April 1969. As we can see his time overlapping Nehru was sparse. This is the kind of stupidity I've to contend with on a daily basis. And in that exchange I had asked if he had read any full length biography of Nehru. Of course he had not. It is this distinction that I continue to maintain and it is against this backdrop I inhibit from calling myself a historian.

Bigotry seeks not the best of what one is not. I'm an unabashed anglophile. That's another misunderstood remark. What I admire in the West is their intellectual approach, the universities and their books. It took a Jeyamohan column to help me learn that in India's philosophical tradition one philosopher refutes another by citing the previous work and subsuming it. He had cited how Sankara and Ramanuja wrote treatises on Gita. A notorious work on Gita that habitual haters of Hinduism love is "The other side of Gita" by K. Veeramani. I'll not touch it with a ten foot pole. I ridiculed a Hindu cousin for thinking that that's a work of scholarship. (I am citing the religious affiliations for obvious reasons. All my friends and relatives are just friends and relatives to me). After visiting the temple at Chidambaram I saw a book store in the vicinity and as usual stopped by. I came across a fantastic edition of Gita that included the expositions of Shankara, Ramanuja and Madhva. Along with Gandhi's and Radhakrishnan's expositions on Gita this too is in my collection. I've my bundle of differences with Jeyamohan but I've learned from him and others too. I buy books based on recommendations from Facebook friends and Economist and NYT and TLS. What Subramanian Swamy does is true bigotry. I've heard him mock Arjuna for being confused about killing. 

While many wax eloquent about the Socratic tradition in Hinduism there's not much writing about the Socratic tradition in Indian Islam. That's what surprised me when I was reading about a public debate between a Muslim scholar and a Christian cleric. I did think of that perspective I gained from Jeyamohan and wondered "here too is such a tradition but one that's rarely spoken of". By the way don't blame me for not knowing about India's philosophic traditions. Blame the fact that India did not produce a Will Durant. Recently a Brahmin Hindutva bigot argued that Indian philosophy is not for all to learn. I was stupefied. Durant's book grew out of his lectures to lay men. If lay men can learn about Kant and Spinoza what makes an Indian think he cannot be taught Upanishads? We know the answer. 

Even when I seek a work that criticizes a person or an idea I am extremely careful that I don't pick works by rabble rousers or dabblers or of questionable agenda. When I pick a work the scholarship or motives of which are questionable I don't let myself forget that. On any given day one can lampoon Gandhi or Nehru or Hinduism with quotes from all sundry. But that's what Bogan does and one that I avoid, at least in a serious blog. 

I refuse to see complexity when the issue is black and white, like Nazism. I refuse to see black and white when the issue is complex like conversions or caste or Brahminism. That said, blogs are not full length books and they cannot flesh out a complete perspective. Since many that I write are in rebuttal mode it is too easy to say "if you are rebutting camp A then you must be in camp B". Sometimes it may be true and sometimes it may not be. Even when I was highly critical of how Brahmins turned Carnatic music into a caste fiefdom I happily conceded and pointed out that Pillais and Devadasis too were notoriously guarded in imparting their craft. In the same blog I had also pointed out that the charge of Brahmins denying education to all but themselves does not hold water. In both cases I cited facts and figures. 

A book of stellar scholarship that I recently read and one that moved me immensely by the sheer intellectual range and intellectual integrity of the author was a book by K.A. Nilakanta Sastry. I've quibbled with some parts of his works but I've the highest possible regard for the man and his integrity. While I was reading his 'Sourcebook on Indian history' a columnist who writes on Madras and its history, Niveditha Louis, posted a blurb on a recently published anthology of Sastry that, I felt, unfairly pilloried him as a person blinkered by caste prejudices. While I was commenting on her post and refuting that another person, a Hindu, piously said that there should be no holy cows. Then the good journalist blocked me. After that, having finished reading the book, I wrote a blog and recounted this strange incident of me, of all people, having to defend a Indian historian to a Christian.

If I 've to cite one or two books that best illustrate what I love, cherish and try to be one would be Will Durant's 'Story of Philosophy' and another would be Enrico Coen's "Cells to Civilization: The Principles of Change that Shape Life". Science, besides history, fascinates me endlessly. It is another area where Bogan and I violently disagreed. He's an unrelenting critic of modern medicine and I'm its unyielding advocate. Coen takes a Cezanne painting, explains why the artist left an imperfection as is and then connects it to an explanation of the complex mechanism of how we breathe. THAT is precisely what excites me. That is also why I love connecting the dots. Of course one should have a sound reasoning and factual basis for the connection to be an acceptable one. This is why I refuted Kumarappa so harshly.  

No, I am not recounting these to burnish my credentials or even to remotely apologize for what I am. I first thought of brushing aside Bogan's innuendo, a plain mud slinging that he resorted to because his quiver had no arrows, but ruminating on the topic made me think it provides me an opportunity to write on what motivates me.

I told Bogan that he needs to learn English because his rebuttals consistently showed his comprehension was incorrect and I was being charitable in ascribing the cause as unfamiliarity with a language. I don't know French or any language besides English and Tamil. When I re-read Bogan's remarks on Nehru, that he wrote in English, I found that I was indeed correct. A confession. I am indeed not at all proud about the grammatical mistakes that plague my Tamil writing. It is not even flippancy. I apologize to all my Tamil readers.

None of the above should be construed that I never make mistakes or probably free of biases. Many tend to take my Facebook posts too seriously. Please don't. They're instantaneous reactions akin to a conversation near a water cooler with a colleague amidst a busy day. Many of my posts actually come amidst a busy work day and they carry that flavor. Even the blogs will have mistakes. By the time I finish writing I rarely go back and edit. I am just plain tired and I want to get it over with. Like now. But most of my blogs are written after due deliberation and weeks of researches that include hurried buying of books on Amazon or a run to Princeton University library. Yet there may still be mistakes. 

A principle weakness of mine is an insatiably curious minds that literally loves every topic. While that has its advantages it also could mean I am yet to form a systematic study of a single topic and formulate a systemic idea. That is another reason why I consistently say I am not a professional historian. 

The journey so far has been interesting. I've lost friends and relationships, like the cousins who set me on this path, and I've gained friends and relationships. I'm sure I'll lose some friends when I publish my long overdue blog on Christianity and Carnatic Music and I may win some and I may convince some. I'm sure some will rally to Bogan's side and yell 'bigot' and I am sure some wold say "difficult to agree with all but he has raised interesting issues". I can only guarantee that I think of neither when I write. I write what I think as valid perspectives formed after reasonable due diligence that a blogger can do and offer what I think of as perspectives that merit attention. 

When a friend tells me, "Aravindan I've learned to respect Nehru thanks to you" I consider that the years have not been spent in vain. I'll continue to plod on.

Two other key motivations to write are, one, it is cathartic and two it really helps me formulate an opinion. In this blog both were, more than anything else, to key drivers. This blog is less to honor a baseless silly charge with a refutation and more out of a desire for catharsis and reflection.

PS: I decided its unnecessary to post screenshots and references to my earlier blogs. And this blog is one where I just decided to post without going over the content once again. Too tired with too much going on. 

Dad, A Life at Many Levels: Mundane to Sublime and Everything in Between

"நின்றான், இருந்தான், கிடந்தான் தன்கேள் அலறச் சென்றான்" என்ற சராசரி வாழ்க்கை வாழவில்லை அப்பா. A year ago today dad left, as Reagan put it, 'the surly bonds of earth to touch the face of god'. He lived a simple and honest life and managed to leave not just memories but changed lives. Eulogizing the death of JFK Jr. Roger Rosenblatt called the expression "untimely death" a "cant expression" and wrote that "when a man dies, a civilization dies with him. Whatever constituted his being-- his gait, manners, tone of voice, political opinions, appearance, his particular use of language, philosophy, sense of beauty, sense of style, his personal history, ambitions, his smile--all go". That eulogy was aptly titled "The Measure of Life".

My brother and I took a boat ride in the Lake District in UK and as talk turned about our father we both marveled that for a man who came from a very humble and unintellectual background his interests were encyclopedic. We marveled at how a man born to a humdrum life insurance agent and lived his life mostly in a parochial small town had a diverse spectrum of interests. From Bharathi to Shelley, including Tamil film lyricists; from an interest in Mozart to Rabindra Sangeet, including Carnatic music and film music; from Jeyakanthan to Bernard Shaw; from enjoying Rex Harrison to Sivaji Ganesan he was of his times and beyond at the same time. If his wide ranging intellect was impressive his steely sense of morals was unshakeable and his ethics were unimpeachable. Sure he was human too with his mercurial temper and more.

Dr. T.Kannaiyan (August 2nd 1941 - August 25th 2015)

As an impulsive school boy I had volunteered to compete in the annual competitions for elocution and essay writing, both Tamil and English. From my 6th grade to my college days I've won many a competition, particularly elocution contests and I owe it all to dad. Dad took a pocket tape recorder and a blank cassette for training me. While lengthy introductions filled with honorific epithets addressing the judges, the authorities and the audiences were popular as opening remarks dad dispensed with it and went with a simple 'Good evening everybody'. That saved time when a speech was restricted to just 5 minutes. It remains my signature opening even today. Then he tutored me in the art of public speaking. Voice moderation, appropriate gestures, how to rest the hands on the lectern, how to scan the audience from one end to another, how to give a gentle smile at appropriate junctures and more. Then he made me speak out what he written about Gandhi and recorded it. He'd then play it back pausing it every now and then to show what was wrong and how to correct it.

Many students recalled what a wonderful teacher he was in Tanjore Medical College. Dad loved to teach. He'd never be didactic. His lectures were filled with humor, good natured humor. He despised silly scatalogic humor that is still quite the staple in India. He hated obscene and silly jokes about women on TV. When a student was too ill to take classes dad recorded a course on cassettes and sent it to him. There was nobody that he would not teach to and there was no one he'd not learn from. When a student mentioned Saul Bellow dad just got up and grasped his hands saying "oh, who in this small town would even mention Bellow". Till the very last he read about what was new in his field, ENT.

Pride in his work was paramount for dad. He was uncompromising when it came to his professional knowledge, how he treated his patients and his ethics. In a profession that is plagued by unethical conduct dad was above reproach. He never earned a single dishonest penny in all his career. He never took commissions from medical representatives or laboratories or nursing homes. There was never a surgery performed that was not necessary. He took care to write honest prescriptions that only had what was necessary and when cheaper drug alternatives existed he insisted on only writing them. His prescriptions are models of clarity. For a doctor his handwriting was beautiful and legible and he wrote detailed instructions for the exact timings to take a medicine and even included details about acceptable food choices post-surgery. He never hesitated to refer a patient to a better surgeon when situations demanded. Though he had a testy relationship with his one time chief surgeon he'd refer patients requiring intricate microscopic surgeries, the kind that was not commonly done in Tanjore, to him. He never treated a patient who needed a different specialist.

One reason why his students adored him was that unlike many doctors he treated house-surgeons (resident doctors) as human beings. When it was common to dish out sexist insults he never did that. Seeing him call a resident doctor "sonny" they took to calling him "Dada".

"Learn from my mistakes" he would say to us boys. As a young doctor with a short temper he once came home to boast to his dad how he flung an instrument in an operation theater that his attending nurse had handed wrongly but got reprimanded by his dad that "had her dad had enough money to educate her to be a doctor would she have suffered today". In a profession that looked down upon nurses he treated them with great respect. After he passed away a nurse saw my mom at a nursing home and came up to her and said "madam, sorry for your loss, he treated us so well".

Going to Chennai from a small town for his MBBS and away from the thumb of a very stern father he squandered his undergrad days. Though he cracked a state prize in his MS (Master of Surgery) he regretted how he tormented his aging dad by not being a good student. Dad was quite forthcoming above what he was not proud about himself. He was quite a terror in his college days. Egged on by classmates he once took a junior girl and dunked her into a water fountain. I've never heard him speak of that incident without regret. Much later as an examiner frustrated at a student who was plainly a failure he took out his wallet and wagered that the student would flunk the next question too. Next day he regretted that it was conduct unbecoming a teacher.

Temper, he'd confess was his undoing."My only enemy is my tongue" he'd often say. Quick to be angered he could let loose a string of choice bilingual expletives in vernacular and English. He could, as Henry Higgins would say in 'Pygmalion', curse like a sailor.

A devout Christian he taught us to be courteous and not wipe out the sacred ash the mom of a Hindu friend would apply on our forehead when we headed to our exams. Living in a mixed neighborhood he commanded respect from all and was courteous to all. To the entire street he was the first doctor on call for anything they needed.

Faith in Christ was central to his life. He'd often quote from the 'Book of Esther' words to the effect that one is possibly in a special position only to do good to others in their moment of need. He'd also add that as Esther's uncle reminds her that if does not rise up to the occasion help will still come to needy from above. While he'd gladly go to any temple he'd not step into the sanctum sanctorum out of respect for true believers of the faith. He enjoyed reading all religious texts or religious classics or the epics of India.

Though devout he was nevertheless a man of science. On science he was uncompromising. When religion stood in opposition to science he would unhesitatingly side with science. He loved reading books on science. Mediocrity and pseudoscience would anger him. He loved succinct writing that is lucid and clear.

Science supplied reason and religion gave him a moral compass. Besides religion he also learned liberally from literature. Shaw's 'Caesar and Cleopatra' that portrays a very generous and magnanimous Caesar was a big inspiration for him. Shylock's monologue lamenting that a Jew is as human as others was almost a credo for my father. He discovered Ayn Rand much later in life and saw her as inspirational. A little known fact is dad loved Tamil literature too very much. While he was not a serious student of literature he was a discerning reader. And yes my name does come from N.Parthasarathy's 'Kurinji Malar'. Verses from Tamil literature were his favorite repartees. He could recite entire sections of Silappathikaram and Bharathi, of course, copiously. Rudyard Kipling's "If", Leigh Hunt's "Abou Ben Adham", Tennyson's "Brook", Wordsworth's "daffodils" were among his most loved poems.

Dad was no crusty intellectual. "Have fun but such fun that you would not be ashamed to tell your children" was his favorite aphorism and one that he lived by. He was an entertainer who could literally play act a Sivaji Ganesan movie or 'Pygmalion'. To all his nephews and nieces and our friends he was no forbidding elder but one they all could join in laughter with, unlike most of their own dads. He was no prude and could regale everyone with the specialness of "Roop Tera Mastana" or how a drenched Padmini in "Jish Desh Mein Ganga Behti Hai" would make hearts flutter by exhaling and heaving her bosom. Though not a prude he disliked gratuitous vulgarity and titillation for the sake of titillation.

'I'm a perfectionist' he often would say and lived up to it. Whether it is the fabric of a pant material or the choice of a type of paper for his souvenir; whether it is a surgical suture or writing song lists on cassette sleeves nothing was too small to be prefect about. He always wanted only wholesome experiences. Seeing his kids losing themselves in Tamil film songs he sought out his good friends, descendants of Abraham Pandithar, to record choice Western Classical music. He gave them blank cassettes with the instruction "don't split a musical piece between two sides of a cassettes, leave blank spaces if required, its ok to waste tape space rather than having to switch cassette sides while listening to a piece of music".

Nothing disgusted dad more than mediocrity and especially pseudo-scholarship. He'd often narrate an incident about his professor who when treating V.K. Krishna Menon told him "your problem is you don't just call a spade a spade but you call it a bloody spade". Dad always called a spade a bloody spade. A friend recently said that I'm the 'uncrowned king of being caustic'. As we often joke in our home I'm, after all, a chip of the old bloke (we always said 'bloke' instead of 'block'). While he would be eager to call out a 'bloody spade' none can match him in encouraging talent, irrespective of age. Tasked with bringing out a souvenir for a prestigious conference held for the first time in Tanjore he sought out little known names, the oft ignored 'roadside pimpernels' he called them, to write articles. He has brought out publications to shine a light on students.

Family was everything to my dad. A doting son, he got himself transferred out of Madras to come and be with his father and provide medical care. It was a career altering decision and one that he took much against the advice of practically everyone. Then when he was promoted and transferred he resigned rather than see his boys grow up from a distance. He went to great lengths to ensure we boys never lost out on academic or extra curricular enrichment due to growing up in Tanjore. In high school we would get NCERT text books that my cousins in Madras used to reading from. "Go for the horizons", "I should be known in your schools as your father and not the other way", "don't choose soft options. Soft options like literature and politics are bromides, science is the ultimate" used to be his set of oft repeated aphorisms. He'd have been the first ENT surgeon in all of India to have majored as a plastic surgeon too but for an asinine dean who made him withdraw his application not wanting to set a precedence. Time and again dad swallowed disappointments in his profession out of pragmatic concern to keep the family running. Like any family there'd be squabbles with relatives but if there was any medical help needed nothing would stop him and he'd go all in to be of support. Caesar's magnanimity was not an idle belief but a creed to live by for him. He was deeply attached to the extended family and they to him.

As dad declined in health and became an invalid for nearly 10 months mom and his friends supported him like a rock of Gibraltar. Dad had submitted his resignation nearly 30 years ago and literally stopped practicing as a doctor nearly a decade ago and yet the reservoir of good will that he had cultivated was unbelievable. For a person who was uncompromising in how he lived and very discerning in his choices I was stunned to see so many rallying to his side and supporting him with only one aim "he should not suffer". It is testimony that in a world spiraling downward into a decline of morals there are still those who value a well lived life.

American pediatric neuro-surgeon Ben Carson's autobiography would end with the line "my two sons are my everything". Dad had underlined those words in the copy I gifted to him.

Dad lived a fulfilling life and blogs can never do justice to any life, much less one like that he led. I've only touched upon vignettes of his life. He will forever be missed for he was more than just dad to me and my brother, he was a soul-mate. A good movie, a place of history, a good book, fine poetry, a musical performance, a fine piece of clothing, a tasty food, a luxurious restaurant, a well appreciated blog of mine or a seminar my brother delivers and in so many innumerable moments his memory would forever linger in our minds.

இன்று கோகுலாஷ்டமி. அப்பா அடிக்கடி பாரதியின் கண்ணண் பாட்டிலிருந்து 'நண்பனாய், மந்திரியாய், நல்லாசிரியனாய், பண்பிலே தெய்வமாய்" என்ற வரியை மேற்கோள் சொல்வார்கள். எங்களுக்கு என்றும் அவர்கள் அப்படித்தான்.

Dad's most loved lines from Shakespeare was what Mark Antony would say of Brutus and they'd apply to dad too, "the elements were so mixed in him that one day all nature would say 'this was a man'".

My dad is a travel agent

Allan Bloom professor at Cornell wrote his classic bestseller "The closing of the American mind" in response to a campus disturbance that shook Cornell. Bloom recounts a post card he received from a student on his first visit to Italy, the student had written "You are not a professor of political philosophy but a travel agent". Bloom exulted 'nothing could have better expressed my intention as an educator. He (the student) thought I had prepared him  to see. Then he could begin thinking for himself with something to think about'. When I read that I thought of my father. Does saying 'father' sound better than dad? Saying 'dad' carries a different collegial camaraderie too.

During my visit to Lake District in UK my brother and I took a short cruise ride. We mused about how dad, despite growing in provincial towns, has an intellectual sweep that is pretty impressive. My eclectic interests and idiosyncrasies too come from him. Passion for science, pursuit of incorruptible knowledge, uncompromising pursuit of perfection, ego, humility in the presence of true excellence, deeply compassionate and quick to temper he is quite a bundle.

When we got our first two-in-one tape recorder, a Panasonic, we kids were thrilled to record good old Indian radio programs. He came home one night and we gladly told him that we recorded Tamil movie dialogues  in the blank tapes he had bought to record music. Aghast more about our lack of choices to listen than about losing his tapes he took the tapes and recorded western classical music in 20 tapes. He had not grown up listening to Beethoven or Mozart and lacked any formal training in music though he remains a good singer. He got a local friend, whose family hailed from the ancient Abhraham Pandithar family, to record western classical music. He instructed them never to split a music between two sides even if that meant wasting space. He could not tolerate breaking a musical piece in 2 sides as he felt it would spoil the holistic experience. Hearing a lot about M.S.Subbulakshmi's rendition of Bharathi he wanted to buy it. He asked the store owner  to play a sample and hearing M.S. mangle Bharathi's word in Sanskritised pronunciation he just walked away. One day he surprised us with Latha Mangeshkar's Meera Bhajan. Those days there was no Amazon.com or anything to tell him 'here is what others bought similar to your past purchases'. My brother and I marveled at how my dad would mention about Rabindra Sangeet.

Bernard Shaw's 'Ceasar and Cleopatra' is a big influence on him. His most loved quotes were 'do I have to bite everyone just to shew that my jaws are strong', 'let it burn, a shameful memory' (referring to burning of library of Alexandria) and how Caesar tosses the enemy list refusing to kill his erstwhile enemies who he had defeated. Another favorite quote is from the Book of Esther from the Bible. When the jews face imminent destruction and Esther, unaware, is quiet her uncle warns her 'do not think that if you do not help we will be forsaken. Help will come from above. Who knows, the Lord might have put you in this position only so you can be of help to your people in their hour of need'.

His faith is simple and sustains him in moments of great trials. Unlike many Christians he is comfortable  in enjoying the many facets of Indian culture though it may be overtly Hindu. Whether it is enjoying Sivaji's 'Karnan' or Bharathi's poems or even visiting temples. For three generations our best family friend is a Brahmin. When my friend's mom applies sacred ash as we head out for exams my dad would smile and in fact ask us to keep it on. When science and faith collide he would not hesitate to take sides with science.

Teaching students is a great passion for him. He would lay a great stress on simplifying a concept and breaking it down for a student to grasp. So many students, of every caste and religion, remain steadfast friends across decades. For a doctor his handwriting is very beautiful and he would insist that his PG students should write legible case notes. If the case notes was scribbled he would tear it up, sit down and rewrite it legibly himself.

For 4 years he trained me in public speaking. He taught me how to ascend a stage, how to give a gentle smile before opening the speech, how to modulate, how to look across the audience, how to tailor a speech to an audience, how to speak both Tamil and English properly without an accent in either, how to keep the opening simple 'Good evening everybody' and much more. He would first deliver the speech and record it. Then I'd render it. We would then play it back and forth to compare and correct. My Tamil teacher could never reconcile himself that a boy who spoke English good 5 minutes ago could turn around and deliver a speech on Bharathi equally well pronounced without a trace of English accent. Father loved Tamil literature but he is not jingoistic or chauvinistic about it. Most self styled Tamil enthusiasts give him allergy, like wise it is so for me even today.

Seeing how we kids were getting sucked up in reading trashy Tamil comics or just weeklies he consciously tried to get us interested in reading better books. When it comes to books he is at his uncompromising best. He will NOT respect Kannadasan's trashy set of books on Hinduism, he would be discerning and merciless in denouncing what he does not like.

When he referred a relative to a certain doctor that person was surprised he said "hey you and him do not get along so how come you are sending me to him", my dad replied "but he is the best for this surgery". He would not hesitate to refer his patients to somebody else if he thought a certain surgery was beyond him.

Once he attended as chief guest a function at St Peter's High school where he had  studied. St Peter's instituted 350 years ago was the first school to teach English to Asians. Dad gave a complete mono-acting of 'Pygmalion'. He loved such flourishes and could carry it off too.

I am extremely picky on food. I insist on certain combinations and cannot accept anything less. Dad loves good food and is very picky. Mom, thankfully, is a great cook. One day I got an email from my dad that listed out various combination what kind of chutney goes with what main dish etc etc.

Studying in MMC in the 60's he was swept up in the DMK wave that raged across the colleges. But having grown out of it he repeats that we, especially me, not fall a prey to political activism. Caught up in journalistic fervor during the Arun Shourie vs Rajiv days I wrote an article on the anti-defamation bill that Rajiv was spear heading. My dad's very respected scholarly Pathologist gently chided me saying 'hey I'd have been proud of you if you had written about beta Thalassemia'. My dad calls such forays as 'bromides'.

More than anything he was open with us boys. He would often speak of his mistakes in hot blooded college days and say "learn from my mistakes". He did not create any illusions of his infallibility. Oh another favorite quote from dad is what his chief surgeon told V.K.Krishna Menon "you do not just call a spade a spade you call it a bloody spade'. My dad and I are guilty as charged on that.

It would be remiss to omit mentioning my mother who was the anchor for all this intellectual wandering. She was the disciplinarian who insisted on regular hours of study, had her feet on the ground, ferociously protective of her boys and more. Seeing that my Chennai based cousins speak Hindi the first thing she did was to engage good natured person to teach us Hindi. That my brother was able to go to UK at considerable financial risk was mostly due to her.

I've to stop somewhere. There is no way I can end this blog. When veteran political commentator Tim Russert died I heard a lot about how much he loved his dad. Russert had written a book about his father titled 'Big Russ and Me'. Thousand's of readers were touched by that book and wrote to Russert about their own dads. I got that book for my dad. Since then he calls himself Big Russ.

To Big Russ, 'Happy Father's day'.

CIT Harmony 92: Window into Cultural festivals and a big win

Cultural festivals are often seen as 'rowdy, skirt chasing, bunking classes and everything that is not for an honorable Indian student. As often in life that is generalized, too generalized and completely disregards so many other nice aspects of these culturals.

I've seen astounding creativity in cultural festivals, boys and girls whom we could not even imagine doing something would surprise you with talent. A shy and withdrawn girl would surprise by her poetry. An unassuming guy could write a poignant story in no time. One guy could populate an entire hall with carvings in soap. A photographer capturing the beauty of a girl's eyes. A girl as next-door looking as they come could take the breath away singing zoom-zoom-baba leaving you searching for her the next day amongst hundreds. A teenager with Beethoven in his name would play a multi-tiered keyboard catapulting his orchestra to a bumper win and mesmerising the crowd. Talent shows were fertile ground for mediocrity and soaring creativity too.

Of course the adolescent streak is dominant, to pretend otherwise is to insult the reader. A bunch of girls from Bangalore dancing in mini skirts on a raised stage would be a crowd puller in Coimbatore. The topics for most events like Poetry writing or painting or photography would have something to do with romance or girls or something titillating. When our team from Shanmugha (SCE in short) was prepping for those events my college lecturer, our team supervisor, asked for topics that we can kind of get prepared for. I gave a few, he replied "one track mind". I was on target though. A college cultural festival is not an academic festival and it is organised by teenagers for teenagers. Lets get that straight.

CIT (Coimbatore Institute of Technology) used to organize one of the biggest cultural festivals in TN. Well over 60 colleges would participate drawing the cream of participants. PSG Tech, PSG CAS (PSG College of Arts and sciences), Anna Uni, IIT's, REC's all would come. CIT's festival was called "Harmony". My first sojourn to Harmony in 1991 was a non-event, I fell sick and returned the second day, the only grace was I had bought Francis Bacon's "Essays" from a Higginbothams at Kovai. Hhmm does not saying Kovai sound so much better than anglicised Coimbatore. I marked out the Essays that Will Durant in his "Story of Philosophy" had specified as must read. The "Everyman" edition was elegant with the essays incorporating Latin proverbs and a neat glossary to explain each proverb.

I was back at Harmony in 1992. My team mate for debate contest was my good friend Raajesh Ganesan (he loves the extra 'a' in Raajesh). A very fine gentleman who later was the first guy in SCE to write GRE scoring 2100. He respected my skills a lot and we were a good team. He was no pushover either. Drawing lots the topic assigned to us was "Brain Drain". One member had to argue for and another against. Raajesh told me "Aravinda you make the pick where you can be the most forceful and eloquent". This topic was close to me heart. Having suffered the barbs of reservation and yearning to get out of India, which then was a very intellectually stifling country, I jumped at arguing for those who left the country.

We also decided that Raajesh would go first and speak against those who left India. He, incidentally a Brahmin who wanted to go to USA, despite his convictions, played his part. I took the stage next. To say I sizzled was an understatement. Thanks to my father I never subscribed to the typical craven way of opening speeches by addressing all and sundry, it was always "Good evening everybody". I opened by taking the audience to 1940's. Scientists, primarily Jews, were fleeing Nazi Europe to America, the land of liberty. The tide of scientific supremacy turned. Germany the cradle of Quantum physics fell behind while America, at the urging of Einstein and immigrant scientists raced to discover the atom bomb. The world was never the same again. I ended with a punch line "let the brains drain out of this country lest they go down the drain". We sailed into the finals.

Here came a quandary. The team we were up against had an IIT'ian and another guy. We were approached by the organisers that the IIT team was illegal because the competitors came from different colleges. Practically two guys had teamed up. If we lodged a protest they would be disqualified and we would compete against another team. The IIT'ian came up to me and said "hey lets compete, we are here only for the prize money, you can keep the certificate I'll arrange it". Now this IIT guy had just created a rave in a previous competition called JAM (Just a minute). In JAM a contestant has to talk fast with no big pauses in grammatically correct English. If anybody in the audience finds a mistake he/she would be stopped. Nobody could stop this guy. He was on a roll, he was nicely ribald too. Many girls loved the ribald part. [In fact that year CIT had a competition called 'latent talk' purely double entendre talk, it was a hit with girls. Girls love Harold Robbins or Mills & Boon while guys go for the unvarnished stuff]. I felt if my win had any meaning it would be to beat this guy. I said lets go for it.

The topic was "Foreign investment boon or bane". We drew lots and our team had to speak against investment. A sure loser side given the winds of change in 1992 and the dire economic climate of the country. I knew if we won it would not be based on arguments or evidence so the speech itself was lackluster. The question and answer round was where we had to play it. One of the panelists, a girl student, tried to push Raajesh into a corner by forcing him to say 'yes' or 'no' to an inconvenient question that could really trap us. Raajesh was hemming and hawing, the girl kept badgering "say yes or no". I took the podium and with an imperious wave of hand and a baritone voice that needed no microphone boomed "life is not always a yes or no, let him explain". More than the repartee the manner it was delivered brought cheers from the audience, the girl backed down. Meantime my college team that was scattered across competitions all flowed into the auditorium. This was new experience. SCE in the final round, about to win a big competition, lot of points at stake. Sheer satire and sarcasm flowed thereafter. We won in a thunderclap of applause and adulation. We had won big in a 60 college competition beating all other elite colleges. The college itself did not win any other big event, that too in first place.

When we came home to Tanjore we were feted. The college Secretary, now chancellor of SASTRA, brought out a press release to highlight the achievement.

Before I wind up here is a very interesting tit bit. In June 1991 I was selected, in the first place, to be part of Bharathidasan University's cultural team for debates/elocution. It was a first such win for SCE, it created a splash, that too was reported in the press. One day after all that hullabaloo the first year exam results came. Aravindan had failed in English. One one hand the university said I have to represent it for English elocution competitions and on another hand I was declared a failure to pass the exam. Of course we appealed for re-evaluation. My English professor as subject teacher gave a strong recommendation in the justification. Finally I was cleared with a 30 mark increase. I went on to be selected for Bharathidasan University for three years in a row. Unbeaten record till today.

Prof.TRR, KGS, a literary forum and standing ovation

After my +2 exams I went to Karunya Engineering college enticed by the brochure that highlighted "Siruvani rivulets". Given the "incurable romantic" I was I imagined strolling by Siruvani with some lass. After joining the college I beat a hasty retreat, part home sick, part disgusted with suffocating religiosity, part scared of hostel food. I joined Shanmugha College (SCE) in 1990.

At Karunya, I and my dad were offered a seat for completing the formalities. So naturally I sat in the chair opposite to the Principal. Prof T.R.Rajagopalan (TRR), a frail looking, sternly gazing behind a glass, seated in front of a Gandhi portrait, erupted in anger, "how dare you sit in front of the principal". I meekly stood up. My dad was amused and impressed by TRR. Just before we had gone in we witnessed a spectacle. TRR was dressing down a dad, the son/student standing. The dad feebly defended "his friends are not good". TRR hit the roof "what about his brains, why do you give him pocket money, give him money just enough for bus ticket.."

One day I was in the chemistry lab when a lecturer asked who was willing to speak in the literary forum, named Athaneum, I instinctively lifted my hand. I am a child of the stage, having gone on stage since my 6th standard. The topic was about Man Vs Machine. A 3rd year student did a cheap trick when he opened his speech, he addressed the audience as "Friends, Romans and country men lend me your years", feigned apology for calling the audience as Romans, his thrust was to follow, "they say Rome was not built in a day, well with the power of modern technology and Robots we can". I followed him, a first year student, my opening lines were a stiletto repartee slicing into him "With all the power of artificial intelligence you cannot 'create' ONE single painting of Michaelangelo in the St. Peter's Basilica". The roof came down. A star was born. The language, the diction, the posture, the wit, the scholarship was refreshing to a sleepy temple town. The same guy and I sparred on Gandhi. P.V.Karthik, thats his name, completely demolished Gandhi, ridiculed Gandhi's Brahmacharya experiments etc. I came next. I had summoned Nehru, Shaw, C.E.M. Joad, S.Radhakrishnan, Shelley and more, fired back volley for volley. The symposiarch of the day exulted "Aravindan spoke like a young vivekananda".

Prof TRR started taking notice. After a symposium on Nehru when I scaled the heights of rhetoric he warmly commended me as "you speak like my erstwhile classmate Jaavar Seetharaman". Jaavar, many Tamilians know as the painted English General in Veerapandiya Kattabomman. Jaavar was supposed to be an eloquent speaker in the heydays of Trichy St.Josephs.

By now Prof.K.G.Seshadri (KGS) began treating me like a protege. We talked books endlessly. We both exalted in re-reading "Atlas Shrugged", enjoyed discovering Fritjof Capra, studied Will Durant, savored Bacon and some ribald limericks. Year after year for 3 years I won the annual oratorical contest he held. Awarding me the first prize for my essay "Book I love most:Story of Philosophy", he said "Aravindan wonderful essay, it needed a judge like me".

I had won every major competition there was to win in Tamil Nadu. University contests, College culturals, you name it I had won it. Most were first prizes. Over 3 years I had opined on the fall of communism, Gandhi, Nehru, Women, education, non-violence, 50th anniversary of Quit India and even Gardening.

I had not missed a single meeting of Athaneum. I was its face, a permanent fixture, its identity and its prestige. I was always the last speaker, I had the last word.

I was able to function freely with a wide latitude of intellectual freedom. The best episode was when I questioned the central tenet of the Bhagvad Gita, "do your duty without expecting rewards". I posed Spinoza's aphorism, "passion without reason is blind, reason without passion is dead". TRR a respected sanskrit scholar steeped in Gita attempted to answer me. He respected my questioning. TRR always made it a point to read every student achievement in his annual report on College Day, a good chunk would be my list of prizes. Once the secretary actually arranged a press release to celebrate my university prize.

TRR was the toast of the college. He was a true Gandhian. A very meticulous person, honest to a fault, fearless, punctual, spartan, in short he was a model Principal. He would break a strike by slapping a final year student. His slapping would not be like a rough henchman like but it was like a 70 year old avuncular man steeped in a medieval era concept of student-teacher relationship. The best part would be seeing the hefty taller student walk away meekly from a man whom he could have snapped in two easily. TRR always respected my forthright views and my integrity in voicing them. Often my friends would kid me that the guy on stage was mature beyond years, weighing opposing views and voicing support in a scholarly framework. Off stage I was a typical student. I felt I had a responsiblity when I spoke from the stage.

I brougt home laurels undreamt of by Shanmugha. The biggest upset victory was winning the debate in CIT Harmony 92. I won against 60 colleges including a very talented speaker from IIT. By the time we reached finals our entire team came into the hall to see a headline victory. Verbal volleys, satire, sarcasm, sharp wit were in full flow we won handily. It was quite a sight to see an audience of 1000 erupt in applause and celebrate the victory of a student from what was a non-descript college then.The hallmark of my career was consistent winning. I repeated the feat in 93 Harmony. In 1993 it was a jackpot event. I had bet that I would win in first place. If I had failed our college would lose points heavily. It is said that when Arjuna entered a battlefield and strung his bow Kandeepam, the echo would send shivers down the spine of his foes. One contestant once said "well Aravindan is here, lets just set aside the first prize". A girl once asked me to help her and my two friends objected "oh well he is helping us already", she said "well he can think for 10 people and still beat us all", not to be immodest but I did win the first prize then too. Coming back to CIT 93, I won the jackpot catapulting my college to second place win the culturals. We had made history in SCE.

By now it was 1994 my dominance raised hackles. Judges tried to cut me to size "oh we need to allow others to win". Also I and KGS began feeling that I had outgrown the ability of most judges to judge my speeches. Well not many knew Bronowski or Joad or Hawking or broadly read so I had withdrew. I continued to speak only at the Athaneum.

In the last meeting in my final year I finished my speech and overcome with emotion I said "I'd like to take one last look at the audience, this auditorium and my fellow speakers, thanks to all of you for my rich experiences over 4 years". I stepped down, heavy at heart. Suddenly TRR called me back on stage, he stood up and asked the audience, including many Professors, to stand up and give a standing ovation. I was barely 21.

I owe a lot to my beloved father who groomed me for many years and to Prof KGS who came to treat me as an alter-ego. Of course to Prof TRR who had the largeness of heart to honor a student he had refused to allow to sit barely 3 years back.

I had kept handwritten copies of all my speeches since 6th standard, many with my father's corrections until 10th standard. I had spoken such a veritable number of topics that they were a treasure trove of an adoloscent intellectual. One summer June in 1996 feeling frustrated at lack of progress in life I just bundled it up and threw it into a dustbin. Thats the way the world ends, not with a bang but with a wimper.