He was dead, a few months before.

How could he? He had always told us that he would live till 90. He would’ve been only 71 then.

YM Joghee. What a man he was, for those of us who cared to know him. The celebrations around Srinivasa Ramanujan’s 125th birth anniversary have brought back memories of him. I am reminded of the small poster of Ramanujan that Joghee master had gifted to me and which is still stuck onto the inner drawers of our steel bureau at my parent’s place.

I can’t think of Math and gifts, without thinking of Joghee master. He had a unique approach to teaching Maths. Something akin to Ramanujan’s. He never bothered about the text-book steps to arrive at a solution. He always encouraged us to find shorter ways of finding a solution. He exposed us to Vedic Mathematics, when it was not yet a fad. We were all made into mini-Shakuntalas, doing complex square-roots and multiplications within our minds in a few seconds.

But he didn’t stop at Maths, though he was only our Maths teacher. He taught English to those of us, who were interested. He sharpened our grammar. Any errors that you may notice in my writing now, would be those I have learnt later on. He introduced us to English literature. While, it was my father who ignited the passion for Tamil literature, it was with Joghee master that I took baby steps into the classics of English literature.

I couldn’t get enough of Joghee master at school. I started visiting him at his single room in a small lodge on a busy market road. He was 56 when he first starting teaching me Maths for my 6th Standard class. He was never married. He didn’t want marriage to interfere with his passion for teaching. That also explained why he was always having lunch at Hotel Vani Vilas, near our school.

For the three years that he taught me (till he retired – in any case, he was officially eligible to teach only till 8th Standard), almost all Sunday mornings were spent with him at his hotel room.  He used to talk to me about books that he read and give me math puzzles to solve. It was always a friendly chat. I felt that he treated me like his equal. He rarely taught me during those Sunday meetings.  I always returned home with a gift, usually, a book  with a distinct YM Joghee signature and seal on the first page. The gifts accumulated and grew into a library. Charles Dickens, Walter Scott, RL Stevenson, Alexander Dumas, Jules Verne, HG Wells, Conan Doyle are all authors introduced to me by him.  Those were three glorious years, when Pip and Ivan Hoe were my heroes; when I was traveling around the world in a day, travelled to the center of the earth and under the seas.  I even had the Complete Works of Shakespeare, which I finished reading in my early teens over a single summer vacation. (Now, I think, I did it too early and missed the nuances, and must revisit all those wonderful works of Shakespeare).

After a while, I had company for visiting Joghee master – my sister.  Along with books, we now started getting ice-creams too.  Arun ice-creams! What a luxury, they were at that time, for us.

Our school had an excellent library. Most of the English classics  there too, had the YM Joghee seal and signature.

After I moved to 9th Standard, I had a tough time adapting to the style of the new Maths teacher. Competent though, he was the exact opposite of Joghee master. He was a stickler to the text book and expected us to list down all the steps. No more shouting out the answer in a jiffy.  My appetite for Maths went on a slow decline, after that. I am still reasonably good with numbers, thanks to the strong foundation, but am not, relatively, as sharp as I was, for my age then.

I still continued to meet Joghee master. He moved to a distant place (10kms!) , close to a railway track.  The number of trips started dwindling -  partly due to the distance, partly due to other weekend commitments (I had become a busy inter-school debater!) and partly because I started feeling that I was outgrowing my favourite teacher. I was now grown up enough to develop my own literary tastes, and discover authors on my own. But I always knew, I was standing on his shoulders.

For college, I moved to Chennai. The visits to Joghee master gradually came to a stop. Then I lost track of him. And then, I realized we had lost him.

I did a Google search, before writing this blog. I couldn’t find any entry on YM Joghee. If this is the first entry about him on the internet, I am happy that I am doing it. But he deserves better.

“Appa, will Nehru maama never come paa?”

“He won’t daa”

“Will Gandhi thaathaa too not come?”

mmmhmm…I shook my head.

“Will they come only on TV? Why paa?”

“Yes da. They grew very old.
And so, they left the earth.”

“Appa, if you grow old,
will you also leave the earth?”

“…”

“You should never leave me and go anywhere.
Okk?”

—————————————

Earlier on Nov 14th (from my Facebook update):

We had quite a tough time cajoling Mahirl to go to school today – ‘Appa, I don’t want to go to this Nehru maamaa’s birthday party. I dont want to meet him.’  No, this is no hidden message for the Nehru-Gandhi family.

When united
the world stands
against me,
I have no fear,
I have no fear,
I know no fear.

When rubbish
I am dismissed as,
and trashed,
I have no fear,
I have no fear,
I know no fear.

When a life
of begging
I must resort to,
I have no fear,
I have no fear,
I know no fear.

When everything
I love
is lost,
I have no fear,
I have no fear,
I know no fear.

When the eyes
of pretty women
pierce me,
I have no fear,
I have no fear,
I know no fear.

When I am fed
poison by my
closest friends,
I have no fear,
I have no fear,
I know no fear.

When an army arrives
with spears
smeared with flesh,
I have no fear,
I have no fear,
I know no fear.

When the sky
shatters and descends
on my head,
I have no fear,
I have no fear,
I know no fear.

—————————

My translation of the song “Achamillai achamillai” by Bharathi.

On this Diwali day, I am inspired to do this translation, thanks to Mahirl Malar ( my 3-year old daughter). Last night, she was refusing to step of the house, in fear of crackers. I told her to recite ‘Achamillai’ song, everytime she hears a loud burst. She started doing that in her inimitable way, and tone, with wild gestures of bravery. Voila:  she dragged me down for a walk to watch the big boys having a blast.

thanks to my penance.

The damned dark moments

have all disappeared.

Spreading its rousing

fresh golden rays,

it’s risen with splendor:

the wisdom, the sun.

- part of a poem by Bharathi, translated by me and posted on Facebook.

Here is a wonderful rendition of the song by Bombay Jayashree (Pozhudu pularndadhu).

I am refraining from using the word fate or destiny, since there is a significant difference between ool and fate. [I am writing ool instead of oozh, since I belief zh doesnt serve the purpose for non-Tamils anyway.)  Fate, as per OED, is the development of events outside a person’s control, regarded as predetermined by a supernatural power. Ool or karma, in an Indian context as per Hindu, Jain and Buddhist traditions, and as rightly put in OED, is the sum of a person’s actions in this and previous states of existence, viewed as deciding their fate in future.

This belief was at the core of Gandhi's thoughts.  "I do not seek redemption from the consequences of my sin. I seek to be redeemed from sin itself, or rather from the very thought of sin. Until I have attained that end, I shall be content to be restless."

Swami Vivekananda, also, put it eloquently : "Men generally lay all the blame of life on their fellowmen, or failing that, on God, or they conjure up a ghost, and say it is fate. Where is fate and who is fate? We reap what we sow. We are the makers of our own fate. None else has the blame, none has the praise."

The way Thiruvalluvar has dealt with Ool  is very interesting. As in most other kurals, it is more poetic than spiritual. The rationality is probably too rational that it almost sounds irrational for self-professed rationalists like me. While, I definitely still dont subscribe to the idea of previous and future births, I am viewing this as a poet's liberty to exaggerate, and make his point.

Ool is almost a character in my other favourite Tamil classic, Chilapathikaaram.

So, here is the Chapter 38 from Thirukkural : Ool

Constructive ool causes tireless endeavor leading to prosperity;
destructive ool causes indolence. [371]

Malign ool blunts one’s intelligence;
in its turn, benign ool sharpens it. [372]

Even if knowledge comes through profound books,
one’s innate wisdom remains dominant. [373]

The world is stratified based on two factors:
wealth and wisdom; and, they are not correlated. [374]

While seeking wealth, positive aspects can turn harmful;
and negative aspects beneficial. [375]

Strive hard, we may; but what we don’t deserve doesn’t stay,
and what we deserve, we can’t dispose. [376]

One may amass wealth worth crores, but can consume
only as ordained by the Ordainer (based on ool). [377]

Even those who possess nothing to enjoy will ‘renounce’,
if only one can escape the misery that is to be suffered. [378]

Why bemoan the misery caused by ool,
when one enjoys the good without complaint. [379]

Is there anything mightier than ool? It remains dominant
despite all plans devised to counter it. [380]

It is interesting to note that Valluvar doesn’t say constructive ool causes prosperity; it causes effort. Throughout these 10 kurals, Thiruvalluvar is building up Ool as a very potent character, like in the best works of fiction,  and then deals ool a deadly blow (and answers the question he asked in kural 380), when he says later on,

“Even if god has given up, perseverance will yield positive results. ” [619]

“Those who persevere without ever giving up, will defeat even ool”. [620]

The original couplets in Tamil :

அதிகாரம் 38 : ஊழ்

ஆகூழாற் றோன்று மசைவின்மை கைப்பொருள்
போகூழாற் றோன்று மடி.  [371]

பேதைப் படுக்கு மிழவூ ழறிவகற்று
மாகலூ ழுற்றக் கடை. [372]

நுண்ணிய நூல்பல கற்பினு மற்றுந்தன்
னுண்மை யறிவே மிகும். [373]

இருவே றுலகத் தியற்கை திருவேறு
தெள்ளிய ராதலும் வேறு. [374]

நல்லவை யெல்லாஅந் தீயவாந் தீயவு
நல்லவாஞ் செல்லவஞ் செயற்கு. [375]

பரியினு மாகாவாம் பாலல்ல வுய்த்துச்
சொரியினும் போகா தம. [376]

வகுத்தான் வகுத்த வகையல்லாற் கோடி
தொகுத்தார்க்குந் துய்த்த லரிது. [377]

துறப்பார்மற் றுப்புர வில்லா ருறற்பால
வூட்டா கழியு மெனின். [378]

நன்றாங்கா னல்லவாக் காண்பவ ரன்றாங்கால்
அல்லற் படுவ தெவன். [379]

ஊழிற் பெருவலி யாவுள மற்றொன்று
சூழினுந் தான்முந் துறும். [380]

The translation by Arasi is quite good.

Part I

Part II

Ganeshananthan leaves us heavier with unmourned and unshared grief.

You may never have heard of these deaths before, and you may never hear of them again, but in the spring of 2009, tens of thousands of civilians who were ethnically Tamil, as I am ethnically Tamil, were killed in Sri Lanka, the country where my parents were born and I was not.

——————

As I watched what was happening, it seemed to me unbelievable that I could stand knowing about such a large atrocity in such depth. It seemed unbelievable that I had not died from this – that this level of grief was perhaps only a first circle.

——————

It is a way of humiliating people, to say that their dead are not dead, to say that people are not even allowed to mourn. There was little room for the legitimate expression of grief during the war, and after it was over, what little was there dwindled.

——————

I do not want to be defined by disaster. I do not think this would help anyone, and it seems another way of letting disaster win. Still, it is important to me to keep the solidarity I feel not only for the living, but also for the dead, whose deaths were not necessary.

——————

My grief will not destroy me. In some times and places, we are given the space to build our memorials. Perhaps in others, we must learn to become them, even as we go on.

For a bowl of water give a goodly meal:
For a kindly greeting bow thou down with zeal:
For a simple penny pay thou back with gold:
If thy life be rescued, life do not withhold.
Thus the words and actions of the wise regard;
Every little service tenfold they reward.
But the truly noble know all men as one,
And return with gladness good for evil done.

The resemblance of this Gujarati poem to the chapters in Thirukkural on “செய்நன்றியறிதல்” (Gratitude) and “இன்னாசெய்யாமை” (refraining from harmful deeds) is striking.

Particularly these kurals :

The way to punish those who harmed us
is to shame them by doing them good.

Those who know the true value of a favour, will see
for the quantum of favour, a tree, where there was a grain.

No wonder, Gandhi later said : “I wanted to learn Tamil, only to enable me to study Valluvar’s Thirukkural through his mother tongue itself…. It is a treasure of wisdom…”

As I had written in this note, I have been doing my own version of Thirukkural translation on a public Facebook page. If you are interested in knowing more about Thirukkural, you can follow this page, or choose to read any of the numerous translations, already available.