Madi

Madi…మడి ...मडि

People from Andhra Pradesh, Tamil Nadu and some pockets of Karnataka will perhaps understand what this word means...
Madi...this Brahmanical way of life originated from the concept of ‘purity’…a concept which, like all other traditions, lost its meaning in later years with its rigid and blind adherence.
Essentially madi meant keeping a distance from and not touching anything considered impure or unclean.
How it was practiced:
My grandmother would rinse her 9-yards saree the night before and hang it in the kitchen. The rod that she hanged it to dry would be placed way above anyone’s reach…close to the ceiling. To dry out one’s garment at that height was tricky indeed and was done with the help of a long stick pushing the garment hither-thither till it slid smoothly without folds over the rod. This practice also meant that the cloth couldn’t be touched by anyone else and become impure.
The next morning, after a bath, she would come, wrapped in a wet saree, heading straight to the kitchen, discard the old saree and wear the clean saree off the kitchen rod. This was normally worn as ‘adda-kacha’ meaning a garment that runs between your legs, dividing your legs trouser-like, giving you the liberty of free movement.
This was madi, a state considered pure. After attaining this pure state, you are not supposed to touch anything till the cooking and eating was done. No touching of beds, bed sheets, previous day’s discarded clothes, curtains, sofas, another human being… Considered safe was a chair with its cushions and covers set aside.
Once the cooking was done and the food eaten, you could change to another saree and then free to touch anything.
Breaking of Madi by accidently touching one of those not-to be-touched things or people meant a bath again and, as there was no back up madi saree, continue cooking in those wet clothes, sometimes shivering in the cold winter mornings, and with water dripping all over the kitchen floor.
Madi is even considered broken if you attend to nature’s call and you'd need a bath to purify yourself again.
Come pooja or festival and the rigorousness increased…more madi, more arduousness in following it, more fervour…
The flowers, coconut and all other things meant for pooja were to be strictly kept separate from cooking and dining areas. If any of the pooja stuff was kept on the dining table by mistake, it was considered impure and had to be washed before using it for pooja. The oil for pooja lamp was kept separately in the pooja room and was not to be touched or used in kitchen for cooking purpose.
Large canisters of oil or pickle could be touched only after madi and not any time we wished to use some.  Small quantities were kept in jars for everyday use.
Some madi rules during eating…
Serve food with left hand but every time you  touch any cooked food, wash your hand. This meant you had a puddle of water on the floor at your left by the time you finished your meal. All meals happened sitting on the floor, of course. Serving uncooked food like oil/ghee/salt/pickle/curd did not mandate washing your hand. Later, and especially after the meals started happening at the dining table, this ritual translated to tilting your glass of water ever so slightly…just enough to wet your fingertips! Who’d want those puddles of water on your table?!
My grandmother though, never ever in her life time ate at the table. The tables only get wiped, they never get washed like the floor, no?
In the night again, the madi saree was ready for getting rinsed and dried again. This saree was not washed along with clothes of the entire household.
This practice was carried through her lifetime.

Ijaazat

Happened to revisit Ijaazat (1987--Naseeruddin, Rekha, Anuradha Patel). Is there any dispute that this awesome movie made in my younger days finds no match since then? Where are those beautiful heroines, the powerhouse performances, the ethereal music(RD), the soulful lyrics(Gulzar) and most important, the rivetting screenplay?

In its place what we have are size 0-figures (need to examine very very closely to ascertain the gender), plastic faces and robotic expressions whose 'dancing' is nothing but jerking and shimmying in crazy convulsions to some loud loud beats; the movies--a vapid succession of fast food junk tailor-made to pander to those male actors' super massive egos and the story?...one must be mad to expect something as sane as that in this weird scenario!

Khushwant on life, death & happiness

As said in an earlier post, I do really love this guy and here is one of his articles. I dont think I am even remotely qualified to pass a judgment on his writing. Yet, cant help say that he has proved to be so articulate once again:

Death is rarely spoken about in our homes. I wonder why. Especially when each one of us knows that death has to come, has to strike. It’s inevitable. This line from Yas Yagana Changezi says it best: Khuda mein shak ho to ho, maut mein nahin koi shak (You may or may not doubt the existence of God, you can’t doubt the certainty of death). And one must prepare oneself to face it.
At 95, I do think of death. I think of death very often but I don’t lose sleep over it. I think of those gone; keep wondering where they are. Where have they gone? Where will they be? I don’t know the answers: where you go, what happens next. To quote Omar Khayyam,

“Into this Universe, and Why not knowing
Nor Whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing...”

and,

“There was a Door to which I found no Key
There was a Veil through which I could not see
Some little Talk awhile of Me and Thee
There seemed—and then no more of Thee and Me.”

I once asked the Dalai Lama how one should face death and he had advised meditation. I’m not scared of death; I do not fear it. Death is inevitable. While I have thought about it a lot, I don’t brood about it. I’m prepared for it. As Asadullah Khan Ghalib has so aptly put it,

“Rau mein hai raksh-e-umar kahaan dekhiye thhamey
Nai haath baag par hai na pa hai rakaab mein
(Age travels at galloping pace; who knows where it will stop
We do not have the reins in our hands nor our feet in the stirrups).”

All my contemporaries—whether here or in England or in Pakistan—they’re all gone. I don’t know where I’ll be in a year or two. I don’t fear death. What I dread is the day I go blind or am incapacitated because of old age—that’s what I fear—I’d rather die than live in that condition. I’m a burden enough on my daughter Mala and don’t want to be an extra burden on her.
All that I hope for is that when death comes to me, it comes swiftly, without much pain, like fading away in sound slumber. Till then I’ll keep working and living each day as it comes. There’s so much left to do. I have to content myself by saying these lines of Iqbal:

“Baagh-e-bahisht se mujhe hukm-e-safar diya tha kyon?
Kaar-e-Jahaan daraaz hai, ab mera intezaar kar
(Why did you order me out of the garden of paradise? I have a lot left to do; now you wait for me).”

So I often tell Bade Mian, as I refer to him, from time to time, that he’s got to wait for me as I still have work to complete.
I believe in these lines of Tennyson:

“Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea...
Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness or farewell,
When I embark.”

I believe in the Jain philosophy that death ought to be celebrated. Earlier, whenever I was upset or low, I used to go to the cremation grounds. It has a cleansing effect, and worked like a therapy for me. In fact, I’d written my own epitaph years ago:

“Here lies one who spared neither man nor God
Waste not your tears on him, he was a sod
Writing nasty things he regarded as great fun
Thank the Lord he is dead, this son of a gun.”

                    
        I hope that when death comes to me, it comes swiftly, without much pain, like fading away in sound slumber.         
                    
I had even written my own obit in 1943 when I was still in my twenties. It later appeared in a collection of short stories, titled ‘Posthumous’. In the piece, I had imagined The Tribune announcing the news of my death on its front page with a small photograph. The headline would read: ‘Sardar Khushwant Singh Dead’. And then, in somewhat smaller print:

‘We regret to announce the sudden death of Sardar Khushwant Singh at 6 pm last evening. He leaves behind a young widow, two infant children and a large number of friends and admirers. Amongst those who called at the late sardar’s residence were the PA to the chief justice, several ministers, and judges of the high court.’

I had to cope with death when I lost my wife. Being an agnostic, I could not find solace in religious rituals. Being essentially a loner, I discouraged friends and relatives from coming to condole with me. I spent the first night alone sitting in my chair in the dark. At times, I broke down, but soon recovered my composure. A couple of days later, I resumed my usual routine, working from dawn to dusk. That took my mind off the stark reality of having to live alone in an empty home for the rest of my days. When friends persisted in calling and upsetting my equilibrium, I packed myself off to Goa to be by myself.

I used to be keen on a burial because with a burial you give back to the earth what you have taken. Now, it will be the electric crematorium. I had requested the management of the Bahai faith if I could be buried. Initially, they had agreed, but then they came up with all sorts of conditions and rules. I had wanted to be buried in one corner with just a peepal tree next to my grave. After okaying this, the management later said that that wouldn’t be possible and that my grave would be in the middle of a row and not in a corner. I wasn’t okay with that—even though I know that once you are dead it makes no difference. But I was keen to be buried in one corner. They also told me later that they would chant some prayers, which again I couldn’t agree with, because I don’t believe in religion or in religious rituals of any kind.
Though I’m quite fit, I know I don’t have much time left. I’m coming to terms with death, preparing myself. And since I have no faith in God, nor in the day of judgement, nor in the theory of reincarnation, I have to come to terms with the complete full stop. I have been criticised for not sparing even the dead, but then death does not sanctify a person, and if I find the person had been corrupt, I write about it even when he’s gone.

I don’t believe in rebirth or in reincarnation, in the day of judgement or in heaven or hell. I accept the finality of death. We do not know what happens to us after we die but one should help a person go in peace—at peace with himself and with the world.
I’ve lived a reasonably contented life. I’ve often thought about what it is that makes people happy—what one has to do in order to achieve happiness.

First and foremost is good health. If you do not enjoy good health, you can never be happy. Any ailment, however trivial, will deduct something from your happiness.

Second, a healthy bank balance. It need not run into crores, but it should be enough to provide for comforts, and there should be something to spare for recreation—eating out, going to the movies, travel and holidays in the hills or by the sea. Shortage of money can be demoralising. Living on credit or borrowing is demeaning and lowers one in one’s own eyes.

Third, your own home. Rented places can never give you the comfort or security of a home that is yours for keeps. If it has garden space, all the better. Plant your own trees and flowers, see them grow and blossom, and cultivate a sense of kinship with them.

Fourth, an understanding companion, be it your spouse or a friend. If you have too many misunderstandings, it robs you of your peace of mind. It is better to be divorced than to be quarrelling all the time.

Fifth, stop envying those who have done better than you in life—risen higher, made more money, or earned more fame. Envy can be corroding; avoid comparing yourself with others.
Sixth, do not allow people to descend on you for gup-shup. By the time you get rid of them, you will feel exhausted and poisoned by their gossip-mongering.  
                    
Seventh, cultivate a hobby or two that will fulfil you—gardening, reading, writing, painting, playing or listening to music. Going to clubs or parties to get free drinks, or to meet celebrities, is a criminal waste of time. It’s important to concentrate on something that keeps you occupied meaningfully. I have family members and friends who spend their entire day caring for stray dogs, giving them food and medicines. There are others who run mobile clinics, treating sick people and animals free of charge.

Eighth, every morning and evening devote 15 minutes to introspection. In the mornings, 10 minutes should be spent in keeping the mind absolutely still, and five listing the things you have to do that day. In the evenings, five minutes should be set aside to keep the mind still and 10 to go over the tasks you had intended to do.

Ninth, don’t lose your temper. Try not to be short-tempered, or vengeful. Even when a friend has been rude, just move on.
Above all, when the time comes to go, one should go like a man without any regret or grievance against anyone. Iqbal said it beautifully in a couplet in Persian: “You ask me about the signs of a man of faith? When death comes to him, he has a smile on his lips.”

(Excerpted from the forthcoming Absolute Khushwant: The Low-Down on Life, Death & Most Things In-Between (Penguin). The book will be launched on August 16.)

Khushwant Singh-- I adore you!

Khushwant Singh: We grew with this man. Those were the days of glorious periodicals, namely, ‘The Illustrated Weekly.’ Unfortunately, many of those weeklies have fallen by the side. And along with the decline of magazines, we have lost potential compositions of many of our erudite writers.
Thankfully, Khushwant still writes. Every Sunday, I eagerly turn towards the column 'With Malice towards one and all’… the one column that I have been faithfully reading for all these decades. The acid pen hasn’t changed one bit.
Being born in 1915 makes him 93 now. When I feel lazy about typing these 200-300 words in my blog…I wonder how this person who continues to write by hand day after day all these years is a source of inspiration to us all. I admire his spunk and his tongue- in- cheek comments on the social issues in India.
Second, I like his open admiration of women. He was known to have had his fair share of 'friendships’ those days. His pen continues to sing praises of the fairer sex.
Frail of body but not of mind!