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HUMMING BIRD SATHYA SARAN V iolence is in. Humility, turning the other cheek, and the soft-spo- ken word… are as out of date as the dinosaur. I have seen enough to convince me of this. Violence takes many forms. It could be the dirty look we give someone who jostles us unwittingly in a queue, it could be inherent in the act of pushing one’s way through a door which is thronged with people waiting to go through. Of course road rage is violence one can see. Like last week, I was witness on the Elphinstone bridge in Parel, to a man who got out of his little black, shiny car that had just been touched by a tempo driver, opening the door of the tempo and giving the driver a thrashing. The driver, who was obviously in the wrong and also taken by surprise just sat there, almost unresisting. But surely, I thought, this was no way for an educated person to behave. I would not have thought anymore of it, but for the fact that I was almost be- hind the black car as we crawled up the bridge, the tempo had stayed a safe dis- tance behind. I noticed as we started downwards, a cyclist stopping just short of the car, but not quite. His tyre touched the car’s fender. The driver looked out at the cyclist, and then drove so slowly down the bridge that the poor man be- hind him on two wheels had to fight to keep his balance. It was as if he was dar- ing him to bump into him again.I was glad he did not try to go ahead of the car; the man would surely have knocked him down in is his still seething state. I wondered what his family at home would face, of that left over wrath. Violence: we see it in cinema, on television, we see it on the printed page. Dumping unborn feoteuses into a garbage bin is an act of violence, in which perhaps the medical institituion as well as the family of the might-have- been child participated. In many homes, mothers teach their children to slap back if someone slaps them, and while violence on the cartoon network may or may not be translated as real anger into young minds, much of what happens in films could well be seen as behaviour that can be emulated. Violence of a psychological nature in soaps is so common that most viewers have begun to take it as granted and permissible in daily behaviour with their near ones; and though beating a child is now frowned upon, violence against women and children is actually on the rise, as both try to find their individual identities. But the most worrying of all this is the fact that we are violent with ourselves. We live in a constant state of anger, against everything around us; the need to be better, bigger, more successful, richer, happier, is a killing need. It turns itself into an insidious stress that seeps into our conciousness and wraps itself round the reasoning mind. And makes us victims of a rage dangerous in its effect on our wellbeing. I recently wrote an article about the Post- partum Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder I experienced after the traumatic delivery of my son. I was able to, unfortunately, write it from the first person: In the article, I dis- cussed statistics, research and my initial am- bivalence over a diagnosis that seemed re- served for war veterans and rape victims. My piece was not meant to evoke sympathy; it was meant to be informative. Besides, with the amount of antidepressants prescribed for my condition, I was far too numb to feel sorry for myself. And so I was surprised when, within hours of my article being posted on the Salon web- site, a slew of nasty comments appeared below it in the area reserved for readers to respond. “You should consider not having any more babies.” “I feel sorry for her son. Can you imagine going through life with this woman?” Not every comment was negative. Some were sympathetic, supportive, even touching. But the mean ones — yikes — were they mean. I don’t write this to say how hurt my feel- ings are. Rather, I’m confused. It’s OK if peo- ple would like to debate the merits (or lack thereof) of the opinions and facts discussed in my work. It’s also OK with me if people simply don’t like my work. What confounds me is why online commenters are so gratuitously nasty; why, when given the opportunity to have an educated disagreement with an author or oth- er readers, they use the space allotted to spew venom instead of presenting a well-reasoned argument. And I am not alone. The Philadelphia Week- ly published an article by a woman who wrote of her inability to function after a car accident (She hadn’t had health insurance). Here was one comment by a woman calling herself Rux P.: “...Get a spine!! I’ve had breast cancer, a mastectomy and chemo. with minor health coverage and survived it... Get a minnie mouse bandage and go to sleep.” Why is the Internet such a cruel play- ground? Kathleen Taylor, the author of Cruel- ty: Human Evil And The Human Brain, has a theory. “We’re evolved to be face-to-face crea- tures,” she said in a recent interview. “We de- veloped to have constant feedback from oth- ers, telling us if it was OK to be saying what we’re saying. On the internet, you get nothing, no body language, no gesture. So you get this feeling of unlimited power because there is nothing stopping you, no instant feedback.” Online commenting should have been the internet generation’s contribution to democ- racy. Not only can you read your news media, but you can now discuss them with like-mind- ed readers (instead of relying on whomever is sitting at the breakfast table with you) and even air your opinions to the writer. But how should a writer respond to a tor- rent of anonymous maliciousness? A fellow writer told me long ago: “Skim the comments. When you realise one is negative, move on.” I am not so evolved. I read every comment; I just don’t reply. That may sound cowardly, but knowing the pouncing quality of many com- menters really does silence me. Besides, how would I respond? Would I ig- nore the nasties and just respond to the thoughtful readers? Or would I have to ad- dress them all? What would I say? “You men- tion that I should grow up. I am, in fact, 34 years old.” Or “You say I need to get a life, but if you were to meet my charming family and vast social network, you would be assured that I already have one.” One reason I don’t re- spond to any comments is because I don’t want the meanies to know I’m actually read- ing what they wrote. But when I spoke to Jeff Jarvis, the author of What Would Google Do?, he cautioned me not to be so dismissive. “The internet isn’t a medium the way you think it is,” he said. “It’s a place. We give people this article all nice and wrapped up in a bow, and we expect them to be happy to read it. Now, with comments sec- tions, we have to talk about when we let people into this process and how. This notion that we’re done, now you can talk, is insulting.” Online anonymity is something that others seem concerned about as well. Connie Schultz, a columnist for The Cleveland Plain Dealer, sharply criticised the practice of newspaper Web sites to allow anonymous comments. “Maybe that’s the foolish optimist in me, but I want to believe that we will finally admit — to ourselves and to the public at large — that al- lowing people to hide behind anonymity has not been good for our industry, our culture or our country.” Several news media outlets are now re- thinking their approach to anonymous reader comments. The idea is to hold users more ac- countable and to prevent some of the user-gen- erated vitriol that takes place online. I, for one, couldn’t be happier. —NYT Under a cloud of violence and anger R ajani, the Goddess of Night, al- ways wondered what she would look like if she had had the com- plexion of the golden sun, in- stead of the night. Mustering courage to ask for the impossible, she climbed up to Mount Kailash. Prostrating herself at Shiva’s feet, she implored, ‘Lord, I am an un- fortunate soul who’s forever dark. Could you bless me with a golden hue?’ Shiva was in a jovial and generous mood. Instantly he blessed her and said, ‘Your dream will come true. Go and lie down on top of Mount Skanda. After a while, you will dis- appear into the womb of Mother Earth and be reborn as the plant of turmeric that will have the complexion of the sun. You will become the symbol of purity and auspiciousness. And when I descend on Earth as Khandoba, my favourite offering will be the powder of turmeric.’ Sure enough, as you walk up the hillock of Jejuri, you will find yellow clouds of turmer- ic wafting in the air, and softly landing on the 200 stone steps that lead you to Khandoba, the lord of the tribals. Turmeric is in fact every- where at this temple. MARITAL BLISS Jejuri is the abode of the lord of one of the oldest tribes in Maharashtra, the Dhangars. They are an upright and valiant community of shepherds, deeply attached to Khandoba as he is said to have married Ganai, the daugh- ter of a shepherd. Khandoba in fact had two wives: One is a goddess and the other is a shepherd’s daugh- ter. Nevertheless, couples throng here soon af- ter marriage, seeking blessings for a happy married life. And incidentally, Jejuri is the only temple where a couple has to make the offering to the deity together, standing next to each other. One of the main visual attractions of Je- juri is the deepmaala, or garland of lights. It consists of two tall, vertical columns carved in black stone. When lit up on a moonless night, the shimmering flood of light created by this stone garland is enough to rival the molten gold of turmeric that forever adorns the steps of Jejuri. There are also ritual songs sung by tradi- tional families, on request, for the fertility of newly married couples. Armed with an ek- taara, and blessed with a rustic voice, they sing without inhibition; praying for the mari- tal bliss of couples. But Khandoba, despite his demeanour of an easily appeased lord, is actually an angry incarnation of Lord Shiva, who descended to Earth to slay two demons, Mani and Malla. The deity has an interesting martial sym- bol, called Divti. It’s shaped like a dagger, but doubles up as a lamp. When it’s lit up, it looks like a flaming dagger; a symbol of light that slays darkness. Interestingly, Jejuri once upon a time also had a fort. It’s here that Shivaji met his father Shahaji, after a long gap of 14 years, and dis- cussed guerilla strategies to ward off the Mughals. The temple too is not the original. The old one that inspired Arun Kolatkar to write the poem Jejuri, which won the Commonwealth poetry prize, is situated atop a hill three kilo- metres away. Describing the dilapidated con- dition of this temple, Kolatkar wrote: “That’s no doorstep. It’s a pillar on its side.” RELOCATING THE LORD There’s also a story about how the old temple moved to the new location. Long ago, you had to undertake an arduous climb to reach the old temple. One of Khandoba’s devotees had been doing that daily, for over 50 years. One day, he realized that his mind was willing but his body couldn’t take it anymore. So he bid goodbye to Khandoba, saying that it was his last visit to the temple. The lord was touched by the words of his ardent devotee, and he told him: ‘Since you can’t come to see me, I will come with you and live in your house. But on one condition; you shouldn’t turn back to look at me when I’m following you. If you do, I will stop right there’. The old man’s joy knew no bounds, and he readily agreed. As the lord started following him, the old man thought to himself: ‘The lord has asked me not to look at him, but I can al- ways keep an ear open for his footfalls’. But af- ter a while, the footfalls stopped. Fearing that the lord had lost his way, he turned back. The lord froze into stone then and there, and a new temple was built around that idol. It’s a scenic location. Looking down from the temple, you see Kaara river, in which Khandoba descends to take a cool dip on the moonless night of Somavati Amaavasya. On that day, the throng of devotees swells, and they sprinkle more turmeric powder than usual. And the steps of the Jejuri temple are even more resplendent than ever. thinksunday@gmail.com Golden temple of Jejuri Not far from Pune is a temple town which has a special offering for Shiva: copious quantities of turmeric. Gangadharan Menon explores the scenic locale and its colourful legends DIGITAL LIFE ROUND TRIP GETTING THERE Jejuri is situated 50 km south-east of Pune, near a town called Phaltan. You travel towards Sholapur, and when you reach Hadapsar, you turn right. Then you ascend Divey Ghat to reach Saswad, and then the temple town of Jejuri. Violence against women and children is actually on the rise, as both try to find their individual identities E-playgrounds can get vicious Commenters get nasty, refuse to have educated disagreements with other readers and spew venom instead of presenting well-reasoned arguments. Taffy Brodesser Aknerwonders why the internet is such a cruel turf Turmeric is everywhere in this temple SAMEER SALVI.DNASAMEER SALVI.DNAGANGADHARAN MENONGANGADHARAN MENONdna.sunday Mumbai, April 25, 2010 14 It is easier to find a travelling companion than to get rid of one. Art Buchwald American humourist living mag THE O N S U N D A Y Jejuri derives its importance from the religious fairs that are held in honour of the god Khandoba.
