Hodi maga hodi maga Hodi maga hodi maga bidabeda avanNa…(Translated: Don’t leave him, kill him).
Men in plain white
dhotis, armed with iron rods, pestles, wooden logs stood ready. Fierce words of
kill, kill rent the air. Filled with blood lust, they reflected the anger and
action that would invariably follow. The scene was no less dramatic than one from
a movie. But who were these perpetrators who instigated this hatred and
‘intolerance’ in the men? Most important, were the men successful in quenching
their ‘blood –thirstiness”?
Drumroll...Rewind to the
context.
Growing up in the 80s,
yours truly was a member of a 35-member joint family well known for their
contribution to art, music, dance and cultural scene of Bangalore. Business and
residence operated from the same building. Beautiful surreal chaos invited
anybody and everybody who visited our house. For example, kids running around
in their chaddis greeted people who came for business while
relatives who came visiting would be overwhelmed to see film stars’ sitting
beside them for lunch! All in all, this beautiful complex environment was
always alive, bewildering visitors irrespective of the purpose of their visit.
It was a household that never slept. But thrown into this mix were the
occasional menacing visitors – mice, bandicoot and their family, the unwelcome
visitors. A problem that had to be dealt with iron hands time and again.
Coming back to the
story…
On one such summer day,
the unwelcome visitors were running riot, catching people unaware and scaring
the daylights out of everybody. The visitors had got quite comfortable in the
room adjoining our main hall and it was time to read them the riot act!
So, preparations began.
The men got ready. The muhurtam was set for night, post
dinner. Weapons consisting of jack, old hammer, wooden pieces and anything that
was scrap was tested for their strength and accuracy. All escape routes, doors
and windows were locked. We, the children and women were confined to the verandah and
were told to watch the action unfold through the window overlooking the living
room. Getting rid of unwelcome visitors was the day to be marked in history and
tales about the bravery of our men would be narrated. Such was the expectation.
The action began at 9pm.
Plates, spoons clashed to create maximum cacophony and scare the bandicoots
from its quarters. What followed, certainly went down in history. Hodi
maga hodi maga Hodi maga hodi maga bidabeda avanNa, rent the air. It
was a kaleidoscope of action! We, the kids had a bet going on, waiting with
bated breath to see whose father would hit the bull’s eye. The men with war cries
wielded their weapons pretty wildly but with 0 strategy. None of the weapons
landed on target. It only managed to elicit few groans as they landed on the
shins of their fellow comrades.
The mice were having a
jolly good time. Those that were hitherto confined to the middle room now got
access to hall, kitchen too! While one uncle, trampled on my Dad’s toes, the
other managed to land in a heap on the sofa. In the whole melee they lost their
lungis and were running around in their …ahem! One by one we saw our heroes return
injured suffering from loss of face and lungi. Alas it was not to be.
While it seemed that all
was lost, then stepped the ‘shakti’. They quietly picked up the broom
sticks, and went for the kill. Phat…phat...phat, 3 down 4 more to go. Phat..phat..pachak, all down. Bringing
down the enemy with aplomb, without missing a heartbeat, the target was met! No
fuss, no sweat with just a hint of smile, they had triumphed over the evil. The
saree saved the day.
But, what went down in
history? The men’s ego, their lungis along with some minor
injuries.
That day I learnt one
thing, never overestimate the power of lungi
and underestimate that of saree!
Narishakti ki jai.
