WHERE BRAHMIN?

When the megaserial storm started to blow, my household was somehow, perhaps the only one whose roof didn’t get blown away. We were quite unaffected by the revolution in the living room. As Amma liked to say to people with that smug smile on her face, “We don’t watch TV at all. Aduvum enakkum adukum sambandame ille…” I do try and tell her that I remember her crying buckets over some episode of Premi; to which she says “Po di. Adu edo oru episode! Nan enna daily Premi paathundena?” Which is true, I think. Amma has, she herself admits, tried to watch some K Balachander serials because of some sort of misplaced loyalty towards him. But it never did last more than a few weeks, which means Amma watched about 1 percent of the entire megaserial. The only reason why are abreast with whatever is happening in every megaserial worth knowing about, is because Meenamma and Pads watch it when they come home.

 

The day it all changed is the day Ammamma spotted this little promo on Jaya TV – a little animated sketch of (gasp!) Cho and the word “Viraivil”. It sent Ammamma flying to the phone, and tell Amma “Cho vara poranan di, Jaya TV le! Edo viraivil viraivil nu podran! Ennava irukum?” Amma promised to watch Jaya TV as often as possible to find out what exactly Cho was going to do on Jaya TV.

 

Some background information at this point: any reference to Cho Ramaswamy in my house, will have people reacting quite dramatically. A good thing about him and the entire household will join you in singing his paeans and I suspect Ammamma will cry. Any criticism about Cho, and there’s no way you can leave my house alive. Because to them, Cho represents the quintessential Tamil Brahmin. The infallible intellectual who makes acute observations. The brave journalist who does not mince words. THE multi-faceted Cho. Cho is to my family, what Che is to a true blue Marxist.

 

An integral part of my childhood memories constitutes of my innumerable trips to the nearby potti kadai to grab the first copy of Thuklaq just as it hit the stands. And, much as she was tempted to grab it from my hands, Ammamma’s priceless expression as she made me place it in her hands, ever so gently, cherishing it as though afraid to wound it. Ammamma’s tattered copy of the Kamba Ramayanam in the pooja room and Thuklaq were unfailingly treated with the same reverence. One also noticed a certain servility while handling both these books. Even today, I am made to make a million trips from my house to Ammamma’s more than a kilometer away, to hand over/collect ancient/brand new copies of Thuklaq. And countless hours have been spent by Ammamma on the phone, discussing everything that figured in the latest issue of Thuklaq, with anyone who was willing to listen – Amma, Du, Manni, me, whoever. I am also urged very often, to start reading Tamil more seriously, and mark my foray into Tamil literature with Thuklaq. 

 

In my opinion, if Ammamma knew how to articulate her feelings for Cho and not find it blasphemous, she would describe it as a ‘crush’. A long standing crush, because her admiration is not just for today’s sharp political analyst, but also for yesteryear’s bumbling comedian. She would say to me, giggling like a little girl, “Anda padathule Cho romba vedikkaya pesuvan.” Anything the Cho-with-hair said is vedikkai, and anything the Cho-sans-hair says is “avlo correct di.”

 

To Amma, Cho represents the ideal Brahmin. “Irunda avare madri irukanum,” she says. What else is there to say?

 

Thatha is not far behind. The man, who used to watch all sports on TV, and only sports on TV, because he understands them all better than anyone else in the WORLD, now watches Enge Brahmanan too. I know how proud Thatha used to be, about his TV watching habits, because he deserved to be. He could not just understand every sport, he could play most of them competently. Thatha, whose TV always had to play what Sheetal wanted it to play (Sheetal is a sports freak too, so it really suited his convenience) despite the choice of anyone else in the house, even a guest, today plays Enge Brahmanan, often against even (gasp!) Sheetal’s wishes! Thatha himself, today asks his once-beloved Sheetal to shut up when Cho is talking. Sigh. How the mighty have fallen.

 

It really cannot be articulated suitably enough, how the family watches Enge Brahmanan every night – with a mixture of awe and devotion and reverence, and what else; and those expressions of delight and glee and sudden comprehension and realization… But I think I know why they watch Enge Brahmanan. Ammamma, because of the references to all the Hindu scriptures, and their glorification, and because of Cho. Thatha, because he himself is a big Cho admirer, and not grudgingly so. (Poor Thathu is no jealous man. The only ground on which he and Ammamma concur, is perhaps in their opinion of Cho.) Amma, because of the depiction of the poor Brahmin and the rich Brahmin in the serial. The rich Brahmin represents for my capitalist mother, the ideal Brahmin in the ideal situation he must be in, in today’s material world. The poor priestly Brahmin eases her conscience by staying true to what the scriptures dictated as to what the Brahmin should be – poor and priestly. Overall, my family watches Enge Brahmanan, because it appeals to their closet RSS sentiments (even if poor Cho did not himself intend it to do so), and reinforces the superiority of the Brahmin above all else. Or so they like to think. GASP! Did I mention Cho as one of the reasons why they watch it?? 

 

Today, Amma still says, “I don’t watch TV at all.” But also remembers to add, “Enge Brahmanan paapom ana naangellam. Chellama aduku Where Brahmin nu vera per vechirkom. (giggle) Pinna Cho vandal, pakka maatoma?” What can I say? Every night at 8, its veda gosham all the way.