I've always wondered who I really am? This path of self-discovery started quite late - when I was asked to fill out my religion, caste and sub-caste in my hostel application form (pretty weird but true). Until then it never occured to me that I was from a particular caste. When I filled "Hindu" in all the columns (I wasn't aware of my caste at that point), the clerk raised his eyebrows and mumbled something about the increasing number of youngsters who forget their roots and opt for love marriages.
I called mom the next day (since I had to submit the completed form) and she said I was a Chettiar - a Beri Chettiar. It is not to be confused with the Shettys, Chettys and the Shets. The word "Chettiar" somehow conjures images of a scheming, portly, balding man in a rice shop and counting cash under his desk. This view of mine was reinforced by Santhana Barathi, who played the part of Chettiar so well in "Mumbai Express".
I can't imagine me being called "Palani Chettiar" as is the case with many other castes. Somehow, it never sounded cool to me. So I decided to dig deep - it turns out that Chettiars are a very fascinating community - they were the pioneers of commerce and banking in South India. Apparently, Singapore became an active trading post due to them. These cool people migrated heavily in search of opportunities especially in South and South-East Asia (Burma, Malaya etc) builiding banks, Murugan temples and not to forget the incredible Chettinad cuisine. The story goes that Chettiars were Shiva-bhaktas and since Brahmins were forbidden to cross the seas (and Shiva temples had to have Brahmin priests), they set up Murugan temples, since he was a less demanding! This is very much visible with names like Palaniappan (Chidambaram, our FM), Meiyappan (AVM studios), Murugappan (TI and Parrys). The folklores associated with them are very interesting to read, especially the one on how the entire community was once nearly wiped out.
Coming back to my experiments with tracing my origins, most of the documented material relates to the more economically dominant Nattukottai Chettiars, who were reputed to own the palatial houses in the Coramandel area, but chose to work in the cities and ports (hence they were called Nagarathars) as merchants. I wanted to find more about us Beri Chettiars. It turns out that by the 13th century AD, the Nattukottai chettiars had flourished under the Chola kings and institutionalized mercantile trade and banking. During this time, migrant Telugu traders like the Komatis, Balijas and Beri Chettis came to to southern Coromandel. This interesting article on Frontline talks about Beri Chettiars who prospered a bit under the British era. Not surprisingly my paternal grandfather was with the Pondicherry customs clearing and my maternal grandfather was a self-made goldsmith.
So who am I - a migrant from Telugu heartland or a Tamilian? I have no clue, but I'm really curious to know (I should try to find people from the Nemam temple who profess to be Beri Chettairs). It should be a lot of fun to find out!
As a side note, I don't believe in the caste system and in my opinion, it is the root cause of many problems in modern India. It was a case of a division of labour scheme that went really, really wrong.
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Friday, August 26, 2005
Krishna Jayanthi ...
This morning mom sent me an offline message wishing me for Janmashtami (I suspect she issued a warning so that I was atleast aware of it and stayed away from non-veg food). She missed me on such an auspicious occassion.
Her message flooded me with memories of Janmashtami (or Krishna Jayanthi as we knew it). It is truly a great festival and a harbinger of hope. It was my saviour from the tyranny of the prevailing holiday-less calendar. When this festival came, the floodgates were open. We'd soon have Ganesh Chaturthi, Navarathri, Diwali and Christmas (read no school and good food). Somehow the Gods above conspired to load the second half of the year with goodies, while the first part had a dry spell (I can only remember the Tamil New year and that too came during the beginning of the exam season).
Krishna Jayanthi is a foodies' delight - mom would spend weeks thinking about the menu and days making them. It had the best assortment of food - sigidai, different varieties of murukku, sev, sweet poori (Swami, are you reading this?), maida biscuit, "mixture", boondi (sweet and karam varieties), vadai, kasavathu, payasam, assorted chocolates, butter etc etc.
The worst part however, was the build-up to that day - mom would pester us for weeks and have us clean up the house, especially the attic (trust me when I say it was a very messy and grimy place). We had to clean all the doors and window frames while mom would wipe clean the photos of various Gods in the puja room and clean ALL the utensils we ever possessed (she had an enviable collection thanks to her affinity for anything stainless steel and numerous trips to Madras). My brother and I had to deal with the tough task of dividing the labor (we even had points to measure difficulty level of the task and argue about the merits of the metrics - I'll leave that topic for another blog).
A week before D-day, I'd often accompany mom to the flour mill (or "machine" as she called it) and wait in the long queue of people. She was very picky about how the rice had to be ground - especially when the same "machine" ground many cereals (she'd never put it after some person had just ground ragi or wheat since the quality would be compromised). She'd wait longer and even give up her turn so that someone else could grind rice before she did thereby ensuring that grain-flow-path was "pure" once again. She would dictate terms with the operator as to how fine it must be ground until the right texture was reached. I was allergic to all the dust (especially chilli powder) around and would wander off to watch more interesting things - fish mongers (I still remember Managalore Fish stall and Bombay Fish stall) selling assorted varieties of fish or the numerous mutton and chicken shops in that compound (I know mom was never too pleased when she had to be there, especially when she was making food for the Gods).
The next big thing was to control myself. Mom would usually start making goodies a day or two before and we were expressly forbidden to eat any of these things beforehand (She often told me as a kid that God would poke my eyes at night if I did evil things and since then I've been a little careful when it comes to defying Him). It was indeed very difficult to control since I was the official food-taster at home, a role that I relished :). God was indeed very demanding. I vividly remember the times when mom would make my lil' brother Gopi walk down the hall to imprint Baby Krishna's steps. The footprint marks were made from ground rice water.
On the fateful day, we'd wait and watch the streams of friends and neighbors drop by and pay their respects to the God. I'd be watching the food layout on the table even more carefully, mentally planning my moves when the signal would be given. Time was less, the competition was fierce and premium food was limited by our voracious appetite! Then finally, when they guests left, and after mom finished her prayers - the signal would be given! It was every man to himself. We'd eat like crazy and attack the best parts first. I've had many fist-fights with Swami since both of us had common favorites - most notably the sweet poori. Almost always they would be gone faster than we realized.
Now as I sit here typing this out, I realize that I can easily afford good food (there are a dozen restaraunts spread over a half-mile radius) - but the ambience and experience isn't there. Tomorrow I'll probably make some "sundal" and "Instant Mix" Gulab Jamun and recall those priceless moments!
Her message flooded me with memories of Janmashtami (or Krishna Jayanthi as we knew it). It is truly a great festival and a harbinger of hope. It was my saviour from the tyranny of the prevailing holiday-less calendar. When this festival came, the floodgates were open. We'd soon have Ganesh Chaturthi, Navarathri, Diwali and Christmas (read no school and good food). Somehow the Gods above conspired to load the second half of the year with goodies, while the first part had a dry spell (I can only remember the Tamil New year and that too came during the beginning of the exam season).
Krishna Jayanthi is a foodies' delight - mom would spend weeks thinking about the menu and days making them. It had the best assortment of food - sigidai, different varieties of murukku, sev, sweet poori (Swami, are you reading this?), maida biscuit, "mixture", boondi (sweet and karam varieties), vadai, kasavathu, payasam, assorted chocolates, butter etc etc.
The worst part however, was the build-up to that day - mom would pester us for weeks and have us clean up the house, especially the attic (trust me when I say it was a very messy and grimy place). We had to clean all the doors and window frames while mom would wipe clean the photos of various Gods in the puja room and clean ALL the utensils we ever possessed (she had an enviable collection thanks to her affinity for anything stainless steel and numerous trips to Madras). My brother and I had to deal with the tough task of dividing the labor (we even had points to measure difficulty level of the task and argue about the merits of the metrics - I'll leave that topic for another blog).
A week before D-day, I'd often accompany mom to the flour mill (or "machine" as she called it) and wait in the long queue of people. She was very picky about how the rice had to be ground - especially when the same "machine" ground many cereals (she'd never put it after some person had just ground ragi or wheat since the quality would be compromised). She'd wait longer and even give up her turn so that someone else could grind rice before she did thereby ensuring that grain-flow-path was "pure" once again. She would dictate terms with the operator as to how fine it must be ground until the right texture was reached. I was allergic to all the dust (especially chilli powder) around and would wander off to watch more interesting things - fish mongers (I still remember Managalore Fish stall and Bombay Fish stall) selling assorted varieties of fish or the numerous mutton and chicken shops in that compound (I know mom was never too pleased when she had to be there, especially when she was making food for the Gods).
The next big thing was to control myself. Mom would usually start making goodies a day or two before and we were expressly forbidden to eat any of these things beforehand (She often told me as a kid that God would poke my eyes at night if I did evil things and since then I've been a little careful when it comes to defying Him). It was indeed very difficult to control since I was the official food-taster at home, a role that I relished :). God was indeed very demanding. I vividly remember the times when mom would make my lil' brother Gopi walk down the hall to imprint Baby Krishna's steps. The footprint marks were made from ground rice water.
On the fateful day, we'd wait and watch the streams of friends and neighbors drop by and pay their respects to the God. I'd be watching the food layout on the table even more carefully, mentally planning my moves when the signal would be given. Time was less, the competition was fierce and premium food was limited by our voracious appetite! Then finally, when they guests left, and after mom finished her prayers - the signal would be given! It was every man to himself. We'd eat like crazy and attack the best parts first. I've had many fist-fights with Swami since both of us had common favorites - most notably the sweet poori. Almost always they would be gone faster than we realized.
Now as I sit here typing this out, I realize that I can easily afford good food (there are a dozen restaraunts spread over a half-mile radius) - but the ambience and experience isn't there. Tomorrow I'll probably make some "sundal" and "Instant Mix" Gulab Jamun and recall those priceless moments!
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