A Lazy Wet Morning, Some Stray Thoughts and The Book - Of Men, Women and Witches - Journal Day 14
Breaking the daily routine rejuvenates us. On a rainy Sunday morning, I break my routine and laze around. I read an intriguing and engaging book, "Of Men, Women, and Witches" by B. Jeyamohan..
18-05-2025 - Sunday Morning
I woke up to a cloudy morning. It had rained last night, and it was an apology for the rain. The rain was not enough to wet the scorched surface of the earth, as it evaporated faster than it fell on the planet. Humidity in the air was high, making us sweat even when sitting down.
But last night’s cloud remained, hanging low, overcasting the morning sky above. A faint, wet, cool breeze is now flowing through my window, promising a damp and rainy morning.
I can hear the ticking wall clock above my head. However, I choose to disregard its persistence. Today is Sunday, and I can afford to take it slow and relaxed.
Every morning, as I wake up, and before leaving the bed, I do some Pilates exercises. Pilates exercises are easy, do not require much effort, yet are effective. The Pilates exercises help strengthen the core muscles and improve overall flexibility. I do these exercises as my sleepy eyes and bones wake up and become ready to take on the world. After I complete a few sets of different Pilates exercises, I leave the bed to freshen up for the day. I then complete the rest of my exercise regime, which consists of exercises involving mostly my legs, core and other muscles.
I have come to realise that exercising is more about commitment than effort. It is a promise you make to yourself, and you commit to putting in the effort to keep that pledge each day. The rest follows. The Nike “Just Do It” tagline says it all. This short but powerful phrase is the embodiment of a philosophy. The word ‘just’ is the most important part of the phrase. The word emphasises the action before anything else. This is a call for action without overthinking. Most often, we tend to think too much about the consequences of our actions and, in the process, fail to act. We fall victim to paralysis of analysis. Not taking action is more harmful than taking action, though sometimes, the action taken may be harmful in the long run. But then you would know what didn’t work and become wiser. Some may say not taking action is also an action. But it is not. It is inaction.
But today, I did not get into my exercise routine. I shifted my sleepy body from one side to the other and tried to doze off - a quick follow-up nap before waking up for the day. It is going to be a cheat day for me. We have walked a long way from nature, yet it is surprising how nature affects our mood, actions, and unknowingly to us. Unlike the past days of heat and humidity, today’s gloomy and overcast morning has made me lazy, pensive and reflective. Today, I am unable to be myself. Today, I am indulgent of my mood.
Once in a while, I skip my daily morning exercise regimen, surrendering to my laziness. During those days, a guilty feeling hung painfully on my mind, as if I had missed some important event. My body behaves by becoming slow and sluggish. Guilt is a strong emotion. The feeling of guilt may not always be logical and fact-based. Still, we fall victim to guilty feelings nonetheless. We feel it even for things we are not directly responsible for. Feeling guilty erodes our self-esteem and affects us emotionally.
When discussing exercise, it's important to note that we engage in physical activity to strengthen our muscles and promote overall wellness. We know how to look after our bodies, though we may not be serious enough to take the effort. But what about our thoughts and emotions? How do we grow our emotional muscles? We hardly bother. No wonder, despite achieving so many things in life, most of us live a life full of misery. We must equally focus on our emotional health.
But as the day proceeded, the overcast sky and clouds did not disappoint us. As the sunless sky promised, it rained in the late morning. I love watching rain from my balcony as it sprays droplets towards me, like a child playing with a sprinkler and, in its enjoyment, wetting me to some extent.
I have just completed reading the memoir of the modern eminent Tamil author B. Jeyamohan. The book, Of Men, Women and Witches, is a translation of his memoir Uravidangal. Some books defy all genres. This is one such book. It is supposed to be a memoir, but it is more than that. The book draws a mystical world living on the edge of reality and surrealism. It is a translation from Tamil to English, but the flow of language makes the book almost an original work in English.
I am intrigued to find that Jeyamohan is my age; we were both born in the same year. As we are the same age, I cannot help but compare my life with his. Though we were born in the same year, our childhoods differed greatly. He was born in a village between Tamil country and Travancore in the deep south. He is from the deep south of India, I am from the east of India. His was a rural and semi-urban childhood, while mine was purely urban and cosmopolitan. His father was an abusive husband, while I never witnessed my father raising his voice towards my mother. Jeyamohan, a Nair from Kerala by birth, comes from a matrilineal social order, while I, a Bengali Kayastha, come from a patrilineal social order. However, his father was abusive towards his mother. It is surprising that even in a matrilineal society, women's situations remain challenging. Is it because of the changes occurring in society during the twentieth century, when the agrarian economy eroded and the matrilineal social order evolved into the patrilineal social order? Or is it that all societies have fault lines through which the persecution of women, especially in the hands of men who are supposed to be their providers, protectors and caregivers, seeps in and rears its ugly head? I wonder.
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Jeyamohan’s father was a strict man, verging towards an abusive parent, who never expressed his love for his children. Yet his love for his children was palpable. Readers can feel the father's deep love and care for his children. Jeyamohan craved his father’s love and acknowledgement, which was, apparently, ever absent for him. For Jeyamohan’s elder brother and younger sister, his father demonstrated some feelings in his unique ways.
During our parents’ generation, the expression of love was not common. I do not remember my father hugging me. I remember, once as a little boy, I came out shivering after a bath in the cold water in the cooler month of October, during the Durga Puja festival. Seeing me shivering, my father wrapped me in his warm silk dhoti, which he wore while preparing for the Durga Puja ceremony. That is the only time I remember my father hugging me. I still remember the warmth of that hug, lingering like a sweet taste throughout my life.
The mother of the family defines the strength of the family. Despite having an abusive husband, Jeyamohan’s mother stood tall and remained the glue that made his family work. She sacrificed her independence, her love for poetry, literature and music, for the well-being of her children, and when she knew that they would not require her any longer, she committed suicide. After the suicide of her mother, his father lived for fifty-six days only, lost like a ship without a mooring and took his own life as well. Love speaks a different tongue for each one of us. But is it love and longing that forced his father to commit suicide after his mother died? Or is it something else?
I had a straightforward, drab life, the life of a typical urban middle-class person. From childhood to manhood, I travelled in a straight line, while for Jeyamohan, it was never straight. He had an unhappy childhood, and his life was full of twists and turns. His quest for something deeper in life forced him to leave home at a young age, and he travelled the whole country as a vagabond, sometimes even living as a beggar.
And then the stories of Yakshis. Yakshis are enchanting beings with exquisite female forms who lure gullible men to their lair and devour them. When a man falls for a Yakshi, he is doomed for life, if lucky enough to stay alive. The stories of Yakshis are common in Kerala and are spoken of as folklore. When society is predominantly matriarchal, women control the power and the wealth. Men always have problems with strong, powerful and dominating women. Combined with beauty, this becomes a formidable force. No wonder these stories are so rampant. It is no irony that these women, so-called Yakshis, were killed and converted to goddesses, and shrines were built in their names where men go to worship them. It is easier for men to worship women as goddesses than to accept them as equal, better or more powerful.
It is an engrossing book that gives a picture of Jeyamohan’s extraordinary life and the society of the south of India, with some interesting folk stories vastly different from East India, where I grew up. It feels like we are from a different country and a different time. The diversity of India, its society, religious practice, folklore and politics are awesome and boggle us, to say the least. Yet we have cohabited for a few thousand years, since the beginning of time. Although we see many discouraging changes around us now, I remain hopeful that we will endure forever.