24 January 2015


Posted by Vinoth Subramanian | Saturday, January 24, 2015 Categories: ,

This life is filled with temptations. After posting my post “Happy birthday Jesus,” I promised Beatrice that I would surely post a humourous post soon. There is a time for everything. If it is written to happen no one can stop it. Finally it happened on 19-01-2015.

We may hate certain things without any valid reasons and I am not an exception from that.
We landed in front of the Tirupati Devastanam.
“Online ticket?” asked a strange voice. We turned; he was a stranger so there is no shock about the strangeness in the voice.
“Pants are not allowed.” But this time I was really shocked.
“What?” it was my brother who reacted first.
“Only dhoti.”
Now I joined.
“It has never been like this before!” I exclaimed.
“That is why it is happening now sir.” He replied. I was upset by the tone of sarcasm.
“Men have to go inside in dhotis and women must be in sarees or salwar kameez.”
“What is this Anna?”
Fortunately my mother had brought a dhoti; but only for her husband. Okay, for my father.
“I never wore this before and never want to wear it anymore.” I was sticking to my principle. The stranger was still standing and added fuel in the fire.
“Don’t worry sir. Here they are selling dhotis and one dhoti costs Rs 100.”
Having no other option, we went and approached the vendor for two dhotis. My brother already had experience in this field. He was forced to wear dhoti in Madurai meenatchi temple. But it was ten years ago. From then on he wore it many times. He had no problem with that. But me? Everything happened before I tried to say “no.” the tickets were already booked so I had no other option. However, I must mention that I had freedom to wear dhoti over my pants. That stranger told it.
“God still exists.” I said to myself. But this time in the form of my pants. We were marching inside. My father unlocked the cover and barely wrapped the dhoti at my hip and said.
“Let it be like this now. I will make it strong after crossing the entrance.” Everything was strong except me and my dhoti. I knew it was nothing but an absolute business due to the people shortage to the temple. We crossed the entrance and walked inside.
“What is inside the dhoti?” it was the voice of the cop which made us stop. He looked at us and probed further,
“Why do you wear it over your pants?” my brother was also wearing it like me.
“Where to wear then?” I asked but  without opening my lips. Fine. We can call it murmuring also.
“Let him go! Let him go!” another cop told and aloud me inside. It seemed that they didn’t take my brother also seriously.
I was tottering due to the effect of that newly worn dhoti. One of them said,
“Poor fellow! He is struggling to walk.” I barely glanced at him. My father was holding my hand but I was holding the dhoti. No matter even if it had fallen down but what would happen to my ego?
Mayhap, 3 to 5 minutes might have gone by. My brother hurled something on my shoulder.
“What’s that?” I turned back and asked.
“Dhoti! That is called dhoti.”
“Oh you stripped it?”
“No I am okay with it. That is yours.”
“One more dhoti?”
“No that is your fallen dhoti!”
“When it happened!”
“Nearly 4 minutes ago.”
“When did I wear this?”
“5 minutes ago!” my father replied this time.
“Bloody dhoti was it on my hip just for a minute? As if standing for our national anthem!” this time self talk.
“Don’t wear man. We will wear if they ask.” My brother told.
I let it on my shoulder and happily walked further. Dear readers underline the word “happily.” But one thing was striking inside my head that is my principle has been violated. I was incredulously asking myself.
“How did I accept to wear this?”
When time comes, everyone has to accept everything even if they don’t like. Let us call it a dhoti philosophy such a dirty philosophy of 2015.
“Dhoti is not meant for shoulder but hips.” Another security told when I was going with the dhoti on my shoulder.
We were locked in a huge hall were my father helped me wearing the dhoti and tightened it and gave me assurance that it would never fall.
“It will never fall but what if I?” I stammered.
They unlocked the gate after 15 minutes and let us proceed to Dharshana. But it didn’t fall down but the bottom end of the dhoti was twisting under my feet which made me perform all kinds of Indian dances. Again I lifted my dhoti with one hand and started moving along with some frustraneous flashbacks. It was 13th January 2015. Leo and I jump down from the bus in the Santhom signal and sprinting in order to cross the road.
“Tomorrow you also must wear dhoti.”
“Or else, come as usual and I will help you.”
Our college already asked us to come in traditional dresses for the Pongal celebration.
“Everyone will be coming in dhoti in order to celebrate the Pongal festival in our college.” Leo pointed it out.
“I know but I won’t.”
He was not telling it for the first time and I also remained a stand-pat as usual.
Not only that, not only he, many asked me the reason. Whenever I was asked, I told,
“I don’t know how to wear and don’t know how to carry after wearing it. Above all, I don’t like to wear.”
On the very next day, even north Indians emerged in dhotis but not me.
But this day I was walking in dhoti and was able to manage when the floor was flat. However struggled in staircase. At one point of time, my mother also held my other hand and I felt it was not the right time to show her unconditional love for my father was already holding my one hand.
“If both of you hold my hands how can I hold my dhoti?” I asked and unleashed my hand from my mother’s.
“Vinoth take your shirt out.” My brother shouted from the back. In all over India, I was the only person tucked in my shirt even for dhoti.
“Anna that is because of my pants.” I retorted.
We had reached the destiny. My father left my hand and asked me to pray by putting my palms together.
“If I put my palms together then…” I stopped. I need not say here what I would have tried to say at that moment. Nonetheless, Dhoti is not going to be the problem while standing I knew so my palms joined.

One of my relatives asked me to pray for her and her boy friend. Her name is Deepa (name changed) and her boy friend name is Deepak (Name changed.) when I was in front of the lord Vengadesh, my tongue slipped. Hence, instead of praying “bless Deepa and Deepak,” I uttered “Bless Deepa and Dhinesh.” I didn’t know how it happened. But one thing had happened soon; their love was broken.
But it was two months ago.
Now it was not the case there. I had many things to pray to him. Finally I ended up with one sentence.
“You know what to do for me.”
We came out. My father pulled my dhoti and made my pants fully visible.
How many times I would have escaped from this? How many times I would have come to Tirupati? But what was I able to do at that pivotal event? But finally it happened and I couldn’t do anything at that time. If no to certain things, no forever was my principle, and it started toppling one after the other which I never thought.


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