‘‘Look there, friend Sancho Panza, where 30 or more monstrous giants rise up, all of whom I mean to engage in battle and slay, and with whose spoils we shall begin to make our fortunes.’’
FOR once, Cervantes’s absurd plot device of Don Quixote didn’t seem so absurd after all. As soon as we stepped on the gas on NH7 sneaking one last look at the Kanyakumari sea, did we encounter them: hundreds of windmills staring down at us, those leaner and certainly taller creatures of science looking straight out of a Paul Verhoeven sci-fi shocker.
For a moment, we were scared. The wind was strong and almost all of them were doing, it seemed, a death dance with swords. But hey, give the Man From Lamancha a break. In the 21st century, these ‘‘monsters’’ generate electricity: 2,000 of them in Kayathear, Aralvoimozhi, Palagat pitching in almost 200 mw when the wind is strong in May-June to be fed to the common grid.
On way to Madurai, the cradle of Tamil Nadu’s Dravidian roots, the decade-old government-private wind farm project is the definitive symbol of a South India that has perhaps been ‘‘shining’’ long before Advani and Co. coined this election’s primary catchphrase. Yet, come election time, the state’s eco (and market)-friendly politicians—according to TN Electricity Board executive engineer Kesavan, the operation is financially viable—have no qualms shedding their progressive tag to embrace the age-old, socially regressive caste system and win votes.
The DMK, for instance, has chosen to field Nadars in the three southern constituencies of Tirunelveli, Tiruchendur, Nagarcoil. In Tenkasi (SC), the entry of the People’s Alliance, a combine of Dalit parties and splinter groups like Indian National League, has managed to divide caste loyalties in the reserved seat to the extent that no one, including sitting AIADMK MP Murugesan, is sure which way the tide will turn.
The alliance’s main constituents, the Dalit Panthers of India and the Puthiya Tamizhagam, are confident that their candidates will play a decisive role in as many as five seats, including Chidambaram, Tenkasi and Tirunelveli. ‘‘Our aim is to prove that we are a force. We want to show DMK and ADMK that they cannot take the Mudaliar community for granted even while pandering to major castes like Thevars, Vanniars and Nadars,’’ is a typical response coming from members of the Pudhiya Needhi Katchi.
As for the Congress, even being a part of the formidable DMK-led Democratic Progressive Alliance, isn’t making life easier. Bitter discontent over ticket distribution with allegations of favouritism and corruption flying thick and fast, has marred its chances in the state: Tirunelveli was kept hanging till so late that even ADMK fresher, Amirthaganesan (replacing sitting MP P H Pandian), is feeling more confident now.
The driver of our diesel Ambassador wasn’t. Soon after taking the bypass into Tirunelveli, whose arrival was announced via Mitsubishi’s and Toyota’s swanky service centres, the road got slightly bumpy due to some patchwork repairs, forcing us to slow down to 60 kmph. A line of men standing dangerously in the middle of speeding traffic and painting a dividing line didn’t help either. While signposts detailing the nearest hospital, rest room and petrol pump made regular appearances en-route, the usual ‘‘work in progress sign’’ was conspicuously absent near the Kovilpatti bifurcation. But the good news was that throughout the 80 km journey from Kanyakumari to Tirunelveli, not once did our cellphone signal wane.
There was respite from the 45-degree Celsius sun on the final leg of the remaining 149-km to Madurai. Tamarind trees lined the path, as if waiting all along to tell stories of great journeys that had been made on this road. Like the hero of celebrated Tamil writer, Sundara Ramaswamy’s first novel, The Story of A Tamarind Tree, these living signposts had seen it all. ‘‘In those days, due to the prevailing political situation, Tamils were engrossed in their golden past, which blinded them from realistically assessing the present and left them with little concern for the future,’’ was how he traced the roots of the caste phenomenon when we met the 70-year-old author, critic, poet at his Nagarcoil home.
An influential figure in Tamil literature widely regarded for his style and innovation in the use of language — his JJ-Some Notes, 1982 about the life of legendary Malayalam writer C J Thomas was a trend-setter — Ramaswamy is a firm believer in democracy. ‘‘While no government had succeeded in creating a fully equal society despite several experiments though history, a society like ours, where inequality is dictated by caste, has little hope of attaining equality.’’
For Ramaswamy and many others like him, our elections have therefore been reduced to a frustrating exercise of choosing the lesser of the evil.
The die is caste. Now, there’s a real monster!