Before you read, click on a button to change Background Color to a colour of your choice

Published in 'METROPLUS' of The Hindu dated 11th March 2002 ``Is he here, is he there, the Chennaiites saw him everywhere...'' A humorous account of the panther. KNOW WHAT? I looked into a mirror today and discovered that I'm a cat with an identity crisis. Am I a panther or a lion? It sure is bothering me. Things were fine till I decided to take a break from the place where I live. It's not a bad place, really. Still, I thought it would be good to see the outside world. Next thing I know, I'm in the newspapers. People are just crazy about them. Must say it felt great to be featured in bold headlines day after day. Heard it's generally reserved only for the netas. Very good for the feline ego and the way they went madly guessing about me and my whereabouts was most satisfying. Quite like the Scarlet Pimpernel. ``Is he here, is he there, the Chennaiites saw him everywhere...'' Gave me a very masochistic halo and a cat just can't help purring with satisfaction at all this attention. Unusual for us to scare urbanites so. Generally we are just objects to be gazed at or shot at. Terrible time we had when those Maharajahs were around and the sahibs who were mad about ``shikaar''. You can see my ancestors' stuffed heads glowering at you from tastelessly decorated drawing rooms — trophies they called us. Bah! But this business of my identity worries me from time to time; I've had enough, thank you. Think I'll just remain a feline, any feline, even a big domestic cat if people want it so. But please let me not go through this ``who am I'' trauma again. This uncertainty, this identity crisis. Is it not enough that we have it everywhere in the country — people masquerading in various guises and wolves in sheep's clothing? Adored politicians who pull a red herring across their trail, respected bankers who make their banks go bust, religious raths that leave a trail of red dust and redder blood. All this talk, of ``Bhayiyon and Behanon'', ``Rathathin Rathamae Udanpirapae'', ``Sonthangale'' makes me just plain sick. Why can't people here reveal their true colours? But then even the Stars and Stripes lot don't. The double standards when dealing with heartless terrorists leaves me growling with rage. Surprising when these are considered superior people; poor, innocent, four-footers like me seem to create panic when we just take a harmless walk around the city. We are not on the prowl are we? Just a `touristy' curiosity, to see how the city folks live. But once is more than enough thank you. Especially of Chennai. No wonder everyone seems to go on and on about the state of the roads. Aren't they terrible — so pitted and scarred? My poor paws have been pierced with such sharp stones — wish Androcles were here. If I'm a panther, am I a shiny black one? Or a sleek tawny one? Or even a ``pink panther'' (what on earth is that?) as I heard it was reported in a paper. Something to do with a man called Peter Sellers. Wonder who on earth he was? Raises a laugh even if his name is mentioned. Must have been a very funny man. And if I'm a lion, am I supposed to be young, playful and cute like Simba. The Lion King seems to have defined lions for many of the two-legged kind. Strange how cinema appears to influence humans so. And nothing like cinema for the Chennaiites — they watch, worship and vote cinema. I walked along a road which they call Anna Salai or Mount Road. What a confused lot these Chennaiites are — they have two names for almost everything. Nearly all the major roads have two names in use — enough to make a lost panther/lion's head spin when he wants to find his bearings. Many of them are not even quite sure about the name of their city. Some consciously make an attempt to call it Chennai, others just slip into the habit of referring to it as Madras. I believe the British gave it that name and it is politically incorrect now to call it so. Anyway, on this Mount Road, there are huge posters of men and women garishly dressed up — cinema hoardings they call them. Quite a hazard I would think. What if there is a gale and they come crashing down? And those men, women and children living everywhere on the pavements. Humans are supposed to live in houses, not like this — on filthy, overcrowded pavements. Concrete jungle! That's an insult to us, believe me. We live in lovely, green spaces, filled with the trilling of birds and the musical swishing of branches, not ugly grey buildings that are pasted together with no space for beauty or light. But nobody appears to care here. It seems as if you can build anywhere, anyhow. The traffic too is just incredible in its anarchy. People zip past with no concern for the old or those with babies in arms. It's really shocking. And they call this the Law of the Jungle! Even during migration, we animals go by in an orderly file. Have you seen zebras or elephants on the move? The idea of a queue seems alien here. Do you ever find the animals pushing and jostling at the water holes on Discovery Channel? Under a clear African sky, with the standard music playing in the background, don't they stand around sipping softly? That's a ``circular queue'' for you. No well-mannered panther would ever step on his neighbour's paws, let alone surge forwards and backwards in all directions as they do here. And believe me, the place they call Central Station is the most chaotic of them all. Took a peep one night and was horrified. Everyone rushing hither and thither weighed down by heavy boxes and bags. My heart went out to some — they are called the disabled — who just could not manage the gravelly, pot holed platform. Others around them callously cannoned into them. As for the identity problem, I've kind of sorted out things now. Perhaps I'd better lie down in a shrink's couch and let him solve it once and for all. But just got to know his previous patient was a zoo-keeper. Would that mean leaping from the frying ``pan'' to ``the lair``? For days, the rangers couldn't make out what I was. And now neither can I. Could it be that I am a commonplace leopard instead? The mere thought is enough to make me come out in the most dreadful spots. P.S.: Finally they have made the great discovery. I am a panther after all; that's a relief. But the way they trapped me — trapped through love, they boast — is just shameful. BACK to the Main Page