The Ides of March (South Indian style)

The 15th of March, has a special significance in History. This day also has a special significance to me.

Many, many moons ago, when I was 15, the 15th of March found me pacing to and fro on my terrace, cramming for my ICSE board exams… the first paper, English Literature, Shakespear’s Julius Caesar.

The opening scene began with Caesar’s wife recounting her nightmare about Caesar’s impending death and imploring him not to attend an important meeting with the Roman Senate on that very same day, the 15th of March, also darkly referred to back then as the Ides of March.

So here I was, centuries later, desperately reliving the Ides of March on my terrace…

Me:- (loud dramatic voice tinged with mild hysteria)

‘What mean you Caesar? Think you to walk forth? You shall not stir out of your house today. When beggars die, there are no comets seen. The Heavens themselves blaze forth the death of---------

Unseen Voice:- (South Indian accented English)

‘ AH LEETLE BAI BLUUU-

(subtitles- Ah little Boy Blue)

 Julius Caesar dropped to the floor. Notes scattered across the terrace. I thought that I was the only desperate soul cramming for her exams. For days I’d paced my terrace, alone in my last minute exam fever misery. The neighbouring terraces were silent, devoid of last minute crammers. But now this horrific interruption!

Unseen Voice:- ‘ AHH LEETLE BAI BLUUU!

A little Tamilian boy clad in blue pyjamas…upper body bare, save for a string looped across one shoulder to his potbellied waist stared at me across his terrace. I glared back. How dare this rotund little creature destroy my feverish peace???

The die was cast.

A Literature standoff ensued between an angry teenager and a defiant, rather loud 6 year old.

The Ides of March.

Julius Caesar versus Little Boy Blue.

Me:- (careful modulated tone)

‘ Friends, Romans, countrymen-

Little Boy:- (without a care in the world)

‘ AH LEETLE BAI BLUUUU

Me:- (tone acquires a firm higher octave)

‘ LEND ME YOUR EARS

Little boy:- (guns blazing)

‘LEETLE BAI BLUUU’

Me:- ( bellowing)

‘ I HAVE COME TO BURY CAESAR…’

Little boy:- (plump hands on plump hips)

‘ COME BLAH YOUR HAARN’

(subtitles: ‘come blow your horn’)

Me:- (mad as hell, saliva foaming on my quivering lips)

‘….BURY CAESAR, NOT TO PRAISE HIM’

Little boy:- (confident and smug)

‘ BLAH YOUR HAARN!’

Me:- ‘THE EVIL THAT MEN DO’

Little boy:- ‘LEETLE BAI BLUUU’

Me:- (windpipe aching, barely hanging in there)

‘LIVES AFTER THEM’

Little boy:- (not even breaking a sweat)

‘ AHH LEETLE BAI BLUU’

Me:- ( bloodshot eyes, lungs slowly collapsing)

‘ O pardon me’

Little boy:- (triumphant smirk across podgy cheeks)

‘LEETLE BAI BLUUU-

Me:- (gasping)

‘Thou bleeding piece of earth’

Little boy :- (inhales deeply. I could very clearly see his powerful lungs expanding through his ribcage. I decided then to give up. It wasn’t worth Caesar and me dying on the same day)

‘ LEETLE BAI- AIYYYOO!!!!!’

Little boy’s annoyed mother:- ‘Aiii wat leetle bai leetle bai..xxxxxxxxxxxx….’

(subtitles: foul words that cannot be repeated)

The little boy rubbed his sore head where his mother had just planted a hard smack. She continued a stream of what sounded like Tamil abuse, caught him by the ear and dragged him off the terrace and down the stairs.

For a few minutes I just stood there, shell-shocked, uncertain.

A curtain of peace hung heavy.

It was just me, and Caesar, that historic bleeding piece of earth.

My ragged breathing slowed. I didn’t care anymore about Caesar and the evil that lived after his killers. I felt strangely deflated, almost incomplete.

I sighed. My shoulders slumped.

Footsteps clattered up the stairs and a podgy face popped around the terrace wall, eyes bulging, gasping with physical effort.

‘COME BLAH YOUR HARRN!’

The little boy scuttled away accompanied by his mother’s angry bellows.

The standoff was complete. A clear winner declared. I laughed and felt ready to tackle Caesar’s noble ruins.

Now, 26 years later, I’m suddenly reminded of that confident little boy. His limited knowledge of the English language didn’t inhibit his drive to out-beat me. What he lacked in literary skills, he more than compensated for in volume and attitude. He knew just 2 lines of that English classic poem, Little boy blue, but he delivered it with such verve and pinache, over and over, in loud confident bellows, Little Boy Blue’s horn didn’t stand a chance!

I wonder where he is today. His ambition (and powerful lungs) would surely have taken him far. Perhaps he’s an accomplished Professor, orating about this and that…or perhaps a notorious Politician, ranting about Caesar or Modi or Trump…or perhaps, that strong, courageous little boy is now a brilliant Scientist working on a death sentence for another killer, COVID 19.