A book on love, hope & joie de vivre.

While we heartily pursue the habit of reading, it is solely for the joys that it can bring to us by populating our world for whatever brief time, with the lives of others. If you look back that is why the thought of authors of our childhood still bring back such lovely memories. Another matter is the thing about writing well. John Sheffield once said that of all those arts in which the wise excel, nature's chief masterpiece is writing well. We thrill to a well-written book; but only rarely do we associate a sense of pride with it. And its with pride that I approached the counter of the D.C.Stores Cochin last evening, for billing a particular book of which I have had the pleasure and privilege of befriending the author. The wait for this book had been excruciating owing to the fact that it hadn’t been available in Kerala until now whereas it had already hit the stands everywhere else.. and I have since long always preferred buying a book directly from a store rather than from the web. Finally the wait has come to an end and I now have it in hand.

The cover page of the book I’m talking about, runs thus:

34 bubblegums and candies - Preeti Shenoy.


Considering the contents of the book, one is inclined to think that Preeti’s active avocation is to observe people and acknowledge the blessings of life, sitting on her hammock in her home, and recording her observations on her laptop. And her notes have always been sharp, precise and witty which is a joy to the reader. If you look at her blog, you can see the sincere effort to do that. There are accounts from her personal life, and the little things in life which so often go unnoticed. And she narrates it with her distinctive style and humor which is unique.

34 bubblegums and candies, as very rightly mentioned in the back cover page, brings out the essence and flavour of the journey called life. The ‘bubble gums’ implore the reader to sit back and reflect at life and injects the stimuli to live life to the fullest. And if you believe that there have been books in the past which does just the same, let me tell you few areas where Preeti easily wins over any of them. You can read her book while waiting for your cooker to whistle; you can read while your washing machine is churning to its conclusion; and of course you can read while traveling! The book is, to quote a newspaper headline that carries a review, refreshingly simple. Its an anytime pick which would prompt you to reflect at life, urging you to capture the sheer joy of living life to the fullest. The book is not over-theorized, and it gives enough room for the reader to breathe.

And delving into the candy jar in public may be a bit risky! Because when you delve into it, you are sure to go ‘HA HA HA’ thereby letting others see your throat and the entire universe within, like little Lord Krishna’s mother saw, long time ago! Well, sorry for the PJ, but let me tell you something which is not a PJ – reading this book in public is a bit risky because of the sudden guffaw that would have people staring at you. The candies are deliciously hilarious!


I needn’t say the obvious that a lot of effort has gone into the construction of this book. You can read here how few of her well meaning friends including Satish (her husband) have directed their energies towards the fructification of the book. And such a cute gesture from Atul& Purvi, her two lil kids, who so thoughtfully created personalized bookmarks for her blog readers who attended the launch events.


Preeti writes on her website that one day she hopes to land on a rainbow. Well Preeti, you already have. The wave of appreciation which you get from the media and the crowd abounded at the book meets, the smile that lights up on the faces of your friends and fellow bloggers as they pick up their copy of your book from the store – these are the different colors and hues of the rainbow you have just landed on!

Several months ago, last Dec to be precise, I had written Preeti a testimonial in orkut where I had mentioned that I’d definitely get a copy of her book once she intends to publish it. And now as I type this I see a book staring at me, just besides me.

The book titled 34 bubblegums and candies. The author - Preeti Shenoy ! :)

This is just a beginning. Just a beginning of many more to come from a very promising young author.


-Balu

Thanks 'unpret' for your comments to my previous post. I had drafted this as response to your comments but as it was getting too lengthy, thought I’d put it up as a new post :)

As you said, there must be some reason behind telling that we are not supposed to read/write during Saraswathi Pooja. Old customs do have a purpose. Maybe it is to acknowledge man’s dependence on the natural forces and bounty of his existence. Ancient people instinctively recognized the debt and reverence owed to a higher force and intelligence working beyond the physical dimension. Hence such customs have come into existence I guess.

I do believe that mantras have a meaning. No question about that. It can have an effect. But just reciting the mantras without understanding the context and the proper meaning – would that serve the purpose? A student can study by-heart computer programs in C, Java, etc without understanding the proper concept. It might help the student pass the exams, but would fail to serve the purpose of moulding him into a successful engineer – which is the ultimate goal. God is not a supermarket where you can get anything you want by chanting mantras. Praise and persiflage works with us humans, but would it work with HIM who is beyond all ego? Isn’t God an ego-less entity?

We worship God in different ways – as the Heavenly Father or Divine Mother, or as a Divine friend like the relationship between Krishna and Arjuna, or as a Divine lover, as a Divine beloved, Divine Master, or a Divine Child. I personally feel God responds to the devotee in whatever aspect the devotee holds dear. But when you pray “God, please help me build a bungalow,” its more an act done out of expectation.. that you already have a self will – that of building a bungalow and you just need the help of God to execute it, just like you seek the help of an architect, except that here God is cheap labour where you expect the work to be done by offering him coconuts. A devotee will get better results if he plunges himself into God’s love rather than thinking like a businessman “I will buy God with such amount of chanting and meditation.” Suppose, if a terrorist chants the same mantra seeking God’s help to kill innocent lives, would the mantra work? Therefore it has to be believed that ultimately it’s our good will and our consciousness which is going to be the deciding factor.


Prayer is important, but when it is used as a short cut only to get your things done, it looses the purpose. Prayer should be a two-way communication where you share your thoughts and feelings openly as if you are talking to an intimate friend. Your thoughts and plans may or may not work out, but God shouldn’t be held responsible if it doesn’t work out. Just like you wouldn’t blame you close friend, say Teena, if you happen to fail in your exam! You will hold God responsible for the bad events only if you consider him to be a superman who is expected to get all your things done. And you just can’t form an intimate relationship with such a superman. You would consider such a superman or God only as living external to you. Instead, when you treat God as a good friend with whom you can share your joy in your successes.. and as an intimate friend or a guide who would remain with you in your failures as well, you are setting yourself to the right tone. Intimacy can be formed only if you treat God as an understanding parent whom you can approach without fear and rest on her lap for consolation even if you fail 100 times. A great friend or a loving master who reassures you that even if you fail, the world is still going to be the same. An intimate friend who gives you the reassurance that no matter whether you win or loose, he would still be with you unconditionally.

You may succeed in your exams or in your profession or in life, or you may fail.. And even if things don’t go the way as you wished, there should be no severance in communication or regard with God. That way, I feel one can take life as it comes – by being never too exuberant in success and never too defeated in failure. And the best prayer or the mantra is “Thank you.” “Thank you for being with me throughout my good and bad times.” Nothing brings more joy than to feel the presence of a master or an intimate friend who’ll be with you throughout your good and bad times.


Why would God need any praise or money? He would be happier if one chooses to praise, without any trace of jealousy, his fellow being who managed to achieve something remarkable. He would be delighted if one chooses to utilize money for the needy instead of excessively spending it on temples.

Isn't it the right perception to feel him as a bliss, welling up from your infinite depths instead of yearning for visions or thriling experiences? The path to the Divine can't really be a circus!

-Balu

During Pooja holidays, the books are supposed be kept in the temple and inside the pedestal for poojas and one is not expected to read/write until Vijayadasami. I've always wondered why is it that you could get into the good books of your school teacher if you study hard during your holidays, but to get into the good books of Goddess Saraswati, you ought NOT read/write during the pooja-holidays until Vijayadasami.

Lot of efforts are being put in to please God. You offer to shave your head if God helps you to pass your exams. But would any God desire that when he himself created the child with beautiful hair? I feel its more like throwing a challenge to God – show your powers and you can have my hair! You enter abstinence for 48 days prior to your Sabarimala pilgrimage and the moment you return after the visit, you indulge in your wildest fantasies. Does it mean that if you make an effort for 48 days so as not to let anything pollute your mind and body, you get the license to be carefree for the rest 317 days in the year? I know people who don't eat beef, the cow being Krishna's pet, but they wouldn't spare fish or chicken. Isn't it the same God who created the cow and the fish?

Why does one have to try so hard to please God when we are just like infants to him ? The purpose of climbing mountains walking barefoot searching for God is defeated at the outset if you don't have the time and patience to listen to your inner self? Its more like climbing an imaginary mountain in pursuit of a hidden treasure that does not exist.We are so caught up trying to find fault with others that we don't have time nor interest to look within. Bhakti is a feeling whereas religion is just a discipline. Bhakti is pure joy. The feeling which you experience by doing any random act of kindness, even if it be a smile at any random stranger you meet on the streets. When Mata Amritandamayi spends 100 crores to the needy, there is Bhakti involved in it much more than in singing bhajans. The smile of God is reflected in the face of a beggar when he receives a hundred rupee note from you, and I personally feel this could move you closer to God than performing a pooja in the temple for Rs.100. You might forget the pooja after a few days, but the beggar's smiling face would keep popping up in your mind occasionally.

Some of us make pilgrimages and prayers as a remedy to the sins we have committed in the past. As a result, we are not reluctant to commit them again as we rest in the belief that whatever wrong we do, God will forgive us if we offer a pooja and a cocunut! Prayer is important, but when it is done just out of fear in order to keep his wrath at bay, are we being really sincere? How can you love your father if you are too scared of him? God is not a goon looking out for opportunities to beat you up.

Would the Gods be angry that I chose to write this on a Mahanavami day when I am supposed to be sitting at home reading nothing and writing nothing ? Nope! I think I'm in tune with the Gods else why should I feel this great joy within myself :-)

-Balu

The rains had furiously drenched the state during Karkidakam and had been expected to cease at the advancement of Chingam, the Onam season. Interestingly, this year, even the Thiruonam day witnessed a battle in the sky between the clouds and the sun, both trying to overpower the other, much like the battle between Devas and Asuras(demons). Onam is a joyful remembrance of the king Mahabali, a kind and generous Asura king, much different from the rest of the Asuras. Folklore has it that the Devas were jealous of the popularity achieved by Mahabali despite him being an Asura and that they plotted against him with the help of Lord Vishnu. Vishnu approached Mahabali in the guise of a Brahmin kid, Vamana, and requested that he be given three foot of land. As soon as his request was granted, Vishnu raised his stature and covered the sky and the earth in two steps, and now that the entire universe had been covered, he placed his third step on to Mahabali, pushing him to the netherworld.


On a different perspective, I personally feel this story harbors close on its heels to the thought that nobody is too good to deserve only praise and nobody is too bad to deserve only criticism. In the story behind Onam, the devas who are otherwise believed to have no malice festering within them, have fallen prey to jealousy, that their hegemony of being “righteous” has been brought to an end by Mahabali, an Asura. Even Lord Vishnu with all his eminence had been convincingly entrapped into acting upon frivolous provocations by the devas !
The perceptions of truth and goodness metamorphoses and keeps changing across time and people. The wise say one should never pass judgments on others. No one is as good as to deserve only praise and no one is as bad as to deserve only criticism.

I digress.

Onam this year had been great as usual. I’ve always maintained and still maintain the belief that no cuisine in the world can beat the traditional ‘Onasadya’ that Keralites enjoy every Onam! Just thought I’d post a picture of the lovely pookkalam (flower carpet) we did in our office. The people you see in the picture are few of my friends at work.

Yet another Onam has passed, bringing back memories of childhood. The Onam mid - terminal exams at school followed by a 10 day vacation; collecting flowers for the pookkalam; the sadya; sometimes an Onakkodi, games and all the fun. And I hear somewhere in the backdrop of my mind a lovely song as these memories resurface yet again. A song which emphasizes the reign of Mahabali.

"Maveli naadu vaaneedum kaalam
Maanusharellaarum onnupole ... "

A song which emphasies unity, peace and happiness in a world devoid of any malice and deceit. .. though we have been far removed from that caricature.


Yet another Onam has passed.

Balu
25/9/08

Child's play!

Just when I was meaning to blog about Onam, an interesting article about the conversation between an ant and a boy catches my attention, and am taken back to my childhood days once again. Hence Onam can wait :D

As a child, I vividly remember how interestedly I would watch ants march across the ground. Then there was a sense of amazement in watching ants carry its fodder which weighs more than itself and then march along like an army. I would marvel at the sight of earthworms and centipedes .. it was amazing then to see a living creature with so many legs. And the manner in which spiders weave their webs was something fantastic. There was an insatiable curiosity to watch them all go about their tasks.


The enthusiasm of a child is unmatched. A toddler may keep falling down every time he tries to walk, but just doesn’t give up until he succeeds. No matter how many times he may fall down, he just keeps walking. Tirelessly. How often do we, grown ups, keep forgetting to get up and walk when we stumble upon difficult situations at various stages in our lives. They can draw the same picture repeatedly without getting bored, giving the picture a different interpretation at every color pattern change. They don’t have any memories clouding their judgments of the present time. Their beliefs and value systems keep evolving as they check and explore the boundaries, and they have a totally different model of the world altogether. It seems that certain features in them are wired into our minds such that we respond to their need for compassion and love with unquestioning support and nurturing .. and we don’t forget to smile as we do so!

I no longer spend time watching ants and spiders..maybe because I've 'grown up' and have time only to browse the web, but not to watch a web being woven.

I guess one has to be a child to observe such small yet wonderful things in life.

-Balu
10/9/08

School days..when life seemed all rose and pinkish!

The boys were smartly dressed in light pink shirts and maroon trousers. The girls - some had pig-tails in place neatly tied with ribbons; some had dimpled chins, and they all were cute and smart. They bonded their mutual affection and friendship over the playgrounds and classrooms. That was long way back. That was when I joined Greet's Academy. It is now a pleasant recollection to me as I remain in retrospective of those years in my school when I would wake up at 7.45 in the morning to reach the school by 8.15.

I vividly remember Lilly Luiz Ma'm, our Principal, doing rounds with a cane always handy! She was strict, but caring.

The assemblies followed by the march past back to the classes were a daily routine. Those who adhered to proper uniforms would get back to the classes while the unfortunate ones would meet the P.T teacher on the way!!

Neetu writes in her webpage few lines of a song we were taught in school as kids:

"I am a promise
I am a possibility
I am a promise
With a capital P ..”

Reminds me of those scripture classes we had as kids, where we were taught the Bible.. And for the irrepressible children that we were, it never usually took long before chaos reigned the scripture hall. Eveytime we turned noisy, the teacher would try to counter it by uttering "Peace! Peace!" .. and hence we fondly named him 'peace maker!'

October 12th every year would see Greet’s Academy engulf in an atmosphere of jollity and boisterous bonhomie. The day is observed as the ‘Annual Day’ in alignment with the b’day of ‘Aunty Greet,’ as we fondly call our founder Ms. Edith Virgina Greet who hails from the U.S., and who is a missionary who came to India in 1947 to serve the poor and the needy.

And those interschool competitions, Science exhibitions, and other events where most of them would participate with enthu while few chose to be passive!

P.T periods were eagerly awaited and we would go for Basketball, Volleyball and Kho-kho. Unlike most of the schools today, cricket didn’t have much prevalence inside our school compound.

The library period on Tuesdays were occasionally taken over by other teachers whenever they were pressed for time in completing the syllabus.

Saphire, Diamond, Ruby and Emerald - the four houses and the competitons.

Thomas Kurian sir, replacing Lilly Luiz Ma’m as our Principal, instantly struck a chord with us students by the way he carried around himself. There was an indefinable quality about his face and body language that always evoked uninhibited admiration. Sadly he is not with us anymore.

And which Greetian can ever forget Leelammachechi & Mercychechi ?!

Everything just seems like yesterday.

I still remember like yesterday Jose dancing to the tunes of a Konkani song for a group event; Dhanya's Nagavalli performance; and those combined studies with Vivek and Ajeesh at my home which usually ended up as cricket sessions in the terrace!

Years passed by as new faces kept coming in year after year while some bid adieu, and then came '99 – the final year spent in Greet's.

Standard 12.

Extra classes after the regular 9 periods a day. Special classes on Saturdays. The P.T period on Fridays.

The excursion to Ooty.

The surprise class tests by Dominic sir where if you scored below 5 upon 10, you were awarded 0!! .. and then him being replaced by Radhika miss as our class teacher, the fun element remaining unchanged! .. All for which I was more like a silent spectator enjoying every bit happening around in the class.. ha ha !

Special classes mostly by Radhika miss and Sreedevi miss.

The farewell party.

And the final school bus trips to Bhavans for the public examinations, after the prayer in the chapel followed by the banana fries served by Leelammachechi.
Everything seems just like yesterday !

And then later on in the day you open your gmail to find that yet another person who had once walked down the corridors as a classmate, is on the verge of entering motherhood! How time flies!!! .. Just when one thought everything seemed like it happened yesterday!

Every single moment spent in Greet's was sparkling, something which you realise in its entirety only as you step out of the school and enter into a completely different world.

I was more of a reserved kind, but not once have I ever felt left out. Those days were truly memorable. There was fun, laughter, backslapping and humor, all for which I was more like a silent spectator enjoying a movie. And at the end of the day, the entire class would ring in unison "Thaankyeew teeecher" in a rhythm!.. Memories keep rushing in as my fingers strike the keypad and its becoming too difficult to marshal them.

Thaankyeew Greets Academy, for gifting me those moments which I would cherish as long as my faculties doesn’t abandon me :)


-Balu
15/08/08

‘Time doesn’t change, it just flows.’

Time has been defined and designed for our convenience.. Hence we have different time zones, clocks, deadlines etc. And we literally have taken "time" as something more important than life.

Even our body clock gets tuned to our feelings. We wake up, work, eat, play and sleep in a set routine, in a set time. Every event defined by time.

Now what if we remove time from our system? Say 15 years back your best friend was alive and today he is not present - if we take time away from the equation, then that just may be another world happening in our conscious mind as compared to the one we are experiencing at the moment. It may not even be 15 yrs ago at all - as everything is/was in the mind of the individual.

Perhaps this is why they say everything is an illusion? Perhaps!

-Balu

10/08/08

Everyone has a special ability, a special talent, a special goodness that sets him or her apart and it is these differences that foster the making of friends, besides creating a monotonous society as well. If everyone were similar we would be at each other's throats all the time.


Now I have friends who have great interest in photography.... but there are lots of people to whom a shutter speed is how fast you pull down a window when it starts to rain, me for instance!
Good, well-composed pictures are an enduring delight and it is photography that made the National Geographic what it has become. We all love to take pics and most of us are satisfied with the automatic cameras when we travel where all you do is point and shoot. Till we see pics of the same scenes taken by a person proficient in the art of taking photographs!


Different people have different aptitudes and interests.


How many times have we met people at little parties at home, who are unconsciously super singers and we ask them how come they don't compete? There are women I know who dance (not ball room, mind, but the classical ones of South India ) so well but they do it in the privacy of their homes or for their children and husband or mom and dad and siblings...and shy away when a lucky visitor suggests they perform in public too.


If you have long and slender fingers, they say you have a talent for anything that involves the use of the fingers like playing a keyboard, drawing, painting and so on...there are so many talents that exist unknown till a friend brings them out and you stand in admiration and wonder. (Recall Gray’s “Full many a flower is born to blush unseen and waste its sweetness on the desert air”).

Everybody has a special talent that sets him apart. Now when I say “special,” I’d really like you (the reader, if any!) to have a look at this amazing artist, Niall Young from the U.K, who makes pictures using ONLY millions of tiny dots!

http://dancing-for-beginers.blogspot.com/

-Balu
08/08/08

The computer went crazy last morning. Virus attack it was. Have been running the system since long with no anti-virus installed. Came in the technician, reformatted the system, installed an anti-virus. And now up and running again!


If only there was a way to install a similar anti-virus into our minds, preventing the seeding of any destructive thoughts and feelings in our internal system. An anti-virus, which would suppress the nagging voices squeaking hatred and terrorism, thus leading to a world filled with love and harmony. Peace and happiness. Leading to a world where no parent would have to worry about any bomb blast while sending their child to the school. Leading to a world where no country would have to spend a single penny to protect themselves from their neighbors.


When man, with his very limited intellect can create a Norton or an AVG antivirus to keep his system clean, I just hope God, with his infinite power and intelligence, would soon install a similar anti-virus into our minds to prevent ourselves from killing each other.


-Balu

The chariot of Time.

Yesterday looks too blurry. As blurry as the light emitted by the neon bulbs in the hospital as the nurse announced my birth. So blurry like a bluish flux in a glass bottle. That was long way back. That was yesterday.


Today looks crystal clear. Apparently.


And tomorrow ? I can hear the faint voice of a woman lying next to me on my bed. Is that my wife? I do not know, for her face appears blurred. I can hear the voice of a little child calling me “atchaa.” I can see the foggy future. Or perhaps I am being fooled by the nagging voices ringing in my ears. I just seem unable to hold it in my palm. Every time I get close and think I just have it in hand, it easily manages to slip through the fingers of my mind like sand. Time.


Time.


With no boundaries marked, no laws to adhere to, and no master to control, time just flows without any care, enjoying the power of absolute freedom. And it grapples me with an iron chain, remaining unbroken forever. Time flows. No beginning, no end. Oceans of time, roaring and drifting in the waves of eternity. Endless time.


It is being said that the human mind changes every seven years. If one is ready, much becomes possible; and if not ready, then he goes on missing the change. And they say all that is beautiful happens only when you are ready to embrace that change. If you’re not, you’ll struggle. That passing period. At seven, you get done with your childhood; at fourteen disappears the adolescence; and at 21 you become mature or atleast you are expected to. At 28, you see someone new entering your life or atleast you start searching for that someone. Every seven years, they say, form a cycle. The cycle of time.


Time, like a ghost inside a glass bottle. And as yet another moment fades away, I can just see the bottle and the ghost in it. The ghost disappears as soon as it is opened. You know you can’t catch it, the time being the ghost just flies away out of my reach. And I just stand like a little boy watching a butterfly fly away into the open. I can only see it through the blue hue.


But I see tomorrow. Vivid and clear. Through the hue, as space and time bends in my mind, I see tomorrow somewhere in a corner of my mind. I listen to and enjoy the music as I ride in the chariot of time to dive into that bottle. It looks so deep from outside. As deep as eternity. But vivid and clear. And certain. Being swept like clouds of sand in the desert dunes of my mind, I flow with time, where ever it may take me.


The journey continues as I reply to those lovely messages received on the 27th wishing me a happy b'day.


-Balu

The Stranger

Once upon a time in a small town like yours, there lived an old man. He led a lonely life, confining himself within the four walls of his room. Every morning as he would open the windows in his living room, he would see a little child in the neighboring house play around gleefully in the compound. Her voice was sweet; she was a little girl with three lilies in her hands and seven stars in her head, a lovely little angel, so thought the old man. Through the open window in his room, he would watch her play and listen her sing. He would wave at her whenever he saw her out in the compound, and she would wave back at him with a large smile flashing across her face. He loved her immensely and included her in his daily prayers. The relationship gave the lonely old man true joy though they didn't know much about each other.


One fine day, the he popped out of his home and offered the little girl few sweets as he saw her stroll around amicably in the garden. He had been looking forward to give her those since long but never had an opportunity till then.


"These candies are for you, my dear. You'll enjoy its sweetness"

"What is sweetness? I'll take it only if I know beforehand what it is!" said the little girl, keeping her eyes on his face.

"Taste it, little one, and you'll experience sweetness", said the old man, nonplussed, not knowing how to explain it to the little child.

"How can I taste it unless you prove its sweetness? I don't even know you well, so prove it to me first!" said the little girl, showing off her little teeth as she laughed out loud.


Indeed, she didn't know him well enough.

She is right and logical, so felt the old man, and a drop of tear out of one eye rolled down his cheek. Yes, he was still a stranger despite his love for her.

"Why are you crying?" asked the little girl, furrowing her small brow.

"These are tears of love, my dear"

"What is love?" asked the little angel, the smile still on her face.


-Balu

The theme of 'Dasavatharam,' the latest Kamal Hassan flick, rallies around the Chaos principle, which says there is a reason behind every happening, good or bad. The fluttering of a butterfly in India can cause a rainfall in China, I've heard Sri Sri Ravisankar saying this long way back when I had the privilege to be a live audience to his speech. There are several events which link the fluttering of a butterfly leading to a rainfall in China, howmuchsoever inconsequential these events may appear at the first sight. The same chaos principle.


So when I say "I sing" or "I write", there must be several events which link together acting as a catalyst for me to sing or write. My rendering a song must depend up on the song being composed, the lyrics being penned down, the events which inspired the poet to pen down the lyrics, for eg, say he was inspired to write seeing the innocence and joy of a child, and the amazement of the child might very well be the result after watching an earthworm scroll through the ground. So in this case, isn't there a link between the earthworm and the music coming out of my vocal cords? As a singer, writer, as an artist or as a layman, do we not owe a part of our existence to that 'earthworm' howmuchsoever little or inconsequential the worm may appear?


In that sense, aren't all of us interconnected? Every event, and every other creature in the universe. There is a force which links all the events and every entity in the universe. And acknowledging that force by respecting the existence of every entity, every other living being we come across, isn't that the true essence of spirituality?

-Balu

Mother & Child.

The lazy Sunday afternoon was being spent at home. Standing in the balcony sipping a mug of coffee, I witnessed that lovely moment.



Two sparrows, one of which is a baby, nestle in the neighbouring compound. The older sparrow carries some fodder in its beak. She surrounds the younger one, waves a flutter, and carefully monitors for any harmful predators prior to feeding the baby. Her demeanor suggests her to be the mother while the baby waits patiently with her yawning beak. Then arrives the moment which is to be cherished. The mother pushes her own beak inside the baby's, depositing the food.

I continue to observe, and as the baby apetite is abated, the mother waves yet another a flutter! .. Pure love !!


So in the case with us humans. Children being nurtured by their mothers. Love in its purest form !!


I too know a mother who radiates love just like that elder sparrow.

The greatest blessing I've ever recieved.

And I call her 'Amma.'

Love,

Balu

The Equation of Love.

The evening was lovely. Had been to the audio release function of Changampuzha's evergreen 'Ramanan,' the musical interpretation done by renowned Carnatic musician Dr. Sreevalsan J Menon. The operatic form of the poem rallies upon love between the protagonist Ramanan, a shepherd, and his lover Chandrika, who hails from an affluent family.

Love!!!

I'm not narrowing it down to romance alone. The often talked about simple concept of unconditional love at times seems not too simple to adopt.

"I" love "You": The equation here is initially balanced by the nature of "I" and "You". The incidence of a sharp difference in opinion between these two entities "I" and "You" often results in the dilution or diminishion of the "love" in between. Here the "I" and "You" continues to exist, but not the "love" which once connected them. It just takes a split second to turn the scale from "love" to "hatred". Or from friends to being back to strangers again.

The proper application of the concept of unconditional love should have ideally resulted in the reign of "love" regardless of the nature of "I" and "You". Without any expectations nor any desire for reciprocation.

Love for parents and siblings get diluted in the world driven by economics. Love for one another loses out on mistrust. The romance between a man and a woman so often bases upon expectations, acceptance from the society and future prospects. Bonding between individuals often depends upon the social classes they are in. You often show your companionable side to only those whom you feel are placed within the perimeter of your social status, ignoring the ones below your existence. Or only those from whom you believe you could draw a balance sheet out of. Everything dependent on and driven by necessity.

In another perspective, its not the absence of love. It could be the incertitude about the acceptance of love. That being self obsessed, you see others thru the prism of your own prejudices and insecurities, tending to look upon it from a skeptic angle, and hence failing to recognize love when been given. I recall learning a poem long way back in school, where the poet describes the panic of a little bird that trembles in your cupped hands unknowing that you have picked it up only to tend it; which can be compared to that of the tendency of the human mind to look at everything from a skeptic angle.

Love which was once an emotional aspect has now swung a bit more on to the practical aspect of life, and had the poet been alive today, I just wonder whether he would have chosen to write about love between a shepherd and an affluent girl.

-Balu

To Elisabeth, with Love

After my engineering studies, I started off my career at a call center in Cochin where I worked for few months. There I was into an Aussie telecom campaign where the job required making calls to residents in Australia, canvassing them to switch from their current telephone provider to ours. A particular call which I made to one Ms. Elisabeth I can never forget.



Elisabeth is a 75 year old woman who lives in West Australia. She had access only to incoming calls and was above 65 as well, and both these conditions disqualified her for my offer. However, she was glad that I placed her a call as her elder son’s name was ‘Brian’ which incidentally had been the pseudo name I was using those days while dealing with the Aussies. I was touched by the way she opened up to me despite me being a stranger. The broken labored tone of her voice clearly indicated the agony and loneliness that was creeping in to her. Though she was a mother of two sons well settled in some other part of the country, she led a lonely life in some part of Western Australia. They would send her money regularly, but hardly paid her any visit nor did they make it a priority to call her up over phone. They provided care, but not concern.



In these days of rapid movement, one may not be able to stay with parents due to the nature of work or other unavoidable reasons, which is understandable. One may not be able to travel back home everyday after work and spend time with parents, but that can't be taken as an excuse for not spending a couple of mins daily over the phone with them. The advent of technology and internet has made things even easier. When the mother in Cochin tells her son in Delhi about the heavy rain in Cochin, there is nothing that the son who lives in Delhi could do about it, but it reassures the mother's mind which yearns for her son's presence in her old age. That though 1000 kms away he is still close by, within earshot, to shower her with love and concern.



My mom and I used to talk over phone almost on a daily basis when I had to stay away from home during my engineering studies in Coimbatore. A phone call was incorporated in our daily routine regardless whether we had any significant matter to talk about. But those few minutes of conversation made a lot of difference to our lives. Those days I have often felt that there exists a kind of telepathic connection between my mom and me. Whenever I was not in the optimum, I would instantly get a call from her. And my calls, as she has often told me, usually arrived whenever she thought of me.


In childhood, one craves for love and attention. Its the same with oldage, often called second childhood. Little kids are often told to be careful not to stumble upon objects and fall down. We say the same to our parents when they walk in to their second childhood, when they become kids again. Their minds too become like that of children when they revisit their childhood and would crave for love, care and concern. When time doesn't stand as a casualty in spending hours over the phone with your partner, definitely atleast a few minutes everyday has to be kept apart for parents. When loneliness creeps in as one gets older, a few mins of talk everyday over the phone would be a great relief.


Now that I live and work in Cochin, we no longer have to depend on telephone to talk to each other, but I hope the telepathic connection which my mom shares with me gets on to my kid(s) as well. That I have their daily presence, at least over phone, when I grow grey haired.


And as I write this, I hope Elisabeth receives proper care and concern she craves for.

In fact its not just a hope, its a prayer.


-Balu

God's own country, Kerala – the state has often been described thus. Now that the self proclaimed human Gods lurk around every nook and corner in the state and every other local news channel shows a ‘God’ being unmasked, the description couldn't have been any better. God's own country, or rather, human Gods own country!

I write this piece risking my life – in the fear of being turned into a frog by any of those powerful human gods who might be reading this thru their sixth sense!

In 'The Alchemist,' Paulo Coelho writes about the boy who travels all over the globe in pursuit of hidden treasure only to discover in the end that it lay in his own abode!
What a beautiful and simple tenet, that peace and happiness is to be sought inside one's own mind! And the world would have been a better place if we could assimilate this. Decidedly there is a force or an entity called ‘God’ and prayer does make a difference. When you pray, you remain focused, not allowing any distractions to enter your mind. Jealousy, greed, anger, no such yellow feelings occupy your mind while you pray. Its like a submission into oneself. Prayer is a kind of medium to converse with your inner being where the real God resides. Hence you feel calm and relaxed. A secure feeling, like that of a child in the mother's womb. And this feeling emanates from your mind. Hence, your mind is the key to happiness. How deep you look into it is the deciding factor to happiness. For many of us, we submit into our inner being only in those few moments while we pray.


Many of us fall prey to these self proclaimed Gods because we somehow need more virtues with lesser efforts. We tend to seek a substitute to hard work and diligence. We face obstacles in life and approach a 'human God' to wave a magic wand and straighten it out instead of finding out ways to overcome it. You wish to score high marks at school and seek human Gods and the ‘sacred threads’ they give. You suffer a loss in business and seek the same ‘sacred thread.’ The more number of threads you have more marks you get, and the more number of threads you have more money you make! On doing so, you actually confine your abilities to just that thread. A defeated person needs solace and motivation, not threads.


Most people, when they seek spiritual gurus, they do so to overcome the obstacles they face in their lives. Many of these ‘gurus’ may have wrong intents and take mean advantage of the weak while few others are genuine. Unable to control their emotions, I have seen people weep before Mata Amritanandamayi when she hugs them. I have utmost respect to her and I believe in the love she spreads. When you feel defeated in life and someone offers you a consolation, even if it comes from a stranger, let alone Mata Amritanandamayi, it helps you to muster a bit of your lost energy. When a student fails in an exam and the teacher starts to criticize him severely, it just adds to his sorrow. Instead, if the teacher walks up to him and consoles him saying that the failure doesn’t reflect his ability and a better performance is surely possible the next time, it helps him regain his confidence and motivates him to work again with a positive attitude. He would instantly feel a bonding towards that teacher and would make it a point to study hard (atleast that subject). Love can inspire, motivate and bring a change in anyone. Here the love that radiates from the teacher causes that transformation in the student. I believe Mata Amritanandamayi is one such teacher who spreads love to all those who need consolation. Sri Sri Ravishankar is another. Neither of them claim to be Gods, but they are, in the sense they spread love. Infact every human is capable of spreading love!



It is human mind which worked behind the mass destruction at Hiroshima in Japan, and its the same human mind which later formed the driving force to see the country rise to become the leaders in technology. Its the human mind which spreads love in the name of God, and it’s the same human mind which sets out violence in the name of God.


There is a force, decidedly. An infinite unique force, call it Jesus, Krishna or Allah, rests inside the temple, the temple being our mind. Good and evil, peace and war, love and hatred, God and devil, everything emanates from the human mind.

Anybody who radiates love is God. Its up to us whether to be Gods or devils.


-Balu

Religion is a funny thing. Voltaire said " If God does not exist, it would be necessary to invent Him" It was called the opiate of the masses; it has had and continues to have a stranglehold on the popular psyche. But the irony is that while other countries have more or less discarded bigotry and religious extremism, and have begun moving away from regimented religiosity, we in this country are regressing to the days of the Inquisition and Joan of Arc and Galileo.

It is taught and believed that discrimination of any kind is unacceptable to the Lord. But then what is being done in our temples in Kerala or elsewhere in India? Dr. K.J.Yesudas is not permitted entrance to Guruvayur temple because of him being a 'non-hindu.' Denying him entry is, in my reckoning, offending the Lord who uses Yesudas as a mouthpiece in creating magic through music. Meera Jasmine, the non-hindu actress visits a temple because she wants to pray and the temple gets all outraged and orders a clean up! And the humiliated lady offers to pay for the 'purification' !! Then the hassles Vylar Ravi got into. How narrow minded are we getting to be? There is a muslim shrine of Vavar before you get into Ayyappan's place in Sabarimala, but we often fail to see the message in it.

Sabarimala, yet another case of discrimination where women are not allowed!
I just have a single question – where does one come from at the time of birth? Don't we worship Godesses like Lordess Saraswati?

If a place of worship is kept open, no one should be singled out, and should be opened to everyone irrespective of his or her caste, creed, sex and status. No sort of discrimination should be entertained. Religion should integrate people. Not separate. Unfortunately, we separate. We don't integrate.

It has become such that one cannot say or do anything without offending some religious sentiment or other and the reaction it takes is to get out on the road and set on fire whatever you can lay your hands on. One community sets attack on the other as and when they feel their religion or place of worship has been targeted. Peace cease to exist and violence reigns exhibiting the passion for God where it should have been quite the opposite. Mosques and temples get destroyed in the name of God and people cease to love each other in the name of God! .. Does the presence of a temple or a mosque indicate the presence of God? I think not. The mind is the only temple where one can find God.

Now, if Taj Mahal, the monument of love gets destroyed, would one stop loving his partner or girlfriend?! Curios.
Where is the much vaunted maturity and intelligence and secular 'fabric' of the educated Indian society?

Everything bigoted, everything retrograde, everything intolerant is now on display in the name of God. What is the concept of God then?

A God which bases gender or caste a condition to enter a particular shrine favours discrimination. And a God who favours a person on the basis of the number of 'poojas' done rather than on the basis of love towards his fellow beings is unjust.

My limited sense of logic says any person who shows compassion to others is God.
A person who realizes his mistake, admits is boldly, and seeks forgiveness is God.
A person who treats everyone equally regardless of their caste or social status is God.

The words of a dear friend of mine, though said in a different context, resounds :
"I am true, and therefore I have God" It can't get any closer I believe.

A person who doesn't betray his conscience is God.

Conscience, is God.

-Balu

Hostel Humor

Music, for Dr.K.J.Yesudas, is life. Several other singers perform just for fame and money. But, neither fame, money, nor passion were what forced the inmates of the engineering college mens' hostel to sing (or hum, in the least) every morning. They were not doing it by choice. It was thrust upon them. And I'll tell you, the reader(if any), the reason behind it as we progress.


Now that a bit has been mentioned about music, in order to avoid any initial confusion, let me make it straightaway clear that the key point I’m trying to highlight in this post is 'ragging,' and not music. Having said that, if you hastily conclude the boys'-morning-music band in the hostel was as a part of ragging, you would be applying your instincts wrong. You would be hurting the pride of those ‘seniors’ who knew better ways to rag his junior than just forcing him to sing!


'Ragging prohibited under section 112' – says the bold letters in the printout sheet displayed at the college notice board. As a matter of fact, I don't vividly remember if it was section 112/213 or some other, but it didn't matter as it was just confined to paper. It had only little connection with reality where the senior guys, the Malayali seniors in particular, hung around the campus to the exclusion of the hostel, hunting their prey --the newbies. The impact of ragging on students is not exactly what I am trying to focus on this post. Just a mere moment of mirth, a rare boomerang effect of ragging which I was (un) lucky enough to witness, and nothing more.


But I feel compelled to give a brief outline of the ragging practices that prevailed during those days in my college.


Apart from occasional scruffing-by-the-collars and slaps-on-the-faces, they enjoyed ragging the juniors by throwing scares like they would be stripped naked before everyone if they ever refused to give money on demand. There was even a guy who bought his motorbike with the money collected from juniors! A bit more uncivilized group of beggars and goondas, one would have thought. I'm not trying to downplay the intensity of terror routed out by Adolf Hitler long way back in Germany, but there have been occasions during my engineering days as a fresher where I had strongly felt that, had these fellows marked their presence in Germany during his reign, Hitler would instantly have felt an inferiority complex. Lowering their heads in shame, Osama, Mogambo and Gabbar would have approached them for further coaching. But I would be lying if I said they made the juniors dance naked on the floor, because they didn't!


Without any further rambling, let me straightaway get in to the incident which took place at the engineering college mens' hostel in Coimbatore that morning. The protagonist in this story, D, a 3rd year student of engineering, was a cheerful young Tamilian 'senior' who enjoyed life and believed in ragging his juniors only when his accomplices were around. He was one among those few seniors who stayed at the mens hostel which was occupied largely by freshers. A sort of chap whose ragging method was confined merely to threatening the juniors, and, very much unlike most of the Malayali seniors in the college, D was never known to collect any money for himself, but for his friends. One could say D was more or less like the tax collector who passed on the extracted money from the ordinary mass to the Govt.-- the ones who ruled, the seniors. However, like his contemporaries, it was his avocation to threaten the juniors that they'll be beaten up black and blue. If you ask me, there had been a couple of instances where D had threatened me that I'd be stripped naked, and this particular threat you must keep in mind while going through the remaining part of the narration. As you go through further, you’ll learn the reason why.


As mentioned in the beginning(if you're still reading), it was neither passion, money, nor fame that made the inmates of the hostel sing every morning when they bathed. It was thrust upon them. They had to do sing, because, the bathroom doors had no latches. It is around one of these latchless bathrooms that the gist of the story is about to unfold. In order to avoid any uninvited visitor when you’re in the middle of your bath, you had to sing, letting them know that you’re in, thereby eliminating the chances for any embarassment that might otherwise occur if you kept mum. And if you are one of those very reserved types shy to express your singing talents, out of my personal experience, I can tell you that the best scheme to work out would be to have your bath before anyone else wakes up in the hostel. Usually, the excursion trains to the bathrooms began only by around 7 a.m., and normally, perfect silence reigned at 5 a.m. It must have been around 5'O Clock that morning when I headed towards the bathroom with a bit of sleep still swaying around my eyes. As usual, there was perfect silence very much unlike the excursion-hours, and I pushed open a latchless door when a sudden sharp cry rose from inside, throwing a bit of pandemonium. It was a sharp high note, and one had to be very kind to classify it under any genre of music.


Inside, there was this senior D, towelling his head after the bath .. well .. stark naked before his junior whom he had threatened to strip a few days back !!



Having realized that I was going to be under some serious trouble, and hoping that he hadn’t seen my face properly, I shut back the door quickly and went back to my room in haste. But unfortunately, he had seen me clearly, and came up to my room... after dressing up. By the expression on his face, one could tell clearly that he was finding it difficult to decide whether the solution to this little spot of bother lay in the realms of slapping, threatening, negotiating, or pleading. At that particular moment, influenced by the pressure of the situation, I had placed my bet on slapping.


Finally, moving his Adam’s apple briskly up and down, he thus spoke .. in a low voice:


‘Don’t tell this to anyone else please!!’


Only then did I realize that, minus his accomplices, D was more or less like Mahatma Gandhi who believed in 'ahimsa,' and in a sort of way, I felt sorry that this had happened to him!

D, if by chance you are reading this, I just wanted to tell you that this post should not be taken as evidence for any personal animus. I’m just writing it down so that when I grow gray-haired, I would remember this little incident as one of those few moments of mirth my college life rewarded me with.


-Balu

Preeti's recent blogpost leaves the readers with a question – If today was your last day on earth, what would you do? We sometimes forget (or at least prefer to forget) that one day each of us will be taken away from our engagements in this world. Sometimes without realizing it, one becomes too attached with relentless habits of work and routine, forgetting to show childlike appreciation for all that is good and beautiful in this world. But when we step back from its ever-changing scene, what seems so important today will take a back seat. Now Preeti’s question did really make me think how I would like to face my last day if it were in accordance to my wishes.

If I knew beforehand it was going to be my last day, I would start the day with an elaborate bath (not that I don't do it daily!), and then sit to a hearty breakfast along with my family – my Amma, Atchan and Anu. I'll call up my office and inform them that I'll be on leave (for the day). After breakfast, we'd then set out for a visit to Guruvayoor temple ( my mother has been complaining since long that I hardly visit any temple!). Before the deity of Krishna, I would make an attempt to convince him to see my point that it would take more than a day to thank him and all those people who have been instrumental in making my life so beautiful.




After the temple visit, the next thing to consider would be a lunch for the last time, and just in case you don’t know, let me tell you that the vegetarian restaurants in Guruvayoor gives you the best 'masala dosa's in the country. And I’m not going to let go off that final opportunity to enjoy those.

In between the journey to and fro, I'll try reaching few of my close friends over the phone and would reminisce about the good old days, as I often do when I get a company. I might have failed to make a big circle of friends in my life, but it has always been great to be with those few who have consistently been there for me whenever I needed them.


Considering the fact that the journey back to Cochin from Guruvayoor temple would take about 2 hours, we should be back home by around 4 p.m. Now I’d perhaps login to the internet for the last time and browse the web - send emails, and visit my fave blogs [perhaps that day I’d stumble upon a post titled "how would you like to re-live your life if you had another chance!"]



In the evening, I would settle down for whats going to be my last supper with my family. Being my last meal, I'm not going to settle for anything less than a feast -- lime pickle, pachchadi, puliyinchi, aviyal, cabbage thoran, kaaya elasseri, in the center of a mound of rice where the steam rising in swirls from it, and piping hot saambar in a hollow in the middle of the mound, plus two large pappadams and a glass of water to wipe it down.


Now that I've had my last meal and I’m running out of time, I can't think of anything else apart from going to bed.

And what would I love to do if it were going to be one of my ‘last moments’ --this is going to be the easiest of all choices to make among the other choices for the activities of my 'last day'. I would rest my head on my mother’s lap, feeling her fingers run through my hair, as her hands caress my forehead (which I make her do it for me often), listening to my favourite music tracks in the background.


And as the music fades away, I would close my eyes hoping that I would be granted some more time.

-Balu

Dawn was just approaching, but the inside of my eyelids were already glowing red despite it being a cool morning in February. I was awake, but didn't want to open my eyes when my father tried to wake me up, and pretended to be asleep. I could hear familiar voices of my relatives from the other room, and I knew it that Ammu had gone. It was not unexpected, as she was bed ridden and her health had been deteriorating day by day. But it was difficult for me to believe that everything about her was just about to be consumed by fire.. her smile, the smell of cuticura talc on her body ..everything. I realized that my grandmother was no longer alive in this physical world. Placing a pinch of gingili seeds over globules of rice, till then, was something which I only saw it on movies, and now I had to perform it for her. Some seeds stuck stubbornly to my fingertips, though I tried to shake it off. I was pretty young then, and the incantations of death were trying my nerves. For a while, the feeling of fear eclipsed over grief before it took over again.

Death is often described as an uninvited visitor who comes in when least expected .. as a shock. Totally unexpected. It was to be so when I heard about Nebu's accident. Nebu Varghese and I were close friends though we had known each other only for a few years. It was a summer vacation and he had just completed his 10th std exams while I had given my 12th that year. He was a favorite in our gang of friends, and I still remember him handing over his cricket bat for us to play, just before taking leave to his native place in Thiruvalla. He said he would return in few days, but God had different plans.

When a person bids bye unexpectedly, he indeed leaves those close to him in deep grief. It is hard for everybody else too in some ways, because you are expected to put up with their grief. You are never too sure how to react at such times. You are never too sure whether you should for the time being let them be alone or be with them throughout. Would it be adding to their despair it you stuck around with them throughout expressing your sympathies? Would they want to be let alone at that moment? Or wouldn’t they?

And what happens after death? Is there a life after death?

In another perspective, is there death after all? Is it more like the next phase of our existence? Like one has just gone to a different world. Now, if we knew for certain about the continuity of life after death and that we would be meeting that person again in another world in due time, wouldn’t the fear of death descend a bit? But if the belief in life after death gets confirmed, would it not see the depreciation of love and kindness towards one another, and wouldn’t one take things for granted? Too many questions.

Millions set out of their homes every morning unsure whether they would return safe by the evening. And millions go to bed at night unsure whether they would wake up to see the next sunrise. I don’t suppose God maintains a list of people who are not to be invited to his kingdom! No one is an exception. The only suspense is "time". It might sound weird, but I wonder how it would have been if we knew beforehand our scheduled time of death, right at the time of our birth! In that case, nothing in this world would have evoked an interest, and life would have been so dull. The element of “hope” wouldn’t have existed. That the book has been kept strictly confidential, not disclosing too much info to us humans, gives us an opportunity to realize that life is a gift. Gives us an opportunity to live in hope, and an opportunity to enjoy our lives to the fullest – howmuchsoever brief the period may be.

I suppose one can call the phenomenon of death as the only reality show where everyone enters the next stage-- a stage where physical elements are absent. And what happens in that stage, only the ‘judge’ knows. Or perhaps you could say death is a loyal companion, which follows us right from the time of our birth. A companion who reminds us that life shouldn’t be taken for granted. Or a teacher who teaches us to appreciate every single moment we get to live in this world. Death is a phenomenon which shows that LIFE is a gift.

Perhaps at the moment, reading this blog, with a rise smile on his face God might be telling to himself ‘Dear Balu, your time has also been marked in MY blog!’

And if he indeed is reading this blog, I only have a single prayer :-

Please let our loved ones remain for some more time on this beautiful world you have created for us to live in, and let their lives continue to inspire us.

- Balu

The Canteen boy

Many a times we tend to get carried away by the aura imparted by our professions – be it a software engineer, a businessman or a celebrity – and we often tend to think we are fenced off by some sort of divinity with the rest of them who are less fortunate than us – who doesn't have the luxury of a/c cabins at their workplace, who have to work day and night cleaning tables and wiping floors in order to support their family. It’s a pity that we often treat people based on their professions.



It is my routine to have my daily supper from the Infopark canteen rather than bringing it from home, though everyday I travel to work from my home. This week happens to be a ‘dosa-special’ week in the canteen (last week it was ‘Goan-food-fest’). My colleague and I, like many others who visited the canteen last eve, placed our orders for ‘masala dosa’. We never get ‘masala dosa’ on regular days. After purchasing a token, we usually have to wait at the delivery counter for a while before the food was delivered. Last evening as we were waiting for our food, the man who was standing adjacent to us started shouting at the canteen-boy. As I had never seen that boy there before, I gathered he is new to the place. The angry man said he had been waiting for long after placing his order for a ‘masala dosa.’ I noticed his tag – TCS – probably he must be a project delivery head or something of that sort – because he had a bald head, and his tummy gave an impression as if, inside his stomach, an open-umbrella had been placed horizontally pointed outwards. He was overreacting, expending his frustration at the poor canteen-boy, and the other people who were waiting at the counter were stunned by his behaviour.


My colleague had just then received his ‘masala dosa’ and was heading to one of the tables when he heard the man shouting at the poor boy. Hearing the vocal exercise of the furious guy, my colleague walked back to the boy and offered his plate with a smile and said he would wait till next, and told him to give it to the TCS chap. The boy, managing well to fight the little drop of tear from coming out of his eyes, gave the plate to the man whose face had turned pale by this time.



I felt the boy couldn’t have, in a more polite way, asked him to f**k off.


-Balu

Living on the Edge

During my college days in Coimbatore, I used to stay at the college hostel situated inside the college campus, and it was my practice to visit my home in Ernakulam every weekend. I would start from Coimbatore every Friday evening, and would return to the hostel by Monday morning. That Monday morning I boarded the Coimbatore super-fast from Ernakulam at 12.15 a.m, and arrived Ukkadam at around 5 in the morning. There was no proper plying of buses in the area where the hostel was situated, and I sat at the waiting shed in the bus stand, contemplating the thought of bunking my class next Friday so that I would be able to spend an extra day at home!

As I was waiting for the bus, I noticed another man sitting at the corner of the shed. A small plastic bag which he had been carrying fell off to the ground and I picked it up for him.

"Thank you," he said. I gave a slight nod of my head coupled with a smile, and suddenly realized that he was blind and couldn't see my response.

"That's okay," I said, converting my response into words. He said he too was waiting for bus no.3D, and I gathered that he is on his way to 'Kovai pudur.'

"What do you do?" he asked me.

"I am an engineering student at VLB," I said.

"What's your branch?"

"IT," I replied.

"Oh! So you belong to the group of people who are about to change the face of the nation. The country is advancing rapidly and everything is getting computerized," and he went on bit further, adding to my surprise how could a blind man be so knowledgeable on the technical advancements.

"Technology is evolving day by day," I said.

Just then the bus arrived and as we got up from the bench on the waiting shed, I noticed he had trouble in walking as well. I helped him board the bus which was almost empty, and he continued the conversation.

"You people have to put up with lot of pressure, isn't it? I guess the workload and deadlines would be trying your nerves a great deal!..The IT people are doing a great service building the country despite having to face such mental torture."

The bus reached Kovai pudur and we got down. I offered to assist him reach his place. By this time I was really getting curious to know more about him.

"What do you do for a living?" I asked finally, unable to withstand my curiosity.

"I was with the 13 J&K Rifles on duty at peak 4870 in Kargil. I had to leave the army after I lost my eyes and a leg." There was a brief silence as his words had stymied my speech.

Just then we turned a corner and he asked me if we had reached 'T.K.M. Complex.' "Thank You," he said, "It was nice meeting you. Wish you all the best with your studies." I found myself unequal to the pressure of the conversation, and was totally at a loss.

And later on in the day, the H.O.D was scolding our class as none of us had submitted the project-draft satisfactorily:

"You guys can't even submit a draft on time, I wonder how you are going to cope up with the work pressure in the future. Seems you haven't the idea how challenging your job is gonna be!"


-Balu

Memoir of a Journey

The city of Coimbatore, like any other city on the 31st of Dec, was all set to welcome the New Year, and there was noise and bustle all around. The train that was carrying him from Cochin to Coimbatore that morning was jam packed. It was 8.45 in the morning when it crossed Valayar-- the border between TamilNadu and Kerala-- and he sat adjacent to the window, watching the town vanish before him. It was after several years that he was now making a trip to Coimbatore, and his emotions crowded on recollection of those 4 years he had spent in Coimbatore for his engineering. This time the purpose of his visit was to meet his cousin Meera, a final year student of engineering in VLB -- where he studied long way back.

An hour and a quarter ate up the distance between Palakkad and Coimbatore, and the train now arrived at Coimbatore central. Inside the staton, business proceeded as usual. Bells rang, porters shouted, engine blew off the steam, baggage trucks rattled over the platform, and he made his way out of the station, got into a taxi and headed to Kovaipudur to meet Meera at her hostel. It was a slow ride, halted repeatedly by the congestion of the traffic. The cab drove past Ukkadam, Town Hall, Kuniamuthur- – the old roads which he had traveled long way back- – and with whooping swiftness, his memory raced back over the years. VLB College of Engineering&Technology was situated on the slope of a hill, and it had always been a matter of amusement for him to think of a college at a hill slope. He was now beginning to feel the kiss of the mountain breeze on his cheeks -- the same feeling which he had experienced during his routine strolls those evenings after class; and the voices of his classmates and teachers were revisiting his mind when suddenly a voice spoke from the front. 'Sir, we have reached the destination.' It was the cab driver who spoke, and he was cut off from his reveries like an alarm bell which wakes one up from his dreams.

The womens hostel where Meera stayed situated close to the college campus. Over a cup of coffee and snacks from the coffee-bar nearby, they struck upon a conversation.

'You know things are quite hectic these days,' Meera lamented, 'and the project work is really getting on to my nerves. Heaven alone knows how we're gonna finish it before the deadline. The whole thing has screwed up my Christmas-New Year plans and I have no other option but to spend my holidays here working with the project, while you guys are having a nice time back home!'

'Well, but there's still time left, isn't it? Moreover, you are four in a team,' he said.

'I suppose you can say we are four in a team, though we have a fifth member!'

'Eh! I didn't get you,' he said, puzzled.

'Besides Lulu Mol, Julie, Elsa and myself, we have a guy in our team who hardly utters a word! The shortest he says is 'mm' and the longest is 'mmmm!' she said, as they broke into laughter. He felt something knocking against his mind, like a visitor knocking the door, but seemed unable to place the visitor correctly.

'Should be tough dealing with Simultaneous-DNS-emulations on Sundays too. What are your plans for the evening?' he asked.

'Simulation-of-enumerator-DNS, thats the project title!' she corrected. 'Need to go to the college and see if the time table for the practicals has been put up in the noticeboard. Couldn't check it out last eve,' she added.

'Allright, I'll join you then,' he said, 'My train is only in the evening and I've got some time to kill. Moreover, it has been ages since I visited the college,' and they trotted along. 'By the way,' he asked,'why did you four choose to keep such a guy in your team if you can't get along with him?'

'No, we don't have any rift or anything of that sort. But for some strange reason he never interacts with anyone in our class, and I don't suppose he has got any friends either.'

'But haven't you guys tried to talk to him and figure out what's the trouble with him?'

'Ah! we fear he won't appreciate it. What if he feels we are trying to butt in to his personal issues? Instead of approaching us and telling us about it, he stays away from us despite we being his friends. And moreover it is a common human trait to show your friendly side to only those who are friendly to you, isn't it? Hardly anything can be done as he never responds in affable keys,' she replied.

'mm,' he uttered, and yet again he felt something tapping against his mind.

They were now standing at the main entrance of the college, and Meera's eyes gazed along the notice board for the time table for her practical examinations. 'They haven't put up the time table yet. Balettan, shall we move on?' she asked.

'You carry on. I'll have a stroll around the campus and then pop off.' he replied.

'All right then. Thanks again for coming along and lending me those books. It would really help me with my project.'

'Not at all. Good luck with your Simultaneous-emission-of-DNS-equations!'

'Simulation-of-enumerator-DNS it is! Huh!' she said smiling, 'Good bye. Pass my regards to everyone at home.'

'Sure, I'll.. Take care.'

He was now standing all alone in the campus. There was perfect silence around and he set out for a stroll around the campus -- through those old corridors and stairs where he once walked as a student-- and all this while he felt the surge of some strange emotion since the conversation with Meera began. The same visitor was knocking his mind again in the form of some strange emotion, but this time with much more force. He now found himself facing a short flight of stone steps ending in the IT block of the campus -- the same block where he spent those four years of his life. He mounted the steps and entered the IT block. The knock of the visitor was now working up to a crescendo. He walked up to the restroom and splashed his face with a pool of cold water, and then looked at the mirror. He felt as if the face which looked back at him out of the mirror was winking at him, bringing to his notice that the visitor who had been knocking his mind had finally made his entry to the house.

Reminiscence once again took him to his school days where everyone treated him as a quiet, nice boy. Teachers and students liked him equally and he was a pet in his family and school. But he found himself in a totally different situation on joining his college in Coimbatore for his engineering in IT. 'Why is it that at school when one is quiet and reserved, one is treated as a pet, while at college one's reservedness often gets misinterpreted for egoism or arrogance?' -- This was a question which used to play on his mind during those days, and he now knew the answer, which he never knew then.

Building a rapport with someone is dependent on several factors. If one needs to work it out, it can only be done by communicating openly, and this should happen from both the ends. Communication is the balm for the soul. He now recalled the day in the first year of his engineering when he happened to overhear remarks from couple of his friends about him 'showing-off' when he refused to give money to the seniors, while the rest of the juniors gave in to the threats. He now realized that he should have talked to his friends openly and he should have tried to explain to them why it was hard for him to give away the money, especially, when a board had been hung on the gate of his home which says 'For sale.' The thought of donating money to the seniors gave him a conscience prick, as he was aware how hard his parents were working to cough it up. There had been several instances from his first year thru the final year which gripped on his nerves adding to his sense of desolation. And instead of being open with his friends, he kept mum, hiding his feelings within himself. Few of them had approached him trying to build a rapport with him. But emotions let itself loose like a crack in the dam, whenever he made an effort, styming his speech. He was egoistic to shed a tear and always kept up a front before his colleagues.

Time might soften the vividness of these memories, might lessen the agony of them; but he knew that nothing could remove them altogether. He knew that he wouldn't be able to erase off the gray memories of those four years -- it would be like trying to kill a bird by dropping it from the top of a building; the bird would fly back. But now he was thankful for those experiences. Trouble had sharpened his vision. He learnt to deal the present with fortitude and the past without regret.

Four O'clock was approaching as he made his way back to the railway station for his journey back to Cochin. The snorting of the engine confirmed the announcement that the train would leave any minute from now. He got into his compartment and wedged on to the seat near to the window. The train started moving and he occupied himself with the 'God of Small Things,' only to be distracted by the noise from a group of college students in the next coupe. They were on their way to Kanyakumari to celebrate the arrival of the New Year. 'Happy New Year,' he monologuised, and resumed the perusal of the book. Coimbatore had vanished by that time and the train was now nearing Valayar. Time passed. The book slipped out of his hands on to the floor. He was now asleep, enjoying the journey where the train of life was taking him, and the Tea-Garden-Express, as if in appreciation of this, hurried along the rails.


-Balu