Perspective!

There has been this small thing that I have been missing in my life. Conversation with children. I think most of 'big' life realizations has come through random innocent conversations with kids. Let it be about fear, pain, love or even work, its simpler to understand when its told to you by a youngster. 

And just like that, I had a moment..a change in perspective of this whole wide world that I am looking at since the day I was born. Each thing that I was taught seemed to be a view of someone else. It seemed no one taught me to look the other way! You know.. it was not about asking questions, it was about encouraging to think different! 

So, what had happened?

Samvrith, Appu and Abhishek (their 9 year old friend) had just played a game of cricket and came home hungry. They were eating dosa and talking something random, while I watched them and kept biting pieces of dosa from each one of them. Samvrith started it by telling me.. "You know what, the other day I saw air!" .. he continued, "I opened the fridge and there was air! Really, go open the freezer, and you can see the air coming out!" 

I tried to be an adult, and told him how it was not air, and if that was the case, even smoke can be seen and that could be called air.. but air is something that you can't see. 

Appu, as usual asked the curious innocent question, that all of us would have asked at some point of time in our childhood. 

" Why can't we see air?" 

Its not something that I haven't thought of. I am sure, my teacher had given an answer to that question.. but I kept thinking. I kept thinking, how could I explain it to him?

While I was still pondering, Abhishek, without even giving a moment's thought asked a question to Appu.. this were his exact words.

"Arrey yaar, agar tu air ko dekh sakta, toh tu baaki sab kaise dekhta??"

That! That now is what is perspective, which none of our teachers would have ever made us think! I mean, if air was seen, we couldn't have seen anything around us! That's such a huge thought... all our school days we constantly felt (atleast i was made to feel) we cant see air.. like i was missing out on something just because I cant see it.. like that was something big. 

No one ever told, we could see so many things because of air! 

Ping!

The Barefoot Horse loving Indian

My head never made sense with all the halla hu made for him.More importantly, I have never been able to judge a person according to the newspapers. So the first time my head actually registered his existence was when he was no more existing!

M. F Hussain is considered to be the Picasso of India. Why? That was all I thought when I read many articles on the paper; some about his history, some about his paintings, more about the paintings which weren't accepted, and also about his citizenship. I sympathized and I decided to check out his paintings sometime. I never really checked it out though..But it isn't as hard to search for his work as it is to understand it. Confident strokes, bright colours, horses and women, at least that's how I know him.Though its not what I want to say. Its about the time I met him.

City, crowd, pointless race and work was making me miss my simpler lifestyle. A life I had in the village; in Palakkad. I tried talking to myself, keeping in touch with the people yet the craving wouldn't stop. I had a strong feeling of 'Kerala', my village, my neighbors (to whom I hardly spoke). And sitting in my painting class, I was rummaging through the books and posters for my next painting. Instinctively I was picking up people paintings, fishermen, villagers, market place. Longingly I stared at each of them for minutes. Will painting them make me feel better or actually closer to them? Should I quit the city and run away to them once more all over again? (Yes! Yes! Yes! ..) 

That was the moment when my hands fell on a huge painting poster, mostly torn from the ends, it was a portrait of a lady. My heart skipped a beat, when I read something in Malayalam. Wondering the name of the Malayali artist I looked at the signature, which was again in Malayalam. Thanks to the beatings from my teacher and scoldings from my mother, I have managed to remember the letters of the language. Doing all possible permutations, I figured it was M F Hussain!

I am not sure what it was, the coconut tree, the lady wearing the mundu, the elephant, the Ganesha or the garland twined on the lady's hair, the Malayalam letters, the effort of the artist to go into such details.. or just the fact that I felt touched and understood..
Impulsively encouraged by my art teacher, I decided to paint the same. And coming back home I understood what was written on the left side of the painting

'Kalyanikutty yude Keralom' 

I type down a poem from his film 'Meenaxi' .. and would leave the thoughts incomplete..

Koi mile ke bichde, Yahan kisko kya padi hai,
Koi mile ke bichde, Yahan kisko kya padi hai,
Sab log chal rahe hai, Duniya yehi khadi hai.

Khamoshiyon se kahiye, Chalkar jara pukare,
Khamoshiyon se kahiye, Chalkar jara pukare,
Khawbon ki junglon se, aayi hai kya bahare.
Neendon ka yeh zamana,  Bas aur do gadi hai,
Sab log chal rahe hai, Duniya yehi khadi hai.

Ankhon mein khusboo ke manzar wahi kilenge,
Lagta hai chalte chalte, Khud se wahi milenge.
Manzil hamare khad se, bas do kadam badi hai,
Sab log chal rahe hai, Duniya yehi khadi hai.


http://www.deccanchronicle.com/tabloid/kochi/searching-elusive-kalyanikutty-359

My love

How much ever you try to deny it, how much ever you try to ignore... each momentary bliss conveys just the same message of ... love.

I ain't denying it this time. But I never thought I would be saying it like this. I know it has been an open secret all these years, for the moment I met you, I felt I was reborn. What was so charming about you, I never really understood. Truthfully, I think I have seen mostly your ugliness than your sweetness, yet that never hindered my feeling for you.

Every time I meet you or the times we are apart, I few the passion growing rather than decreasing. I am not sure what makes me say this; may be the way we met this time... everything about you is so magical, that my head swirls... the smell of oil on your hair, the almost rotten flowers that you  casually braid yourself with, the faint fragrance of the soil and the fields... I feel almost breathless each time I come close to you.

And yet you never stop harassing me. I am unsure of the cheap pleasure you get each time you fight with me! What was it this time? A sheep? How you made a big scene for that... calling people, gathering a crowd and what for? To win a hundred rupees. I don't get you at times like this. Or times when your ego dances on top of your head.


Yet all said and done, when I have a cup of tea from your hand, in one of those dusty road sides shops you are so famous for... I tend to forget all the things that hurts me about you. Unknowingly and sometimes knowingly, I savor all the moments close to you. I know for the world, and may be for you, my feeling would seem naive and futile, but it can't make it unreal.


I am a bit self conscious when it comes to declaring my feelings... but I guess, our journey together has made me confident and brave enough to say that...


I am in love with you... my dearest... Tamilnadu. Hope the feeling never dies.

Me, Myself & Irene

You know how, some individuals keep dropping into your life with no real purpose at all?

This is long back, when I was in my junior college. One fine cruel day, I was picked along with my friend, and insulted in front of the class by my Physics teacher even though I wasn't guilty. We were thrown out of the class. What was worse, my friend (a young blood then) fought back with the teacher and asked her to apologize to me!
I don't remember what happened then. But I surely remember this. Irene never forgot me. Even though, years later her daughter told me, "Mom has a very meek memory", I was confident enough to tell her.."Don't worry she will remember me."
And that's when it started. Then during the board exam, of course, I didn't know the circuit. I am not very proud of it, but yes, my circuit was fixed by Irene. And she said, "Ah! Always keep smiling!". Those words were enough to tell me how much she loathed me.
Yet, when we kept meeting at crossroads once in a year, we were polite to each other. She was sarcastic about me becoming a biology student.. "Thank god! Physics is saved", is what she really wanted to say, I guessed. And then we met a couple of times here and there. And each time I had the same smile on my face that she hated. Each time she had the same disgust on her face when she saw me.

So why this nostalgia?

I met her again today. Even when she was fiddling with the handle to open the glass door, with her mere reflection I recognized her. I was in my painting class along with a whole bunch of students, and yet she spotted me with a surprised smile.
There's this thing about growing up, you start liking anything and everything that makes you nostalgic.
She had come there to get some information for her daughter, whom I already knew, but just as a student. As Irene walked slowly across the class with her glasses on, looking at each painting, I wondered if she was calculating marks for it?
I waited with her daughter to say a quick 'Hi'. Truthfully, I was actually happy to meet her. We finally spoke. And I came to know her daughter didn't like physics either. She wanted to get into commercial arts, though her first love was for wildlife.
She took my number, and I made my way back home.

I guess what had changed in all these years was... she didn't judge my smile for a smirk.

To market .. To market

So there we were, celebrating a friend's one year anniversary in Mumbai, another a new-bee to the dream city, and me a 'so-called' Mumbaite; all of us thrilled after a heavy breakfast to explore Masjid of all the places!
After crossing the millions of attar (perfume) shops, and the over crowded road side stalls.. we finally reached our destination...

Mutton street in Chor Bazaar (Thieves market)!!

Though high priced, this place has got a great collection of antique furniture... Chest, rocking chairs, small bar cabinets, wooden chariots.. name it.. and you get!

Even the worst of the worst movie posters find their way to this market!

And shops solely dedicated to clocks...grandfather clocks, grandmother clocks... they are all there!

And Gramophones!







                   

Looking at the number of black and white family photographs, we started wondering if we could find our lineage in the streets of Chor Bazaar!  

         

If you have ever been interested in extinct advertisements then this is a perfect place to explore...

One of the coco cola ads went like this 'The ideal beverage for discriminating people!' 

And of course all the colorful junk is worth a look!                                          

In all, place worth exploring with good company. Though most junks are high priced, bargaining works! 

                                                             

                                                                                      

Rewind

A dull expected holiday for all.. Yes, Independence day. But I thought of keeping my patriotic spirits high today. So I switched on the television to watch the parade, which was followed by old patriotic songs on Youtube (my sincere gratitude to technology).

It was when I rummaged through the newspaper that my eyes fell on a copy of a newspaper along with the day's issue. There is something about the past, how much ever sad, depressing or gory it may be... it surely does bring back a warm known feeling. The copy was a six page newspaper dated 15th August 1947!

There were lot of interesting articles, of joy .. of relief... of freedom. The Prime Minister spoke... the Viceroy spoke...the articles about celebration (which I imagined to be like the recent Cricket World Cup victory!)  and much more..

But what caught my attention more than anything was the advertisement of those days! Somehow it doesn't do justice to just read it and keep the paper away... hence I am jotting it down here.

"Are You Afraid To Kiss Him... because of your breath?"

He leans nearer, whispering romantic words. But how can you be sure your kiss will please? Are you sure your breath is sweet and fresh? Remember, 7 out of 10 percent have BAD BREATH and don't know it.

So be careful. Use Colgate Dental Cream. Its penetrating foam gets into crevices between your teeth and washes away germs and decaying food particles which cause bad breath, dingy teeth, soft gums and tooth decay. Colgate leaves the teeth thoroughly and beautifully clean - the gums healthy and the breath sweet.

May this day of rejoicing herald lasting peace, goodwill and prosperity to the people of India and Pakistan.

COLGATE - PALMOLIVE (INDIA) LIMITED.
 

'Irony' of Goodness

Irony... the unexpected... your dream comes true just when you realize you are dreaming about the wrong thing!

I don't remember quite well, but I am guessing it was in my first year of Junior College, that I excitedly turned my English textbook to read the first chapter. Though I don't remember the name of the lesson, the thought has stayed along with me since then...

The author elaborates his thought of being good to other fellow beings. More of a Gandhian thought, the author says, how one should be good to people even if they are verbally accusing you. This he says, will help people calm down and in turn they will spread the goodness, leading to happiness all around us. The author finishes the thought by smiling and saying, "Thank you" to the auto driver. 

So that's were it all began. From saying 'Thank you' to the auto drivers.. to giving away my seat to an old couple... to helping someone pick up their fallen vegetables... (Oh! I am just earning the goodness points)

Anyways, it so happened that a couple of things caught my attention and made me realize how numb we have become to 'goodness' these days. In fact, even when people are genuinely good to us, we tend to take it for fakeness (Yes! its earning much popularity these days).

There I was holding my train ticket and walking in search of my compartment, when I turned to look at this old couple. The husband (wild guess) was using a walking stick and dragging himself, holding a small suitcase in one hand, while the wife (guess again) was holding bags in both her hands. They were walking very slowly, stopping now and then to check the compartment number.
Now, seeing them the goodness siren in my head started blinking rapidly, so I turned and asked the old lady, "Do you need some help? I am going in the same train... I can help."
 Of course, she was shocked, but was polite enough to nod a 'no'. I wasn't about to let go, so I persisted.. "It won't be a problem, I can help."
There... I had crossed the thin imaginary line of goodness!
She looked at me, like she suddenly realized my existence, and with a odd glance (which made me feel like a thief) she nodded a 'no' once again.
Irony! .. 

I have been on the other side of goodness circle too.
It was a cloudy and rather pleasant Mumbai day, and moreover I was exploring a part of the city, I had not been to. So when I came to know that I can walk up to my destination in about ten minutes, I wasn't disappointed. I thought, it would be a good walk, and I can check out if there is any bakery on the way. So, I trotted feeling nice about everything and enjoying the road, when I started getting this feeling that I was lost. I did what I always do when I am lost, look for a knowledgeable person and ask him the right way (it always works for me).

So when I saw an auto guy counting his money, I went up to him and asked the way. He stopped counting and told me the way, which I reconfirmed. Finally he told me that he would give me a lift! He put his money back in his pocket and said, "Sit, I am going the same way, I will drop you."
Shocked a little, I stood numb and told him, it was OK, that I can walk. He persisted saying he will give me a lift.
Unlike, the old lady I didn't want to break the goodness circle. So I did take the lift and smiled at the auto driver saying "Thank you".    

Tango with Supermarkets

I have always loved supermarkets!
Though I never understood the real reason behind it. But when one is staying alone in a more or less unknown place, a supermarket can be the best place to get to know the 'crowd'.
Like I know for sure, the ratio of coconut oil to mustard oil sold in supermarket's of Kerala and Assam will differ drastically.
And of course, there is the unexplainable joy of strolling through the junk food section and home accessories section! (Women! I tell you..)


I don't think my reasons stop just there..

There are these young people standing in the corner of each section; prim and proper, hair neatly combed, uniforms tucked, and a plastic 'friendly' smile constantly attached to their lips. Now, don't mistake me, for some of them are genuinely friendly.
I classify them into two categories. One being the "May I help you Ma'am?", whom I never prefer. Somehow they seem more like a pestering kid pulling your dress to buy some toy, than a true salesman. And in the end, out of desperation when you finally put forward a question to them, they blink and excuse themselves never to be found again!
And then there is this other category, who are in a way pestering too, but in a good sort of way.
Their answer to your question will mostly be, "Umm.. I don't know." But then they pop up an instant smile, and say, "Come behind me Ma'am."
Most of the times, you find the things before they do, but then they are their with you making you feel helped.

And there is one more reason why I like supermarkets so much. Because you never know whom you might stumble onto.
Sometimes a kid stuck weirdly between two trolleys, or an elderly couple trying to figure out their food menu for the week. And then there are some sweet annoying knowledge giving people, who tell you that when you use the same cover for muffins and detergent, the muffins might smell like detergent too!

I guess my 'real' reason would be... endless possibilities! 

Prayer

The boy sheepishly looked at his mother and then in his pocket. The pocket that was now bulging out, had a small plastic container filled with soap water. He touched his pocket, and earnestly looked at his mother and patted his pocket. His mother in turn glared and shook her head sideways. His face saddened and he came close to his mother and held her arms. 

Holding a piece of paper and a pen, I started to scribble, and the mother told her son, "Shh! Don't disturb, see she is writing.."

 

God? if there is one like you,

In the moments of silence and in the joyless pain,

I come close to you time and again.

Yet as I wait for you patiently as I can,

Lurking through the darkest nights, 

I stand tired and tanned.

Then, there is just a simple wish or call it a constant prayer,

That come what may I never end the search I have began.

Let me find you in simple things, and not in the comforts I please.

In the eyes of an innocent or curious minds indeed!

Even when I am showered with happiness and riches,

Help me see you behind the doors of the poor and pained.

Give me the strength to find you in spite of experience and age,

Even when I am the oldest of old, remind me I am no wiser

Than the child born today.

Yet in the end of the day when you find me hopeless in vain,

And decide its time now to remove your veil,

I pray to you oh! so sincerely,

That don't consider me weak.

For in your arms I shall merely die,

Otherwise I live!

In the Sister Land...

"Bidya... Are you fine? I had a bad dream about you." 

Thou hast made me known to friends whom I knew not.
Thou hast given me seats in homes not my own.
Thou hast brought the distant near and made a brother of the stranger. 

I am uneasy at heart when I have to leave my accustomed shelter;
I forget that there abides the old in the new,
and that there also thou abidest. 

Rabindranath Tagore

Bombay Lights

A cluttered house...

  Ah! those nosy neighbors...

 A day out in the city...

 With all those endless subjects...

 Including the kids flying kites!

 All in the scorching heat!

Along with the endless horizon...







 And looking out from the window ... I figured it all..

Bombay Lights it is!

A conversation

Earthquake hits Japan on 11th March 2011, followed by a 10 meter Tsunami wave. While I mostly remained numb and nonchalant about the disaster, a conversation that was somewhere buried inside started surfacing, bringing in images I had never seen.

I sit holding my writing pad, in which my datasheets are struggling, for the wind from the sea is hard. I try to concentrate on the couple of fishermen who are playing cards after their days work. I clear my throat and interrupt their conversation,
"So, do you think there has been any change in the fish catch after Tsunami?"
There is the standard answer which most researchers get, "Tsunami took everything from us. Now even the fishes have become scarce. It is all due to Tsunami!"

Gazing into the past one of them started telling me, "You know Madam, just a few days before Tsunami hit the coast of Tamilnadu, I sat just like this with my friends playing cards. I don't remember what we were talking about, but someone asked, which element of nature would be so dangerous as to destroy the earth?"


"I thought for a while and told them, it should be water. The sea which gives life has the strength to take it too. And just after that came this huge wave splashing on us, taking away whatever we called our future. In one minute we lost everything. And everyone called it Tsunami. We came to know it then, that there was something called Tsunami."


"For all we knew is that the sea was our mother. Each day she gave us our food. All we know is the sea. But after the Tsunami we understood her strength. The one that gives us life can take it too."


That respect for the strength of nature from an illiterate yet experienced man, still baffles me...

Tea-ho-lism

I should have realized this long back, but I ignored it all the way long.

As I left Dementor behind and ran towards my usual tea fellow, I was feeling a lack of enthusiasm for the day. Dementor later told me, “You are addicted to tea! This is not good. What will happen if you don’t have your morning cup of tea?”

I was cheerful after having my tea, so I gleefully answered, “I can’t work, will just feel sleepy.”

I blindly ignored what came next from Dementor, though this time I didn’t have an earphone to plug in.

But the day I decided to quit my early morning tea, is when I realized that I was a Tea-ho-lic!

I would have had a healthy breakfast, ample water and yet as I started the day’s work, I would feel a certain kind of dullness, some drowsiness. Something constantly told me, ‘I don’t feel fresh!’

Each time I cross the tea shop close to my bus stop, my legs long to turn towards the shop. I know, I can’t dare go in, even with an excuse of reading the newspaper, for the shop owner knows my weakness and would coax me with a cup of tea.

So, I started thinking, when did it really start?

It was probably when I entered the small tea shop outside my college in the interiors of Tamilnadu, that I first got hooked on to tea. It’s more than tea actually. It’s about the owner, his family, the ambience of the shop, and his usual customers that makes my day ‘fresh’!

I remember sitting in the shop of Siddharkovil, a village situated along the highway connecting Nagapattinam. I knew the tea shop owner very well. And so did I know his wife, and their two children; a young girl and an elder son, who was still in college. They had a set of usual customers, which included old men, kicked out by their daughter-in-laws, to old sages who in their search for nirvana, had settled with begging and usual woman folk who at times took a snack break. Every conversation is interesting here, no matter what the topic is about. And moreover, I found a great deal of local information; the weather, local political situation, village gossip, views about the outside world, so on and so forth. I have sat in these shops gulping tea after tea, not for the mere taste of tea, but for my interest in people and their views.

Then, my early mornings used to start with a cup of tea and couple of aged men for company smoking heavy cigars made locally. It gave a nice smoky ambiance to the place, though mostly I choked to its effect. If I were lucky, a group of wedding or ceremony attendees would folk in, and the so far dull conversation about the milk price and the amount spent on rearing a cow, would turn into cheerful gossip about who was getting married to whom, or how the girl looks too aged for the boy!

Life is constantly active in here, though for the outside world it might be rather dull. There is some amount of activeness that comes from the owner’s pet, which I can’t ignore. Some times a cat eerily shadowing the room, and at times giant dogs sleeping under the table, to hen that pecks under your feet, and surely not forgetting the lazy goats! They just make the whole picture complete.

All this matters so much that, when I finally went to one of the tea states of India; Assam, I didn’t quite enjoy the aroma or taste of black tea, which gave an aftermath of stained teeth! And realizing that I can adjust with coffee under circumstances, I don’t understand my addiction. Though given a choice, I would prefer to make my own tea, with the same tea powder and the exact precision of the tea and milk, with a tinge of ginger for flavor.

Looking back on my exercise in learning to make ‘my perfect’ tea, the company I had had while drinking the tea, and the endless conversations with people strange and common, friends and foes; I have come to believe… that tea is just my excuse!

Just another old labourer...

In the early morning mist, he sits on the wobbly looking wooden bench and waits for the owner to open the grocery shop. A look at him would make one imagine his age to be crossing the late 60's. His cheeks were sunken, probably because there were no teeth to support them. Even his eyes looked heavy with a sort of crowded numbness towards the world. 

Each day, as I stood waiting for the school bus, I got a glimpse of his early morning routine. This aged man, I found out, worked as a laborer in a grocery shop that was situated in an almost unknown village called Thenur in Palakkad district. Each morning he would ride his cycle and come to the shop, and would muse to himself during his waiting periods. I have never actually seen him in any sort of conversation with anyone.

As soon as the shop owner opens, this old man, gets ready for the days work, carrying and arranging the vegetables for the customers. It came to my notice almost on the first day that, for his old age he had had a physique that any young man would crave for. With absolutely no fat bodies hanging around his arms or necks, its admirable to observe the shaped muscles that forms his biceps!

This scenario of his everyday trivia is just a prelude to, what I would say my favorite part of his day.

 When he finishes work with the vegetables, he drags a stool and settles himself cross legged on it. With his dhoti pulled over his knees, one can hardly ignore the toned calf muscles. And just out of nowhere, a big male dog appears near him and looks over his face. Probably this dog was in the same place the whole time, but together, the old man and the big male dog come across as rather 'enlightened' companions, who could ignore the world around them in each others company. 
Satisfied with a meager touch of affection, the dog settles himself close to the his legs, giving a deep yawn.  
Life is still, life is slow here, in a village. Probably the old man and the dog never will understand the meaning of the much overrated word, 'busy' and yet life goes on...

The old man pulls out a beedi (local cigar) and lights it up with a matchstick. 
There is a sense of freedom in those pair of aged eyes, that I admire each time I see him smoke. It is the freedom that is not from the smoke that has clouded his head, but rather from the head that irrespective of the clouding smoke, remains free...

For all I know, this could well be my clouded imagination. But I would certainly like to believe in the freedom that a rugged old man enjoys!

Across the Bridges

Supriya told me half gushing with pride, “About 12 cabinet ministers are coming, and the Chief Minister himself will be present to inaugurate!”

And later Ajay asked me, “Ma’am will you be coming for the inaugural function on Saturday?”

So I thought aloud, “What is all the hype about?”

It was in a rather emotional tone that Supriya and the History teacher together told me the story about the now famous, Mayannur Bridge.

It all started during the post independence time, when the people of Palakkad district wanted a link way to the district of Thrissur. These two districts are cut by Bharathapuzha, the river that stretches across the Palakkad district. While it took millions of strikes and hartals to finally establish the foundation of the bridge in 1997, the bridge itself got fully constructed in 2011, and its inauguration was the talk of the town!

“They have erected tents and pandals on the dry river bed!” said Supriya. “There’s going to be a procession and also concerts and dance programs.”

“People just want a reason to celebrate”, I scorned.

“No, it’s much more than that”, started Supriya. “When my father dropped me in the small village of Mayannur to do my graduation in a college at Ottapalam, each day I had to cross the river to go to the other side. The local ferry though helpful and time saving, was no more than an inconvenience as most of the passengers get in and out wet as the umbrellas they were holding. At times when the river bed is almost dry for the boats to ferry around, we had to walk. We had to then walk in places with chest deep water. Can you imagine going to college in wet clothes?”

“The bridge is a big thing madam”, she sighed with hint of joy.

I was engrossed in the imagination of past times and dreamily smiled at her saying, “I would like to go across the bridge once.”

She invited me to her house adding, “Now when people of Mayannur village come to shop at Ottapalam, the shopkeeper tells them that they are related, for now they go across the bridge!”

As the hopes for a quick development hovers around the small town of Mayannur, and the property investor tighten their belts, I wonder…

Is the bridge strong enough to hold on to the future changes?

Indira

There are some places which makes such sharp impression on you, that you end up feeling, you had never left the place after all...


As I shivered through the road with my bag, and huffed in the early morning mist, I reached, what I would call one of my 'favorite turns'. I am slightly disoriented when it comes to places, contradicting my love for traveling to different places! And this turn has been one of the toughest one for me. The temple just close to the turn is my landmark.
I leave the early morning traffic behind me and take the turn.
Like always, I have the 'happy' feeling inside me. There is M S Subhalakshmi singing Suprabatham in the background and as I look at the lane ahead, I can see a long road with a lot of turns that cuts it in between. Everything is suddenly quiet, as if I have entered into a sleepy little town, that was mostly a part of my imagination than the reality in front of me. I can clearly hear the broom being used somewhere in the next lane, and dogs walking too actively for their owners.
As I walk past this, through the trees that is sparsely stretched across the road, the morning sunlight fall on to the road of dried leaves...

And I enter S B I Staff Colony

Antidote?

‘Disgusting! Thoroughly disgusting!’, I thought to myself.

It had been over a week that I had started feeling weak. So when my aunt told about a doctor whom I could visit, the only question I asked was, if he was old. With experience and ‘no’ antibiotics in picture, I made my way to the doctor with my parents for company.

As the rickshaw made a good attempt to pull itself through the steep stone filled path, making out heads meet the roof of the rickshaw, I started wondering if at all the visit would be fruitful. Finally after the whole effort of getting out of each ditch in our path, we reached, what the driver told the wall of the doctor’s house. As we turned to look for an entrance, I saw a small gate little high up. I opened this gate to see a beautiful little patch of garden. It seemed quite neat and tidy. And much to my satisfaction, the garden faced an aged house. I stood mesmerized by the whole ambience, as a frail looking old man came out from the house, probably hearing the creak from the gate I opened. He motioned us to the next room.

My already existing dizziness seemed to increase with the whole ‘old and mature’ effect of the surrounding. I have heard them say, ‘First impression is the best impression’. This would probably be one of those impressions which would stay with me. ‘The doctor’s torn shirt’, which made me like him instantly. Truthfully, I know I would never come across a doctor (with a MBBS degree) wearing a shirt with an evident ‘torn’ patch on the right sleeve. I tried to concentrate on his lip movements, but I couldn’t make out a single word that he uttered, until my mother helped me out. I was a little bit taken aback when he held my hands to check my pulse. Not for anything but it had been long, and I might as well say, really really long, since a doctor took the patience to hear my pulse for one whole minute. And as the doctor wrote my name on the prescription sheet, I couldn’t help looking at his hands shiver with weight of his age, which would probably be close to seventy.

I couldn’t hold on my curiosity for long. So I slipped away in-between the conversation, to look around. The garden outside was quite neatly arranged, with same plants planted in rows, so that when the flowers grow, it will be all of one color. As I walked ahead, I couldn’t contain stealing a glance inside the room next to his ‘office’.

What I saw was surely a room, but looked more like a passageway. In that was a couch, where in my imagination sat the doctor reading or simply thinking. Next to it was a sofa, with a small pillow, which I could make out, was used recently. Probably we woke up the doctor from his nap, I thought to myself as I stepped in. As I looked around, making million excuses and reasons in my head for entering his private room, my eyes fell on the wall with old photographs. Before I could make any sense out of my actions, the urge of curiosity pulled me in and I stared at the photographs of what I imagined to be the ‘young doctor’. The passageway like room turned to the left to make another room. And as I peeped inside, I could see a ‘blue’ colored idol of Krishna, with other Gods, on the far away end of the room.

I sighed deep. Everything was neat. Everything was where it should be. The bed spread on the small cot was without any creases. That could be the well known sign of ‘loneliness’, I thought to myself. I turned to leave and outside I saw the rickshaw driver who was waiting for us, giving me ‘you-are-weird’ looks. 

Even as I was thinking of writing this on my way back, I knew I would get stuck on a conclusion for this thought.

Do I really need to conclude an old man’s story? Can’t I just leave it to him and the wonders of imagination?

Hostel mate

S Sitara Khatum; I had met her in an unimaginable circumstance. After all staying in 'Priyanka's Working Women's Hostel' wasn't quite something I could imagine for myself.

 A women just entering her sixties, she had views and thoughts that surely lacked in any of the hostel mates I had spoken to. Finding herself a bit odd for her age, to be in a hostel filled with young bubbling girls, she frequently found refugee in my room. I didn't mind an aged company with me, for only with them can I share experiences. 

 We discussed all different topics we could think of. Finding my curiosity revolving around the wildlife, culture and people of Assam, we would sit to chat after her namaz in the cramped hostel room. We spoke about food, we spoke about lanterns, we spoke about places... yet we never got too personal with each other. We never forced our opinions on each other. We found momentary company which turned out a rival to our boredom.

 What fascinated me most about her talks was the way she described the British Assam, she had seen as a child. She spoke of the river canals that were so clear then that one could see the green grass below and fishes could be caught by hand. She described to me, how her father had taught her to catch a fish with hooks. I was thoroughly awed and impressed by the recollection of such minute details of her past. How much of change has she seen through her lifetime and how much of effect has it had.

The old forest bungalows, she told me, were built on top of logged tree trunks. I let my imagination flow and get a view of the Assam I would never see, for now those pillars of trunks holding the bungalow had been converted into an office in itself. Her face used to sadden with pain that the modernization has bought.

After she left that particular day, when she gave me many information about Assam, I jotted it down on my dairy. We exchanged phone numbers that day, though we knew, we wont be calling each other. It wasn't that we weren't going to see each other again but as a matter of fact, we didn't see each other after that night. 

Soon and quite suddenly I shifted my place and never got a chance to say goodbye to her. I am sure it wouldn't matter much for each of us and we could move on with life. But, what we moved on with was carrying some memories of people and places we would never see...

Kodhandan

I had planned to start this blog by introducing some interesting person who has inspired me with thoughts and dreams, innocence and perfection. Like they say, plans never work...

I was walking down the known crowded roads of my childhood. And that's when I saw the face which after so many years had weathered with experience. But behind all those wrinkles was a familiar face from my past. We looked at each other for a matter of seconds and moved past. Impulsively my brain started working, re-registering all the incidences and circumstances.

He was Kodhandan's father. This post is about Kodhandan and not his father whom I saw.

Kodhandan as I remember now, was in his late-teens when I had known him. I don't remember things clearly for I was too small then, but one memory of him has stayed all these years with me.
Its just that, he spoke many languages.
I remember feeling awed as he heroically translated many sentences in all different languages he knew. It highly impressed me and led me thinking of his knowledge of all the places he had been to.
I wondered which school he studied in?
Which teacher taught him all different languages, when mine taught different subjects in the same language?
I simply wondered...

I dedicate the following to childhood memories of Kodhandan...

In English - I am hungry, I am sleepy
In Hindi - Humko bhukh lagi, Humko neend aa rahi hai
In Marathi - Mala bhukh lagli, Mala zop lagli
In Tamil - Yennaku passi karda, Yennaku tukam varada
In Malayalam - Yeniki vesakunnu, Yeniki oorakam varunu
In Kannada - Nangae hasvagthaydae, Nangae nidae barthaydae
In Telugu - Naaku aakali vastundi, Naaku nidrae vastundi
In Bengali - Mor khidae payche, Mor goom payche
In Assamese - Mor bhukh lagse, Mor tuponi lagse

Yess!!!!