Hope Springs Eternal...

And...

2008-12-12T11:12:00.000-08:00

And finally a post here. Don't know if it will be my last on this blog. I invite you all to to my other blog, http://thedailyjibster.blogspot.com/. I had almost decided against public blogging but a desire to make my voice heard resurfaced, which I could not hold back any longer. Have decided not to write any more personal posts on this blog, because of the humungous ego it instilled in me, and the conflict it would raise against the years ahead of slogging and working in almost virtual anonymity for commercial enterprises. For the same reason, I am disabling comments there. I know that a blog without commenting is a dull proposition, but I am scared of the addiction that a blog becomes. Trust me, the withdrawal symptoms of leaving this blog to dry up, was hard to bear. Another reason could be my spare use of the internet these days, compared to the earlier life when spending 12+ hours online was routine.

Swallowing Bitter Pills...

2008-05-13T23:44:00.000-07:00

I got an email from Ashok, a true guide and well-wisher, reminding me of the importance of credibility in the profession I am about to undertake. In his words, I had misused the trust, readers endowed on me by writing something that never happened. Though I defended my position in my reply to him, I feel apologetic now. No propaganda to label the movie, Thalappavu, as offbeat happened. I used it unnecessarily and dishonestly as a stick to beat the cult of superstar worship that I have grown to utterly hate. A big sorry on my part to all of you. Anyways let what I wrote, stay as is. I will never forget this lesson learnt and hold no bitterness. Thanks to varnachitram for showing me for what I was - yet another pen-pusher with an axe to grind.

Now that is done and I feel at ease and peace, I need to somehow let loose the other things that perplexes me. Heading back home in a week, with no idea what I will be doing beyond the next two months - the heart beckons me to continue in trivandrum but I can't decide between becoming a part of the social circle of my parents and old friends which anyways will need a lot of money and mundane social interaction or follow the path of the last 2 years where I have kept largely to myself and lived an existence dictated by what interests me and nothing else. I am not sure that second track will lead to personal happiness but somewhere in my mind I feel a little happiness in having insulated my inner core from the recent prosperity besides the urge to expand that currently tiny warehouse of experiences which have been my best teachers. Hope neither of these become a casualty amidst the influences of kerala society and the comforts of home.

And, I need to give this blog a break. I keep telling myself I am about to be friggin' 28 and I am wasting the youthful energy and insights of this age. I keep telling myself I haven't published a single work or for that matter even put the effort into it. I have been getting the feeling, perhaps wrongly, that I am investing too much into this blog, that its too much a part of my life than it should be and that its time to focus elsewhere. Its a hard decision, to let go of a good thing but I have thought over this hard for the last one month. And I doubt I can be gone for long, considering India is a place where blogging ideas abound for somebody passionate like me. But I HAVE to make that start on writing that first piece of publishable fiction, and I will return ONLY after I set a steady pace in that effort. Call it my faith in materialization powers - in simpler words, the belief that saying the stuff I want to do, out loud, will prod my subconscious mind to find a way, in helping me achieve that desire.

Cheers everyone, and please spare me the embarrassment of wishing me all those good things in life and of missing my posts, etc, etc, which I know you guys will insistently do. So I am disabling comments on this post.

On How Languages Are Taught In School...

2008-05-09T14:55:00.000-07:00

Over the last one year, I have taken a few online classes and been irregularly perusing books on fiction and non-fiction writing. Though the classes were a failure because of my aversion to homework and the books ineffective because of my inability to read without distraction, what I have realized is that the fundamental basics which these books espouse are lessons that should have been taught to me in school itself. You guys must be wondering, why a self-conceited prince of no man's land like your's truly will take a poke at himself. The reasons is that I found to my utter annoyance last year, that I had virtually no idea about those most basic voices used in writing that we all subconsciously utilize - the first person, second person and third person. Like every craft, writing also needs guidance and a little sprinkling of theory is needed for us to master it. Sadly the springboard for our lives, schools, have essentially failed in providing this critical ingredient to spur our writing ability - an ability which i believe is a valuable part of our personality development.

I went to a very good school, arguably among the best in Kerala, and how we like to believe, even in India. Yet, I can't remember a single instance of any English or Malayalam language teacher, giving us a lecture on what separates good writing from the bad or tips to improve our writing while they were adept at nitpicking on spelling and grammatical errors. The emphasis was always on grammar and vocabulary. I guess the blame mostly lies with the outdated syllabi we are all saddled with, which doesn't see writing as amongst the most important wheels in the creative process. A part of the blame could be apportioned to teachers who came up in another age, where the rigours of life had nipped out the last remaining bits of thinking out of the box and believed it is safer to stick to what works. Probably, another important factor is that these teachers are not equipped to talk to us about writing, as they themselves are unsure of their prowess as writers. Or it could be something as simple as lack of exposure to books on writing or something as complex as not having put in extra-academic thought about their own perspectives on writing through the books they studied or read.

Our writings were always called compositions. Even when we wrote a story on a fictitious incident, it was always called a composition. Using a term like "short story" for that budding piece of writing, would have given so much confidence to us. The English course was divided into English-I and English-II and same with Malayalam. English-II was fun from high school - we learnt Shakespeare, poetry and short stories in these classes. Similarly Malayalam-II had novels and until the 8th, short stories and a few poems we lapped up. English-I bored us - one period dedicated to grammar and another period to composition, comprehension or letter writing and the odd stab at precis writing, which though useful was considered to be of lesser value. Frequently teachers would use up the English-I period to finish English-II portions which always lagged, while a Malayalam-I period was a rarity! I can imagine the world of difference it would have made if English-I and Malayalam-I was more about us finding the writer in us. I also have doubts if any of us learnt grammar properly either, despite the importance given to it, because of its inherent dryness which bounced, right off our young restless selves sans imbibition.

Most of us learned to write, with some degree of comfort, thanks to the voracious reading appetite we had in those days, a result of the absence of distractions like the internet and cable tv. We were consciously and subconsciously inspired by the masters we read and to copy their styles, but the most frequent outlet to exercise our writing abilities was sadly only in examinations. Later came emails to friends or official ones at work and then came blogs. Writing for pleasure has continued in some form or the other for a lucky few, and as part of their profession for the rest. What we all continue to lack, is a better understanding of the craft. Some learn the finer points without guidance because these are mostly common sense principles, noticeable if people have thought, compared and contrasted theirs and others writing. Others fumble along blissfully without that self-realization. I for one, hope that schools take a hard look at the absence of well-rounded writing classes in their curriculum and the very real fact that writing is not just a natural or inborn ability but one that can be cultivated in every young mind through proper guidance.

Thalappavu Coming...

2008-05-05T12:37:00.000-07:00

Why would I dedicate a post to a movie that I am yet to see? Because this is a film that has excited me from the day I came to know of its announcement and because the film is about a man who I adore to the cusp of hero worship. And because I don't see a trace of this man's sacrifice, leadership and heroism in today's generation of young Keralites. "Naxal" Varghese as we call him today was the CPM Wayanad district secretary who chucked a promising future as a politician(probably chiefministership too???) to join the Naxalite Movement protesting against the party's acquiescence of landlordism and exploitation of tribals and peasants ultimately laying down his young life for the people whose conditions he strived to better.

I am no supporter of violent upheaval but there are situations when you feel justified in your support for such movements. Naxalites are back in relevance and have even begun to rule, as we see in neighbouring Nepal where the ruling class and middle class ignored the fate of the underprivileged majority. We have states in India with naxal menace like Jharkand, Chattisgarh, West Bengal, Andhra Pradesh, Madhya Pradesh, Bihar, Orissa, etc that are seething at the non-improvement of their living conditions despite 60 years of independence and democracy. While India has zestfully responded to the justified need of supressing these violent movements, more importantly the efforts to address the ills that plague the societal inequalities in these states have not been tackled properly.

Thalappavu will release anytime soon I hear. Many years back I read these three wonderful articles on rediff when retired police constable Ramachandran Pillai who is dead now confessed to the cold-blooded murder of Varghese. On that same day rediff also carried this article indicting the establishment. A few years later noted Kerala journalist George Iype travelled to Thirunnelli and discovered the legend that surrounded Varghese 30 years after his death. Around the same time, mainstream newspapers like Manorama and Mathrubhumi retrieved superbly written articles from their archives chronicling the last days of Varghese, Ajitha's arrest and the fatal torture inflicted on Rajan. Unfortunately I didn't have the foresight to save those gems.

In Thalappavu, Prithviraj plays Varghese and Lal plays constable Pillai who killed him. The movie is directed by actor Madhupal who makes his debut behind the megaphone, script is by Babu Janardhanan who arrived in prominence with Achanurangatha Veedu and Vasthavam in 2006, with camera helmed by veteran Azhagappan and is produced by Tamil actor, Mohan. Check out the film's superb website at http://www.thalappavu.com. I decided to pitch this movie seeing propoganda aimed against this film by our "harmless" superstar fans who have already begun deriding it as offbeat, a "derisive" label which today is used to keep people away from theatres. A movie like this deserves to succeed but is waiting release as crap superstar flicks like Annan Thampi and Innathe Chinthavishayam continue their artificial run. Hope my little blog has given you all a heads-up and everyone will go watch this movie in its first week. Also check out two snaps I uncovered from the net of Varghese, shot by famed Manorama photographer, T.Narayanan . Note the facial similarily he shares with Prithviraj which probably prompted his casting for this role. The other one is Varghese shot to death after the "encounter".

Surviving the Quarter-Life Crisis...

2008-04-24T23:16:00.000-07:00

Before the "quarter life crisis" struck, I vaguely remember a young ambitious man, a recent engineering grad from a tough as nails Master's program, eager to work hard, make money, do his mba from an ivy league school in a few years, dreaming of marrying a beautiful girl, investing his money, traveling to exotic places, keeping his parents happy and well provided for, winning every struggle that came his way and living the life, middle-class youth of today's India can aspire for and be definitely able to reach. And then from a point where he thought everything was figured out, the plot to his life went awry. His dear and near ones helplessly watched the show as he gradually retreated into irritability, unhappiness and aloofness. Today, what he wonders though, is the crisis striking him late, say five years from now, and he turns a gun on himself, realizing it is too late to change tracks. I have heard many a Tom, Dick and Harry in my generation say they are in QLC and surprisingly their lives go on just how it was before their supposed crisis began, the lucky ones beat it by jumping jobs or going to B-School. Mine wasn't so easy - it lasted three years and changed me inside out, hopefully for the better.

When I left India it was an escape from the long looming shadow of my dad. I have believed that every generation born into a family which can provide for their education has the responsibility to go one step ahead of their parents. Making a new life in a new land was my idea of that step ahead. The quarter-life crisis changed everything for me. It all began on my first job out of university, a startup in San Diego. While my batchmates plumped for big companies, I opted for a job with subsistence-level basic minimum pay but with a tempting stock option offer, believing the day they went IPO I could retire with a six digit bank balance. The American Dream was about to sour. I realized I couldn't sit on a chair inside a cube for more than half an hour before the world outside beckoned me or in conference rooms where people deliberated solutions to business challenges while I nodded away to puppetic perfection. I was too restless beyond my own comprehension. My mind began to work in ways I couldn't control. Ideas of an alternate life, a rewarding life started entering my head. It took 1 1/2 years and four jobs with varying degrees of success and failure to help me take that first step. I gave the first of my childhood ambitions, the UPSC a shot. For close to a year, I had a semi-reprieve from my early-life crisis but it returned with a bang when I realized the civil service exam was an effort undertaken too late, too unprepared.

The US was my escape route again, to weave the next plan of action. I found a new field and a new job that I have been working at, for more than a year now. But the crisis continued with me - the comfort level with this job was just an illusion, it told me, and the way ahead offered me, just more of boredom and dissatisfaction. I penned down on a piece of paper all the careers that best fit me. It took me to a final answer after much frustration, enforced loneliness, soul-searching and soul-searing. The choice may not be the perfect fit but it shines a lamp, enough for me to see a narrow path to start walking on, knowing if I stay the course, wider roads will appear in their own sweet time. The crisis waned. I was at peace finally. I found my happiness again. I now look back and believe this was the best phase in my life. In my hardships and mental turmoil, I discovered my own thinking, lifestyle, personality and most importantly my writing voice that reflected on this blog. I get scared at times now, but a beginning has to be made. I am lucky. I have given myself a second chance in life. I thank my parents - they have backed me through it all. I should remember to give and afford my children the same freedom and courage to dream.

Last weekend, I was in Chicago with one of my closest friends from school and our parting revelry was broken by a brother of ours mailing in that he had resigned his high-profile job in Manhattan. The early life crisis was claiming another short-term casualty. I returned from the holiday thinking and believing he had done the right thing and deviously decided on sparking a fire in a college pal's smooth life. This was a guy who I thought would go on to become an entrepreneur and a leader of men and instead lived content with waiting for his green card and life as a programmer. Though I have no right to interfere in another person's life or be judgmental, I lost patience with the tepid ideas he kept suggesting and dropping, never to be heard again and offered him a piece of my mind, on the precious time he was losing and what a lazyass he was becoming. The crisis was good for me - it has given me dreams, it has given me a reason to work hard, it has made me strong. I don't know about success, but I will survive. I will be happy. But I am feeling guilty and horrible now - I hate this tendency in me to give advice and support when not solicited - why did I do it to him, will he go into that churn now, what if he had put a roof on his dreams to continue supporting his family, will a QLC do him good, was I being stupid? Time will tell...

Money Couldn't Buy Me Food...

2008-04-13T13:08:00.000-07:00

Resurgent India has suddenly gone defensive. Is the euphoria with India's booming economy fading? Were we oozing confidence based on hollow growth numbers? At the Indian store today, they had no Nirapara kuthari to make kanji(porridge) that I suddenly had a craving for and the owner gravely tells me all non-basmatic rice exports from India have been banned following soaring rice prices. Is this the India that until a few months back proudly watched its stock exchanges break record after record? Will banning exports provide a short-term solution to inflation in India and the impending food crisis? Will Chidambaram's farmer friendly budget help in the long term? A country which serves notice on the world with Tata buying Jaguar should have nowhere to hide and deserves a round of booing for this shameless economic restriction. I had the money but I didn't get the rice I wanted to buy. I couldn't care less about exports but what if this inflation is a precursor to crippling food scarcity within the country? And my stuck-up, lazy self decided I needed to write on this.

Some years back, dad told me of the food scarcity in the '60s in the context of the influential Church in Kerala. His family had money, land and the cash crop of our times, rubber, but there was no food. They could atleast depend on tapioca, livestock, etc. Many people didn't have even that. The Church stepped in and became a public distribution system with contributions from abroad. They also earned goodwill and managed to convert many people in Kerala to Christianity. I asked my mom today what the food scarcity of the 60's meant to her family. They were paddy cultivators and grew most of the vegetables they needed. She also had an almost similar answer but her reply also highlighted a glaring irony, very relevant to today's times. They also subsisted on tapioca and everything else they raised because the rice they harvested yielded good prices in the market, so they consumed less of it! If there was a food scarcity today, what can people fall back on. Can money buy a commodity for which production and supply can't meet the demand? What will people have, to fall back on now that we are strangers to the soil, now that every inch of earth is fertile ground for production activities of modern man, save what its best suited for?

The food crisis has been building up over time and aggravated by the unbalanced growth India has been witnessing. From real estate eating up farmland in Hyderabad, Tata's auto-manufacturing company in Singur, the farm unions in Kuttanad, the uneconomical again thanks-to-globalization cotton crops in Vidarbha the challenges faced by agriculture in every part of India is different and at the same time has its origins in our apathy to recognize the importance of a healthy agricultural system. That our politicians have the solution to the food crisis in Kerala and intends to do something about this is obvious from this statement by the Food Minister, C.Divakaran. Why doesn't the honorable minister say that we depend for the milk, chicken and eggs on a state that blows hot and cold each time on the Mullaperiyar issue every time the demand for a new dam is raised!

At the junction closest to my house in Trivandrum, I was met this time by a crowd, a multitude of strange faces. People who were not residents or workers in the area until a few years before. These were not the elegantly dressed employees of the technopark, who find the locality a perfect place to live in and commute to work from. I despaired at this mini-Chandni Chowk my surroundings was becoming, I didn't know where those tired faces came from. Today I wonder if these are people who left their villages for a less-taxing, more yielding life in the cities? Gandhiji famously said "the soul of India lives in its villages". Was he not pepping up the farmer with that statement, was he making a long-run prophesy for the best future of the Indian state, or was he mourning the impending death of village life, and losing its charms to the superficial magnetism that city life had. For long, we have been worrying about the harmful effect on our cities caused by rural migration. Only a few like P.Sainath have the vision to direct our attention to the villages, the livelihood that these people turn their backs on and the reasons behind that.

A friend recently returned from a study tour to China and talked of farmer anger at officialdom which frequently uproots them from their land and plants them in factories amidst a sea of disciplined uniformed robotic men and women whose lives are as monotonous as the machines they assemble. Are we not doing something similar to the Indian farmer? We need to give back to the farmer his pride of place in society, otherwise we should soon be ready to grow on our backyards, frontyards and on every bit of soil we can find - the tapioca, poultry, cows and vegetables we badly need for our nourishment. Yes, this is a situation that will come to reality in our lifetimes, atleast in Kerala - make no mistake, like the professional beggars on our streets, an epithet - The Rich Beggar's Country - is waiting for us. We will have pockets flush with money, but stomachs as light as Somalians. Then we will surely learn our lesson - we will learn the dignity of labour and agriculture.

P.S - I dedicate this post to a friend who once tried/still tries too hard to change my thinking. He believed I had a human core which he could influence. His ideas were/are too militant for my "ghar ki safai me haath kaun gandha karein" middle-class moorings but I find myself beginning to share his thoughts. A quote in the film Kingdom of Heaven resonates within me all these years since I first heard it - "What man is a man who does not make the world better?" I know what man I am - I am a gold-digger who seems to have lost the lust for gold. What man are you?

The Past Always Catches Up!

2008-04-12T23:22:00.000-07:00

A close friend from my college days called up. He was very agitated. His parents had begun earnestly looking for a girl for him but nothing was working out.
He: Neeyokke blogil oro thonnivaasam ezhuthi vekkum. Athine anubhavikkunnathe njanum.
Me: Enna patti aliya.
He: Dey Thanthapadi vilichirunnu. Angere ennode chodikkuva enne kuriche naatukaarkke nalla mathippaanalle enne.
Me: Lol...I call this poetic justice! I am going to write about this!

And so I thought of all the times the past caught up with people around me, of course not excluding myself.
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My dad's best friend in college was a class act in roguery like my pal above. He is still an eccentric character and I just adore this man. He runs two Indian restaurants in Rome and has called one of them Kama Sutra!
Once his wife returned to their native place for some family function. A villager approaches her.
He: Mole ethe kudumbathiletha?
She tells him.
He: Avide oru thaanthonni ondaayirunnallo aa kattakayathinte koodeyokke nadannirunnathe. Ayaalokke rekshapetto aavo!
She: Aa thaanthonniyude bhaaryayaanu njan!
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We were doing our master's then, fresh off the boat and exploring america intently. That was when a friend's dad was visiting LA and we took him around the city. And of all places, he notices a strip club.
Uncle: Oh strip clubs! Must be very expensive.
Friend(in the spirit of tour-guiding): Oh not really. Just 20 dollars per song.
We glare at him. Friend locks his mouth with his hands.
Uncle(stunned, thwacks friend on his head): Saale, tu mera paisa aisa hi barbaad karega!
Friend(rubbing his head): Innocent fun, dad. Please don't tell mom.
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A few years back, I was in TVM on my way to Delhi for the UPSC classes. My parents were sitting around me, I couldn't say if they were happy or sad but they were both tensed. Suddenly my mom speaks up.
Mom: Did you know, that 20 years back your dad was intent on quitting his university job and wanted to go back to Idukki and join politics! I took a strong stand and thankfully good sense prevailed.
Pops: Onne mindaathirikkaavo. Aavashyamillaathathokke pillere paranje keppikkaalle!
Mom: Illa avanum ariyatte, avante appante vazhikalil koodayaane avanteyum pokkenne.
Me: Really? That takes a big load off my back. I couldn't understand why all this was happening to me.
I looked at my dad. He replied with a sheepish grin. From father to son, the struggles with idealism had found new roots in the next generation too. My mom knew at that moment, that the inherent pragmatism of the Karoors had no place in me.
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I had always thought our mom was a curious mix of conservatism and modern ideas. The hard part was always figuring out where she stood on our dealings with the opposite sex, and to be safe I always kept that part of my life masked from her.

There was this time when my sis was finding it awkward explaining to her why my bro-in-law had to visit her before the wedding. And as fate would have it sis heard a story from mom's best friend that made our ears pop!
It seems he had caught my parents hanging out together at the Indian Coffee House at Thampanoor and a few other places before their wedding.
When we questioned mom, she is shocked for a second, then blushes, a clear concession of defeat, then puts on the lawyer's robe and cunningly prods, "Ee kallangalokke aara ningalode paranjathe?"
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Pops used to be a very rash driver. He had to be at the head of the traffic and he knew no rest till he passed every vehicle on the road. Once he drove my friend and me back from Nagercoil where we went to write the TN Entrance Exam in sharp 40 minutes(the distance is like 60kms). On returning my friend remarks, "Dey entrancinte result varunnathine munpe exit aakum enne njan vichaarichu, ho jeevan thiriche kittiya aashvaasam!"
Ironically, a few wise people in Trivandrum decided to form a Road Safety Council and guess who they put in the governing body! We ribbed Pops about it and he defended himself by saying he had changed. That is when mom remarks, "Speedil odikunnathinte perspective kodukkaanaayirikkum pappaye avare member aakiyathe!"
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In our family taking the cars out and returning with minor dents or scratches is a common happening. Equally common is that none of the guilty parties, parents or children, will reveal their hand and try passing the blame on to others, if and when the laceration is detected. Last time I was home, I came back late at night and saw a ghastly dent on the rear bumper. My face fell. Just the other day, sis had taken the other car out, rammed into a roadside wall and landed the vehicle at the workshop. I knew I was in for trouble, but when did this happen - I just had one beer! So I tepidly walk in, tiptoed past my parents bedroom and then I hear whispers. What do I do? I eavesdrop, of course!
Mom: Avan Vannu
Pops: Inne vittekkam. Naale avante thalayil veche kodukkaam!

That's when I barge in.
Me: Ingane venam parents aayaal.
Mom(changes sides!): Eda pappa konde idichatha. vaikunneram enne prathi aakaan nokki, pakshe nadannilla!
Me: Deyvame, ingane aanalle enne pande pattunna ella poralinum ningal utharavaadi aakiyathu.(That day was my chance to play saint! :)
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And finally my big moment!

I always used to boast to my friends that I had an unblemished reputation in front of my parents unlike all of them, until this happened. A few years back, my dad visited me in the US and we shared a few beers. I outrightly overtook him 3 beers to his 1. He went back and told this to my mom who got very concerned.
She: Ayyo avanode entha parayaathe kudi nirthaan?
He: Rekshayilla! Nammude mookinte keezhil ninne avan kaanicha paripaadi enthaananne ariyaamo?
She: Illa?
He: Ivide pottichirunna kuppikal ellaatheennum avan ooti, ennittu level correct aakaan vellavum narachu!

My sis heard this conversation and dutifully reported it to me. I couldn't figure out how Pops found out, nor do I have the courage to ask. My best guess is that one of his cousins had the drinks "on the rocks' and found it unnaturally dilute! Pops, I know you always suspected Appachan too for this, maybe he also tried it out, but I am a guilty party too. You must be wondering how you got caught between two errant generations! That was your college-going boy showing off to his friends, please don't take it to heart. Peace between men!
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P.S - Well, there's no escaping the past. Some day in the future, even this post will come back from the past. I wrote only about the good times. About karma, my mom would tell me - if you don't suffer for your actions, it will be the next generation that has to. She would cite me numerous examples to build her case. Meanwhile, check out this blog for those interested in writing of a very high quality. Also my fave song of recent times is finally up on youtube. Happy Vishu to all!

Om Padmarajanaaya Namaha, Om Adooraaya Namaha, Om TVChandranaaya Namaha, Om Varuvaanirikkunnavaraaya Namaha...

2008-04-06T03:52:00.000-07:00

I went to college in the 1998-2002 period. A phase which many have attributed to as the nadir of the malayalam industry. A time when the film industry survived on the slender shoulders of Dileep and the thunder thighs of Shakeela. Yet there were a few good movies then. I watched around 300 movies in the theatres then, but I never went for a film festival, never watched a movie that the parallel and middle of the road pioneers of Malayalam cinema made in those years. I was in the firm grip of a mob which thrived on mediocrity. Ten years hence I have changed. I am ashamed to say this but it took a foreign wind and foreign thought to change me. I am trying hard to make up for all those lost years. Maybe those years were not lost after all. That might have been my life on one road, the "naadu odumbol naduve odunna" road. Once again I write on movies. Fundamentally, I haven't changed. I still love well-made commercial films like Om Shanti Om, Jodhaa Akbar, Kathaparayumbol, Chocolate and Cycle which keeps me entertained.

But have watched some awesome malayalam movies over the past one and a half years in the US and though I have made the mistake of not blogging them down immediately, there is an acute need on the internet for plot summaries and detailed reviews of many of malayalam cinema's finest. When I began this post, I was wondering if I was guilty of being a show-off, waxing eloquent on all these "class" movies. That thought sort of killed my enthusiasm, until I decided that writing is an act of faith in oneself and what I probably lacked was the confidence in doing justice to these films. While at Delhi, I was advised by a friend to give up my movie craze and start reading books. But the literary quality of these movies which I write of below has made up quite a bit for the lack of interest in reading. I don't expect anyone to read this whole post. Despite the length, it had to be one post as I might never have come back to finish this task, if left half way. My only regret is that I have devoted only a few sentences to these works of art which deserved a 1000 word article each, but I leave that blessing to others more competent than me. This is my small way of giving back to a medium that has helped continue my growth as an individual over the last one and a half years, while I mindlessly slaved for the dollar on a parallel track.

Six months back, I wrote a bitter post attacking the superstars of Malayalam Cinema and pleading for the arrival of young blood. As though to answer my prayers, 4 movies featuring youngsters, Chocolate, Cycle, Kangaroo and Malabar Wedding became hits or returned average collections. These movies will soon be forgotten but their success signifies with certainty a change in mentalities. It would be nothing short of a miracle, that having chronicled the movies below on my blog, a similar prayer is answered and we get good films again.

***POSSIBLE SPOILERS***
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Adaminte Variyelle(1983) - A movie I saw long long back as a child, but couldn't appreciate then. This was another of K.G.George's middle-of-the-road films which found commercial success. Tells the travails of 3 women, in different social circumstances, one a socialite, another a working woman, and the third a house-maid and the indifferent men in their lives. The movie leads to a fitting end where the woman treated most unjustly by society takes her's and others like her's fates into their hands while the others succumb to the pressures of life. Also boasts of a title song, the lyrics of which make your heart cringe. Cast - Sreevidya, Suhasini, Soorya, Gopi, Mammootty, Venu Nagavally

Sreekrishna Parunthu(1984) - Like the above said film, another one seen long back, but which I couldn't remember, until a friend said this was his favorite malayalam movie in the horror genre. One of Mohanlal's first leading roles, it tells the story of a casanova who is forced to reform and take up the family's tradition of magic and faith-healing, but succumbs to temptations, gets increasingly corrupted and falls into a path of self-destruction from which he cannot find redemption. The song Mothira Kaiviralukalaal from this movie, is one of my favorites these days. Direction - Vincent. Script - John Paul

Chidambaram(1985) - G.Aravindan's biggest commercial success, possibly because of the presence of big names then like Gopi and Smita Patil, it tells a tale of a farm supervisor, Gopi who treats a lowly farmhand with respect and affection, and wins his trust but things get complicated when the farmhand, played by Sreenivasan marries and brings his wife, Smitha Patil to the farm. Gopi finds himself drawn towards the young woman, until one night he is caught red-handed by the farm-hand, who commits suicide. Overridden by guilt he tries his hand at alcohol, religion, spiritualism and wanderings to redeem himself without much success until he arrives at the temple at Chidambaram...

Vidheyan(1993) - Adoor adapts Zacharia's short story into a superb film on the relationship between a cruel and sadistic kannadiga feudal lord, Bhaskara Pattelar played by Mammootty and a christian share-cropper played by M.R.Gopakumar. The timid Gopakumar's life enters a turmoil when his beautiful wife catches Pattelar's roving eyes - on the one hand Pattelar becomes his benefactor but it conflicts with the shame he feels towards himself. But the tide begins to turn for the Pattelar when his wife stands up to him and local christians get fed up with his tyranny. Aptly cast in the title role, Gopakumar makes a splendid debut but never got such a plum role again in his career. Cast - Mammootty, Gopakumar, Tanvi Azmi, Sabitha Anand

Paadam Onne Oru Vilaapam(2004) - Over the years, T.V.Chandran has again and again delivered films which have wonderfully chronicled Kerala's past and present but unfortunately never found favour with the masses. I still remember watching my first art film, his Alicinte Anvekshanam on Doordarshan as a small boy and it leaving me with more questions than answers. Nowdays I would give anything to watch that movie once more. Paadam is about a 15 year old Muslim girl, but not yet a woman, played by Meera Jasmine, eager to study, but catches the fancy of an already married man, looking for dowry to get a visa to the Gulf, gets married to him and her spirited resistance to his advances. He succeeds in quenching his lust but adds one more number to a dreadful statistic in Kerala's backward Malappuram district. Aryadan Shoukath's bold script and K.G.Jayan's brilliant photography deserves utmost praise.

Oridathoru Phayalvan(1982) - The master storyteller Padmarajan, takes us to a village in Kerala where a wrestler(Rasheed) lands up on its shores, and gets involved in a petty local feud, with Nedumudi Venu playing the ace manipulator. He marries a pretty village belle, dashing the hopes of a few young men in the area, but as the girl soon finds out, marriage to a wrestler is not a bed of roses and her life goes astray. Padmarajan's films have settings, imagery, dialogues, characters and situations which make us feel like we are reading a short story than seeing a film. If ever I become a filmmaker, I would rather try to make films like he did, or make none at all.

Kallan Pavithran(1981) - Supposed to be loosely inspired by the story of Madhavan Thampi, Trivandrum's famed vessel house founder, Nedumudi Venu plays Kallan Pavithran, a small-time thief with two wives, who hits pay-dirt when he visits Adoor Bhasi, a wholesaler to trade in a few vessels he has stolen. There he discovers many old vessels in the warehouse, now blackened and dirty are actually made of gold. He returns from his discovery that night, to the low point of his life, having to see his second wife in bed with Gopi. He abandons her, and she eventually marries Gopi, a widowed rice miller. Pavithran's fortune increases day by day and incurs the jealousy of his second wife who pushes her younger sister into seducing him, all of which leads to his fall. Today it seems to me that Malayalis gave Padmarajan and Bharathan the license to make any movie they wanted. Many of their stories touched upon themes like adultery, betrayal, perversion and passion - I wonder if it was the quality of that age or their genius or their knowledge that malayalis would accept a forward looking film but go back to being conservative in their real lives that gave them the courage to make all those wonderful movies.

Padamudra(1988) - When I returned to the US in 2006, there were two Mohanlal movies, on my to-watch list for many years and I had given up all hope of finding them. Padamudra was one of them. Padamudra, tells the story of a lecherous pappadam-seller, Paandi who seduces another man's wife and as fate would have it she gives birth to a son who looks exactly like him. The paandi dies in remorse, the woman is helpless seeing the shame her son has to undergo from people making fun of him, and he gradually loses the reins to his life, all leading to a climax which sort of reminds you of Christ's end. It is a painful process, watching this film, Mohanlal puts in an intense performance that soaks through our insides with a negative energy which doesn't leave us for many days. Skillfully directed by M.D.Sukumaran. A must-watch film. Cast - Mohanlal, Nedumudi Venu, Seema

Odayil Ninne(1964?) - When some of the best talents of the age - Sathyan Master, Keshavadev and K.S.Sethumadhavan united, they gave us a movie which will stand tall in Malayalam Cinema's history through the ages. A black and white film, it tells the story of a rebel, Pappu played by Sathyan who has stood up against the injustices meted out to him from a very young age and lives life on his own terms. He reaches the city and settles down to a career as a rickshaw-puller(The way he handles the rickshaw you would think he has been doing it all his life). A young girl who falls into a ditch and her widowed mother enter his life, and he becomes a father to the child and a guardian to the woman. He works day and night to provide the girl a good education, and very soon falls prey to tuberculosis but can't afford to slow down as the girl enters college and her needs increase. He slowly becomes an encumbrance for her, but even in old age and sickness, he lives life as he started out, not ready to stoop to anyone, and the film ends with a fantastic visual which surely portended the heights Malayalam Cinema was about to reach with the impending arrival of fresh talents like MT, Adoor and Aravindan to name a few. Cast - Sathyan Master, Prem Nazeer, Kaviyoor Ponnamma, Thikkurussi Sukumaran Nair

Amritham Gamaya(1987) - MT Vasudevan Nair and Hariharan collaborated in this poignant tale of a principled young doctor indebted to his mother's rich but overbearing family for educating him, but in the land where he sets out to begin his career comes across a poor family which is suffering due to the callousness of his youth. His life takes a different turn, he loses all his near and dear ones but dedicates his life to making sure that he can find salvation in becoming the guardian to this family. Mohanlal virtually lives in the role of this drug-addicted doctor who loses everything but finds peace of mind in what must be called one of his career-best roles. Though I watched this movie more than a year back, this scene just doesn't fade from my mind. It is a wide angle shot of Mohanlal and Geetha(playing his fiance) looking at each other, with the distance between them signifying how far apart they have become. It is moments of silence, such pregnant pauses and stationary shots like these which so well show the character's state of mind, that is missing today. Everyone seems to want too much action nowadays. A little lingering and that becomes room for criticism...I am reminded of Aamir Khan's Taare Zameen Par and the criticism on its length! Cast - Mohanlal, Parvathi, Geetha, Vineeth, Thilakan, Devan

Meghamalhar(2000) - The last middle of the road Malayalam Cinema to run well at the Kerala box office, Meghamalhar tells the tale of two people, one an advocate with a love for hindustani music married to a bank officer, and the other a writer and journalist whose husband is working in the Gulf. Circumstances happen for the two people to meet and they find they share several common interests including a love for ghazals and literature. A beautiful kind of love develops until they realize the happy marriages, spouses and children that stand to be destroyed. Scripted and Directed by Kamal, a maker of several commercial hits, this film had Biju Menon and Samyukatha Varma underplay the protagonists to perfection, ably supported by Siddique and Poornima Indrajith as their spouses.

Deshadanam(1995) - One of the last malayalam films in the above said genre to succeed commrcically, this movie was aided by a touching storyline, A-class performances, haunting music and a director, Jayaraj, whose skills were at its zenith. Vijayaraghavan is a Kathakali artist in a loving family which comprises his father, wife and son. His only child is offered a life of sanyasa by the revered chief of a math and this throws them all into grief. They agree to let their son go, and turns their backs on him, and the turmoil of the child begins. Released in 1995, this film closed the period, we Malayalis till date call the golden period of Malayalam Cinema.

Nizhalkuthu(2001) - Adoor returned after Vidheyan with the role of a lifetime for the talented Oduvil Unnikrishnan, as the last hangman of Travancore. Having lived a life of comparative affluence, thanks to the benevolence of the king, the impending freedom and the erosion of royal decree has affected the hangman but more critical to him than the troubles of his family, is the guilt that he carries, having to partake all responsibility for the executions and thus absolving the king of blame. And thus, in old age and amidst great anguish, he undertakes the journey to Ananthapuri, from his home in Kanyakumari, accompanied by his Gandhian son to complete his last undertaking. Adoor has very ably mixed myth and fantasy in a very realistic storyline. The camera work by Mankada Ravi Varma is recognition of the reason why Adoor never had anyone else visualize his scripts.

Vanaprastham(2000) - Shaji N. Karun gave Mohanlal his first pure arthouse role after Vasthuhara and exacted a superlative performance from him that we seldom saw for many years before and after it. Mohanlal plays a supremely talented Kathakali artist, who fuels his creativity with alcohol, unable to give answers to his suffering wife for their penurious existence, and incapable of doting on his daughter who loves him a lot. His life takes a positive turn for a while, when the rich heiress of a royal family falls for him, but fate has a cruel surprise in store for this man who begins to lose the love for the mask which keeps him alive. Zakir Husain's background music and Santhosh Sivan's camera takes this film up several notches to a world classic.

Oridathe(1986) - Aravindan tells us a tale of electricity arriving in a village in Kerala and the immediate changes that happen to its people. In today's age we will look at the fear, wonder, distrust and hatred for this modern convenience called electricity at this village with disdain but Aravindan has masterfully captured these scenes while telling in parallel a tale of fawning, lust, betrayal and murder involving Nedumudi Venu, the contractor and Sreenivasan, the local who cozies up to Venu.

Perumazhakaalam(2004) - A tragic incident kills one man and threatens the life of another. A muslim woman from the banks of the Kallayi river journeys to a Brahmin woman living on the banks of the Kalpathi river, in the knowledge that this woman holds the tender thread to her husband's life. What follows is a tale of anger, despair and redemption told with great empathy and skill by Kamal in the scripts of T.A.Razak, for whom the seeds of this story originated from a newspaper clipping telling a similar story. Beautiful music, superb camera work including a breathtaking shot of a gnat clinging tightly to a leaf, while it rains heavily, possibly symbolizing the desperate struggle that Meera Jasmine takes on to save her husband. Kavya Madhavan as the Brahmin woman and Meera have given performances that will be remembered long after they leave the stage,

Idavela(1982) - Four college students, lead by Ashokan bunk an NCC camp and travel to a tourist destination for a few days of fun. Desperate to get laid, but frustrated in their efforts, they narrow down their prey to a girl of their age, who is also vacationing there with her family. She takes a liking for one of the boys, played by Idavela Babu, but things take a tragic turn when ego and lust creep up and changes all their lives forever. Scripted by Padmarajan and directed by Mohan, these were films without any star power or great acting but stood tall just on the strength of a great writer's storyline.

Arapatta Kettiya Gramathil(1986) - Three young men wake up on the morning after a night of drunken revelry and decide to ring in the New Year(Vishu) by visiting a brothel in a far away village. They land there amidst simmering social tensions between the Muslims and Nairs of the village, whose chieftains vie for a virgin who has arrived at the brothel. One of the young men however fall for the girl and he resolves to save her, complicating the situation. Sukumari plays the money motivated yet human in many ways madam, Mammootty, Nedumudi Venu and Ashokan play the three young men with Mammooty putting in the first of many strong performances as an aimless but proud man whose only love is towards liquor, that paved his way to superstardom, Venu plays a light-hearted advocate who is not serious about life, and Ashokan the youngest plays a man eagerly looking forward to his initiation to manhood but finds it in his desire to save the girl. Padmarajan takes us on a journey to a village, seemingly far away from civilization but showing through his characters how universal the noble and the base intentions of mankind are. The best part of this movie however is the character played by Mammootty...Padmarajan leaves space for us viewers to make our own understanding of him and his actions.

Thinkalazcha Nalla Divasam(1985) - A film I saw years back and revisited just because I forgot the climax. Padmarajan proved he could write on any subject under the sun, dealing here with the matriarch of an affluent family forced to move to an old age home. A simple story but told with great sensitivity and with interesting characters, it was a movie which really launched Padmarajan's directorial craft to a level equal to his story-telling skills. Kaviyoor Ponnamma played the matriarch to perfection, a role she has reprised countless times since, Mammootty and Karamana Janardhanan Nair put in strong performances as the clashing sons, Sreevidya and Unni Mary play the influential daughters-in-law and to complete the stellar cast, Ashokan and Kukku Parameshwaran play two cousins on the verge of love. I have read recently that Padmarajan gave standing orders to the crew to be ready anytime to get the camera and lights ready to shoot the pregnant cow going to labour and delivering and it finally happened on the last day of the shoot!

Chillu(1982) - Lenin Rajendran's first film holds a mirror to the college campus of the late 70's and early 80's which were totally different from the campus's we studied in. Everywhere, there are chain smoking, bearded intellectuals who are called "bujis"(yeah the term originated long back!) unlike the one or two we would find today. The Trivandrum depicted in the film, has its citizens living a laidback life, totally unlike today. There are hardly any vehicles or people on the road and the city is a picture of cleanliness. The film tells the tale of a tender-hearted young man(Ronnie Vincent) who despairs at the affection his sweetheart played by Shanthi Krishna showers on her classmate, played by Venu Nagavalli. Ronnie is perfectly cast as the child-like Manu, Shanthi as the vivacious and strong girl was a revelation and went on to play several strong characters in Malayalam Cinema and Venu as the suffering poet and painter is a study in tenderness and you feel for his plight at being just a mute observer. The film ends with a perfect symbolization of his mind with Ronnie staring at a glass paned coffin. Also deserving praise is the music, set to ONV's lyrics which are still popular.

Danny(2005) - How could a man who lived through some of the big life changing political events of the 20th century not be impacted by any of them? The film begins with a narration that gives the impression, that we are about to see the life of a great man of our times, but what a pleasant surprise we are in for! Mammootty plays Daniel Thompson, an uneducated simple man whose first wife leaves him taking his daughter along, and ends up marrying a rich educated woman who is pregnant with another's child. He submits to his wife's authority, learns English, is confined to their house and watches mutely as people and things around him change. His only companion is his saxophone, which is also taken away and he ends up in a nursing home, where he strikes up a warm friendship with an old woman who also gets admitted there. T.V.Chandran has lead Kerala's art film movement from the 90's and here he proves for the umpteenth time what a master he is at his craft. The film also presents some unforgettable moments of humour, the kind we probably will never get to see again in Malayalam cinema, the subtle real kind.

Vasthuhara(1990) - The last Mohanlal film which waited so long for me! A young bureaucrat(Mohanlal) arrives in Calcutta to help resettle long-stranded refugees who belong to farming castes from Bangladesh to the Andamans. There he chances on a bengali woman living in difficult circumstances who he realizes is the wife of his mother's brother. He sets out to help them but finds his hands tied. Her children are in trouble for taking radical political stands. He gets close to the woman,played by Neelanjana Mitra and her children(the daughter played by Neena Gupta) but they find the temporary relief in their situation provided by his arrival short-lived, as he has to leave. In one of the last scenes in the movie, we see a study in contrast, a scared and lonely Neena Gupta cries out to a helpless Mohanlal("Dada, write to me, Dada. Address, Arathy Panicker c/o Alipore Central Jail") while her mother who has struggled all her life calmly looks on. The movie, Aravindan's last, he died before he could promote the film, shows the life of Bengal's dispossessed and their hopes for a new promised land leaving behind the promise that communist West Bengal offered but never gave.

Mazha(2002) - Mazha is about a young girl blessed with happiness, poetry, music and love growing into a woman who struggles to come to terms with the uprootment inflicted on her and her inability to plug the poetry, music and love within her or be able to hate her cruel husband. Lenin Rajendran has managed to extract powerful performances from a stellar cast which includes Samyuktha Varma, Biju Menon, Lal, Thilakan and Jagathi. The highlights of the movie are the very deep characters he has created and the complex relationship which plays out between Samyuktha and Lal. Like T.V.Chandran, Lenin's oeuvre of films places him on a pedestal much higher than the ones the masses have placed many of our commercial hitmakers on, who peddle crass wares today, on mere past glory.

Sukrutham(1994) - Probably the most autobiographical of MT's scripts(MT fell sick in the 80's and thought he would die), this film is about an acclaimed writer played by Mammootty, suffering from an incurable disease, who begins to lose hope in survival until he arrives at a clinic run by Narendra Prasad. The writer ends up complicating the lives of the people he holds dear like his wife, friend and old lover and when he finally recovers, the realization of his act dawns on him. Mammootty put in one of his career best performances in a movie directed brilliantly by newcomer, Harikumar who sadly never returned to make another film.

Panchavadi Paalam(1984) - In a village, called Airavathakuzhi with equally notorious(and hilarious) names from mythology for its residents like Dushasana Kurup, Bhoothana, Karkodakan Nair, Yoodas Tharakan, etc where every person competes with the other to show who is the most decadent, the feudalist of the region who is also the panchayat president, played by Gopi decides to rebuild an existing bridge which is in fine condition to sustain his name after his time and also to steal money, prodded by his shrewd ally(Nedumudi Venu), supposedly a social worker and his greedy wife(Sreevidya). A stinging satire on the state of our politics, this film probably marked a period in the high point of the middle of the road cinema movement, as it equally satisfied the tastes of the masses too. Unfortunately for our cinema, K.G.George soon ran out of steam following the success of this film and never again found the commercial success he previously enjoyed.

Kodiyettam(1978) - A coming of age story told in the backdrop of a rural setting. A lazy village bum comes to terms with the realities of adult life belatedly through his exposure to the institution of marriage, adultery, loneliness and his fears arising out of what he sees around himself. Bharat Gopi delivered a standout debut performance as the sluggish Shankarankutty, propelling him overnight from obscurity to fame, even garnering the the National Best Actor Award. Adoor Gopalakrishnan's second film after Swayamvaram stands out for very minute and precise observations and picturization of rural life told through several well-rounded characters interspersed with brilliant yet realistic dialogues. K.P.A.C Lalitha also shows glimpses of the acting genius, most of which probably went untapped by cinema.

Kummatti(1980) - G.Aravindan adapted Kavalayam Narayana Panicker's story based on the myth of the Kummatti into a visually delightful children's film. The kummatti arrives in a village where the parents make young children obey them by scaring them of the kummatti. A group of kids watch the Kummatti with curiosity and trepidation until they find out that he loves them. He magically transforms them into animals and back into human form but one child who was made a dog misses the transformation back to humanity and has to live a year in this fashion, until the Kummatti returns next year. The kummatti returns next year and converts him back to child, but the torrid experience has wisened the boy and he performs an act of brotherhood for a fellow animal. Shaji Karun's camera brilliantly captures the arid beauty of Palakkad. The film is also a treasure trove of folk songs written by Kavalam.

Oridam(2005) - The film tells the story of a prostitute struggling to come out of her profession. She is a young woman with a lot of aspirations and dreams which don't die despite countless disappointments and frustrations. Geethu Mohandas who speaks English with a western accent in real life, plays this woman who spends her nights on the street and services craven men of all classes with boldness and brilliance that has to be seen to be believed. Her body language and expressions are flawless whether stifling her tears and anger to stich together a plastic smile or while lounging on the roadside imagining herself to be one of the fancy faces on the billboard. The presence of an NGO which inculcates into these helpless women the nobility of their profession adds a tinge of satire to the proceedings. I saw ads on Manoramaonline requesting public support to complete filming of this work...kudos to director cum producer, Pradeep Nair for finally managing to fulfill his creation.

Eli Pathayam(1981) - Karamana got the role of a lifetime to play the last link in a crumbling feudal system, unable to accept, comprehend, adjust or rebel against the changes happening to him and the society around him. He is obediently served by a younger sister(Sharada), fated to remain a spinster, who breaks down gradually under the weight of physical and mental exertions leaving her brother to fend for himself. He miserably gives up without a fight. Adoor brilliantly uses a rat trapped in a mousetrap to signify the microcosm of Karamana's universe and the ancient tharavadu and the people living within it as a bigger mousetrap to signify the macrocosm of Karamana's deteriorating existence. Possibly, Adoor's best film ever, this was the time the parallel malayalam cinema reached the zenith of its artistic brilliance, and even came to represent the face of Indian cinema to art lovers, the world over.

Kathavasheshan(2004) - Very fittingly, the last film I watched. This is a movie every man has to watch. This is cinematic art at its pinnacle. A young man, played by Dileep commits suicide. His fiance(Jyothirmayi) has met him just once but that tells her he is not a man who could commit suicide. She is interested in finding about his past. She meets his family and the friends he made in the places he lived and pieces together the picture of a lively man with a sense of humour but who believes he has to react to injustices and alleviate the misfortunes of others. All this takes him to his logical end, an end which puts all of us who make the society he lived in, on the dock. T.V.Chandran's peerless direction and skillful scripting which expertly combines the best multi-person narrative ever depicted on screen with interesting flashbacks that takes the story forward to the present, Isaac Thomas Kottukapally's melodious background music which melts seamlessly into the images on screen, K.G.Jayan's camera which brilliantly captures the director's vision have given us a classic we are in danger of forgetting. On the acting front, Dileep banishes all doubts in my head of his being able to play a character with several shades to him, supported ably by several actors of immense capability. The movie shifts seamlessly from locations as diverse as rural Kerala, Trivandrum, Andhra, Gujarat and Calcutta. Listen to the song, Mere Duniya Mein from this movie on musicindiaonline. Possibly, the best malayalam film I have watched!
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P.S - The most difficult post I have had to write in this blog. I kept pushing off this task because I felt like a small child staring at a mountain and unsure of being able to climb it. The movies I have chronicled are milestones in Kerala's cultural history, and the men behind it giants in intellect. I asked myself if I am competent enough to comment on these great works. But having finished this task, I keep thinking, how good are we as a people if we keep saying these works cannot be bettered? How much can we achieve if we shudder at the inability to continue their glorious legacy? Aren't we all taking the easy way out when we deal with the talents bestowed on us? Each time I sit to blog and give up, a serpentine question rears its inescapable head and asks me,"Dum nahi he kya bache?" That difficulty with self-doubting has helped me realize that unless I write and put it out to the world, I will always feel like the small child who keeps wondering what it would be like, to look from the peak. Several times in this post, my memory failed me and probably so did my analysis. Going back and watching the movies was also not an option as I didn't have the time. So please feel free to correct me, in places I may have gone wrong. Am dedicating this post to all the great malayalam film directors and scriptwriters of another age who would be saddened at the fall of today's cinema and our people's cultural standards. If there are lovers of good cinema around and are bloggers, let us give confidence and encouragement to the good malayalam films that are coming out today and give them maximum publicity on our blogs. This is of utmost importance because all offbeat films fall awfully short on budgets, by the time they are ready for release, to be able to do the crucial advertising that is so necessary in today's world to succeed. And so ends my movie watching spree - hindi, english and tamil movies too were part of this. There are lakhs of bloggers out there to write about those. But we are only a few thousand malayali bloggers. Growth starts from the roots. Our aspirations have helped us branch out in all directions. A time has come to feed the leaves we sprouted, back to our roots. In the midst of all this overwhelming materialism, can the youth of Kerala manage a return to intellectualism?

If You Didn't Know...

2008-03-31T02:21:00.000-07:00

MindCurry has tagged me. As the good blogger, I tag along. Good timepass, tags are, and so I was wondering if tags had lost the fancy of the blogworld, having been out of circulation for long.

1. LAST MOVIE YOU SAW IN A THEATER: The Other Boleyn Girl. Am a sucker for historical movies and so this satisfied me. Yet this movie could have been better. Stars Natalie Portman, Eric Bana and Scarlett Johansson. Went in with a "Troy" hangover expecting Bana to repeat his Hector act which didn't happen. Portman continues to grow on me.

2. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING? Several. I am on an Amazon shopping spree now. Next two months are dedicated solely to reading. One of them is Catch-22.

3. FAVORITE BOARD GAME? Monopoly. But that was long back.

4. FAVORITE MAGAZINE? Late 80's - Misha, Early 90's - Reader's Digest, Late 90's - India Today, Early 2000 - , Lately - Time

5. FAVORITE SMELLS? Smell of the soil after rain. Nowadays the smell of the roses that my neighbour has planted.

6. FAVORITE SOUND? Streams with rocks littered in its bed. K.J.Jesudas's voice.

7. WORST FEELING IN THE WORLD? Recurring failures in fighting and then succumbing to my weaknesses.

8. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU THINK OF WHEN YOU WAKE? Gosh...I am so tired.

9. FAVORITE FAST FOOD PLACE? So many. Earlier used to be thattukada's. Nowadays it is Panda Express.

10. FUTURE CHILD'S NAME? I might call it Nano and the one after that Pico. Any problems?

11. FINISH THIS STATEMENT. "IF I HAD A LOT OF MONEY I'D...? I have a lot of money now and I don't do anything with it! So this question is irrelevant.

12. DO YOU DRIVE FAST? No, I don't. I hate speed. I can't bear to think of killing another human being because of my carelessness. All said, I am a swapnajeevi and prone to absent-mindedness.

13. DO YOU SLEEP WITH A STUFFED ANIMAL? Yeah! My pillow...I cuddle up to it, when I feel I want a little love. I think I do it when I miss my mom and grandma.

14. STORMS-COOL OR SCARY? Cool. Rain makes me poetic.

15. WHAT WAS YOUR FIRST CAR? Saturn SL2. Everyone said the name was inauspicious. But I took good care of it and later dumped it on my sis. She hated it.

16. FAVORITE DRINK? Tea has always been a favorite. In between there was beer.

17. FINISH THIS STATEMENT, "IF I HAD THE TIME I WOULD ..... I had a lot of time in the world. I wasted all of it. I stare at its paucity today.

18. DO YOU EAT THE STEMS ON BROCCOLI? Yes. Beef and Broccoli...yummy!

19. IF YOU COULD DYE YOUR HAIR ANY COLOR, WHAT WOULD BE YOUR CHOICE? The day will come for all of us. And you and I will say Black.

20. NAME ALL THE DIFFERENT CITIES/TOWNS YOU HAVE LIVED IN. Trivandrum, Delhi, Los Angeles, San Diego. Trivandrum was growth and stagnation, Delhi was adventure and failure, Los Angeles was hard-work and self-discovery, San Diego was survival and loneliness.

21. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH? I love to play sports. I hate watching them now...maybe its part of growing old.

22. ONE NICE THING ABOUT THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU. The most pleasant surprise in blogging was to discover that he was one of my heroes from school. He wouldn't want me to reveal more. What makes him a hero today though, is his crusade to improve Kerala.

23. WHAT'S UNDER YOUR BED? Books, that fell off, in my sleep.

24. WOULD YOU LIKE TO BE BORN AS YOURSELF AGAIN? No. I am not a good human being. I wish I could be simple and pure at heart - like some of my good friends.

25. MORNING PERSON, OR NIGHT OWL? Night. Working life has robbed the mornings but gifted me with nights.

26. OVER EASY, OR SUNNY SIDE UP? Never was an egg fan until recently. I love the varieties of egg preparations in American breakfasts.

27. FAVORITE PLACE TO RELAX? The upper terrace at my house in tvm. I spend an hour there every night when I am home.

28. FAVORITE PIE? I hate pies.

29. FAVORITE ICE CREAM FLAVOR? Not an icecream fan anymore. But chocobars tempt me.

30. OF ALL THE PEOPLE YOU TAGGED THIS TO, WHO'S MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND FIRST? I tag BVN, Preetha, Jina, Dhanush, Syam and anyone else who wants to have a go at this. Whoever responds first gets a free ticket to Mohanlal's College Kumaran.

The Erstwhile City Of God...

2008-03-26T00:29:00.000-07:00

Once there was a sparsely populated town in Kerala. There descended upon it, capable men who built institutions. Around these institutions like the VSSC, CDS, University of Kerala, Agricultural University, Keltron, DD, AIR, RRL, CTCRI, Libraries, Govt. Bodies and think-tanks, colleges, schools, museums, stadiums, theatres, etc grew a modern city of salaried working class and their children. We lovingly call this city by various names - Trivandrum, Thiruvananthapuram and Ananthapuri. Like everything sustained by human effort, these institutions stagnated. One fine day came Globalization. The people were ready for it but not the un-extinct dinosaurs who ran these institutions. Money became the sole-motivating aim for the masses and they looked elsewhere for succour. These institutions cried foul at the hydra that was changing people's lifestyles. They stagnated further when public interest in them dipped. The replacements that globalization threw up for them weren't anything admirable either. A city is known for the institutions it is proud of. What happens to a city when the institutions it was once proud of stagnate? What happens to a city where the sole-touted institution is the Technopark which beats just to the tune of money?

Is it not time to redefine socialism? Socialism has become a dirty word. Why shouldn't socialism from now on just be about awareness of social, economic and environmental problems and implementing solutions to it? Why keep adhering to the age-old inequalities of income argument? For me, the biggest injustice perpetrated is the tendency to teach children to play it safe. The most painful aspect of a socialist system is the difficulty in getting a new initiative approved. Socialism always begins with a crusader's zeal to improve and change the existing setup. But it soon settles down into a system where the men who take charge of the social setup will not allow anyone to change this status-quo. The collaboration of interest groups works at all levels in Kerala - everybody be it the communist, the congressman, the trader, the worker, the church, the media, the intellectual - everyone who is a part of the current system and deriving benefits from it, is never motivated to change anything. This proves that interest groups don't need capitalism to flourish. An interest group works transparently in capitalism while it functions with brute power in socialism.

The only solution is to set individuals free. In Kerala, every organization has to function with interference from the top and bottom. Administrators fail to implement latest technologies, hire and fire competent/incompetent staff, streamlining the functioning of their fiefdoms, losing precious time running from pillar to post for clearing payments and bureaucratic approval. I know of an example of a person who succeeded when he was liberated. In 1998, staring at a system which he knew would deny him any chances of getting to the top of the university hierarchy despite his credentials, he interviewed for and was put in charge of a miserably performing academic institution affiliated to KU. Funded and answerable only to the UGC, functioning independent of the politicians who remote-control the university, he very quickly transformed it into the first-ranking institution of its nature in the country. He succeeded where many people capable of doing such stuff floundered elsewhere. I know that person well - he is my dad. I wouldn't say he was lead by high ideals - he was motivated by ambition and a fierce determination to stand above his peers.

From my last visit to Trivandrum, I am convinced that what Trivandrum needs more than all the requisites for economic growth and development is the revitalization of existing institutions. The reason I am proud of Kerala is that in all purposes it is a distinct entity yet seamlessly fitting within India. We have our own distinctive social system and problems, film industry, literature, subject experts in all areas, and many other parameters for being evaluated as a "country". Once, the colleges in Trivandrum like University College, Arts College, Ivanios, etc produced most of Kerala's intellectual, cultural and literary giants. Today these colleges are in a state of disuse with several vacant seats for the many courses they conduct. In their place has come up self-financing engineering colleges named after their "reputable" wealthy patrons producing graduates who have learnt in 4 years what it means to have a good time forgetting all the good things they learnt in school of social responsibility and the power of the inner self.

Some of the most talented Malayalis I have met here in the US and who will go on to lead a successful and meaningful life were people not motivated by money. They took degrees in pure sciences and arts, but developed great interest in their fields of study, that opportunities never ceased to shower on them. And our well-educated malayali frog-in-the-well parents think they know it all while prodding their unknowledgeable wards into engineering and medicine. The US is in such a strong position because of people of all talents and dispositions. A US citizen encourages activities in their communities by going out of the way to participate or encourage. The world over, intelligent societies and individuals are realizing that there is no natural or man-made wealth worthy left fighting for. I guess the blame rests on our heavily stratified society, that malayalis, whatever be the colour of their collar, can never afford to take a break from wasteful competition, and perpetrate the same mentalities on the next generation too.

There exists today no real setup for the fostering of talented people. I knew people in my father's generation from such varied fields as zoology to space science. Today all the "successful" people I know are MBA's, engineers or doctors. People drill into their children's heads that every other profession which earns lesser is the failure of the social animal. To meet and to be in the company of writers, policemen, researchers, etc if I have to climb one ladder down in the social ladder, I would gladly do it because these are the people I would enjoy talking to. Do we want Trivandrum to be a one-dimensional city like kochi? I wonder if there is anything left in that crumbling mega shopping paradise which is not subject to crass commercialization.

In a few months i will go back to being a citizen of trivandrum...i feel sad at the decline of the cultural, academic, athletic and research bodies - both govt and private owned. I have second thoughts now on the so-called urban development we are seeing in our country...ultimately everything needs support from the ordinary man and good people who can rise up to take visionary leadership. But the good people are all in useless engineering colleges out of touch with the subjects they study or the many other subjects in the world. There will be very few left to provide quality leadership in the next generation. I am woefully out of touch with trivandrum...my last visit there, about three months back didn't evoke any nostalgia. It felt like I was looking at a city of tired and haggard people. A fresh start can come only from the schools. When I return, I hope to find and band with like-minded people who can carry a message to our young ones on the dangerous ability of conventional beliefs to throttle their potential.

P.S - For long, I have stayed away from writing on the world about me. I was preoccupied with my own struggles...that difficult phase is hopefully over. Around the net, I have read several brilliant people propose solutions to propel Trivandrum's development. I am of the firm belief that nothing will change in this firmly-entrenched system unless we can mentor today's school children to replace the adults of today. The radicals and progressive thinkers of my father's generation, all of them - people who stood up to Indira Gandhi's Emergency, run the show in Trivandrum today. In their race to the top, all of them conveniently dropped their ideals. But I can't help wondering if we are all going to go their same way. I have frequently heard people cite the example of the freedom struggle where men and women came up from nowhere to give leadership and shape a national movement at a time when all hope was lost. In these modern times of Free Speech, Expression and Opportunity should we just wait for that dark hour and then get into the act? Please don't hesitate to add your thoughts and disagreements to this post.

A Fulfilled Love...

2008-03-10T21:17:00.000-07:00

The airport was my gateway, away from the people, away from the present, away from the impotency that gnawed at my existence. A funny thought occurred then. How would it feel to be trapped here? A Thrishanku Swargam repeating in modern times. Oh, wait a minute, didn't it happen recently...wasn't that what "The Terminal" was all about. So much for original thought, I mused.
"Valmiki, Spielberg and me...and why not?" I said to myself, the mock seriousness of it all, managing to please me.
And then, I saw her. She had a small child in her arms, another tugged at her shirt. She hadn't seen me. But she would. She was headed to the same gate. I didn't know what would be appropriate - to beckon her, hide from her or ignore her. But I continued to stare. And size her up. She hadn't changed a bit. It looked like her husband kept her happy and the kids kept her busy. I had thought of her often. But why had a bloated, unhappy figure of her's filled my imagination. Was it closure I wanted or vengeance? Or were those thoughts, ever about her? Wasn't it I, who needed to see her that way, to justify why life couldn't have taken any other route, save the one I am travelling on now.

She chose the row of seats, right across mine. With difficulty, she got the children to sit. The older of the two, unsaddled his miniature backpack and began to unload his toys.
"No monu! Just take one out. Amma won't clean up after you. And you won't get new toys if you leave any here!"
The boy seemed to comply, for the time being.
She turned her attention to the infant. It sat placidly ready to go off to sleep. She slipped a milk bottle in through the child's lips.
Her handbag still clung to her shoulders. She took it off and rifled through its contents to ensure their passports and tickets were safe. A quick glance at a mirror to ensure her rudimentary makeup was intact followed. She looked at me, staring unabashedly at her. A wave of self-consciousness hit her, men did this to her always, she would have reacted differently earlier. She brushed her hair backwards, pulled her shirt at its hem, and pinched her jeans down at the knees, cloaking her bared ankles. I took note of her inconvenience and looked away. It was her turn now to stare at me.

"Is this real? Is this youuuu!"
"Yes, me." I replied uncomfortably. I slowly moved over to take a seat besides her.
"My god, you have become so fat." There was no indication of our unsavoury past in her initial disposition to me. It was just like two friends meeting in a long time.
"You are still the same." I offered back.

"Which flight are you taking?"
"British," I answered, "but mine is only due in 4 hours."
"Mine is this one which boards next, BA4517" she said. Was I relieved to hear that? But she looked genuinely happy to see me.

"What are you doing now?" She was eager to know of my life after college.
"I am traveling, as you see."
"On work, I believe."
"No - for pleasure."
"For how long?"
"It's been going on for some time."
"You never worked?"
"I work a few months. Then travel till the money is gone."
"So what happens when no one will take you?"
"As you scorned me in the old days, then there is father's money - to mine."
"What of all those ambitions?"
"None - whatsoever. All gone."
"Hmmm."
Her face was expressionless. Behind that facade was she envious, was she disappointed, or was she sorry for me, I thought. Or, did she care anymore?

"Are you working?"
"No. My husband earns enough for both of us."
"And you are happy?"
"Yes, as happy as I could be."
"Are you happy?" she threw the question back at me.
"I don't know." I had uttered it with a finality, that ended the conversation. My life was my business. She would get no answer for it. But I have to answer for it to so many people. How different was she from all of them?
She went back to tending her children. I debated returning to my seat. I couldn't move. My mind rushed back to the time, when she was a dubious part of my existence, and never found an abiding place in it.

I couldn't remember when she first caught my roving eye. They blinked before resting on her. She wasn't the most attractive, or the friendly kind, yet something about her caught my fancy. I never spoke to her alone, I was part of a gang of boys who kept me busy with myriad schemes to wile away time, but my eyes talked to her, and hers to mine, furtively yet loaded with meanings and nuances. We were enemies in a sense, trying to guess each other's motives, trying to win over each other, but not yielding a bit of the safe ground we were on. That year went by, and the next, she grew prettier, her figure trimmed and curved in lines that now drove other eyes besides mine, some in silent, others in loud admiration. Our gazes seldom caught each others now, mine still darted with a playful abandon about her, that seared me and infuriated her. It was obvious that she couldn't wait any longer for me to make up my mind, there were others who waited to jump at the chance, the electric youthfulness that pulsed and glowed throughout her body had made her a new woman, one with desires and cravings that she no longer felt the need to bottle. And yet I twiddled. I had much to answer for in life, I had built up a reputation for wisdom, goodness and ambition...I was loved and venerated by one and all- I wouldn't ruin all that or my family's hopes for me on a girl in whom all I saw, was the answer to a wild craving for love and sex. Yet the heart cringed each time an advance was made at her, and at the blush or smile that fleeted across her face in unabashed pleasure of recognition. And yet she gave in to no man in college, which pleased me, but for how long, I wondered.

The remembrance of that misty dawn, now hangs on my clouded brain, like a shroud that parted our eyes, from even stealing glances at each other. It was a Saturday morning that I rose up early for cricket practice. I looked forward to the pleasure of a drive with the fresh morning breeze on my face, and the sweat running down the same face, as i swatted and drove the cricket ball. My bike, surged through the empty morning road, the temptation of a hot tea and a cigarette to ring in the day, was too hard to resist. I parked and ordered at the roadside tea-stall, the auspicious first customer of the day. But it was not to be. A familiar figure gingerly walking down the steps of the shop, and away towards the bus stand, caught my eyes. The Shop. That shop. An unspoken word in our city. A place where the decadent old and pulsating new money came together in a perfect harmony, a polluted channel for all the vulgar vices that the self-righteous society of my class strove to curtail. My heart skipped several beats on that lifeless road. And then it roared back to life. I ran. I only know, that I ran. I had no desire for the cafeine or the nicotine, for all the pent-up oxytocin of the years came gushing out in a violent river that desperately knew it would find no ocean to sink into.

Her hair was disheveled. And panic was writ large on her face. I had my answer. My heart sunk and with it my lungs which throbbed for breath.
"What were you doing there?"
"None of your business."
"You better answer me."
"I don't have to."
"I will ruin you." The manic rage in me, threatened to get physical.
"As you wish." Her cheekiness broke my manly muster. Tears flooded my cheek.
"You are a slut. That is what you are. A slut."

"Are you done? Now may I speak." Her calm voice was a repudiation of the menace that still raged menacingly within me.
"Yes," I choked up a feeble reply.
"I have seen what money can do in this city. Look at your exclusive groups of rich boys and rich girls with their shiny cars, laptops, expensive clothes and paid holidays. I also want all that and more. Do you know what it is to not get what you want?"
"But-but, why sell yourself?"
"well, that's the choice, I had to make."
"But you could have got a job soon. And you would have all the money you need."
"What job? Tell me one person in college who has a job in hand. And what do you know of my family?"
"You, you could have waited for me."
"Tell me honestly. What is it that you want? Your wants - are they any different from those men?"
I didn't have an answer to any of her questions. She had answers to mine. It was all over. The first love. The one lasting itch down there. The longest infatuation. Would I know that feeling again?

My thoughts came back to the present. Once, there was a high probability that this woman, sitting by me would have been my wife. And the children mine. I laughed at the adolescent thought. She looked up from the note she was scribbling on.
"You went back to the old days, ha?"
An embarrassed smile escaped me. She went back to her note.

Some months had passed. It was a New Year midnight. We guys were at the beach and had checked into a hotel for the night. A mad melee of tourists, locals and plainclothesmen had escaped to this place, that would put to shame the craziest lunatic asylum. I don't remember when I passed out or what happened afterwards. By next morning, everyone in class knew, save me. She was late. The teacher let her in, without questions. The girl at her bench, quickly moved to avoid letting her in, and so did the others who had a vacant space to fill.
"Here, take mine."I offered and slid to the other end.
"Wanna escort me, next new year?" a voice called out aloud, ignoring the presence of the teacher.
Manufactured sneers, all around.
Thud! The slap landed on my face, before I even saw it coming. The class was silenced.
"How could you do this to me? Did I deserve so cruel a vengeance?" her voice momentarily broke the silence.
My eyes blinked at her. Not a word could come out.
She rose, and walked out, head held high, showing no shame, knowing none else to blame.
The last sensation she left me with, was also like the first. But when my eyes stopped blinking, she was gone. And I didn't pursue her.
She never came back. I heard she took the final exams next year, with the junior batch.
She was an episode, I never forgot. She taught me, what it is to want, and not get. She also left me with a question to answer. A question I get often, but an answer, I hopelessly still search for.

My lips moved to silently mimic that question, "But why?"
She was tearing up the paper, away from my eyes, which caught that action almost on the tangent. I had trained my eyes to dog her and after years it still obeyed that old command.
"Listen. I am sorry about what happened." Her words spread through me, like a cool morning breeze of many years back.
"No, don't be. If ever I wanted to see you, I wanted it to be this way." For long, I had carried the spite, of a loss and insult, I had itched to see her as a bitch, snob and destitute. Instead I only saw a wife, mother and woman.
"I have to go now." She rose in unnatural hurry.
"I guess, we will not see each other again, ever." What a fine actor, I am, I thought. Just letting her off, that easily.
"I guess not."

When she walked out on me once more, I pieced together the torn pieces of paper, she left on the floor.
"To the only one, I truely loved before my kids came: I don't owe the world any explanations. But I owe you one. In slapping you, I slapped the world which dared question my actions."
Every act of hers, was the answer I should have given. Maybe that was her purpose in my life - to show me that answer. I was finally at peace.

P.S - It has been a long while. And it has been frustrating. And several false starts. To top it off, I was obsessed with writing a love story. I suspect I may have diverted from that goal. Maybe because I am a person who had, has and might never known/find true love for a woman (this sentence would need explanation to the future wifey:). I began the story in the third person. And to be frank, I was scared of personal identification and because the first person is the toughest act in fiction to carry through. But then, I thought who was I trying to fool here. For those, especially friends and family, who seek autobiographical elements in this, I say they are wasting time. The characters and incidents here if at all true, have been twisted and fictionalized - and yet, if someone sees a part of mine or their life played out here, I say it is just incidental (Okay, I need to learn from my protagonists and not be answerable to anyone:). I however will admit to one minor source of inspiration - some recent sex scandals in Kerala. As always when I take on fiction, criticism and feedback most welcome.

How Blogging Clicked...For Me

2008-02-11T22:44:00.000-08:00

Sometime last year, I read a survey conducted by some magazine, on the most overrated things/people/products in the universe, and not entirely to my surprise, I found blogging to be one of the winners to this dubious hall of fame - while only a few years back, it was hailed as the voice of the common man. For a while, I have been reading quite a few bloggers say they are quitting. Some attributed it to pointlessness, no ideas to write about, lack of comments, not knowing who their audience was, insipid life, etc, etc. And yesterday, Silverine sent me a post from a very good blogger, where on reading backwards I discovered him to be having some of these problems. I replied to her, wondering how many more such bloggers are lost in this race for instant gratification.

Many people tell me I am a good blogger. I am happy with the compliment. But I have known deep inside that it was just a case of being at the right place at the right time. It was a case of accidentally doing some things right, and then accidentally using the right tools to pierce through the numerous blocks and barriers that soon came my way. And so, after a long time, I again thought of devoting a post, to this hobby, which fortuitously came to me at a time, when my self-esteem stood low at having to become an average programming zombie in corporate madhouses, and having only myself to blame despite knowing that several better but improbable careers like politics, government service, etc would have suited me better. If you are a new blogger, or one on the verge of quitting, despite having a love for writing, hopefully reading this post will give you some new ideas to start over.

1. Incubation - For the first few months of my blogging, I kept it to myself. When I go back and read, I find my first pieces of writing to be gems in dull and long rambling prose. In those months, I did not know of such a thing as blogosphere. A blog was merely a diary open to public eyes which funnily contrasted with my long-held opinion of a diary being a very private object of one's affections. When I gained confidence, I slowly let word out to my classmates, who suddenly had begun to clamour on why my long emails to our yahoogroups had dried up, and which for a long time(6 years) had been my sole forum to write. Comments didn't matter to me, I was just happy to do writing in the public domain, and gleeful that my name popped up more in google search and showed up alongside my dad's. I would have innocently kept to this idea of blogging, for quite a while, and probably even given it up, once ridden of the novelty until Neil and Silverine left the first outside comments here. Through Neil, I discovered the Kerala Blogroll.

2. Enable Your Site Feed - I think Blogspot by default sets it to a "No"! You never know from where readers will land up. And do refrain from using gaudy templates, with colours that give readers a headache.

3. Join the Kerala Blogroll - Though it isn't in me to be parochial, it is hard to track all the indian bloggers. Kerala Blogroll offered me a good collection of malayali bloggers, but now I rarely find much good stuff there from new hands. If you are writing well, you might catch the interest of many visitors there. I am thankful to Dr.Manoj who has for so many years kept his Melam feed aggregator running, considering the time he has to devote to his research and teaching, and brought us bloggers, so many readers.

4. Build a Community - Through Silverine's blogroll and the Kerala Blogroll, I found a set of young, recently begun bloggers like me, and we made a formidable online community. All of us posted once a week, left comments for each other and reading their blogs widened my vision on how a blog could overflow, not merely encompass. This collaborative success had solidified my thinking that an online initiative can be successful only if it is interactive. Some of those folks like Anish, Geo, Thanu and Praveen seem to have given up, some like Jithu and Flash have become irregular, but the 6 months I was active in that fold was a period of immense creative energy, the only time I really felt beholden to my set of readers. Back then, I would really felt rotten if I hadn't written a post, a week. What new bloggers need to do, is build communities, especially with other starters like them. Visit people whose blogs you like and leave comments. Some of them will keep coming back. For me personally, I content myself with a set of few blogs I read. I don't go out scouting for new blogs to read now, sometimes I am such a jerk that I don't even respond to the gesture of fellow bloggers who leave comments here - I wish I could go back to the days I devoted a solid hour daily to reading blogs. Silverine, on her part sends us some good reads once in a while and she says that is her new year resolution to uncover more new bloggers. I wish I had her tremendous energy, but this is what bloggers need to do, watch out for each other.

5. New Challenges - The only way to continue blogging is to put your mind to work looking for happenings around you or to look for new writing challenges. I chose the second route because the first didn't appeal to me - my social life in the US just hasn't satisfied me and incidents around me just don't inspire...its another story that years later I will look at these days differently and gather a different perspective. I too have said here two years back that I am quitting. It was yet another knee-jerk reaction from me. I stopped saying that after quite a few writing ideas appeared to me out of thin air. When I first went hunting into blog-world, I realized there was no limit or a defined set of topics, to what a blog should keep to. Your talent is your only limit, and finding out what those talents are, has been a reason I am still here. The best challenge, I have thrown at myself emerged from my discovery of this blogger at Kerala Blogroll, and on reading this post. I had suddenly discovered somebody who shared my aspirations and frustrations. A new frontier was suddenly mine to conquer through blogging - fiction - and having done that, I wanted a new challenge. And it was right before my eyes for many years, but I never took it up, for fear of failure - writing humour in a conversational tone. For years Silverine had done it, and I would sit open-mouthed when not laughing, reading her funny posts at Poomanam, wondering how she did it so regularly, week after week and month after month. Of course, I had written posts on funny incidents and anecdotes, but none of that really landed the knockout punch I was looking for, until I tried the conversational format out, last Feb. Now I have a new challenge set for me, writing that needs analysis, research and a lot of people skills - it goes beyond blogging, but I believe I have done some of the groundwork here. Ashok, another blogger, has become a friend, philosopher and guide on this mission, I know not what will happen, and where it will take me.

6. Love Writing - I have seen people begin blogs for many reasons - but I will list one reason I am still here. I love to write. A well-written post lands me high for a few days, before seemingly succumbing to the laws of gravity and dropping me down with a resounding thud, back to hard ground. The fall hurts and sometimes I stick to the idea of staying on level ground and enjoying freedom from creative foment. But, I keep coming back and looking for new highs to conquer with the knowledge that the fall which will follow has only helped me get better at my craft besides quickly busting any pretensions of having cooked up a timeless creation. Most people begin blogs itching to write something but most give up for other reasons. So don't ever forget that reason which brought you to this endeavor in the first place - keep that flame alive when it begins to flicker.

I don't know if this post took up a preachy, moralistic or self-congratulatory tone - but that was never the intention. Your motivation for blogging may be different or you may or may not be the target audience. But if the few tips here from hindsight helps budding bloggers, to break through the millions of blogs that have served more to obscure and stifle, rather than project the good blogging seeds - I will be thankful at having partly repaid a debt to this hobby that gave me the courage to honestly face my aspirations and fears...and so this post. Happy Blogging!

Oru Paathiriyum Rande Kunjaadukalum...

2008-02-05T11:26:00.000-08:00

Jagathy: "Kalyaana kuri vaangikkan pokuvaano"
Mohanlal: "Athe"
Jagathy: "Pathu kalpanakal ariyaamo"
Mohanlal: "Illa"
Jagathy: "Ennaal poyitte kaaryamilla"
That was Jagathy in a short but funny role, whose desire to get married is repeatedly foiled by his parish priest, Thilakan in the movie Koodum Thedi, for not knowing the Ten Commandments.

Recently I had to accompany my sis to our parish in Trivandrum, to get the kuri for her. And it turned out to be more hilarious than I ever expected. Going to this church and meeting priests from this church was a tense affair for me, because I was irregular for mass, had bunked sunday school and we never made it for their prayer group sessions.

The priest handed out a four page form to fill out. My sis is dismayed as it is in Malayalam, not her strength by any means. What surprised me is she ventures to fill out the form in malayalam, ignoring my entreaties to get it done with, in english. I decided to watch mutely, the fun that was to follow. Yes becomes "Uvve" in malayalam and No becomes "Illa" while filling forms. But my sis wrote "Aaa"(her colloquial for Yes), and when I broke down laughing, she changes it hastily to "Athe". The questions the form asked were funny too but i forget them. And where her answer was negative she writes "Alla", firmly in the grip of colloquial usage. Gleefully, I let her leave it that way, hoping the priest would spot it. She took the obsession with writing in malayalam to dizzying heights by attempting to write our US address in malayalam and when she came to the words "apartment", the helpless look on her face was a moment to treasure for eternity. I stopped making fun of her right there, as she seemed to be on the verge of exploding with rage and tears.

The Achan took up the form, and the first sound that escaped him was a groan, and his hands went up to his face, seeing the systematic murder of the malayalam langauge that had taken place. Like a school teacher, he diligently corrected the spelling mistakes, semantic "misjudgements" and the grammatical errors. Sis sat red-faced, while I was enjoying the comedy of errors thoroughly. It was a long time, since some situational comedy happened in my life.

Achan: "Nee kooduthal chirikkanda. Ningalode njan chila catechism questions chodikkan pokuva"
Me (laughter substituted by fear): "Njan alla acho kettunne. Ivala"
Achan: "Pathe kalpanakal ethokkeya"
I begin sweating. Luckily sis knows them all.
But the next question stumps both of us.

Achan: "Pathe kalpanakal ethrayaayitte churukkaam"
Sis: "Eh?! Angane churukkaan pattumo?"
Achan: "Sheda! Illaatha Kaaryangal njan chodikkumo"
Sis: "Ezhe"
Achan: "Ezho! Ente karthaave ninte sabha pokka"!
Achan: "Ennaal nee para"
Me: "Acho njaan alla kettunne."
Achan: "Haa parayada"
Me (tepidly): "Naale"
Achan: "Naalo! Correct answer is two"
Achan: "Ninakke extra two evidanne kitti"
Me (embarassed): "Athe njan enikke vendi ondaakiya rande kalpanakal aanacho!"

Achan: "Seven sacraments ariyumo"
Sis: "Of course."
But the seventh stumps her. The priest turns to me.
Me (triumphantly): "Holy Orders!"
Achan: "Ho nee vichaaricha poleyallallo."
Me: "Oru kaalathe enikke achanaakanam ennondaayirunnu."
Achan (sarcastic): "Ho bhaagyam, athe nadannillallo!"

After more questions and some disturbing answers from my sis...
Achan (to me): "Ithokke kettathukonde ineem ninakke eluppamaayallo"
Me (chuckling): "Achan ithey chodyangal thanne chodikkanam, please!"

The priest winds up the session, giving my sis some really awesome words of advice. We were very impressed. Mom had given us a very wrong impression of this priest, both of us thought. He had totally floored us. But like a predator, quickly moving in for the kill after cleverly ensnaring his prey, he made his next move.
Achan: "We are building a church at Pongummoodu, and we are severely short of funds."
Me (that sinking feeling): "I forgot my checkbook."
Achan: "Cash mathi"
Me: "Veetil poyi eduthonde varaam acho"
Achan: "Sheri"
Me: "Kuri?"
Achan: "Cash konde varummbam tharaam. Porey?"
Me: "Mathi acho!"
We ran for our lives. Sis, embarassed that her catechism had failed her. Me, cursing myself, for not reading the Achan's mind well enough.

Back home, we tell our parents, all what happened.
Pops: "Why did you tell him you both are working in the US. You should have said you are studying."
Mom: "Ente maathaave, enikkingane rande mandan pillereyaanallo kittiyathe"
Me (sheepishly): "It is for something good, right?"
Mom: "Achanmaarke aavashyathilere kaashonde. Athe edukkaathe nammale pirikkaan nadakkuva"
Pops (mournfully): "I sent you guys there, to escape him. Ineem njan thanne pokaam, and hopefully undo all the damage!"
Me: "Another reason, to do a register marriage!"

P.S: Phew! I never thought i would blog again. Feels nice to be back. And enjoy this wonderful xian song, that I have listened to, a hundred times already!

A Time To Rewind...

2007-12-02T00:43:00.000-08:00

I decided to move this by now customary year-end post up ahead. Two reasons for that, one is I had to get out of a blogging rut and this post had a template I have set in the previous years and was easy to replicate, the other reason being me getting back to my hometown in december, and memories, family, friends, places, habits, occasions are all going to come together in one overwhelming medley and hopefully supply a lot of posts to this blog. Readers have read most of this crap already, skirt it unless you have nothing better to do. 2007 was my year of passivity, it was my year of stability, it was my year of restless soul-searching, it was my year of loss and gain, and a year of lot more, which I intend to flesh out as I write on.

Ups - God - I haven't mentioned before that I spent six months from late september last year to late march looking for a job. The money I had saved up was all but over. God came along and took me under his wing once again as I was about to lose my direction in life. I had quit the UPSC preps by January when my forms didn't reach India in time. I had a return ticket back home for May, but a return to what and for what. I didn't have the answer but HE saved me the trouble. I haven't seen the inside of a church in six months, but every time I look back at how I overcame miraculously the challenges at work and in my mind, it is his unseen guidance I am compelled to acknowledge. Why is prayer such an impossibility for me...i struggle to find the answer. Maybe god lives only in a home, i am living in a sathram, maybe when i make a nest and settle down to it, HE will have a permanent dwelling place.

Ups - Career - The the longest I have worked at one place in my professional career - 8+ months now and counting. Last september when i returned to the US, I had made a firm decision to not go back to programming, i kept with it despite the delay in getting a job, took training in Cognos, a business reporting tool, and it has looked so far to be a right choice I made as a kind of wayside gas station to refuel and a stop-over motel to rework strategies on unravelling the big mystery to my purpose of living. Work was lazy till managers changed and now its hectic but I have been able to deal with it. I continue to be sick of meetings, the dozens of emails to be read and replied, the tasks to be managed, there are times I feel like running away but the money that has come in has helped. Thoughts of frustration and mediocrity have been relegated to the fringes of my existence. Love for, needs satisfied and the temporary security provided by money have given me justification and motivation to carry on for a few more months. A new career will beckon soon, it is a start from scratch, unless I find myself in it, I won't believe I made the transition. I am scared too. That is why I keep it secret.

Downs - Blogging - The latter part of the year has been a struggle to keep this blog going. Except for the upcoming expected interregnum in december I except this downward slide to continue next year too. Decided not to put pen to paper on thoughts arising from nostalgia and past memories and instead write only of present and future. Sadly I didn't do anything significant in the present, and the few posts I came up with in the last few months arose from career thoughts. To be frank, the hazy dreams of the future is the only thing playing in my mind now and there is space for nothing else. My mind is muddled and my words are lacking in flow now. Hopefully being back in tvm will put me back in some creative orbit. Still there will be positives from this year in that I arrived on the guts to post on this blog, a malayalam short story in january. There is some mystic almost spiritual energy for the malayalam language bubbling in me...I have a gut feeling that if I write to publish, it will happen in malayalam and not in english, despite all my inadequacies in the language. In february-march when 5-6 months had passed and i was still jobless and at wits end, i dug into my reserves of humour and memories and wrote on funny incidents to conquer all the worries and regain my sanity. Beyond blogging, as a writer this year was significant in that I tried to take classes in creative writing and screenplay to master the techniques behind it - I lost interest midway through, but I have the notes and hopefully will peruse them some other day. In writing fiction, a thankless process is coming up with story ideas, atleast once every day for the past one year, I have gone on a journey with my mind to craft many a tale, most of them never got anywhere, some find their way to summarized scribblings in my notepad jotted down while half-asleep, possibly never to be expanded on. I finally have another story to write now, but am troubled, with both the english language and determination deserting me in the effort to write. And finally grammar. I have given it a total miss all these years in the freedom of ownership that blogging offers...maybe it as to do with the rigid syntax checking enforced on us techies by programming tools! But using the right tenses, placing commas, spellchecks, I am making an effort to get these as right as possible nowadays. On re-reading my older posts, I now wonder if I slept through the english grammar classes in school!

Downs - Travel - Last year presented me with the opportunity to travel in North India. It was a great learning experience for me, my eyes soaked up the lives of so many people, and the sights of so many places. a lot of that found expression on this blog too. In contrast, this year found me wallowing away at home. In the past, I have done road trips in the US and covered the country, from the Pacific to the Atlantic coast. The absence of people, and not learning anything new in these travels has affirmed in me an aversion to travel here. All i can think of as travel this year, was a trip to chicago to hang out with cousins, one to florida for a family reunion, a weekend camping at hollister hills near san jose and a sailing trip few weeks back(my initial enthusiasm to don a sailor's cap during the trip and hoist and turn sails, etc died down in the open sea with rough waves giving the boat a real tossing and me a mild attack of sea-sickness which I did well to conceal from friends...whoever named the Pacific Ocean so, had an incredible sense of humour!)

Downs - Reading - I'd blame the computer and the internet for distracting me with youtube and malayalam movies and indian websites but my inability to set all this aside and take up a book and read, which i know would give me the same pleasure, is baffling to say the least! First library books, then amazon.com...i thought since the library books are free, buying from amazon would force me to read...no luck either ways. Brought a lot of malayalam works from kerala to read, most of them are still waiting for me. Shame on you, jibster!

Ups - Health - One day I took a bus, it braked, I almost got thrown but for the grip on the sidebar, i felt the muscles on my back stretch and dreaded for a second, of it tearing(I am now on my fourth year running in the US without medical insurance. I don't know why i keep taking these foolish risks...but i am glad i dont give any money to the scamsters!). That day i came back home, and announced to my sis, who had been cajoling me for a long time to hit the gym, that i would join her. We hired a personal trainer, who has managed to work wonders to my lean, atrophying physique and after years and years of being skinny and perpetually underweight, i stand today at a healthy 70kgs. I have had the worst eating habits too...i have skipped breakfast for close to 10 years now because of stomach trouble or because of running late for school/work but have now got back into that habit. I have been a compulsive outside eater too for the last many many years, cheap junk food from the fast food chains here like MacDonalds,BurgerKing, Taco Bell, Pizza Hut, etc have been my main source of nourishment in the US, i'd rather starve than cook, but now its been goodbye to junkfood for quite a while now, salads and a little fruit is all part of my diet now, and its as great and feel-good as chicken. The sis has been urging me to eat at home for a long time, I feel guilty making her cook after a tough day at work, but she convinced me that despite all my liberal postures, in my heart of hearts i am yet another mallu male chauvinist and that she wouldn't grudge me for it, but asked me to think of money i can save, not eating out, that i can put to better use for the future. Anyways all's well that ends well and i haven't had a fever for more than a year now. Touch wood! Looking forward to the reunion at school next month, and giving all 'em big boys a good run for the ball, when we play football and basketball.

<-> - Sleep - Is it a blessing or a curse I dunno. I have to take a nap once I get back from work. Without the nap, I am like a chathakozhi all evening and feel totally passive all night. Some nights, I get a good early sleep without the nap, but my habit of digging for stories is at its peak when i lie in bed, sometimes this causes me to become restless or excited and i stay awake for hours. But with the 2 hour evening nap, it gives me a cushion to go to bed at 1 but fall asleep only by 2 or 3 in the morning and wake up at 8am, and it all adds up to the perfect sleep hours! The sad part following the 2 hour nap, is that I haven't channeled my rejuvenated self to any constructive work in the 5 waking hours i get after.

<-> - Time - Time flies. Another blessing and curse dimension! A blessing in that my life from monday morning to friday evening at work and from friday evening to monday morning at home is over so fast, that the months gone by feel like a thankful blur and the months lying ahead to my D-day also look to pass by in that same fashion. It is also a curse in that, I look at some illustrious people in their twenties, many of them my classmates, and it pisses me that while I laze away, these people are working hard in their respective professions and doing a lot of fruitful stuff. Maybe my time is yet to come. Ha!

Downs - Friends - This was the year that friendships moved several rungs down the priority ladder for me. Previously I couldn't conceive a world without friends. As a part of my experiment with life, erected a wall between them and me, for several months of this year. I angered many of them. It was a cold, dark and empty world without them. But I managed. I joked to myself, talked to myself and lived for myself. The cellphone became an irritant. The experiment ended the day I decided on my next career, and rang some of them up. I was relieved, that I hadn't damaged the ties I consider more important to me than the ones with my relatives. I now see how these friendships will work in the coming years, from daily, the contacts with them had become weekly, now its monthly, in time we will be lucky to catch up once in a year or years. Career and family first, everything else comes second. Its a practical law of the universe, and it has caught me also in its drift.

<-> - Misc -
a. Watched quite a few good indian movies, old and new.
b. Have become an absent minded, impatient driver
c. Learnt to skip.(with rope!)
d. Drink a lot of water nowadays
e. Drinking rarely now, but when i drink its becoming a binge.
f. Too much youtubing (my faves)

Downs - Resolutions - The latest resolution made was just yesterday to take the 25 day lent for Christmas. There are a set of bad habits that I wanted to give up. Inspiration came from the 41 day Sabarimala vratham that Sreenivasan took in Chinthavishtayaaya Shyaamala! Maybe I love my weaknesses too much or I am too stuck in the morass of worldly indulgence. Not even one full day into the fast, I sheepishly promised infant jesus that I would try and welcome him into the world in better fashion next year! So no more resolutions...i have given up on reforming me...whatever good things happened, came by itself, the bad i invited in. Hopefully I have atleast learnt to reject new temptations.

This is my log of the year's activities. Sorry for the occasional bad language and haphazard writing. Goodbye 2007. Yours was a year I was caught stationary in a place, time and circumstances helpless in pursuing the call of my heart, meanwhile the earth went around the sun and did its full circle...you are also almost history now, but I am still standing. What if I run with the earth in 2008, do a lot of things differently, where will I be, 366 days hence, will I look at yet another winter sun and sing to him a different tune, will I perceive his balmy warmth on my face, and be able to offer a thankful smile in return? Is happiness always a thing of the past? Is satisfaction always a soother of the present? Is uncertainty always a primer for the future? Well life goes on...it dances only to the tune of those who can clear their minds of all the jarring notes, but Hope is the brand name of the dancing shoes I wear, and it keeps me on my toes. Enough of getting profoundly idiotic...wish you all a very happy new year.

Idle Blogging...

2007-11-21T13:49:00.000-08:00

I have blogger open. I usually type up my posts in notepad and paste over. Today is the day before thanksgiving. I have a four day weekend coming up. My friends in LA are off on a trip to Hawaii. Our ideas of a vacation differed. So I backed out. Now I will sit at home and twiddle my thumbs. I am not in the mood to work today. I have had a hectic month. So today is payback. I am not in the mood to blog either. But I have to do something. I am tired of browsing and reading other people write. I am obsessively compelled to add my share of bytes to google's huge memory dump.

I am at my desk, surrounded by 4 walls which do not reach the ceiling, the glorified work space we post-modern employees call a cubicle. Papers lie carelessly strewn all around. I am not a sucker for order. The carpet is clean today. Someone must have vacuumed the floor over the weekend. Last week, there were bits and pieces of chocolate strewn all over the floor which I frantically tried to clean, but ended up smudging with my shoes. I had bought a slab of white chocolate. It was too hard to break it. So I had to bite at it. Chocolate is one of my innocent pleasures. I will never outgrow my childhood when it comes to chocolate. Lets not speak about childhood here. The coffee is growing cold. I need to get another cup. I love the coffee in winter. It warms me up. I hate the taste though...they call it by different names nowadays but it all tastes pretty much the same...for me nothing better than filter coffee at a South Indian vegetarian restaurant. It also helps me overcome my hunger. Speaking of hunger, I mix up my lunch on weekdays. Monday and Wednesday are Indian, Tuesday mexican, thursday american, and friday something different. There wont be a friday this week. So today I had italian for lunch. A cheesy lasagne with spinach on top. I spend liberally on food. It is in revengeful memory of the days I had to starve, some years back. But let me not go back to the past again.

I was in an all-day meeting yesterday and this one was productive for a change. I looked at the 10 faces around. Faces from all over the world...america, china, india, england, south-east asia, persia. I noticed this glib-tongued desi consultant who held forte for most of the meeting. He spoke remarkably good english, a very healthy usage of american pronunciation enhancing his already perfect indian accent. I was envious, i would never speak so good english. I love the way americans pronounce words. They stylise every word to give it the best sound. I think Indian English sounds the next best. I hate the way brits and aussies speak english...it is hard for me to understand. I hate their accent. Period.

I am biding my time to get off work. Usually we get to leave early on the eve of a long weekend. No such email announcing early pack-up has come today. I don't care. After all there is nothing to do at home. And I bill by the hour. I have deadlines to be met, but I will come back on monday and start over, I have decided I can't work today. I am not a professional. I never will be one. I will never make a good manager either. It is going to get dark early. Even if I drive back home at 4, I will need headlights turned on. I hate driving in the dark. There is nothing to look at, other than the road ahead. By now the road has been mapped firmly in memory. I know which lanes are faster at each bend, and at each stretch, I know the side roads to divert to when I hit traffic. The commute takes me 25 minutes sharp, both ways. I wonder if I am part robot, part zombie, part human or like in Matrix am in a world someone's programmed for me.

Now what? I have four holidays. I love to sleep heavily on weekends. I have been sleeping a lot lately. I have a dozen books and movies in various stages of reading and watching, my concentration span has always been short. We don't have a TV at home so that I don't waste time. My knowledge of american pop culture is at zilch as a result. TV shows, the NBA and the college football season, music bands...i know nothing of all that. What I know is from the internet and google news, I am loving the dems' presidential debates put up on youtube, i am supporting Hillary just because i absolutely love Bill Clinton...Obama is definitely the better man, but i don't think he will win this time, I hope Hillary takes him on as running mate so that in 4-8 years of his stay in DC, he will have grown in stature internationally. His strong candidature has shaken the rest of the world which thinks America is racist. Alright the email has come in for us to take leave. Blogging for the sake of blogging...the fall of another blogger, ain't it? Enough bull, i have served you all...that was a real overdose of disjointed and random musings. Apologies and Sympathies! My holiday season is beginning. This is the time Americans erupt in a wild orgasm of senseless spending followed by gasping at the depleted bank balances. There is a lot of mysterious excitement building up for me too...more of that later.

The Young And The Affluent...

2007-10-09T00:13:00.000-07:00

This weekend some of my mallu juniors from the Bay Area came visiting. These are the kind of guys I would love to avoid but they shower too much affection on me that I just can't get away from them how much ever I try. It is just not them, even my best friends from school and college...the way their lives have taken off has left me breathless and of course, inspired. Some years back I wrote a post on how my American friends were faring professionally. I also wrote a post on our awkward beginnings in America. Today all that is history. I am amazed really at the changes happening in front of my eyes, half-scared, half-wondering why none of it rubs off on me. The flashiest cars be it the Porsche Boxters, the Nissan 350Zs, Infiniti G35s, Ford Mustangs, Range Rovers rest in their garages, the coolest accessories like Versace glasses, iPhones, Diesel shoes...they have it all and flaunt it too with a panache that makes me laugh at all those cliches of Indians being geeky/nerdy/shy, sticking to corollas, camry's, civics, can't even get it up with a girl, etc. My friends are changing all that. These guys dine and wine at expensive places, have begun travelling to exotic places, some look to and succeed in dating americans, you name it...its all there in their "resumes". These same guys who were once so self-conscious of their FOB status, now look at people coming from India, especially the hordes of on-site visitors and watch with amusement as they too learn the ropes of becoming cool.

We drove in to this high-end shopping mall in Beverly Hills. I assumed we were in for another one of those bouts of window shopping and kept muttering restlessly.To my surprise the guys actually went into a few stores and came out spending a cool amount of money on designer stuff that left me a little irritated, a little unhappy that I who probably made much more than these guys, thanks to a greencard holding, free-wheeling, overpaid consultant job felt the pinch in my pocket, though it was they who laid off those greenbacks.
I asked one of them, "Dey, nee enthina inganathe carum saamagrikalum vaangiche kooti kaashe kalayunne?"
He told me,"This is why I came to the US. I want a good life. Why did you come here?"
His poser left me sorry for asking, and I gingerly replied, "I had the greencard."
"What do you do with your money?" he asked not letting me off the hook so easy, I guessed there was talk amongst them, that I was a miser.
"I let it add up or send it home. I don't know what else to do with it."
He thankfully left it at that...but I felt like a child in front of this "kid" who was 4 years younger to me.

A few months back I was in Chicago at my cousin's place, and similarly put-off by the high-end lifestyle she and her friends lived. I probed her about it and she gave me and the rest of us younger kids a pep-talk that went miles into helping me decide finally what I wanted from life. She and friends studied hard through school and college not wasting time fooling around, found good jobs, banded around other super-achievers like them, made sure they were placed for vertical growth and now could fall back a bit and enjoy all the best things money could provide. She advised me to do the same, identify the right career i wanted to pursue and start putting in the hard work atleast now. She opened my eyes to a grave misreading I made about youth, friendships, etc. I was the kind of guy who prided myself on having an amazing school and college life, great friendships, wonderful memories, etc but I realized none of it was of any use now. I was wasting time then as I was now. I looked around, and realized those same friends who were part of those rowdy gangs had moved on, started taking life seriously, are in line for great success,some married already and are great husbands, yet they never lost their bonds with me and could talk in the same vein of our heydays, crack jokes, call each other obscenities, give each other advise knowing it wont be remembered in the bonhomie of our chatter.

You guys will be wondering why I have so many back-to-back personal posts. The reason is, these are some new lessons I have learnt along the way the last few months, lessons that if you who is one of my younger readers who is enjoying life like I did, may not have realized or won't have anyone to tell you. I am at a stage where bad habits have hardened and tough to be changed, where its natural to come home after work and rest and do nothing though your mind wills otherwise, where weekends are spent sleeping, browsing, watching movies, or hanging out with friends even when something keeps chanting in you to change course, where the danger of being satisfied and even further accept this mediocre existence lurks perenially around the corner. I have always wondered why the world has so many proverbs and aphorisms on time, but now I feel the pinch for every minute wasted. Happily there are no regrets for the past yet, but the present lies wasted(Sarah emailed asking, besides telling me other good things, "Why do you think the tense for now is called "present" in the english language?"). The title of this post may be a misnomer...i may or may not agree with the materialism that has gripped my friends, i guess i have no right to judge them...their lifestyles may have changed but they are still the good old guys i knew back then. Their affluence, my restlessness, the youthful vigor on which these friendships were built, our paths are diverting away from the junction we once ran into each other...when we meet again, years hence, at another confluence, what new tales will I have, to tell of their exploits?

Oh! Its Oct 2nd...What's the Big Deal???

2007-10-02T13:51:00.000-07:00

I almost forgot today was Gandhi Jayanti. And I dont remember anymore if the last many years have also gone by in that manner. We live in a day and age where the only heroes we get to truely celebrate are armymen who give up their lives in the service of the country, business czars whose enterprise have provided millions of jobs and then we have the idols of young India, film actors and cricketers whose smiling, glamorous faces look up from a million posters and billboards throughout the homes and streets of gung-ho India. Those grand old men and women who fought the British, their memories relegated to school textbooks, their place in the sun not yet lost, ironically by idols installed at prime locations, yet I am sure not a single passer-by notices them except for birds looking for a nice spot to rest and shit. There is this statue in Raj Bhavan road of freedom fighter Akkamma Cherian, I must have passed it by for many years and always thought it was Indira Gandhi until a chapter in the textbook about her forced me to open my eyes. Later we studied about Swadeshabhimani Ramakrishna Pillai, the first of many men who fought for the amazing Freedom of Press, we now enjoy today in Kerala, whose statue I was told could be seen in Statue Jn but I never found it till one day waiting for a bus near the Marikar showroom I spotted him shrouded in the tree cover leading up to the AG's Office.

There is this favorite moment I have had with Gandhiji. It is a feeling I will cherish forever. It was during my MS days and I was walking to work on a campus road which stretched out in a straight line and ended up in an undergraduate student housing building. It was dark, close to midnight and there was this one light shining from a room, which seemed to guide me on ahead. Like most guys, the first fancy that came to my mind was seeing a girl in that room, in a state of undress. As I kept getting closer, the faint outlines of a picture on the wall caught my attention. I couldnt make out who it was, but it held me transfixed until the shape of the Mahatma grew clearer and clearer. Besides him on either side was a poster of Abraham Lincoln and Martin Luther King. I smiled to myself and wondered what possible source of inspiration could the Mahatma be to a person in the most affluent country in the world, when even Indians don't care anymore. There are moments like these, when you recognize the presence of a great man in your life, and you acknowledge his contribution to making your life a better one. Isn't that what is called immortality? Some months later we were walking on the street, when a homeless guy sniggered at us, "Gandhi Boys!" It may have been a racial taunt but we smiled, and I shouted back at him, "Thank You!" and would have loved to add, "But we don't deserve the compliment!"

Gandhiji's outward political postures, even if not in spirit are kept alive and kicking in our country, if you see the kadar clothing, bandhs, hartals, jathas, satyagraha what not. We have politicians to thank for that...if Gandhi was just a politician he wouldnt have survived...even he displayed selfishness and lack of grace at times. But his greatness was that he had lessons for ordinary people too. Even between politics he taught the importance of hygiene and a clean environment...it is funny that when ministers like Kamal Nath fight for India not to be brought under purview of greenhouse emission, he hides the fact that global warming is hurting India more than any other country in the world. I feel it...the biggest challenge before India in coming years is not democracy, corruption, economy or insurgency...it is climate change. In India, every man grosses wealth, in the safe knowledge that he is doing it for his children, but when it comes to anything that is global wealth, these same men exploit it without realizing they are digging their grandchildrens' graves even before they are born. Man is always helpless, for centuries we feared and grappled with the challenges earth posed, now we are so in the grip of technology and modernity, and acknowledge we face an earth we have tapped at indiscriminately, but cant face upto even a few minutes of power-cut, loss of transportation, air-condition or connectivity!

One moment, I make all these utopian(maybe even gandhian) schemes on how I should lead life...next moment, I find that same me, doing the exact opposites of what I thought of earlier. Truth, Non-Violence, Conquest of the Self...such impossibilities for us pampered people. For me the biggest challenge has been to win over my baser instincts...a lazy nap, porn, mindless movies, pointless net-surfing, companionships past their shelf-date and associated habits...the first book that ever gave me the tools to deal with it was no Bible or motivators like Dale Carnegie, Lee Iococa etc...but Gandhiji's My Experiments With Truth. Once you finish reading the book you realize that it wasn't an accident of history that a man like Gandhiji lead India to freedom. In his seemingly-pointless-for-us abstinence, vegeterianism, brahmacharya, etc he toughened his soul to give him the courage to face the higher aims of his life like truth, non-violence and India's freedom. It is the simplest yet most profoundly touching and inspiring book you can lay your hands on for as less as Rs.30. Truth, Non-violence and probably most of his experiments in the book are i guess beyond what we mere 21st century zombies can aspire for, but it also has lessons in simplicity, time-management, humility, health, social commitment and work-ethic we still can commit to, which can help us succeed and feel good about, in our busy lives. Gandhiji once lived amongst us, he still lives in us, we rarely seek to find out...a brilliant Rajkumar Hirani makes a Lage Raho Munnabhai and we rave about Gandhigiri for a while, every year we have an Independence Day and a Gandhi Jayanti, but if each of us truely want to celebrate him, his life and the freedom he and his men won for us, pick up his book, buy it for your friends, who knows...you or that person might discover a Gandhian thought in some simple action of yours, and who knows...we might even end up saving Earth! Happy Birthday, Gandhiji.

P.S - Albert Einstein, the man who pipped Gandhi to the 'Time Man of the Century' Award said of Gandhiji, "Generations to come will scare believe such a one as this in flesh and blood, walked the face of the Earth". I wonder if Einstein's fine statement will become a prophesy...Gandhiji becoming some unattainable freak great soul rather than the very human being he was...he will be remembered for sure...but how he is remembered lies very much in how much of him we can find in our lives, we the youth of India who are a link between a morbid, stagnating recent past and an exciting but hazardous near future owe atleast this much to that man.

On The Birthday Eve - Ten Confessions

2007-09-22T10:29:00.000-07:00

Two years ago was my 25th birthday and it proved a singular milestone that offered to a lost traveler, a chance to once more feel the joy of living...I don't know what was different with me then and today...maybe I have grown in the knowledge of who I am and what this birth means to me, or maybe not. I remember of being content then with all I had to do to get to that point, and thus wrote that post...I was ready to take my life in my hands, though I knew not what I wanted from it. Today is another story, the past is a distant blur, the present an insignificant blip on the horizon, and the future stands right before my eyes unattainable yet. Every approaching birthday, these last few years has been a time for churn, change and new resolve...2003 i dug my heels in and decided to salvage my MS, 2004 i quit my first job without saving up a single penny, 2005 mustered the wits to give the UPSC a try, last September swallowed my pride and came back to the US. This time I have been lucky to have undertaken the by-now customary bday revolution quite earlier than September, but find myself dealing with the struggle of surviving 200 days before the next attempt to chart yet another course in life begins. I donot know what the intention of this post will be...is it to record for my posterity, my frame of mind at this point of time, or is it to find some clarity, which writing, more often than not, gives me.

Existence
I am appalled that several people close to me, expect wonders to happen. I think this blog gave them that idea. I can't think of anything else worthwhile, that I have done, during my time on Earth. Several things that I did, I now see as being done to give meaning to my existence at that point of time. In school, I read books to escape the confines of my introversion and my complexes. Later it was my friendships that defined my existence, and the books lay forgotten. In college, I took up drinking, hoping it would make me a man, hoping it would nullify self-questions of my adolescent manhood - such superficial stuff for me today like unsprouting facial hair, being underweight, and lack of physical courage. During Master's working at the Film School and my growing interest in movies gave the "Jeene Ki Ik Wachah". At work and lost, blogging came to the rescue, at Civil Service coaching travelling saved me, today surprisingly it is the naked need for money to satisfy a lot of my needs over the next few years that is helping me cling on. Of course it is my hope that these experiences/memories help me in future.

Flicker
Blogging used to be not just about letting my thoughts wander and capturing them in words but also about being part of a blogger community, reading my fellow bloggers, appreciating and imbibing their views and writing styles, leaving comments, etc. Nowadays I hate to wander in blogosphere. I feel a sad guilt at not doing my duty because I know how much a blogger loves to hear from a fellow blogger about his/her latest post. I am reading, M.Mukundan's Haridwaril Manikal Muzhangunnu, a superb novella of hardly 100 pages, but I can't read beyond a page at a time before my concentration wavers. It must be jealousy at play, how such wonderful yet simple writing takes shape, whether in blogging or fiction writing. I worry that with my interest in reading at such a nadir, how my thoughts and ideas and love for writing can grow beyond the frankly adolescent level, that it is now at.

Waiting
For a lot of my life, I have waited for others to give me a helping hand. More often than not, that hand never came. I have longed for friends or relatives to begin path-breaking companies, so I can go work for them, for friends to break into the entertainment industry, for my dad to push me through into a field I can succeed in...riding on other people's wings was a lazy fantasy that I nurtured stupidly for far too long. Its been some time since I have realized the initiative to better my life had to come from me, and yet I can't help thinking why things are taking so long to change for me. My dad always tells me, "If I had your talent, I wouldn't have wasted it"...and I wryly muse,"Pops, if I had your ambition..."

Smiling
I remember I used to have a perpetual warm smile, once upon a time. I have caught myself several times with a frown on my face, several times with a weak, laboured and artificial manufacture replacing that once all-powerful beacon, while a deep emptiness resides in that mysterious place somewhere inside, that once powered the lone good thing about me.

Yearning
What is the idea of home? It cant be just the four walls of my house, my parents, my people, my language, my awareness of culture, tradition and history...it must be something much deeper than all this, that has found an abode in me, that has me going back, every moment these last many years. At a family reunion few weeks back, my uncle the novelist chap, remarked, that "Perhaps Jiby, has not, unlike the rest of us, found himself melting into the American mainstream like the rest of us." My sister's reply confirmed why she will probably know me better than anyone else on earth, "Achacha, it is nothing about America that he finds uncomfortable, it is India that drives him." Those words from her mouth, had to find its place in this post...she has stood like a pillar carrying me along, speaking for me when I lost my voice. No sister of today's times ever lifted a brother from failure like she saved me...I've always wondered how the finest human beings are people who are unassuming and seem ordinary to me.

Weariness
why cant I approach every day with reinvigorated zest. Why every day begins, continues and ends in intermittent tired yawns. Going to the gym would help, I thought, but the physical energy just doesn't seep into my spirit. The brawn is beginning to show up, the brain remains clouded in a perpetual suspension of all purpose. Wonder if Yoga will help. I tried hypnotism but that's a hilarious story for another day. Took online creative writing and screenwriting courses but gave up on it midway for lack of ideas and inability to stick to class schedules. There was a time in life that I had a spring in every enthusiastic step I took. The summer of my fatigue has bade goodbye, now the winter of my discontent is past the threshold and at home, will an eternal spring with fresh spirits come knocking at my doorsteps soon?

Impatience
For several months now, I took life as coming, Week by Week, with the weekend resuscitating and rejuvenating me. Until I took the decision on the next career. Now it is becoming harder to plough by each day. Each hour brings thoughts of what will happen ahead, the thousands of hours to be furrowed ahead to get there worries me no end. I used to be the guy who others envied for living life carefree and how I have changed! Will i lose my job and not find another one soon enough, will I meet my financial targets, will I fall sick, will my plans be derailed, a myriad such thorns plague my path ahead, wish I was that witch with the broom who could sweep past all this and fly ahead to meet the next call of life. Or is this life in all its colours?

Preparing
A week back, I serviced my car, then took it to a carwash and on the way back a feeling of well-being on how smoothly it ran and how good it was looking coursed through me. For some months now, have been urging my weak soul to reconcile with the material losses to be suffered and luxuries to be rejected, if I am ever to shed this moneyed mediocrity that is pinning down my happiness. Unguarded moments of such coziness will surely keep making life difficult. Will having all the accessories and luxuries of life compensate the sadness of living a most sterile, untested, homogeneous existence...I ask myself if I am the most foolish Indian in America.

Fear
There was a time I earnestly looked up to this bday as a time for setting aside singledom. I was vainly confident in the knowledge that family, NRI-ship, career and character could win me the right girl, any day i set out for it. As I set about rebuilding my ship caught in choppy waters, I realize its just not the career that is wrong with me, the person that I am today is a demon shrouded deceptively in human garb. If there is a fear in me today, it is one of commitment to another human being...I find myself incapable of any kindness, even to the people who love me most. Ironic that having discovered the girl who had captured for a long long time, my wonderment and unrequited, unspoken inquisitiveness, I scared myself away and realized it best to let things be and stay off it all. Some lives move in a tangent, barely touching, never intersecting...maybe that is the fate with this un-dis-lodge-able pinprick in my heart too.

Something
I don't know what it is. Something tells me all this will change. Something tells me I will find motivation. Something tells me I will persevere. I trust that Something...I agree to play along.

P.S - After the first read, I thought this was quite a silly post and decided to junk it. But the second read prompted me to resolve and I realized it wasn't such a bad exercise of looking inwards after all. Resolutions for this bday include surfing news websites every day without fail, reading two novels a week, blogging once a fortnight, writing one short story a month, and pen down a malayalam film script within a year. I leave you folks with a beautiful song as a birthday treat, my favorite this season, it is a christian devotional, but then doesnt good music transcend all these narrow boundaries.

Nee Veruthathe Aare???

2007-09-11T00:10:00.000-07:00

It is a dilemma that hits me hard every time I sit down to write. English or Malayalam? I have heard people say the language that you think in is the language that you are most comfortable with. English is the language I grew up with - learning, reading and loving but Malayalam was the language I was raised up in, speaking and hearing. I have scarce given attention to the language of my thoughts, but when I began to write them down on this blog, English was the natural language of choice. But as time progressed, the itching to see what little of Malayalam survived in me, had grown to a point, that I have come to curse myself for the step-motherly treatment, I have meted out the mother-tongue all along.

It all began twenty one years ago; that summer vacation in my native place stays ever so fresh in memory. A 6 year old kid sat teary-eyed and shivering before the stern glare of the woman who taught the basics of malayalam to the children in the village. I was getting the alphabets wrong; my mom, ammachi and appachan crowded around the dining table trying to help. But I just kept getting worse and worse. The slide that began then continued year after year. I barely managed to scrape through exam after exam. The malayalam textbook, the malayalam teacher and the malayalam language remained a recurring nightmare of childhood that eluded tiding over.

The 6th Standard, was the first time I came into an oddly tangible, but then-unwanted inheritance - the knowledge that a small part of the malayalam literary corpus ran through my blood too. We had to study a poem, Aethen Thottam (Garden of Eden) written by Mahakavi Kattakayam. Inquired of him to my dad, but the pride which radiated off Pop's face as he recounted the Mahakavi's works and achievements scarce resonated in me. And then it happened. Our Malayalam sir, a literary critic of some renown then, an ancient hoary figure who scared us beyond all mention, was distributing answer papers, he reached mine, looked at my name, then my marks, and asked, "Cheriyan Mappilayude Aarayitte Varum Nee?" I replied and with an expression of pathetic condescension, passed me my paper. If ever I wanted to toss the family name attached to me, it was that moment. Jiby John offered me anonymity. Jiby John Kattakayam was an embarassment in Malayalam classes. Since then, I never used Kattakayam in school and in a gesture befitting my hallowed ancestor, bunked school, the day Aethan Thottam was taught, to skip further shame!

There were brief moments of magic - like when learning SankaraKurup's Mambazham, Malayatoor's Mummy, ONV's Oru Vattom, Lalithambika Antharjanam's Bhoomiyile Malakha, Uroob's Mindapennu and Poonthanam's Jnanappana but those were minor blips in a rigid syllabus that restricted malayalam into an academic subject, rather than a rich language with a good corpus of literature, we just didnt have avenues to know of. The way ICSE and CBSE schools which today are mushrooming throughout Kerala, treat Malayalam, needs to change. I went on to pass Malayalam with "high honours" in the 10th...the second lowest mark in the whole school...I didnt feel shame but blew a sigh of relief that I was done with Malayalam for life, but how wrong I was, how ironic has the turnaround been...in a blog where I extracted maximum mileage and sought self-gratification for the years of anglophilia, I write in loss today about a phobia that grasped me all those years to the cusp of a feverish hatred. Knowing English is good, but trust me, knowing my mother tongue better has been one of the most fervent prayers on my lips, these last few years. I read Basheer, Mukundan, MT and Vijayan today in the hope of reversing my ageing, hoping to make up for the many lost years, in the hope of finding the ability to write in Malayalam too, as freely and with the same youthful abandon, as I can in English. Remains to be seen if I can succeed...

Last year in Delhi, we had a discussion on Khasak, and a dear friend who was part of it, asked me if the english translation by Vijayan himself was anywhere close to the Malayalam original. Embarassed, I told him I had read the english version only and couldnot help on that question. It got me back into reading a malayalam work again and some events from a little later which I have blogged about before, gave me the impetus to atleast try. All said, even this post on Malayalam, I have succumbed to the easiness of writing in English. Maybe its too late, maybe its the overwhelming delusion of my still-strong fascination for English that is preventing me, maybe it is the laziness to master Varamozhi, but it's a restlessness that wont stop devouring me unless I write just once more in malayalam. I guess its true, that old saying - Pettammeyolam Varumo Pottamma.

P.S: I have said somewhere that the books read in the schooldays, the experiences in later life especially the exposure to a new world, have helped in the blogging process...I forgot to add something else to that potent combination. It might seem absurd to you guys but it is a fact...the 5000 strong wordlist I memorized day in and day out for my GRE preps. That took my vocabulary to a new plane all together...and I have rarely needed an english dictionary since then. These days I look at the Shabdatharavali wistfully hoping I knew atleast 1% of the malayalam words it carries, I know I am too old, lazy and busy to slog through its 2000 pages. If only someone has a wordlist of malayalam words prepared and put out there, that I can read, memorize and equip myself with...maybe to talk, maybe to write or maybe just to think in! Forget writing, these days very few people talk good malayalam, colloquial and commonplace words have taken so firm a-firm-hold on us...that I feel the wordlist is a viable option to save both the spoken and the written language.

Did You Know???

2007-08-31T04:54:00.001-07:00

In an age dominated by the lazy game of cricket, that even a pretender like me can play with aplomb, the news of India reaching the final and then winning the Nehru Cup, screamed at me for attention and then filled me with a genuine feeling of happiness. If you still thought, it was another cricket tourney, forget it. Be ready to blink...the game was soccer and the opponents were not our regular South Asian neighbours. I went through this video and countless articles on the triumph with hope of a turnaround in a sport that India was genuinely good at until the mid-90's and then faded away. It can't be a coincidence that India's performance in athletics, football, tennis, and countless other sports took the downward trend once cricket attracted our singular attraction? A regular, pleasing, thrilling sight on train journeys through Kerala was local youngsters playing football and volleyball and a small crowd watching them...cricket took that place for a while, but last year again i saw those small-timers back to playing football and i rejoiced. Maybe the soccer World Cup last year has certainly helped India.

The Nehru Cup held in TVM in the late eighties was my first initiation into watching a sport as a spectator. A C.V.Pappachen goal from the left flank beating three Czechoslovakian defenders and netting the ball from an almost 180deg angle to the goal mouth is still fresh in memory. I.M.Vijayan debuted the next year for Kerala Police who won the Federation Cup, following which Kerala won the Santhosh Trophy after 18 years. V.P.Sathyan, the captain of the two victorious teams, who tragically killed himself last year was the hero of every malayali then. In school, I still remember every one of my classmates playing football with these names on their mouths. In the eighties and early 90's Kerala sport reached its pinnacle with supreme performances in athletics by PT Usha, Shiny Wilson and co, in basketball with CV Sunny, Jayashankar Menon and the rest of their Kerala Police team, volleyball under late Jimmy George besides the legendary football team I wrote of earlier.

Some years back a very talented young footballer who promised a lot and should have been part of this victorious team, Pradeep Jose(not sure that is his name, memory has faded, there is a kerala footballer, Vinu Jose, i think he is his brother, or maybe...), whom I had seen playing for Calicut University once, on that superb Trivandrum Doordarshan programme, Kalikkalam, who made it to the Kerala State team and indian team but died of typhoid, unknown, uncared for, in a hospital in Andhra Pradesh where he had gone, representing Kerala in some tournament. Last year or year before, I saw a Santhosh trophy match, i think the semi or final, which could be termed listless at best, long overhead cross passes failing to reach their intended recipient, clumsy tackles, a boringly sedate "friendly" performance, and i flicked channels, wondering how things came to so low a level. Its heartbreaking to see Leander stretch himself to his limits to keep India in the Davis Cup match after match, and no youngster coming up to replace him, either in skill or spirit and you wonder how, in earlier times, a steady flow of talented players like Ramanathan Krishnan, Vijay Amritraj, Ramesh Krishnan, Leander Peas and Mahesh Bhupathi kept arriving to take over the baton from the older set.

Is cricket responsible? Are we responsible? Were the men who marketed cricket more smarter than the ones who helmed football, hockey and athletics? With enthusiasm, I told my colleague of India winning the Nehru Cup and he scornfully remarked, "Maybe it was some local team." This same person keeps bombarding me with cricket scores each time India plays. If an Indian, can show such extremes of apathy and empathy for two Teams' in Blue, all of us can imagine, what sort of inspiration, support and pride indian sports persons outside cricket have to play for. I don't know if its a mentality developed as an offshoot of globalization, that the weaker ones are left by the wayside...but we see it happening everywhere. In the agricultural sector, in movies, in sports, arts and in almost every aspect of Indian life, a lot of what has been welded to make up our India has been ignored and left to fend for itself. Surely, all this doesnot bode well for us. Ironically, it needed an Englishman to coach, impart confidence and set free a young set of caged boys from the stigma of being ignored by their own countrymen and gain their attention, not by marketing, sponsorship or hype but through a renaissance on the football ground. Is Indian football rising from the ashes? I'd like to believe so.

Goliath Is Winning...

2007-08-13T14:49:00.000-07:00

I was in a bad, bad mood. Got into the car. Put on one of my fave songs lately, from Vadakkumnathan, Gange, the last classical song from the late Raveendran & Yesudas combo. Mohanlal's voice came up previewing the song and I shut it off hastily. "Drat! I want some silence." I clenched my teeth and felt like biting my lips to grind out the irritation with that voice which once soothed, once made me laugh, cry and fall in love with love. My sis giggled at my frustration, making an effort to hide hers. We had just come out from a screening of this years mega-blockbuster in malayalam, hit directorial team of Rafi-Meccartin's Hallo. This year had seen me repeat the angry act many times over...after watching Baba Kalyani, Mayavi and Chota Mumbai which have been the big hits this year. I have a new cardinal rule in place for watching malayalam films...also watch movies from newer untouted directors, younger fresh-faced actors, scriptwriters who have never delivered a hit and films that came and went without making a blip on the malayali conscience. As a result I have watched some good malayalam films in the last one year which many of you evaded, never heard of or never bothered to know of. As I write this two small films, Veeralipaattu and Thaniye, are dying or already gone from Kerala theatres.

The reason I write about Veeralipattu, though I havent seen it yet, is because it has my favorite malayalam actor of today, Prithviraj in the leading role, a debutant scriptwriting team, Ashok-Sasi who deserves early encouragement and finally the young director, Kukku Surendran whose debut film, Oraal, which I will write about later, was a brilliant effort. On Prithviraj, an actor whom I dedicated a post to, in this blog in July 2005, after watching his debut Tamil effort, Kana Kandein and realizing this was one man who deserved to succed in Kerala, i find he is in no better position, two years later in 2007. 2006 was his career-defining period where he broke out and away from all accusations of copying the superstars, limited range, lack of flexibility with such diverse roles as a wrongly accused victim of a sex scandal in Achanurangatha Veedu; the intense, brooding, rough-toungued corrupt cop of Vargam; the fiery SFI student leader with a romantic side who returns years later broken and mellowed in Classmates; the harmless, honest govt clerk from Kasargod whose transition into a guily, ambitious and cunning bureaucrat caught in between three women and salvaging his career when surrounded by enemies, all leading to his salvation in the classic film, Vasthavam and finally ending the year with an understated performance as a young, idealistic journalist in Pakal who reports on the actual scenario of Wayanad's crop failures and suicides blending himself beautifully into an otherwise shoddy film, Prithvi's career has come a long way but is Kerala listening? This year, in Mozhi, he made an indelible mark in Thamizhakam, in the role of a young, earnest musician in love with a deaf-and-dumb girl and in the process proved he could do comedy also effectively, if given the chance.

Well enough of Prithviraj, you guys might say I am overtly praising him, but I am frustrated by the continuing apathy of kerala's youngsters to go out and watch his movies on the big screen. It seems fashionable to say he is arrogant, loud-mouthed, not that talented, over-hyped and therefore his movies shouldnt be watched. I came across many people who pass judgement on him, without even watching his recent movies. Both Mammootty and Mohanlal are prisoners of their fanbase. Good Mammootty films like Karuthapakshikal, Kaiyoppu, Mission 90 Days and Big B have failed to run as they should have because his fans, especially in Malabar, crave for just a typical masala potboiler with comedy, action, romance, melodrama and sentiments thrown in. Mohanlal on the other hand is lucky he has admirers throughout Kerala among the old, kids, women and beyond his huge rowdy fan association, all of which will ensure even his good films like Thanmatra, Vadakkumnathan and Keerthichakra have a decent run at the BO, even without fan support. A few months back 3000 Mohanlal fans were present at the launch of Alibai and a similar number on his birthday celebration in Chengalchoola in TVM. What has Lal done to deserve so much praise since the late 90's. Teenagers and youngsters talk of him like he is their youth icon. But I am sorry. He is 45+. He was the icon of an earlier age...the eighties and early 90's when he did all those special roles. There is a simple explanation for all this. It is the psychology of the mob on display. It is cool among the rough and tough guys of Kerala to be a fan of these superstars and everyone else just joins in to become yet another cool guy and be part of a fraternity and soon they are sucked into believing these two are demi-goods and everyone else in Malayalam, a threat. Unfortunately, this is Kerala with a shrinking audience for cinema where across the board support is needed to rescue a film and not TN, Andhra or Bombay where theatre collections easily run into crores by the opening weekend itself. These superstars have lost it...they are treating us to average fare and we are deluding ourselves that Hello and Mayavi and others are another great effort from them. I have had enough pouring scorn and being cynical and all those things i hate to do and be...I move to the main purpose of this post...an eye-opener to recent good malayalam cinema which failed at the box-office that many of you maynot have had a chance to see, and which is available on vcd/dvd for all of u out there.

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****POSSIBLE SPOILERS****
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Oraal(2005)- The pair of Kukku Surendran-T.K.Devakumar's debut movie, a psychological thrller, Oraal, had Mukesh and Sreya Reddy in a leading role, telling the story of an avante-garde film director and his live-in partner, making a trip to a forest where he intends to write his next script. There, certain fears in the form of a young, bearded man who questions the pseudo-achievements of Mukesh, and gains the attraction of Sreya, enter his mind, all of which leads him down a path of self-destruction. It is what many of you call a slow movie...but I felt there was good suspense allthroughout, unguessable climax, and a very interesting young "villain" character, who is from a theatre background. Adoor Gopalakrishnan praised Kukku for his direction at a film festival.

Mayookham(2005) - Hariharan returns to a genre of film-making he seemingly ditched after the rotten, Prem Poojari. With Saiju Kurup and Mamta Mohandas in the lead, the film dealt with a young, jobless ruffian from a Brahmin family, Saiju Kurup, who fails repeatedly to find a job due to his upper-caste status and turns a rebel and falls into wild company. Enter Mamta Mohandas an NRI girl on a vacation who manages in him a change of heart and prompts him to pursue his old hobby of writing poetry and taking up a lowly press job. Shot in and around beatiful locales on the banks of the Nila, with beatiful songs by the last veteran standing, Bombay Ravi, enchanting cinematography by S.Kumar, a solid script by Hariharan himself and a splendid debut effort by the brooding and intense Saiju Kurup this film sadly went unoticed. The only flaw in the film was that it failed to factor in the IT age where jobs are available for those who try for entry there. Moreover today noone seems interested in the concept of wayward, idealistic youth rebelling against the establishment.

Achanurangatha Veedu(2006) - After the blockbuster, Chanthupotte in 2005, no one expected Lal Jose to take up an offbeat subject, give it as commercial a treatment as possible and extract a fine understated, sensitive performance from over-the-top comedian, Salim Kumar, in the scripts of Babu Janardhanan, for whom this was a second birth in malayalam cinema. Devoid of any sort of melodrama, this film based on the Suryanelli sex scandal, tells the story of a christian-converted widowed clerk, bringing up his three daughters, of whom the youngest is his favorite and a good student. She goes missing one day and incidents from there throw the life of the family upside down and gradually destroys them. Not at all dragging or slow, and not senti-senti, which many people cited as a reason to avoid this movie, i must commend director, Lal for the final shot of the movie which leaves a lasting impression on the viewer. Undobutedly he is a filmmaker at the prime of his talents, as proved later by Classmates and Arabikatha, but unfortunately all the clout he commanded at the box office failed to save this one.

Nottam(2006) - Everyone has listened several times to the wonderful Pachapanamthathe song in this movie. This movie is no less special for the wonderful performance of a handful of veterans of malayalam cinema, Nedumudi Venu, Jagathi Sreekumar and Gopakumar. A young man arrives in a village in Kerala to shoot a documentary on Theyyam accompanied by his friend, a native of the village. Nedumudi plays a traditional patriach who gives in, to videographing his performance, on the urging of his close friend and co-artist, Jagathi's insistence. Jagathi plays his age but comes up with a delightful performance which makes us smile(the malayalam world i use for his character is sarasan...jovial is a close parallel in english...but its not the same!) and then sad. Venu steels the scene in a spell-binding climax. Samvritha Sunil is lovable as the young, village belle. Directed by Sasi Paravoor, I felt gladdened, if only for consolation, that this movie won some awards also this year.

Akale(2005) - Perhaps the first of many noteworthy performances from Prithviraj which went unnoted by the masses. Akale tells the story of a middle-aged, almost broken poet who is still trying to reconcile with his disjointed, cruel past while akcknowledging his present is crumbling. Akale is about Sheela, in the role of a nitwitty, pushy mother whose repeated attempts to straighten her young, helpess son who hates his day job drives him to drugs, alcohol and despair and prods her fragile, physically unable daughter, Geethu Mohandas to escape the confines of her house and find companionship and love, only succeeding in driving her deeper into a shell. A young man in the neighbourhood catches Sheela's eyes as a prospective groom for her daughter, but much to the despair and lack of faith of both her children, she succeds in getting them to agree to it and what follows is a touching portrayal of four human lives thrown amidst a cauldron of opposing emotions, one night. Brilliantly scripted and directed by Shyamaprasad, and photographed to drop-dead perfection by the veteran, S.Kumar and costumes by Kukku Parameshwaran, besides superb performances from Sheela, Geethu, Prithviraj and Tom George, this is a must-watch movie for all. Our movies have become too fast-paced recently, if you are willing to slow down your pace, you should enjoy the artistic powerhouse that is this movie.

Vargam(2006) - If you are looking for the film, that for the first time opened a lot of Malayali eyes, to the talent and screen presence Prithviraj can command, it was this film. Out of theatres in a few weeks, but incredibly popular on torrent sites by word-of-mouth, this movie presents Prithvi as a never before seen policeman on malayalam screen. For the "superlatives" on his character refer to the passage on Prithvi above and I have nothing more to say. Scripted and directed by M.Padmakumar, on an evil cop's rough ride to salvation, the movie has slight similarities to his mentor, Ranjith's Devasuram, but saw Prithviraj improve his dialogue delivery and his physique to deliver a truely break-through performance.

Vasthavam(2006) - Babu Janardhanan returned for the second time in 2006 and paired up with M.Padmakumar to tell a gripping tale of the rise and fall of an ordinary secretariat employee, who plots his way up the bureaucracy to become a powerbroker, but one by one, finds himself losing the people close to him and finally alone...all leading to a finely shot climax stunt sequence, filmed by upcoming cameraman Manoj Pillai. Prithviraj in leading role shows why he is the only young actor around with the flair to take up a multi-hued character whose personal life is in a muddle as he deserts his lady love for a marriage of convenience, seduces and then ditches a divorcee who gives him a helping hand in his career, ignores his wife and connives to draw his lady love closer to him, even apologizing for his behavior to his wife while still helplessly in love with another. His professional life is not much better either with problems recurring again and again, most of it of his own doing. Jagathy in an unforgettable character, of a benefactor to the lead character, draws our applause, smiles and thoughts, sometimes all these, even in the same dialogue. Good performances from Salim Kumar as the tottering businessman trying to shore up his fortune, Samvritha Sunil as the docile, all-suffering wife is a revelation and Kavya Madhavan as the lady love, who does a balancing act with Prithvi, even after her marriage, finally having enough of other people drawing the strings of her life.

Oruvan(2006) - A badly scripted film which stood out for Indrajith's intense performance as a psychopath and debutant director, Vinoo Anand's deft handling of the subject and coming up with some finely shot scenes.

Pakal(2006) - What I call an activist film. A young journalist goes to Wayanad to investigate farmer suicides and crop failures. He lays the blame squarely on the private money-lenders in the area and goverment's callousness and negligence when formulating policies. The film is taken us through the lives of some families, and introduces us to sitiations like women unable to find husbands, people who got overtaxed by uncaring offcials, people taking loans beyond their means, etc. Despite the good efforts of debutant drector Nishad, the script is too bad to give him a chance. Again if you are a Prithvi fan like me, you notice how, he manages to stay the course despite the uneven script.

Sancharam(2005) - A brilliant movie set in a central-travancore village depicting the friendship between two girls growing gradually to the point they fall in love with each other, catch the attention of teachers and family, and are seperated, with the movie ending tantalizingly at a point where one girl stares down a waterfall and the other is about to tie the knot. Possibly, only the second malayalam film, about lesbianism, this film directed by NRK, Ligy Pullapally, stands out for good direction, very life-like dialogues, haunting background music, excellent camera-work and splendid performances by the two lead girls and the supporting cast. A must watch movie...one that deserved a lot of theatre time.

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No apologies for this long post. I had to get it out of my system. I am no intellectual or know-it-all film critic. I just want people to open their eyes to the mediocrity before us. Good malayalam cinema is not dead...the movies i wrote about above are some of the good ones...small films we fail to know of, drowned in the worthless, pointless advertising, marketing, superstar-centric overdose that you and I are spoonfed in Kerala. I don't want Prithviraj or any other youngster to be a superstar in the future. The reason I loved his movies recently was that he played characters who are vulnerable, characters with flaws and faults, a leading hero who lets other characters also have scope to perform, even at the risk of outshining him. Mohanlal, Mammootty, Suresh Gopi, Dileep films are all about themselves. None of the acting talents of malayalam are allowed to shine in their movies, no slice of life of Kerala comes out in their movies, finally none of their characters look like you, or me, our parents, or any ordinary person in Kerala. It would be good if you remember the kind of films, they did earlier for us to put them up on such a high pedestal, now it would be equally good for us and our cinema, if we pulled these superheroes of Kerala down to our own level. Its just a suggestion!

P.S - In the malayalam film, Rajavinte Makan which propelled Lal to stardom, a character delivers this line..."Ente Achane Paranjaal Njan Sahikkum. Pakshe Ente Nethavine Paranjal...". On a discussion forum I saw a Lal fan use the same line, but substituting the Nethavu with Lalettan!!! Mohanlal is only a reel-hero, damnit...

Antony, You Too Brutus!!!

2007-08-01T23:40:00.000-07:00

Like Antony, who has now forsaken his mushinje naariya kadar shirt and mundu, even I made a decision few weeks back on my career...it was a choice my close ones suggested much earlier, but I rejected on the grounds of some principles, which today has been rendered obsolete by change. Change is good, change is a must for me...less than a year remains for me to face the choice i made...until then its my little secret. So, no questions asked!

A Selfish Existence...

2007-07-11T03:17:00.000-07:00

I was in the process of taking up another tag from Silverine but what struck me midway as I wrote it was I didn't know the real India of today at all to finish that post. And I digressed. When the summer began I had anticipated initiative, peace and drive to fill up in me. Nothing like that happened, beginnings were made but never finished. A little over 5 years have gone by since I stepped out of my home. In my heady youth filled with non-stop excitement I skipped the most important question of modern life - a career. No one warned me either. Everyone thought I'd figured it out already. The question came back to haunt me with a vengeance when I turned 25 and has seared my soul into searching for the answer ever since. Its almost 2 years and that search still goes on...

A few days back I inadvertently caught myself in the midst of doing a tally up of my debt, duties and plans. It still revolved around money, money that will burn another few years of my precious twenties and a fleeting moment of disgust passed by before I returned to happier fancies. India has been in my thoughts but fact is I am a stranger even in my own home. For me, India is an IDEA. I haven't known what it is to work there, I havenot known the pinch of paying Rs.50 for a litre of petrol, of going to a wedding and being expected to gift nothing less than gold, of falling sick and reconciling to a huge medical bill. I am a simple fool who knows nothing of cost of living, all I think of is some dreams of returning to a glorified past, which today seems a make-believe nest weaved inside a cocoon built over years of effort put in by my parents. A few years back I warned my friends in trivandrum, Shan and Anoop that they were leading a too lavish lifestyle. Their reply was a lesson on New India that still fails to strike root in me. "When you spend more, the drive and ambition to earn more also increases"...this was the answer they gave me and it sent shock-waves through my antiquated system for a few seconds...I was still in the world of my parents and their generation who disparaged any wasteful expenses.

When the accursed first discussion on my wedding plans came up and I replied with a fierce indignation which surprised me that I would marry only if I can live in India...Pops quoted me a desired earning of 1 lakh a month in trivandrum, for me to sustain the family and the high standard of living he has maintained so far. Should I do an MBA in India and get a firm foothold on home soil? The thought troubles me, because unlike the corporate-obsessed youngster I was a few years back, the same thought of working for them feels revolting nowadays. Which brings me to the status-quo. I go work, I come back, take a long nap, some days I hit the gym, other days I watch a good movie, browse for a while and then go back to the struggle of getting another few hours of sleep. I stay away from my friends in the US, much to their pain and anger, but they are from my past. My present is a struggle to thrash a way out for my future and the deluge of free advice I keep getting irritates me. I never thought the reclusive trait in me would resurface but it has. Solitude is bliss and the cellphone is a bitch. Reading has suffered and the booklist I had made up many months back to start on still awaits my perusal. Blogging works best when your mind is clear and thoughts flow in order, but its a churn in there and I unfortunately have sidelined this hobby too.

I don't know and havent cared what picture of me people take out of this blog. I have been warned to stay away from writing personal or negative stuff on this blog because of some news-piduthakaar "anubhaavikal" back in Kerala and I acquiesced for a few months. But this blog is for me. It is to remind me years later of the person I was, the angst I've been through and the person I want to become. The weaknesses in me...it is time to kill it.

Never Been Kissed ;-)))

2007-06-18T22:48:00.001-07:00

Been tagged by the biggest brat in blogosphere, Silverine, to come up wth a post on one of the landmark moments of youth, the first kiss. I must warn y'all at the very outset that this post will be a big letdown if you expected to read my antics. Without further ado, lemme jump headlong into the story of a first kiss. My final semester of university, only one course to do, the job hunt yet to begin, I was mourning the coming end of my student days and readying for a farewell to all fun and frolic. That is when a bait to visit the Silicon Valley for the first time was thrown at me by my senior and good friend, P. P had a habit of dozing behind the wheels and needed company on the trip.

San Jose - circa Jan 2004 - The trip as i casually mentioned was something more than that, P was getting married. S, his fiance, a Mallu ABCD, was an American citizen while P was on an H1B visa and the situation necessitated a legal wedding having to be registered. We arrived at S's house. There was some talking going on out of my earshot. P came out and asks, "Da, can you be the witness at the ceremony?" Most of S's family had to be at work that day and the rest were all minors. I gamely agreed and we left.

Clerk: "I pronounce thee, man and wife".
(I click fotos, P & S are visibly relieved. That is when the bombshell drops.)
Clerk: "Now you may kiss the bride."
P: "Ayyo!" (He turns to me with a pathetic Enna Cheyyum Aliya look.)
S: (quickly pinches P on his arm hoping the clerk, an old woman couldnt see).
Me: (scratching my head, touching the wall, as though examing and smelling the fresh paint, unable to muffle my laughter. I get my camera ready.)
The clerk begins to wonder what is happening. Obiously the poor thing didn't know this was an arranged wedding and the church ceremony was yet to be held.

P&S comes closer. I watch out of the corner of my eye with bated breath for the first kiss between two virtual strangers and that too indians, i was seeing in my lifetime, debating whether to snap a pic or not. P moved quick all of a sudden. S readies her lips. P makes a lunge, reaches her side, lands a peck on S's cheek and is back at base position in a matter of seconds. My fingers trembled and ruined the kodak moment that never found its way to pixeldom. The clerk's puzzlement had reached its zenith seeing my uncontrolled laughter now and i wondered if the sternness she now exhibited was a primer for an upcoming reprimand to me for spoiling the pristine moment.

The newly married Mr.& Mrs.P sign the register followed by the witness, whose fingers still trembled from the unexpected thrill.
Clerk: "Phew! That was some wedding!"
The three of us made good our escape, redfaced with P making me promise, never to reveal this to anyone.
Me: Cheh...Chammi! Indiakaarude vela kalanjallo Annai! Itharinjaayirunnel namukke coaching erpaduthaamaayirunnu.
P Mindipokaruthe. Ithe neeyo njano allaathe moonamathoraal arinjaal anne ninte anthyam!

Anyways this is one promise i break for the sake of a kiss. If you guys thought you would get to read me in action...so sorry to disappoint...too many nosey parkers from tvm haunt this blog...anonymity is a luxury i would have loved to afford for this tag!

Anecdotes from the Loyola Days...

2007-06-04T12:42:00.000-07:00

This was one of the initiatives that served as a precursor to my blogging days. Initially written just for my classmates, I saw its universality and propped it up on the net following which I have recieved appreciation not just from Loyolites, but also people from other schools in Trvandrum, who admired our batch's wild ways, for compiling this ode to our heroics, villainy and foolishness. Recently I recollected more anecdotes and its becoming a pain keeping my ancient tripod home page going, as it gets pulled down every few months. Ever since Blogger started labels, I have itched to place this crown jewel of my campus memoirs at the very top of my Campus Nostalgia category. Moreover a desire to rewrite the jokes, conforming to rules of better english grammar had been preying my mind. So finally after 3 years this revamped write-up comes to its final resting place.
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Thomman and ponnan go to the cyber cafe on his first vacation from nda to check his email.after some time he goes to the owner and in anger says " anna enikke mail check cheyyaan pattunnilla". the guy walks over to see wht the problem is and much to the cafeowner's total bewilderment and ponnans unmuffled laughter finds that thomman types in www.ninanthomas.com and expects all his emails to pop up on the screen.later thomman threatens ponnan with dire consequences if this is revealed and it took 2 yrs for ponnan to muster the courage to reveal. The irony is that the armymen gifted him with a B.Sc in Computer Science from the much-vaunted JNU for his physical and "mental" exertions at NDA.

Motta and Dadu are in animated conversation while Joy Sir is teaching. joy sir looking at them says "hello" intending to put a stoop to their banter. Motta immediately puts his fist to his ear as if holding a fone and asks "hello aara samsaarikkunnathu". Joy sir is stumped!

Mr.Madhusoodhanan Nair(our "beloved" 9th st malayalam teacher) is holding fort and he asks a question to vince in class..."marangalude upayogangal vivarikkuka" and vincekuttan after great thought gives the answer which would have made his pre-historic ancesators proud..."vanya mrigangal kattaalanmaare akramikkan varumbam avarke keri olikkaan marangal sahaayikkum".We broke out laughing uncontrollably hearing his answer and madhu in his trademark punch line says "entha , avan paranjathil oru paayint ille?"

DP asks Leelu to give a character sketch of Rosalind(the heroine of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night). Leelu who had then embarked on a mission to understand the female psyche better after countless failures by reading women's mags gave the shortest, most perfect answer to a question the rest of us would have spent minutes explaining...that Rosalind was a woman of substance!

Muthu on the fone to jaru: incidentally its jacob's father who is most of the time at sea picks up the fone and says hello. Muthu replies back "enthaada hellokke ithrem kaduppam"

Motta calls up thommans house and asks for ninan. thommans dad's name also being ninan responds..."yes ninan speaking". Motta immediately starts a theri abhishekam. Uncle realizes the call is meant for his virtuous son and says,"hold cheyye njan ninane kodukkaam" and motta learnt to be careful next time on.

Abba calls up jabbans house and in his trademark way asks,"hello jibbbby ondo". Jabbans grandfather picks up the fone and says, " ninakke ethe hippye aada vende"

Those were the times of great debates in our class btw mammooty-mohanlal, azhar-sachin, juhi-manisha fans and we reached a consenus by having polls. Chairman one day decided to stretch things too far when he demanded the mother-of-all-polls to find out from the guys whether anil kapoorinaano babu antonykkaano kooduthal glamour!!! Funny part is chairman still cant understand why we cruelly rejected his poll!

After joy sir's tuition we have a nice beautiful walk through a village to reach school. We started scaring puppy that the ppl here were staunch communists and one of us shouted out "oru congress manthriyude makan ivide onde" and as if on cue from one of the huts somebody said,"kathi edukkada". We looked around noone was there. On turning back we had the fun of our life seeing Puppy run for his life. Since then Puppy never walked that way with us!

China once took the goal kick for his team during games period. What happened next was unbelievable. The ball went back over his head and into the goal post which he was supposed to be guarding. The whole class laughted so much we ended up lying on the ground clutching our stomachs. Thankfully for him those where the days before we heard of match fixing.

At tuition, China once saw a gal getting onto the pillion of her dad's bike. He immediately shouted to alert us..."aa kale nokkada"...when we turned someone had come in front of us and all we could see was her dad's musular leg which was bared as he wearing a mundu! Since then whenever we chance upon a well-built guy someone would throw a poke at china, "Entha Chinae, nottamonda?"

Then there was the homo in pongummodu who chased ponnan whenever they set eyes on each other owing to Ponnan's legendary "butter-bun" and once even had the guts to walk into china's house and grab him while our jackie chan was washing his car(neigh "kuthira" in jayan style) and china bet the pulp out of him.

Ponnan always gave gays the creeps and once he accepted a lift from this guy on the bike who after a few minutes slid his arm behind and touched ponnan where it mattered most. Ponnan in his trademark style which only we guys can imitate says "ehhh, enthuvaaaado ithe" to which the man says "ithonnum ishtamille?" and ponnan shouts out "vandi nirthedo...njan erangattu".

Pothan gets into a ksrtc bus for the first time and when the conductor came over, he said " oraalke ulloor vareyolla oru roopede oru ticket" and the conductor is like "ivan aareda".

Pothen couldn't read malayalam properly in those days. He got into a bus whose board he found to read KizhakeKotta...finally the bus took him to the most inaccessible of all places in trivandrum...PulayanarKotta!!!

Pothan used to have a driver taking him to all the tuitions and once in 10th jaru who was with him criticized him for something he did. Pothan immediately says..."driver vandi nirthe...Jaru get out!!!" ...right in the middle of nowhere. funniest thing is the pothen of then and now bears no resemblence except for the fat.

Pothen's dad once came to drop pothen at tuition and comes over to us to make small talk. That is when a jet streaks through the sky and puli as we called him then exclaims in english "Look,a rocket!" and we burst out laughing leaving him chammufied. And to think he is an engineer!

During some program in school..Chakka the announcer says "I thank the chief guest on behalf of the auditorium!"

Ammavan another announcer allegedly used to do this...he would shout through the mic "Agil is needed at the announcer's desk immediately" and then slip away and walk back very importantly in front of all the junior school kids who adored him.

During a rain-hit basketball match the non-teaching staff was mopping the court and ammavan not playing that year and sorely missing the limelight wants something to do and helps with the cleaning...Fr.Mani, our princi then totally unhappy with agil's cleaning technique..and famous for his anger...walks over and gives him a merciless scolding takes the cleaning sack and shows how it is to be done...with the whole school watching with unbridled joy from the quadrangle steps, the needless labours of a dictatorial princi and his over-enthu student.

Ammavan got selected in the 8th itself for the school basketball team and motta would make fun of him saying his main duty in the team was say "vyaasa(our captain then)...vellam".

Fr.Maani, our princi is taking class and he catches Kozhi talking and tells him to stand up. Then he launches a tirade against Kozhi but Kozhi maintains his typical, cool smile throughout. Finally not being able to control his rage anymore Mani shouts out "Stop that cynical smile!"...only to make matters worse as we also start laughing now!

Once one of our guys chanced to read one of raman's essays in his english answere paper. We noiced a sentence circled out by DP. The essay was about an unforgettable day in your life. The offending line went like this..."the boys talked and made noise as though the bus belonged to their fathers"! Raman's justification for this was that "dont we say in malayalam...Ninte Achanteyannoda Ee Bus!!!"

Appu had written a superb essay for the same exam mentioned above and DP impressed by his talent thought of making use of it. She asked him to write a letter requesting permission for an industrial visit. Peri produced the letter the next day but poor DP was totally horrified to find her new promising find had made 15 spelling and gramatical mistakes in the one paragraph letter that she remarked "how will the gal u marry trust you with her life?"

Chairman, Abba and Gundu are walking through statue with a gal in holy angels from their tuition. Chairman is determined to strike a chord in the gal thru sentiments says stuff like nobody likes him or wants him. With no warning right in the heart of the city and amid hundreds of ppl the gal starts crying hearing sreehari's sob story. Abba and gundu are scared to death and run away leaving chairman to do the job of comforting her.

During the contact class, thomman, ponnan, jabban and muthu enter a really expensive restaurant at kochi...immediately 4 chicken fried rice and something new they had never see before and the most costly item in the menu,barbecue quail was ordered. With mouth watering up in anticipation, the guys started deciding where on the table everything would be kept and which part of the quail each guy would take. Finally when everything comes they see the fried rice they ordered came in 4 small cups and the quail was the smallest,thinnest chicken they ever saw. Thomman takes up the quail by its legs, looks at in dismay, points us to a protruding peice between its thighs and remarks, "ithananne thonnunnu kozhiyude sunayi...ithaarkku venam"? After 400 bucks spent and pockets and stomachs empty we swore on vengeance and for the next contact class 8 of us went in..order 2 fresh lime and 8 straws and came out tipping the same old waiter 5ps.

At the restaurant above, the four mandanmaar sat awaiting their food. The waiter was pouring water into their glasses. Some soft music is playing in the room. To show off his range in songs in front of the other guys, Jabban says, "Country Music". The waiter looks up shocked and stares at jabban who cringes. The guys pick up the cue and laugh uncontrollably while thomman within earshot of the angry waiter responds,"Eda Jabba, lavanmaar americayil ninnu hashbush paatukal konduvannathe neeyaayitte tharayaakiyallode" and all hapless jabban can respond is "Sathyamaayittu...enne vishwasikke...ithe Country Music aane!"

Chairman, dadu and motta had a crush on the same gal studying in st.thomas. Everyone resorted to different tactis to win her attention. Motta befriended her younger bro studying in our school, Dau made it a point to attend the same tuitions she went to. Chairman whose ex-classmate this gal was in another school, on his part instituted a planning board(that's how he got this name) with abba,gundu, annan,saami and raman as members to observe who she looks at when our school bus went by hers'.

Then there was bimbu who until the 10th thought that babies were born thru the mouth.

And we had kicha..our genius in all things who wasted an entire roll of film bcoz he thought by taking fotos which could capture a bird flying whose reflection on the lake to ganesh's glasses would be the next biggest thing in the world of fotography ending up with 30 blank fotos in the end.

Leelu was crazy abt this gal in holy angels and one day decided he would go talk to her, whatever happens. At pongummode he deliberately bumped into her and said in one breath..."hi i am arun studying in loyola..u must be Poo$%". Guess wht she replies. So what should I do...and our poor leelu was left licking his wounds....again.

Once we went trekking to Meenmooti and muthu as lazy as ever is finding it tough to climb a small ridge.khaja directly ahead of him is using a creeper, hugging the surface to move on. Muthu clings on to khaja hoping khaja will drag him up. Khaja immediately gave the most stunning repartee we ever heard..."uriyil thoongunnavante pariyil thoongunnoda"! Tired as we were, we threw our bags on the forest floor and broke out into several minutes of unbridled laughter.

On a trip to ponmudi...it was raining...and naga is havin a harrowing time on his bike, he had already fallen off twice...once of all things a creeper fallen on to the road trips him. and the third time a fast passenger comes along and he makes way for it to go by going too much to the left and falls. the bus driver stops beside him and says with a smile "mone oru bus koodi ithile varunnunde". All naga can respond is "Thankyou saare!"

At meenmooti we camped for the night at a cave but we suddenly remembered we didnt have any garlic to ward off the snakes. Naga saved us the trouble by starting a vomitting spree and we made him form a lakshmana rekha around us. Thanks to the odour not even an ant came anywhere nearby during the night.

During the contact class at kochi we were hanging around the marine drive. A flying squad sees us and comes closer. A foreigner steps out of the jeep looks, inspects us carefully and turns to the cops and points at jofu and says "He is the man. He is the thief. Those same big, white teeth" and a cowering jofu responds "I...I no thief...I, I student of loyola".

In 7th standard V.C teaches us that "mole is the short form of molecule". In 8th Manorama M'am says u guys must be knowing wht a mole is and we all shout out to impress her..."Mole is the short form of molecule"...leaving her flabbergasted and asking..."who taught you that"...and when we told her..she is left in total despair.

C.T, our PT sir, during basketball coaching telling us..."divide into four halves".

Rajamma madam in 6th standard sees abu talking and asks..."ey abu whaaat do u waant"...abu replies.."madam i want an icecream."

Bangu in his 6th standard composition on "My Birthday Party"...wrote..."I had porridge for my birthday party...", thinking porridge was some delicacy..not knowing it was kanji.

Thomman had a crush on this St.Thomas gal who was his neighbour. One day he was walking up the road by her house and he saw her inside combing her hair. He jumped the wall, stood by the window and just stared admiring forgetting all sense of time and place. Suddenly she turned, saw him, without any shock or surprise to see him by the window, asks, "Enthaa??"...Thomman shrugs his shoulders....blinks his eyes...turns around, jumps back out over the wall, and walks away like in a hynotic spell! Atleast this is his version of the story...his guts is unparalleled, so is his knack for tall tales...and we never had the courage to cross-check with the gal in question, what really happened.

Jaru playin football is the funniest sight..he would come running from miles away to kick the ball and everyone would move away scared to even be in the path of what would be a powerful shot and he finally ends up running over the ball totally missing it.

Raman sees a chinese model on chairman's 10th std notebook.he asks him..ithaarade... chariman tells him..."silk smitha"....and he responds..."ithaanalle silk smitha" and from then on he was called mandan raman.

Dear Fr.Pulickal's history exams were met with dread in our class. He would pick up blunders from our papers and post it on the school notice board for everyone to read with the culprits names also. Some of the blunders which the passage of time still hasnt eroded from our memories are
- Rani Laxmi Bai had no male natural hair! (Paili wuz the villain)
- The 1857 War was fought by the British to get Independence from India
- Elections are held by secret bullet.
(if any of u remember more of the blunders we made let me know)

Pulickal father launching a tirade against princi in class..."angere ayaalude andiyude shapeil oru fish tank ondaakeetonde"...as luck would have it princi walked by right then...they stare at each other and we are scared a fight would break out...fr.thayyil folds his hands and walks away with a small smile on his face and we are left wondering abt their curious chemistry.

Bazoo and Pothen had a fight in Std.8 but none of us bothered to mediate or find out the problem. A few hours later Pulickal strides into the class with a disgusted expression on his face. "Ninakkoke njan kore standard theri padippikkaam. Melaal immathiri chavarumaayitte ente aduthe varalle." And he proceeded to give us our first official class on obscenities. It was hilarious to say the least. The reason...Bazoo calls Pothen Blood Basket...Pothen responds by calling him Bloody Bus-stand...and they proceed with the case to none other than Puli!!!

Bazoo used to go for a tuition where owing to his extraordinary IQ he was the otherwise strict teacher's pet. But unfortunately for Bazoo the sir had a beautiful daughter from whom Bazoo could never take his eyes off. One day she passed by the tuition room, Bazoo's eyes followed her, the sir notices his distracted pupil and in his typical, high-pitched shrieks, "Bazoo, look here, look here"!!!

Muthu's mother is taking a young cousin of his for admission at loyola with the boy's parents. Muthu's mom is waxing eloquent about her son and the parents are impressed about muthu's prowess. That is when they run into Pulickal who sees muthu's mother and says..."Ningade makan rekshappedathilla...Avan historykke veendum thottu!!!" Muthu's mom struggles to wipe the sweat and shame off her face.

Paili and paramu in 7th are goin doubles on a cycle thru Vellayambalam and become ada to a scooterist and all 3 fall down. The man is very angry and he asks how can u big boys be so careless. To escape paramu tells him they are only in the 4th and the man softens down. That is when paili says..."eda nammal 7thil alle"...the man says..."paavam veenathinte aaghaathathil ethu classil padikkunnathu marannannu thonnunnu"....and paramu breathes a sigh of relief and paili is still confused.

In 10th standard...thomaskutty sir asks china wht is bacteria...apparently a simple question...he starts of confidently..."Bacteria is a microscopic organism..." and falters there...that is when someone prompts from behind...suspect that it is gani...that it cannot be seen with the naked eye...china not knowing wht that phrase meant and suspecting gani made a small mistake in his prompt but still having trust on the gani's judgement...finishes his answer with.."and bacteria cannot be seen by a naked man's eye!" That was one of the most hilarious biology periods ever.

The gal who cried at statue had a lot of admirers in our class like annan, chairman and raman. The guys noticed that whenever plans were made for movies, games, etc annan had started to excuse himself regularly everytime with a strange excuse..."ente oru thengum purayadathil, thenga pothikkan pokanam" and once after tuition he used this excuse and left while chairman and the other guys proceeded to the above said gal's house and surprised on seeing our new romeo, annan at his flame's place, chairman in anger and jest tells the gal, "Ivide thenga kedappondo...ivan nannayi pothiche tharum"!!!

In 1996 AniyathiPravu released and went on to run for a record 250 days in trivandrum, and we soon found out the reason for that. Every guy in our class had watched the movie 4-8 times at the theatre. That is when a friend in Sarvodaya shocked us by saying he watched the movie 28 times and that he saw Bazoo too at 18 of the shows!!! When quizzed, Bazooka, our prodiguous geek, revealed he had watched the movie a total of 30 times, from its releasing centre at Kripa, thru its first change at Pattom Kalpana, followed by our very own "hometheatre", Sreekaryam Joshi crowning his odyssey with a last lap at Kazhakootam Maharaja!!! Oh man...we were one crazy set of buggers.

Bazoo had this unbearable crush for this amazingly beautiful gal in St.Thomas. He didnt like the convential route everyone else was taking and got our daredevil, Thomman's advice on how to proceed in a revolutionary manner. Thomman tells him to walk towards the gal, stick his tongue out, then slowly pull it back and rub it over his lips in a sensuous manner. Bazooka soon finds the gal coming in his way, and does the job. Next day, the gal goes over to one of our guys, suspect it was Muthu who she was friends with and in a very concerned manner asks..."Did I hurt your friend bazoo in any way. Yesterday he stuck his tongue out and blared his lips and teeth at me in a threatening way." Muthu can't control his laughter and she adds..."to tell you the truth, he looked like a monkey at that moment." When thomman came to hear of this all he can say is, "Eda panna bazoo, nee ente paavanamaaya number ithrekke chalamaakiyallo"!

GG House was in a neck and neck race with JJ house to avoid relegation to the 4th spot in the Youth Festival. GG didnt have a participant for the Fancy Dress Competition. That is when Jaru struck upon an idea and found a hesitant prey in Pappachan. The costume was readied in no time and the event started. Pappachan comes out wearing a coat whose cuffs fell shorter than his wrist and a pant which didnt even reach his ankles and dusty, almost worn out shoes which failed the frantic black polishing it receieved prior. "Wow, we thought...jaru is a genius...Pappachan as a tramp...now who could have thought of that...he lives the role". That is when the thundering announcement fell upon the unwitting auditorium which had almost begun to cheer, "GG House presents Pappachan as Michael Jackson!!!". Thriller began to play from Joseph Uncle's sound system, Pappachan begins to wave at the crowd...loud hooting and catcalls can be heard including a shout from one of our guys..."pappacha, ineem moonwalk"...poor pappachan runs away all red-faced and we have to date never spared him the blushes and jaru the plotter joins in the laughter smugly with a njanonnum arinjille ramanarayana attitude!

For malayalam exams we have a question...shailikal(metaphors) upayogiche make sentences.One of the shailikal was baalikeramala(which i think means something difficult to do) paili's sentence for balikeramala-"randam loka maha yudhathila america japante balikeramalayil bomb ittu".
AMDG

P.S- No real names used. Only nicknames. Some of the protagonists in these stories have sworn at the altar of decency and gentlemandom and have experienced selective amnesia, especially now that they are hot market property! My apologies if despite all precautions taken, i still manage to cause pre or post-marital damages and discord.
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(AMDG - Ad Majorem De Glorium - For the Greater Glory of God!) With these 4 letters which didnt make sense to us, scribbled at the end, Fr.Pulickal encouraged us to wind up our answer paper in exams...we did it, hoping against hope that those 4 letters would compensate for an almost blank history answer paper coupled with the strictest valuation possible and save us from sure failure. This is a tribute to that man who opened the world of humour to us and taught us to laugh at ourselves. Fr.Pulickal...you are still fondly remembered. This is also a tribute to a great teacher who shepherded us admirably in the Plus Two years where a great majority of the above recounted incidents happened...DP was as much a part of our class as every one of my classmates. And Loyola...Long Live the school which gave us all the freedom for what we wanted to be and do. Finally The ISC'98 Batch...you guys were the best...you guys continue to evoke great spirit and cheer!

The Weight of Chalk...

2007-05-21T21:46:00.000-07:00

The last period of the day was winding to a close. The kids were growing increasingly restless but took note of the irritation irradiating from their teacher's face and quietened. Ananthan Master mopped the few beads of sweat building up near his eyebrow carelessly with the sleeves of what had been hours earlier a neatly pressed white shirt. Sunanda was not going to be happy today. The perfectly folded handkerchief she tucked into his pocket every morning got back home in the evening, never used. She had once joked that if it helped, she could take the half-sleeves off of his old shirts and sew them into a kerchief. Ananthan had thought it was a great idea. Sunanda could just gasp in dismay.

"Maashe, the last bell rung 10 minutes ago."
It was one of the more brazen boys in the class. Ananthan stirred from his thoughts, and looked at the boy in disapproval.
"So, what if I keep you boys back a little longer. You are students taking the public exams this year, not children in elementary school."
The cowed down boy tried to summon an expression of utter boredom to his face. All he could manage was a shake of his head, caught as he was in the unusual cold stare of his teacher.
"Class dismissed. Next class we will take up Lagrange's Theorem."
"Maashe, you covered that only yesterday," a timider voice spoke up this time.
Ananthan threw up his arms, and showed the way to the door to his surprised students.
"Sir, are you okay, you seem ill. I can give you a ride home on my moped."
"Thanks for the offer, Bala. I am fine," Ananthan said and watched as Balan trooped out with his gang of friends.

Balan was one of Ananthan's favorites not just because he was a good student. His talent in versification and essay writing had won for the school many prizes in the District Youth Festival. But what troubled Ananthan was that like many of the other senior students in the school, Balan was also getting increasingly attracted to the politics that was being unleashed at all levels of the society in the district. Democracy was slowly giving way to fascism with a fight to the finish for dominance between the Left and the Right. Political murders were happening at an alarmingly increasing frequency, a fragile peace survived; one act of aggrandizement was all it took. Balan's family had traditionally advocated Rightist politics...and Balan seemed destined to go that road too. Ananthan had advised his pupil, but was met with a stonewall, that refused to open up...perhaps it must be because I was a leftist earlier, Ananthan tried to comfort himself.

The classroom had emptied out. He pondered hard on his next act. Should he just go home or should he.....he didn’t let the thought carry itself out. With overdone effort, he pressed his palms down on the wooden desk, and raised himself from his chair. He turned to the blackboard, and began to wipe it clean, with the blackened rug that had for long begged for washing and now seemed to be threatening to stop doing its work. Ananthan took a step backwards and surveyed his efforts. A reflection of the blackboard seemed to have fallen on his face as it darkened; dismayed by the chalkmarks that still littered the board. A sudden rage stoked up in him, and with firm, wide, almost manic strokes he gleaned away the last of the white that refused to detach in his earlier attempt, from its civilizational opposite, the black. He stacked his notebooks firmly within his left arm, collected the umbrella from its resting place by the wall and strode out, forgetting to turn off the fan that wheeled on and on...

The Local Committee office was on the way to his home. It must have been almost 20 years since he last took the steps leading upto its dusty confines. Then, he was considered among the Party's most promising leaders from the district. His speeches stood out for the calm manner in which he elucidated his thoughts, in an age when only fiery speeches could win the crowds, and for the substantive ideas he seemed to possess. He had become the Local committee secretary at 25, was promoted to the Area Committee at 27 and with the District Committee, the coveted State Committee membership or a legislatorship only some years down the line, he had supposedly thrown it all away. Ananthan knew it wasn't like that. He was an accused in the first of the political murders that aroused the media interest in the district and was considered lucky to have gotten away unpunished. His young wife, Sunanda was pregnant then and miscarried, due to the stress the trial brought about. Guilt, fatigue and a lack of fulfillment from the 12 years of model political activism he strived to pursue colluded in persistent pursuit of a change of heart and he quit. He had been branded a coward and traitor...but the years had forgiven and forgotten all that was said and done. His younger brother, Ravi had taken his place in the party and Ananthan, the fledgling politician was long erased from the public mind, he was today only Ananthan Master, a well-regarded, but insignificant high school mathematics teacher in public consciousness, at the Govt. Higher Secondary School.

The Local Committee office hadn't changed in the years. Unlike the corporate dalliance the party saw at the state ad district level, the grassroots still clung to its affinity with the common man. Now, the party owned the building but continued to rent the ground floor to the small convenience store, a tea shop, and the barber who had all set shop up there for as long as he could remember. Ananthan hesitantly climbed up the stairs and lingered for a few seconds on the corridor. He peaked into the meeting room. The creaky wooden benches had given way to plastic chairs and the walls were freshly painted. On the walls, still hung the same three pictures of Marx, Engels and Lenin from his days. The secretary's room beckoned to him. He was once its occupant, now a guest, feeling his way around what was once his second, or possibly his primary address. Without knocking, he entered the room and saw the secretary, Ramankutty talking on his mobile and his brother, Ravi staring out of the window. Ravi's presence unsettled Ananthan. Ravi had more important things to do in the district or area committee than hang around this place.

Ramankutty motioned Ananthan to take a chair, switched off his phone, a broad smile taking shape on his puckered lips.
"Thank you for coming, Master."
Ananthan didn't reply but looked at Ravi, whose body language betrayed a nervousness that Ananthan tried to piece together.
"Ananthetta, sorry for bothering you. The party members here brought some troubling news which, Comrade Ramankutty and I thought, you could help resolve.
"What is it?" Ananthan could feel his stomach tighten, a sudden fear gripped him. So this was it. His worst fears were turning true.
"You know how the Right, is increasingly finding supporters among the youngsters here. We feel it is a disturbing..."
"Come, to the point Ravi!" Ananthan interrupted his brother. Why is it that politicians fail to see the beauty of keeping their talk, short and sweet, Ananthan thought?
"It has to do with your student, Balan. He is spreading their ideology among the students at your school and around where he lives. If we don’t nip this in the bud, it will be hard to put a check on his activities when he is older."
"I guessed as much. Why did you have to bring me into this? You know, I am done with politics," Ananthan couldn’t mask the displeasure he felt for his younger brother.
"Yeah, we know that. That is why we need your help," the secretary had spoken for the first time.
"I have tried to counsel him. But he won't listen to me."
"Exactly! That is why we need to talk to him. We have tried to get him alone but he moves around with a gang of his friends all the time. But he trusts you. If you can take him somewhere, we can talk to him in person. It will only do him good you know," Ravi tepidly said.
"I know what is good for him. You don't need to tell me that!" Ananthan snapped at his younger brother. The fellow was a better politician than he had thought.
"Well, don't blame me if something untoward happens. You know how things work around here. More importantly don’t blame yourself." Ravi noticed the concern that briefly escaped Ananthan as he finished his sentence.
"Ananthetta, don’t worry. We will just give him a ticking off. If that doesn’t work, let's all comfort ourselves in that he wasn't ready to change his fate."
How insensitive and arrogant had Ravi become, Ananthan thought. In a few hours they would both be back in their house and would all be a happy family. Ravi had never married, citing his party work as the sole love of his life. They lived under the same roof even after their parents had died and never thought of partitioning the inherited house and land. Ananthan's two children, Anu and Anish doted on their uncle so much, that Ananthan always wondered, why despite being a teacher he couldn't get as close to his kids as Ravi, a chronic bachelor.
"All right. I will tell Balan to drop me home tomorrow evening after school."
Ananthan walked out, not bothering to bid farewell. Ravi collapsed on a chair, he was sweating profusely...it was the first time in his life he put on the garb of a politician, to talk to his elder brother, whom he still venerated and considered as his first political guru.
"Here, drink this," the equally relieved secretary passed a tumbler containing water to Ravi.

Sunanda had observed the worry, scribbled large on Ananthan's face, but she couldn't decipher it. Nor could she connect the cold stares Ananthan kept giving Ravi, ever since he had reached home too. All night Ananthan tossed and turned in the bed, unlike the sound sleep he almost always managed to have. In the morning, Ananthan took his morning shower and skipped breakfast, like he usually did.
"Here take your books, and umbrella." Sunanda came running after Ananthan, who absently turned around, collected his belongings and walked, without acknowledging her.
A sigh of despair overcame her. Why is it that men seemed to carry all the weight of the world on their shoulders, she wondered. Her thoughts turned around to her children getting ready for school. Their lunch had yet to be readied. They studied at a different school from Ananthan's, a better school, a private school. Ravi was the one who forcefully advocated that...so much for socialism, Ananthan had thought before finally yielding.

"Bala, I am still feeling unwell. Can you drop me at my house after school."
"Of course, Master.'
"Thank you, Bala."
The rest of the day went by as fast as Ananthan would have loved it to slow down. It had to be done. Balan's zeal, courage and strength would only increase in the years to come and it would only put his life in danger. There wasn’t much point in talking to the parents. Most kids with such early political leanings pick it up only from home and with the encouragement of their parents. Ananthan knew this well, he and Ravi were prime examples.

The pillion was a little too small, but Balan slid forward to make more space for Ananthan. They took off with Balan riding slower than usual. This was a big day for him, and a big honour. He had seen Ananthan Master walking home a few times when he took this route which lead to a friend's house, but he never took up the ride Balan offered.
"Maashe, this is the first time i am giving a teacher a ride.'
"Hmmm."
"Maashe, have you corrected the mid-term papers?"
"Yes. You have done very well. You should be getting it the day after. I have a few more to valuate."
"Thank You." The thrill from Balan's cracked voice made Ananthan's heart cringe.
"Why this cup of woes for me, G-G-G-God," Ananthan mused wearily. From believer to atheist to agnost to hesitant believer again, his faith had completed a full orbit around his life.

In the distance, a jeep lay parked by the roadside. Three men could be seen leaning against it facing them. As they got closer, a sudden fear enveloped Balan. A sudden knowledge of what was about to befall hit him and he slowed the moped down. His parents and partymen had regularly warned him over the last few months of a 'quotation' put out for him by the Left's goonda squads. He went home or went out with a group of fellow-men and always kept a tight guard when having to go it alone. Ananthan saw the men too at the same instant and knew they were spotted. Balan tried to turn around.
"What are you doing?" Ananthan asked. The histrionic talents of his youth were back. Ananthan thought disgustedly.
"Maashe, they are men after me. I can't get caught."
"Don't worry I am there." Ananthan tried to calm his pupil.
The three men, now joined by a forth unseen before, came running at breakneck speed.

"We have been waiting for you, you bastard," one of them shouted as they caught up. Ass-oles, Ananthan thought. They had given away their game even before it started. These were not the genuine party-men who would have been much smarter than this...these were the clinger-on rogues with no work to do, that were highly valued these days by politicians, for doing their dirty spadework.
"How did you know I am coming this way?" Balan shot back.
Ananthan's heart sank with the question. Balan would have been a fool not to miss the betrayal now and Ananthan knew Balan was anything but a fool.
"Sonofabitch, you have hardly sprouted a moustache and you have begun to wisetalk to elders too," one of the men said in a harsh tone.
'Move back. Let me speak," the forth man whom they hadn’t spotted initially came forward. He had a pleasanter demeanor than the other three. Ananthan recognized him as Ashokan, who had begun party work around the time he had begun too. Not even bothering to acknowledge Ananthan he placed his calloused fingers across Balan's cheeks.
"We are being told you are increasingly becoming a smart-ass. Stop involving in your kiddy-politics, study well, find a job and escape from here. Else you are going to die and that too in pain.
"I would welcome a death like that from you monsters with open arms."
A warm smile appeared on the man's face.
"Stop playing hero, kid. This is not personal. This is politics and this is the politics your people would deal, to one of ours too. I too have kids, but I have warned them to stay off this game of death. I just extend the same threat to you, as a father would."
"Thanks for your fatherly concern, mister. Now if you could excuse us...I have better things to do," Balan smirked.
This was a mistake. The smile disappeared from the man's face and Ananthan cowered as a murderous intent replaced it. He slapped Balan, hard on his face. Balan fell off the moped and with him the moped and Ananthan too hit the ground.
"Is that the best, you could give me," Balan responded gamely.
"Stop it Bala. You are provoking them needlessly," Ananthan pleaded.
"I have waited for this day, all my life, Master. For how long can I hide?"
The four men went berserk at that moment, pounced on Balan, and began kicking him mercilessly.
Ananthan cried and begged but was shaken off by the fourth man who pushed him away as the other three, unleashed their powerful blows on the now bleeding boy.

A few people were coming. One of the men, ran to the jeep, reversed it, the other three men, caught hold of Ananthan Master, threw him into the jeep and sped off.
"Wait. Let me out. I need to take him to the hospital."
"There are other people for that. We will take you home after some time. He will be well cared for."
They dropped Ananthan off at his home after a few hours.
Ravi was waiting on the verandah. He had already heard the news. A look of apology, and a tint of shame was writ all over his face.
"Ananthetta, i am sorry things turned out this way."
"You promised me you won’t hurt him."
"Things got out of hand. The men were provoked very badly."
"Your ideology does allow for violence. But against a young, defenseless boy?"
Ravi kept quiet. He knew his brother would never forgive him for this.
"We are all worse than animals. You betrayed a brother. I betrayed a student."

Night had set in. Ananthan paced restlessly on the frontyard, wondering how hurt was Balan. The sky had an ashen colour, thanks to the thick clouds, which veiled the moon, away from prying eyes, to the verge of opacity. Ravi had forbid him from going to the hospital where the rightist activists had begun talking of revenge. The police had visited and taken Balan's statement according to a journalist Ravi had called up. Sunanda had heard all that happened, from Ravi who begged with her to intercede on his behalf to her husband.
"Not today, and not tomorrow either, may be the day after," she had answered, and he thanked her gratefully.
"Please come inside. It has become very cold now. Why fall sick too?" she pleaded to Ananthan.
"Did Ravi eat?" he asked.
"No. He said he wasn't hungry. He went to sleep."
"What about the kids?"
"They are staying at my parents’ house."
Husband and wife walked back into the house, one inconsolable, the other wondering how to console.

Someone was banging on the door intently.
"I will go," Sunanda said.
"No, that is for me," she was shaken briefly by the assuredness of his voice.
It was Narayanan, Balan's father. He had come alone instead of the scores of outraged people Ananthan expected. There was a car parked outside. It wasn't evident, in the darkness if there was anyone in it.
"Ananthanmaashe, thanks for all the help. Balan told me everything"
"How is Balan?"
"Does it matter to you?"
"I am sorry. I made a mistake," Ananthan wept inconsolably like one of the children who cried when he caned him.
"Don't worry. Balan didn't give your name to the police in his statement."
Narayanan turned around and walked.
"Master, you know, my boy still adores you. He pleaded with me not to hurt you or your brother".

Ananthan closed the door. He turned back and leaned against the door. His eyes were closed, a little in relief and almost all of it in self-pity. When his eyes opened, they fell on a Sunanda who was sobbing and Ravi who was deep in thought.
"Ananthetta, you should go back to teach. None of this was your fault", Ravi said, reading very well the thoughts preying his brother' mind.
"There is blood on my hands. The chalk will not answer my command on the blackboard."
"But your kids will starve. You should think of their future too."
"That is right. But I can't go back."
"You have to. Your kids' life depends on it."
"Then get me a transfer from here, somewhere far, far away. I hope you have the connections to get that done."
Ananthan walked off, his feet unsteady, hoping for the peace that deserted him for two blackened out days in his life's calendar. And Ravi, Ravi could feel the assured touch of loneliness, that would accompany him in this house, partly his house, now all his.
------------------------------------------------------

P.S - Some months back, a friend told me of an incident that happened in Kannur at a school where his uncle was the principal. A teacher who was a full-time politician always carried a bomb in his bag, as he feared for his life but that bomb one day exploded in class causing minor injuries and more than that, shock to the students. Then recently, i thought of the political affiliations some of the teachers in our college still maintained, and how some of them tried to manipulate us. That is from where this story took off. I would have loved to write this one in Malayalam, more so due to the story's nativity, but i had a compulsion that gave English the upperhand this time. After months of threads that broke down in "realization", I feel relieved at having overcome the bad run. As always when i take on fiction, feedback/criticism is appreciated this time too.

Cheer Loyola's Sons!!!

2007-05-15T15:06:00.000-07:00

The UPSC results are out. Three Loyolites crowned years and years of toil by snatching three of the top ten ranks in the country. More details at Ashok's blog. People as undisciplined and haphazard as me can only dream of what they achieved...my forms got delayed in the mail and didnt reach on time...so this year's attempt just like 2006 was a flop show. I don't know if I have it in me to try one more time. Hope Pappanabhan becomes the person to bring the upsc glory to our batch. A decade and half of fascination with the engineering and medicine streams, seems to be over at Loyola...I came across many juniors who have been goin about their preps in right earnest and look set to repeat the achievement of these three.

World Political Roundup...

2007-05-02T01:36:00.000-07:00

Am back to regular newspaper reading after a long long time...its a wretched world of politics out there...had enough matter to write on atleast 15 of the states in the indian union and an equal number of countries in the world...but for the moment this will do...my hands have itched to do some writing and after all, politics is a resort for every scoundrel around...so how can I be left out!

UP Elections...No Lesser Devils Here
Those who even casually follow the Uttar Pradesh assembly elections will know sure enough that it is an indicator of the depths to which the Indian democracy has plunged. The BJP and BSP have brought out CD's that urge people to vote on religious and caste lines, the Samajwadi Party of Mulayam Singh Yadav after 5 years of misrule and corruption shamelessly believe they are still the best of the lot, the Congress has thrown out its future face, Rahul Gandhi into the political minefield and on expected lines the cow-dung littered cow-belt has become a happy hunting ground for this St.Stephens-Harvard(or is it Cambridge!) educated future Prime Minister's to land his cold feet in, with innumerable gaffes...the way he, his mom and sis shamelessly remind people of the Gandhi-Nehru legacy is embarrassing to say the least. The Election Commission's deployment of paramilitary forces was the saving grace...now when can we see electoral reforms that firmly uncloak the politician's garb from criminals...will it happen in our lifetimes?

Smart CM!!!
VS Achuthanandan after almost torpedoing the crucial Smart City project achieved the impossible by forcing the DIC to come around to agreeing to most of the conditions his team set for them. I feel sorry now for Oommen Chandy who is fumbling now to come forth with an answer for why he couldnt project the same unbending attitude VS showed...the fact is he didnt have the time in an election year, and more importantly he took the attitude of "Beggars cant be choosers". It remains to be seen if the govt can maintain its 25% stake in the project as it keeps getting bigger..after all we have a treasury which is forever on the verge of default...the news that the Cochin Infopark cannot repay its loans to KSIDC just made the rounds. Anyways alls well that ends well!

Pushing Bush...
So what if the American people gave the Democrats a clear mandate in both the Senate and the House of Representatives to withdraw from the Iraq War. He can just shirk the democratic lasso on his cowboy act by a mere veto. If there is one quality you gotta praise him for...that is his steadfastness. His defense of Attorney General Gonsalvez and World Bank President Wolfowitz, two cronies of his, even in the face of their proven misdemeanor could be praised/condemned depending on which side of the political spectrum you vouch for. This is one man who just cant see the clear writing on the wall and wants to go down as the worst US president ever. Elsewhere his party's nominees for the next prez elections fumble everywhere while the Clinton-Obama-Edwards triumvirate are breaking records by the dozen in their fundraising act.

Who's Afraid of India...
The Indo-US nuclear deal was a milestone...the only problem is it came up in a dead alley. India cant conduct anymore nuclear tests which speaks miles for Developed World hypocrisy/snobbery and neither can we reprocess spent nuclear fuel. America maynot be the last word in business anymore but energy companies here know that if India with its huge thorium reserves uses the reprocessed fuel they are losing a huge huge market for years and years to come. Cheers to the two Indian scientists, Kakodkar and Chidambaram who stood up to the Goliath even while the PM and bureaucracy beamed like schoolboys at the press-photographers.

The Stakes in Africa...
Indians, Chinese, Americans, Saudis...it seems the whole world has a stake in the poorest continent on Earth. Indians continue to face the heat in Uganda, elsewhere in Africa(i forget the countries) China is facing trouble for economic-exploitation. Reading about Darfur is a sure-shot way to feel despair at the politics and apathy that the capable world displays in putting an end, to worthless violence for the capture of a region that cud be the closest place on earth to biblical hell.

Judicious Activism!!!
Manmohan has never been a fan of PIL's and the Judiciary's enormous appetite to intrude into the turf of the Executive-Legislature turf has vexed him often. But when ministers-bureacrats-legislators gang up against the common man it is only fitting that the same loopholes which allow the unholy trio to sin without fear of the law allows the judiciary to take up cudgels for citizens without fear of the vague laws in the constitution that determines its scope of functioning. Kudos to the men in black and white who have thrown a challenge to caste-appeasing politics of OBC reservation. At the end the government and Thakur Arjun will win...but I hope to see the creamy layer denied easy skimmings of a pie they were waiting to lap up in a country that will never see meritocracy functioning, thanks to a wretched past which everyone seems wanting to preserve for the present and the future.

Tony Blair, Goodbye...
In 1997, when a youthful looking man who defied the cliched description of the stiff upper-lipped Englishman, took over the reins of England, a few years after a handsome, charismatic Clinton arrived on the scene across the Atlantic in an America poised to go into the millennium, i watched with gushing admiration his inaugural speech in Parliament to Britons on BBC unveiling his concepts of New Labour, at a time when septuagenarian H.D.Deve Gowda slept and tripped through his tenure as India's PM. Of course, not many would have noticed, in that speech he spoke a sentence of how England would have to piggyback on the US to maintain its relevance in international affairs. It is a pity, that this wise man kept his word so seriously that he followed one of the most stupid men around, George W. Bush into a needless war that today leaves him a mere shadow of the fresh-faced statesman he was touted to become 10 years ago.

Preparing for Post-Mushy Pak...
Its official. Gen.Mush is getting increasingly cornered. After suspending his Chief Justice and then getting him manhandled, followed by capitulation to a set of clerics who fatwa'ed his minister for an innocuous hug and now increasing criticism for Pakistan's withdrawal from its own territory, Waziristan for the Al-Qaeda-Taliban duo to run free...if Pakistan's next leader is a Mullah, it will be a situation India hasnt faced before...dealing with a theocrat in a nuclear-possessing rogue state. Will soft-spoken Manmohan, crowd-savvy Vajpayee, baby-faced Rahul or Loha-Purush Advani measure up...

Bawling for Columbine...

2007-04-17T23:08:00.000-07:00

Maybe because America is such a developed country, maybe because America trusts its citizens, but I still find no rational rationale to give people guns to safeguard their lives. This is a country that is as safe as it can get...a police force which inspires respect and awe for their patrolling and service to community, citizens who follow every rule almost to the point of perfection, laws that attempt to keep cigarettes, alcohol and drugs away from youngsters below 21...but this is also a country with a lot of people who are mentally sick and guns neither protect nor provide any form of defence from them. A fortnight ago, I read this short story and it refused to leave me...and then yesterday happened.

Last weekend, I saw not one, but two gun shops right outside a friend's apartment. The scene evoked horror in my eyes...after all why do citizens need guns in a democracy, aint their voice and votes more powerful? It is time America's wise politicians decided to sweep aside the power of the gun lobby.

A Kerala Phenom...

2007-04-11T00:03:00.000-07:00

How i wish I could pull off some magic and flesh out a post, off nothing. The cupboard is bare, every story begun winds up unfinished, a long list of such broken threads await my review and reworking. Sometime early last year, a resolve that every post on this blog should also give me creative satisfaction surreptitiously crept in, and seems to have influenced my mindset, i began to see myself as something more than a blogger and the opinions, commentaries and observations on daily life and happenings gradually ebbed out. I am tired of my folks and surprisingly even an anonymous reader asking me why nothing new has come out...well the cloud just doesnt lift but here's something for you all to read and forget...a post i wrote a long back, but just didnt find good enough to publish then...well Vishu is almost here, we are planning a sadya, what might just be missing is the mundu.

Move over jeans, khakis, chinos and whatever new fashions yet to come out...the pride of place in my wardrobe is a cream-coloured thin fabric, almost 2 metres long, folded in two, a thin band of gold streaking down its width, a few inches from the edge, All over India, urban dressing has undergone a seachange in the last 20 years. The North India dhoti has become a dress meant to wear only on religious and festive occasions and that too mostly for the tradition-minded. And that is where coming to Kerala brings a smile to my face...for most youngsters wearing a mundu is as much a lifestyle statement as wearing a jeans/t-shirt. The first item on my shopping list when i reached trivandrum last time was to buy a kasavu mundu and i walked into karalkada, a shop that has for decades been the much-vaunted destination for mundu's and set sarees. In place of their old shop which was steeped in traditionalism with kerala architecture in wood and customers sitting on the floor, i found to my dismay a modern shopping arcade, all airconditioned and looking just like any other garment shop in the city. The price-range made my heart sink...all their good mundus came priced in the 800-plus range while real crap stuff came at Rs.200 and with a sinking feeling i wondered how many ordinary folk whose pride and culture would not allow them to settle for cheap stuff could anymore afford this place.

So i got mine from a cooperative khadi store near my house, a really good one at just Rs.300 and proudly put it on and went for onasadyas, cinemas, outings to the bar, wherever possible to my hearts content. Our household help remarked to me, "Mone ithaa cherunnathe, pantum jeansine kaalum". I could just quip, "Enna cheyyaana chechi, kaalam maariyille. Ennum ithitte nadakkandathaayirunnu njanokke". Its not just me...almost all my friends love to wear it as much as possible, i go to any of their houses, from kerala to delhi to new york, and they have a stock of lungis or ottamundus that they keep so that guests can change to, for the night. The first time i wore a lungi was sometime in the 9th, a signal to my parents i had come of age, but like the by-now-beaten-to-death aphorism of malayali productivity being so low coz 90% of time being spent in tying and untying the lungi, the first year continued true to that saying.

I remember in college we even had a strike once coz some evangelist christian management in kerala banned the mundu in their college and suspended students for wearing that, the rage on everyones faces was so real, seeing the unison with which warring student parties chanted their "Vidyarthi Aikyam Zindabad" slogans made us laugh our heart out. And when I look at college snaps I noticed, not without a slight tinge of envy how one of my classmates, Kannan, an sfi leader, was always to be seen in a mundu unlike us sayyips. Once chanced to read a tamilian blogger, pretty much parochial in a lot what he wrote, yet grudgingly admit Kerala happens to be the only state in the south where traditional attire still holds sway among the youth. Had a debate with a bengali friend who mocked me for wearing a lungi, and i responded saying he was jealous coz the bengali dhoti was unfashionable. He took offence and said for them its very much in fashion, but coz its a little cumbersome they have readymade ones available in the market, but as a result the art of learning to tie it would soon get forgotten. But victory was mine as he admitted it had gone out of everyday usage by youth.

The mundu continues to hold a high place in kerala's popular culture too. Without a doubt, an actor of Mohanlal's standing has boosted the continued sexiness and comeliness of the mundu in malayali men's eyes through countless popular films like Sphadikam, Aaraam Thampuran, Narasimham, etc, etc. The trend continues to the next generation too with Prithviraj donning the mundu with elan in the recent blockbuster, Classmates and the critically acclaimed, Vasthavam. Even some women continue to be partial to it as i found out recently...we were talking about the recent sherwani rage in malalayali weddings and my sis threatened to show me the door if i came wearing something like that to her or my marriage! I have been digging around for topics close to the heart that still remain unsaid, to keep this blog ticking, until a friend phoned and amidst our conversation he remarked his idea of giving a set saree as a gift to his gori mem fizzled out as his cousin reminded him that it was an act akin to pudava-kodukkals! Poor poor mallu boys...maybe i should write a post soon on continuing traditions in multi-cultural setups!

P.S - More of these discarded write-ups should be coming out now from their folder close to the recycle bin. From now on i will use them to intersperse the dry periods. Hope everyone had a good easter...wish you all a Happy Vishu! Here is one of the best ever posts i have seen in blogosphere. Its written by an ABCD mallu...am not much of a fan of the american way of writing but this one was different and sucked me right in.

Summers, Bygone, Forever...

2007-03-18T18:55:00.000-07:00

Thank you very much, Silverine, for this wonderful tag. I have been itching to do a tag for a long time...even thought of doing the tags i forewent, but tags have this perishable quality of having to be done fresh, in sync with all the blog-pals.

When does summer start for people in trivandrum...4 buses loaded with brats from Loyola School shouting "Happy, Holidays" at the top of their young lungs all along the ananthapuri veethikal until the last kid is offloaded!!!

The Ugly...

The terror of having to wait a month till mid-April to know if i passed my finals. I was a touch-and-go student all through school. There was always a family trip to Velankanni to pray i pass. The worst part was having a sister whose big worry was getting the first rank or not!!!

The Bad...

Unarguably the best library in town, the Loyola School Library didnt lend books to us during summer. Until the Eloor Lending Library opened we had to be content with the slim pickings at the Public Library and the British Library.

The Good...

1. Flatmates
We lived in a housing colony with almost two dozen children, both small kids, big kids and college kids...all regardless of age buzzing with potential energy ready to implode if not exploded. Almost all of us had working parents and we kids had a jungle, 2 tiny parks,a 100 metre straight stretch of private road at Pattom Junction as our backyard for playspace. So many games, cricket, football, kabaddi, even hockey, and when the gals too insisted on playing there was hide and seek, lock and key, seven-tiles, eripanthe, badminton, kite-flying, etc, etc! We wouldnt come home even at night, and parents eager to catch atleast a lone glimpse of us for the day, had to venture out, chase us and herd us back into our cages...as we tearfully bid farewell to each other, like lambs to a slaughter-house.

2. Native Places -
Kattanam and Arakulam, my two lost native villages...one of the things i am most thankful to my parents are despite all our entreaties, forcing us to go there and live...the flavour of village life i got there, will i ever get to taste again...only time can tell. My sister always tells me, i have never written a post to outdo this one...it popped out somehow from my sub-conscious, i reminescent fondly of as my days as a fresh blogger, with no dearth of topics to write on, while nowadays i increasingly feel jaded, struggling to strike new ground with each post...and i concede i will never ever be able to write anything better. I have so much more to write on those places, had a selfish intent not to list some of the stuff we did there, as it is fodder for another post.

At Kattanam
- walking thru the paadam, looking proudly at my appachan toiling daily, but glad that my mom did good and bailed out
- earnestly looking all day at the lone village road which ended at our house for some guest.
- kanji in the afternoon made by ammachi, sitting alongside the farmhands, making sense of their chatter, a plaavila in hand magnifying the taste a million times over
- Huddle around the women at dusk...listen to them gossipping, telling old stories, etc, etc
- The varaal fish caught fresh from the small streams...had as curry with the kappa ammachi proudly nurtured
- a pleasure for now...feeling the coolness of the rudoxide flooring, imagining the layout of our old house and the farm and remembering all the things we did there

Well if you thought my ammachi was just a farmer's wife...be ready for this. Well my sweetheart is now an Internet Superstar...

At Arakulam
- Listening to the sound of the creek flowing by our thottam
- Hunting for kuzhiyaanas with mom
- Reading a year's balaramas and pumbattas which our cousins subscribed to, but denied to us back at home...coz pops believed comics and cartoons were no good...of course Misha was an honourable exception to the rule.
- Reading novels and short stories my dad and uncles studied in college
- Listen in rapt attention to ammachi's recounting of my dad's heroics, grandpa's villainy, great grandpa's enterprise and the mahakavi's fame
- Live in mortal dread of the rain, thunder, lightning and urulepottal which always seems to claim quite a few lives on every visit there
- A Silence which lets you hear, then see, then feel a Nature our kids might never know off again...

3. VenalMazha - Towards the end of April or beginning of May a totally unexpected rain showers on us trivandrum residents. With the sun in full blast, the dust in full flight, the sweatglands working-overtime as salt factories, comes a gift from the heavens on Ganapathi's wedding, more refreshing for the mind and body, if caught in this tender rain than any water-park of human devise.

4. Camps - A semi-mad, retired colonel in TVM cooked up this idea of a personality development summer camp...my sis and i found ourselves going reluctanly, but amongst a new set of boys and gals i saw all my latent talents in writing, elocution, quizzing and sports come gushing out...cloud nine and seventh heaven just become pale adjectives to describe how a sad, spindly, introverted boy on earth feels when catapulted to overnight stardom...i ended up best camper in my second year there, but continued as a cropper when back after summer at my illustrious school amongst my accomplished classmates. But the camp was a harbinger for life to come, college saw me break out of the last of my self-inflicted barriers. jibs...when down and out, never ever lose hope in fresh beginnings, dude.

5. Beer - Summers at college was a bad bad time. College closes in March for study-leave, but we neither studied nor did anything worthwhile, sat twiddling our thumbs at home, the exams beginning in mid-April and sometimes even overlapping to June was a time for hectic exam-eve study, xeroxing and sleeping blissfully. Yet we would venture out, sometimes to the movies, otherwise sweating on the cricket ground and savoring the drink that most symbolizes college-life, beer. Yummm...i still can relish the taste of hundreds and hundreds of kingfishers guzzled in those 4 years.

6. Coolness,A 2007 Story - A summer of 1992, when i first set unbelieving blinking eyes on the big home my parents had built, i realized i had been denied a lot of cool stuff other kids my age grew up with like toys, comic books, bicycles, video games, etc, etc all which my young but receptive mind assumed we just were not in a position to afford. My parents had turned me on the path of knowledge...observing people, reading encyclopedias, novels, newspapers...even today i fail to relate with swanky cars, new-age gizmos, designer wear, big money, etc, etc. In this era it might be a huge failing and i may be an odd one out...a constant struggle to define myself and my coolness quotient goes on...watching my life play out, waiting for the surprises in store. A whole new theater of activity awaits me this summer...before the curtain downs on a season of warmth, an incubation period goes on, i expect to be hatched a new person when Fall befalls. Wonder what's in store...

Well here goes the list of folks yet to be tagged with this one...Arun Hari, Dhanush, Flaash, Pappanabhan, Rajesh, Sarah and Thanu...Enjoy!

Oru Thattupolappan Vivaaha Vyavahaarika...

2007-03-08T17:21:00.000-08:00

I feel odd...an inspiration for a post hit and it was on a topic i had the least idea of...marriages!!! More odd...this divine blog actually began with a recounting of an american wedding i attended...so inspite of all further oddities i will strive on to finish this post...it will be interesting for you the reader and me the blogger to find out where this goes! Apologies to my sis, her friends, my friends, our family, etc, etc whose interesting experiences is all that this post contains. A piece of trivia...my ancestor, the Mahakavi wrote a musical-play, Sara Vivaham 104 years ago, to be screened on the occasion of my great-grandfather marrying my great-grandmother...wonder how favorable the odds are for him to throw a paathaalakarandi down from heaven, to scoop me off, for writing such chavare!

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A girl reaches the marriageable age...a process akin to the software engineering life cycle begins..always begins by a requirements gathering. Lets see how a consensus was arrived at in my family.
Pops: The boy should be from a good family.
Mom: All i care for is a good boy!
Me: All i ask is he should have lived in Kerala at some point and...(secretly to my sis)i hope he drinks a bit too!
Pops: Why is that? 50% of malayali christians are expats!
Me(sheepishly): I'd like to talk to my future aliyan in pacha-malayalam!
Finally all eyes turn to the client for her concerns.
Sis: Haavoo!Thanks for asking me atleast now!

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And so begins the next phase: the groom search. At no other point in life can you ever get to see such a vivid assortment of the male mallu psyche.
Boy1: Looking for a comely girl who can sing, dance, cook, yaada yaada yaada!
Boy2: Lookin for a homely gal with us citizenship/green card but brought up in kerala.
Boy3: Looking for lovely gal from financially sound family, who is preferably a single child.
Boy4: I need a beautiful girl!!!

One night. I get a call from Pops.
Pops: Go online to ChavaraMatrimonial and look up this boy.
Me: Pops I am applying for jobs rite now!
Pops: Well somebody just applied for a bharthaav udyogam!
So I login on my sister's account to check this guy out...the same usual stuff. I am tempted to browse out the gals on the site. A message pops up - "Same Gender Search not allowed"! Dang...i didnt know the church was so hell bent on checking homosexuality!

My net-savvy dad even taught a still-surviving broker a lesson or two.
Pops: Send me a snap of the boy.
Broker: Okay sir! I will post it.
Pops: Dont you have an email? It is so much faster, you know.
Broker(now desperate):Then i will bring snap over!
Pops: Vendae Venda! Ennaal vandikooliyum tharanamello pinne!

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Then begins the emailing phase...by the end of this, you actually realize half the guys out there in the arranged-market are desperados, if not psychos...sympathies for the gals tagged to them for a lifetime!
Boy1(wud seem like a spammer in his spare time seeing his flurry of emails!): I have brought a 3 bedroom house for us.ur parents can live with us. me even ready to watch mallu movies with u!
Gal: Take it slow dude!
Boy1: Are you seeing someone (surprised that she didnt fall for all that?)
Gal: WTF!

Boy2: Take a look at some casual pictures of mine.
Each pic clicked on causing increasing panic. In one he shows his well-toned biceps. Another in front of a mirror. And finally the piece de resistance of the slide-show...he wears red-coloured goggles. Total Disaster!
Gal: Good Luck!

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And so the party moves to the backroom. Time for background check. Sometimes done by direct house visits, sometimes by asking common friends, inquiring at colleges studied, etc, etc.

A friend of mine, is asked by his dad abt a boy who was our senior in college they had found for their child.
Gal-Dad: Do u know this guy?
Friend: No...never heard of him.
Gal-Dad(relieved): Thank God! If you havent heard of him, it means the boy must be real nice, studious and didnt alambufy in college!

Marital background checks can come handy for college teachers...read on! One day The Savages, our gang in college was summoned to the ladies staff-room and the teachers ganged around, scolding us for all the alambs in class. Seeing us not bothered...
Teacher1: Ha Varatte! Ningalkke kalyaana samayam aakumbol pembillerude achanmaar chodhiche varum
Teacher2: Annu njangal kaanichu tharaam
Savage1: Njan love-marriageil vishwasikkunna aalaanu.
Teacher3: Ho thanne love cheyyaanum pembiller dhairyapedumo!

This happened at one such direct visit i had to attend to make up a quorum for marriage functions...i forget if it needs to be odd or an even number of people that needs to proceed.
Gal-Dad(a relative): How come the boy did his MD in such a useless field?
Boy-Dad(our family friend too, this man, now irritated): How come the gal got 80% for degree and only 54% for PG? Was she distracted by something?
Mom unable to stop laughing, me wondering if a fight would break out!

Another such visit of a Gal-Dad to a friend's workplace to interview him.
Gal-Dad: Do you smoke or drink?
Friend: Yeah!
Gal-Dad: Eh! But your parents said you dont.
Friend(to himself):Iyaal aaruva! Ithokke veetukaarode paranjitta ellaavarum cheyyaa?!

Nowadays a new tool rampantly used. Orkut! Every boy/gal's profile, scrapbook and friends-list is checked...many are rejected for being around in the site long but not having enough friends! So those on Orkut...be warned...either leave or get active, if inside!

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And now comes the Pennukaanal Chadangu. So long as you are neither the boy/gal involved it is fun. Some of my blog-pals like Anish and Silverine have written awesome posts on this endeavour.

Here is one incident that went almost wrong. To satisfy the quorum said somewhere above i had to go for this ceremony once. My cousin-chetan, the boy, all clean-shaven, me with a beard, arrive at the gal's house...
Gal-Dad(outstretched hand, towards me): Welcome, nice to meet you, i am george
Cousin(lunging forward, taking the hand): Njaanaanu cherukkan
Gal-Dad(to cousin): You look younger to him!
Gal-Dad apologizes profusely...my cousin made sure i never went with him to see gals after that!

Another one that went real wrong.
Boy: You said you were 5ft,4 and 52kgs in ur profile...look at u!
Gal: You said you were fair-complexioned, handsome and well-built...look at u!

This one had almost tragic repercussions. 30 years back. My uncle was to go for Pennu-Kaanal and his friend agreed to tag along for company. On the appointed day the friend arrives, decked in a new, finely stitched coat and suit while my uncle wore an old, almost worn out one. Uncle surveys the friend head-to-toe, realizes the danger of his bride-to-be casting her eyes on this upstart.
Uncle: Nee varaenda. Nee vannaal sheriyaavilla
Friend: But...But...this new suit...50 dollars...quorum...
Uncle: Quorums be damned. This is America!
The joke in later years was, this friend realizing how a man can change with the coming of a woman, swore at the altar of chronic bachelordom for 15 long years, until he finally yielded to nature's call!

Sometimes the Pennukaanal Chandange never happens...a friend's wife said she saw 28 guys before just talking over the fone with him just once...and she realized he was the right guy and decided to forego the Pennukaanal!

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And so my good people, an odyssey of unparallelled psychological profiling besides other physical, mental, material, logical, familial analyses leads to an engagement and then the marriage which despite all the above said human exertions is supposedly ordained in heaven! A post i thoroughly enjoyed penning...well i think the incidents above can be generalized across the kerala spectrum. But the troubles malayalis have to go through even after a marriage is over...i leave you with one final anecdote.

Man: We were the best of friends 30 years back. Yet he didnt invite me for his daughter's wedding.
Pops: Maybe he forgot.
Man: I am not inviting him for my daughter's wedding.
After the man leaves...
Mom: What's wrong with him? I'd be glad if there was one less wedding I'd be invited to.
We could only laugh in agreement at her pungent observation.

A Comic Strip

2007-02-20T02:06:00.000-08:00

Of all the places were the muse can strike! This one happened in a classroom in Delhi during my Civil Service coaching. The hero of this cartoon was one of the sweetest boys i had met, totally uncorrupted by the ways of the world, preparing for the UPSC because it was his dad's big dream to see him as an IPS officer. I had this habit of drawing cartoon and mythical characters in school on the last pages of my notebook and was pleasantly surprised to find this talent revisiting 10 years later! Had totally forgotten about this...if not for my sister who miraculously discovered this one scribbled inside one of my notebooks.

P.S - Please open the image in another window. For some reason its all blurred.

In God, We Trust...

2007-02-17T04:15:00.000-08:00

Anyways this one is about our family praying at night. Not all of the following account is a routine, though a lot of it is. I have just tossed in a lot of the funny moments that came to mind. Anyways life has taken us kids out of our home...but memories linger. This one is dedicated to my parents and grandparents who tried their best to give us a Christian upbringing and a horrible reminder of what the future that lies in store for us with our kids.

Night- 7:30-8:00pm
Mom: We should pray first.
Us: No! We should eat first.
Ammachi: But that is not how others do it. Will you people even pray after i am gone???

Night 8:30pm
Mom: "Pillere, praarthikkaan vaa"(Kids come to pray)
Sis: "Chach, come"!
Me: "Wait a minute!"(believe me, my version of a minute is a long long time!)
Pops: "I have one more short fone call to make."(his version of a short call is a still longer one.)
Ammachi(already seated, waiting impatiently, on the verge of sleeping, and looking at my mom accusingly): "Gracykutty...ithonnum nallathinalla"(All this is not for good).

Night 9:00pm. Finally the actors arrive. Everyone has a pre-reserved position. Ammachi on a chair by the dining table. Pops on the steps leading upstairs. Mom by the sofa-side. Sis seated against the TV stand and me resting against the wall. We are all set to begin.

The Holy Bible is taken up by mom. She passes it to me. I push it back to her. She passes it to sis. She pushes it away too initially before relenting and more often than not thrusts it into my lap and then another reverse tug-o-war begins.
Sis: "I read yesterday. Today its your turn."
Me: "I read three days at a stretch last week."
Finally a commanding voice from behind arises,
Pops: "Mathi! Da nee vaayikke" (That's enough!)
I close my eyes and randomly open a page...still scowling. Dang...that went to the Old Testement. So I try again. This time it is one of the Psalms. Again not my favorite. Moreover sis has beaten that to death through the years...cant really understand the female fascination with the Psalms. Then Finally.
Me: "Lukosinte Suvishesham. Adhyayam Pathinanju, Pathu Muthal Pathinanju Vareyulla Vaakyangal."(A reading from the Gospel of St.Luke. Chapter 15. Verses 10-15.)
Oh-ho! This is trouble. It is about the prodigal son. I gloss over that, and start with another section.
The reading is done. I turn a triumphant glance at my sis. Didnt mess my pronounciation of the malayalam unlike her. This is what she once read out..."Yeshu peedippicha prarthana"(The prayer Jesus tortured). The actual line was "Yeshu Padippicha Prarthana"(The prayer Jesus taught, Mathew 5:9). A look of "Ninne njan adutha vattom edutholam" is all i get back.

Everyone breaks out into a song. Its a lovely one. "Nithyasahaaya Naathe..." But the beginning is a problem. All of us suck at singing. So mom starts out. It is funny to hear her start diffidently, with ears sharpened waiting for us to join in the crooning. Usually ammachi piches in and gives her support and then the rest three of us open up. One night sis and i decided on a small prank, to not parttake in the singing and watch how far she can go on. Mom lost her confidence and turned back and gives the kind of look of having been utterly back-stabbed!

The next items in the itenerary. Our Father in Heaven, followed by Hail Mary, then the I Believe prayer, then the I Confess prayer, then the Hail Holy Queen prayer, then The Act of Contrition, and then another song...Walking with the Lord. All these are said in English and were a byproduct of the convent education and the jesuit schooling sis and i got. All the prayers are said at break-neck speed and mom tries to join us and then gives up midway panting. These days we have given up on the english prayers. It is all in malayalam. I think i must have forgotten all the above ones by now.

Now mom, ammachi and sis takes over. The rites begin in malayalam.
Chorus: "Swargasthanaaya Njangalude Pithaave, Ninte Naamam Poojitham Aakaname". (Our Father in Heaven, Holy be thy name)
Me: "Ninte Udarathin Phalamaaya Easo" (Blessed be the fruit of thy womb)
Everyone turns around. Cold Stares. I know what that look means. I messed up again. After the first line of Our Father I had jumped straight to the second line of Hail Mary. I raise my hands to conciliate everyone and decides to sit quietly. My sis opens her mouth and flashes her tongue at me. If it wasnt prayer time...i would have pulled it out.

All the while there is one man sitting behind who softly hums quite-inaudible somethings which none of us could really make out. That was Pops' way of praying. For me the interest in catching him in the act was heightened by my doubts that he was a communist at heart. After all Marx was the founding father of his bread-earner, Sociology and every sociologist i knew seemed to be a commie at heart. All his friends in the University were die-hard leftists, he rarely went to church in the 80's, and i suspect only once in the 70's...to marry my mom!!! Our library had scores of books on Marx, Engels, Lenin, et al. Even today without me asking, he will walk up and recount all the times of the week he visits a church or atleast a kurishadi...he must be hoping it makes an impact on me...but first impressions linger.

My mom follows the Syro-Malankara rite which is full of arcane prayers, syriani chants, and a tendency to neetufy the last syllable. You find it in the Orthodox Church too. Now comes my favorite...That is one part i understand...because its slow...and its a chance to playfully test my lung power. Everyone is taken aback with my new-found zest which dies with the passing of those lines.
Chorus:"Deyvameyyyy, nee Balavaaaaaaaaaanaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaakunnnnnnnnuuuuuuuuuuu."(God, you are so strong!!!)
Chorus:"Deyvameyyyy, nee Parishudhanaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaakunnnnnnnnuuuuuuuuuuu."(God, you are so sacred!!!) Wonder if god will do the same literal translation and laugh at the result!
"Pirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!"
I looked back all deflated. The fart had spolt my best lines. But sis couldnt stop laughing, mom joined in, and even ammachi who keeps a sombre face during prayers joined. It had to be pops, or so we always decided and ganged up against him. Usually he took it sportingly but sometimes a whiff of anger would fleet through his face and we would all hurriedly resume.

Then begins two prayers that mom adores, i suspect to be novennas, but she doesnt bother. I have a short easy one of 3 small paras which i have been saying for years yet cant memorize. Can never finish without help from mum and sis. And then sis begins hers, which is pretty long, citing proudly from memory. Suddenly the phone rings. Mom turns back and looks at dad. He rushes to replace the reciever and comes back. The prayer resumes. Suddenly the other phone rings and Pop is out of the block like a 100mt sprinter.
Mom(loosing her cool): "Ee veetile phonukal ellaam njan thalli pottikkum"(I will break all the darned phones in this house.)

And finally, its all over. A few moments of meditation to wind up is an unspoken rule in the household. I look around wondering why noone leaves...and suspecting it to be a case of inertia, I am up in a moment rushing upstairs, taking the cue Pops dashes for the fone and sis lunges for the TV remote. Our cousins had to give sthuthi(praise...done with palms pressed like in namaste) to the elders before leaving but we both are so informal with our parents that it seemed awkward.
Mom:"Ingane Praarthichitte oru kaaryavum illa."(There is no point praying like this!)
A solemn, gloomy looking ammachi sits staring at a puzzled, thoughtful looking mom wondering how in a span of 20 years her family which contributed 3 priests to the church, one her son, and the other two her nephews...had changed...or was it the times?

It was just a half-hour in the 24 hour days of our lives...nowadays looking back one of the constant memories of home that i treasure are the images of our awkward family-prayers. I wont be a boy again, I maynot be a practising christian ever again, but i will say two things for sure...prayers bring families closer and they sure can be fun too!

Mayyazhiyil

2007-02-14T03:16:00.000-08:00

Finished reading M.Mukundan's masterpeice, Mayyazhi Puzhayude Theerangalil. Now what do I say...am i sad, am i disturbed or am i overwhelmed...didnt all the characters find salvation, though not the one they envisaged? Or am I scared of wasted youthfulness? Or am I on the right track? Time will tell...

സാക്ഷി...

2007-01-28T16:46:00.000-08:00

പ്രഭാതം പൊട്ടി വിടരുന്നു. പാഞ്ഞകലുന്ന ബസ്സ്‌ ഓളിയിട്ടു നിര്‍ത്തുന്നു. 30 വയസ്സ്‌ തോന്നിക്കുന്ന ഒരു ചെറുപ്പക്കാരന്‍ രാത്രിമഴയില്‍ നനഞ്ഞുകിടക്കുന്ന വഴിയരികത്തേക്ക്‌ ധ്രിതിയില്‍ ചാടിയിറങ്ങുന്നു. ഒരു നിമിഷം പോലും നഷ്ടപ്പെടാനില്ലെന്നോണം നീങ്ങിയകലുന്ന ബസ്സിനെ യുവാവ്‌ അല്‍പനേരം നോക്കി നിന്നിട്ട്‌ തിരിഞ്ഞു നടക്കുന്നു. കവലയടുത്തപ്പം അയാള്‍ ഒന്നു ശങ്കിച്ചു നിന്നുപോയി. ഓരോ വട്ടം വരുമ്പം ഇവിടെ എന്തൊക്കെ മാറ്റങ്ങള്‍...പുതിയ കടകള്‍, വീടുകള്‍, ഇതാ ഇപ്പം ഒരു സൈബര്‍ കഫെയും. ജീന്‍സും റ്റീ-ഷര്‍ട്ടും തോളത്തിലൂടെ സ്പോര്‍ട്ട്സ്‌-ബാഗും തൂക്കി നിനച്ചു നിന്ന യുവാവിനെ പീടികതിണ്ണയില്‍ പത്രവും വായിച്ചിരുന്ന ഗ്രാമവാസി അയാളെ താല്‍പര്യപൂര്‍വം നോക്കുന്നതു കണ്ടിട്ട്‌ അങ്ങോട്ട്‌ നടന്നു. "കാവിലെ വീട്‌ എതിലയ ചേട്ടാ?" എന്തൊ പറയാന്‍ എന്നോണം വാ തുറന്നിട്ടു പിന്നെ ആലോചനയില്‍ മുഴുകിയിട്ട്‌ അയാള്‍ പറഞ്ഞു, "വടക്ക്ക്കോട്ട്‌ നടന്നാല്‍ കാണുന്ന വര്‍കുഷോപ്പിന്റെ അരികിലൂടൊള്ള റോട്‌ ചെന്നെത്തുന്നത്‌ കുരിഷടിയില്‍..."
"വടക്ക്‌...?"
പുച്ച ഭാവതൊടെ വഴികാട്ടി കൈകൊണ്ട്‌ ആങ്ങ്യം കാട്ടി.
"ആ ... അവിടുന്നുള്ള വഴിയെനിക്കറിയാം. നന്ദി."
"ഇപ്പം സിഗറെറ്റ്‌ കിട്ടുന്ന കട വല്ലൊം തുറന്നിരിക്കുമൊ ചേട്ടാ?"
"ക്കുഞ്ഞ്‌ കാവിലെ എതു വീട്ടിലെയാന്ന പറഞ്ഞെ?"
"ഞാന്‍ പറഞ്ഞില്ലല്ലൊ ചേട്ടാ". നടന്നകലുന്ന യുവാവിനെ നോക്കി അയാള്‍ ഭൂമിക്കു പ്രഹരമേല്‍പ്പിക്കും വിധം ആഞ്ഞൊരു തുപ്പ്‌.

ഒരു സിഗറെറ്റും വാങ്ങി കത്തിച്ചവന്‍ നടക്കുന്നു. മലകളിലിടയിലൂടെ ഒളിഞ്ഞുയരുന്ന ഉദയസൂര്യനെ അവന്‍ ആദരപൂര്‍വം ഒന്ന് നോക്കി നിന്നുപോകുന്നു.
"സിറ്റി ജീവിതം മതിയാക്കിയാലോ," എന്നു തന്നോടു തന്നെ ചോദിച്ചു പോകുന്ന ഒരു സുന്ദര നിമിഷം. പരിശുദ്ധം എന്നു തോന്നുന്ന ഗ്രാമവായുവും നനഞ്ഞു കിടക്കുന്ന ഭൂമിയുടെ ലസിപ്പിക്കുന്ന ഗന്ധവും അവന്‍ ആഞ്ഞൊന്ന് ഉള്‍ശ്വസിച്ചു. സ്വീകരിക്കാതെ വന്നു കയറിയ അതിഥി എന്നോണം സിഗറെറ്റിനെ ഒന്ന് നോക്കിയിട്ട്‌ അവന്‍ അതിനെ വലിച്ചെറിയുന്നു. അവന്‍ പെറ്റുവീണ, ഇന്നു ദിവസങ്ങള്‍ ചെല്ലുന്തോറും അന്യമായി തോന്നുന്ന തറവാട്ടിലേക്കു അയാള്‍ നടന്നു. ഇവിടെ പടുവൃദ്ധരായ അപ്പച്ചനും അമ്മച്ചിയും മാത്രം. കുട്ടികാലത്ത്‌ കൂടെ ഓടി കളിച്ച കസിന്‍സിനെയും ഒട്ടൊരുമയോടെ ജീവിച്ച എളാപ്പന്മാരെയും അവരുടെ ഭാര്യമാരെയും ഒന്നു അനുസ്മരിച്ചു. ഭാഗം വച്ചും വെക്കാതയും എല്ലാവരും തെറ്റി പിരിഞ്ഞു. അതില്‍ ഒഴുകി പോയ സമപ്രായകാരായ കസിന്‍സിന്റെ സൗഹൃദം എന്നും ഒരു തീരാനഷ്ടം തന്നെ. വിശാലമായ റബ്ബര്‍ മരങ്ങള്‍ പൊതിഞ്ഞ വഴിയറ്റത്ത്‌ തന്റെ തറവാട്‌ കാഴ്ചയില്‍ പെട്ടു. എന്ത്‌ സുന്ദരമായ വീട്‌...ഇന്നത്തെ വീടുകള്‍ വെറും അലങ്കാര വസ്തുക്കള്‍.

ഉമുക്കരിയിട്ടു പല്ലും തേച്ച്‌ അതാ ഇറങ്ങി വരുന്നു സുമുഖനും എമ്പത്‌ പോയിട്ട്‌ അമ്പത്‌ പോലും തോന്നിക്കാത്ത ഒത്ത ശരീരവും തടിയുമുള്ള തന്റെ അപ്പച്ചന്‍.
അപ്പച്ചന്റെ മസ്സില്‍ തടവിക്കൊണ്ട്‌, "How are you young man?"
അവന്റെ ചോദ്യം കേട്ട്‌ സന്തോഷത്തോടെയും അഭിമാനത്തോടെയും വൃധന്‍, "I am fine"
വീടിന്റെ അകത്തു നിന്നും നിര്‍താതെ ചുമ കേള്‍കുന്നു.
"കുട്ടന്‍ വന്നൊ?"
അവന്‍ അകത്തേക്ക്‌ ചെന്ന് അമ്മച്ചിയെ കെട്ടിപിണരുന്നു.
"ഞാന്‍ ചായ കൊണ്ടു വരാം," എന്ന് പറഞ്ഞിട്ട്‌ വൃദ്ധ അടുക്കളയിലേക്കു കൂനി കൂനി നദന്നു. വീണ്ടും തോരാത്ത ചുമ കേട്ട്‌ യുവാവിനു വ്യസനം.
"ഒരു ജോലികാരിയെ വെക്ക്‌ എന്റെ അമ്മച്ചി. അതിലും പിഷുക്കല്ലേ."
"ആളെ കിട്ടണ്ടേ എന്റെ മോനെ. ആരെങ്കിലും വന്നു നിന്നാല്‍ തന്നെ അപ്പച്ചന്‍ പിണക്കി തിരിച്ചയക്കും. എനിക്ക്‌ കഷ്ടപ്പെടാനാണന്നെ യോഗം."
തന്റെ ബാഗ്‌ തുറന്നു പരിശോദ്ധിക്കുന്ന വൃദ്ധനെ കണ്ട്‌ യുവാവിന്റെ മുഖത്തൊരു ചെറുപുഞ്ചിരി.
"ഇല്ല. അപ്പച്ചന്റെ ഐറ്റം കൊണ്ടുവന്നിട്ടില്ല. കഴിഞ്ഞ പ്രാവശ്യം ഓവര്‍ ആയത്‌ മറന്നൊ?"
"What a fellow you are?" നിരാശ കലര്‍ന്ന സുന്ദര മുഖതിന്റെ വിളര്‍ച്ച തെല്ലൊരു കൗതുകതൊദെ അയാള്‍ ശ്രദ്ധിച്ചു നിന്നു,
"റാപിടെക്സ്കാര്‍ക്‌ അപ്പച്ചന്റെ ഇംഗ്ലീഷ്‌ ഒരു പരസ്യം ആകാമായിരുന്നു."
"ഉവ്വ...ഉവ്വ. ഇത്‌ റാപിടെക്സാണന്ന് നിന്നോടാരു പറഞ്ഞു. ഞാന്‍ സ്കൂളില്‍ പഠിച്ചത്‌ ഇന്നും മറന്നിട്ടില്ല."

ഒരു പെണ്‍കുട്ടി കടന്നു വരുന്നു. 20-22 വയസ്സ്‌ തോന്നിക്കുന്നവള്‍ വേഷം ധരിചിരുന്നത്‌ ഒരു ചുരിധാറായിരുന്നു. നാണം കലര്‍ന്ന ചെറുപുഞ്ചിരിയും സൗന്ദര്യത്തെക്കാള്‍ ഏറെ വല്ലാത്തൊരു പ്രസന്നതയാണ്‌ അവന്‍ അവളില്‍ കണ്ടത്‌.
സംശയിച്ചു നിന്ന അവനെ കണ്ട്‌ അമ്മച്ചി:
"നിനക്ക്‌ സ്മിതയെ അറിയില്ലെ. മരിച്ചുപോയ മാത്തുകുട്ടിയുടെ മകളാണ്‌. ഇവിടെ എഞ്ചിനീറിങ്ങിന്‌ പഠിക്കുന്നു. പുതിയ കോളേജ്‌ ആയതുകൊണ്ട്‌ ഹോസ്റ്റെലില്ല. പിന്നെ ഞങ്ങല്‍ക്കും ഒരു കൂട്ടായി. "
"ജോണിചേട്ടന്‍ ഇപ്പം വന്നെ ഒള്ളൊ?"
"ചേട്ടനോ! നിന്റെ അങ്കിളാണടി കൊച്ചെ."
"ആയ്യോ! ചേട്ടന്‍ വിളി തന്നെ ധാരാളം. നമുക്കത്ര പ്രായം ഒന്നും ആയിട്ടില്ലെ."
"കുഞ്ഞമ്മ മാറിയെ. ഞാന്‍ കാപ്പി തയ്യാറാക്കാം," എന്നും പരഞ്ഞവള്‍ അടുക്കളയിലേക്കു കയറി.
"നിന്റെ ബിസിനസ്സ്‌ ഒക്കെ എങ്ങനെ".
"ആ ചൊദ്യത്തില്‍ നിന്ന് രക്ഷ എങ്ങും കിട്ടില്ലെ?" എന്ന് ജോണി ഓര്‍ത്തു.
എന്നിട്ട്‌ കാരണവരോട്‌ നീരസത്തോടെ മറുപടി പറഞ്ഞു: "വല്യ മെച്ചം ഒന്നും ഇല്ല."
"അടച്ചു പൂട്ടണെങ്കില്‍ നീ ഇങ്ങു പോരെ. റബ്ബറിന്‌ നല്ല വിലയാ."
ക്രൂരമെന്ന് തോന്നുന്ന വാക്കുകളോട്‌ പ്രതികരിക്കണൊ വേണ്ടയൊന്ന് ജോണി ഒരു വട്ടം ആലോചിക്കുന്നു, ആ നിമിഷവും കടന്നു.
"ആ ചെറുക്കന്‍ വന്ന് കയറെണ്ട താമസം, പോരു കൂട്ടി തുടങ്ങി."
ജോണിയും സ്മിതയും ഉറക്കെ ചിരിക്കുന്നു.
"സ്മിതയ്ക്‌ ഇന്ന് എന്താ പരുപാടി? ഇവരുടെ ഇടയില്‍ കിടന്നു അടികൂടാനും പരിഹരിക്കാനും കമ്പനിയുണ്ടല്ലൊ."
"എനിക്ക്‌ ക്ലാസ്സൊണ്ടല്ലൊ."
"പോകെണ്ടന്നെ. കട്ട്‌ ചെയ്യ്‌."
"നീ പോടാ. മോള്‌ പോയി പഠിക്കാന്‍ നോക്ക്‌."

അവന്‍ നാടുകാണാന്‍ ഇറങ്ങി. റബ്ബര്‍ വില ഉയര്‍ന്നപ്പോള്‍ നിദ്രയില്‍ നിന്നെന്നോണം സഡകുടഞ്ഞെഴുന്നേറ്റ മുതലാളിമാര്‍ എങ്ങും. വെയിലത്തു തിളങ്ങുന്ന തകര്‍പ്പന്‍ വണ്ടികള്‍ എങ്ങും.
"ദൈവമെ...പണ്ടത്തെ ഇടിവ്‌ മറന്നുവൊ ഇവര്‍?" ആര്‍ഭാടങ്ങള്‍ കണ്ട്‌ ജോണി തന്നോടു തന്നെ ചൊദിച്ചു പൊകുന്നു.
പണവും പ്രതാപവും ഉള്ള ചിലര്‍...അവരോട്‌ മത്സരിക്കാന്‍ വേറെ ചിലര്‍. കേരളത്തിലെങ്ങോളം എന്ന പോലെ ഇവിടെയും മാറ്റങ്ങള്‍...ഗ്രാമങ്ങള്‍ റ്റൗണുകളായി മാറുന്നു.

രാത്രി. ചുറ്റുമുള്ള മലകളില്‍ നിന്നും തിളങ്ങുന്ന ലൈറ്റുകളും ആകാശത്തിലെ നക്ഷത്രങ്ങളും തമ്മില്‍ എന്ത്‌ സാമ്യം എന്നവന്‍ അലോചിച്ച്‌ നില്‍ക്കുന്നു. കാറ്റിന്റെ അഭാവം അവനെ തെല്ലൊന്ന് അസ്വസ്തനാക്കുന്നു. പടികയറി റ്റെറസ്സിലേക്ക്‌ ആരൊ വരുന്നപോലെ അവന്‌ തോന്നുന്നു. അവളാണ്‌...സ്മിത. അവളെ പ്രതീക്ഷിച്ചെന്നോണം അവന്റെ മുഖതൊരു മന്ദഹാസം. താഴെ ടിവി സീരിയലില്‍ നിന്നുണര്‍ന്ന ഒരു അലമുറ. അവനു ചിരിവന്നു. അവളും ചിരിക്കുന്നു.
"ടിവി സീരിയല്‍ കാണാതെ സ്മിത ഈ വീട്ടില്‍ എങ്ങനെ ജീവിക്കുന്നു?"
"എന്നെ കാണിക്കല്ലെന്നാണ്‌ വീട്ടില്‍ നിന്നും കുഞ്ഞമ്മയ്ക്ക്‌ കിട്ടിയിട്ടുള്ള ഓര്‍ഡര്‍."
ഒരു നിമിഷം പ്രകൃതിയും മനുഷ്യനും യന്ത്രവും എല്ലാം നിശബ്ധം. പിന്നെ വീണ്ടും ഇടവിടാതെ ടിവിയില്‍ നിന്ന് അലമുറ.
"കുട്ടികാലത്ത്‌ ഇവിടെ വന്നിരുന്ന് എത്ര രാത്രികള്‍ ഞാന്‍ തള്ളിനീക്കി."
"നാളെ തന്നെ പോകുമൊ?"
"ഹും. എന്താ...എന്നെ മടുത്തൊ?"
"അയ്യോ. അതല്ല. ഇവിടെ ഇത്രയും ഇഷ്ടമാണെങ്കില്‍ എന്നാത്തിനാ തിടുക്കത്തില്‍ പൊകുന്നെ?"
"അവിടെ നിന്ന് കാണുമ്പം ഇവിടെ സുന്ദരം. ഇവിടെ വരുമ്പം ഞാന്‍ പ്രതീക്ഷിച്ചെത്തുന്ന പലതും ഇല്ല എന്നൊരു തിരിച്ചറിയല്‍. ചന്ദ്രനില്ല. നിലാവില്ല. ഒരു ചെറുകാറ്റുപോലും കനിയുന്നില്ല. കൂടെ നില്‍കുന്ന പെണ്ണ്‍ എന്റെ അനന്തിരവളും. How unromantic‌!"
അവന്‍ ജാള്യത കലര്‍ന്ന ഒരു ചിരി അഡക്കുന്നു.
"കല്യാണം കഴിച്ചുകൂടെ ചേട്ടന്‌?"
"എന്നിട്ട്‌ എന്ത്‌ ചെയ്യും?"
"ഈ പറഞ്ഞ romantic feeling..."
"അത്‌ സിനിമയിലും കവിതയിലും നമ്മുടെ ഭാവനയിലും മാത്രം. തിരക്കൊഴിയുമ്പോള്‍ ഒരു മധുര സ്വപ്നം കാണാന്‍ പോലും ഉന്മേശമില്ലാതെ ഞാന്‍ ഉറങ്ങും."
"എനിക്ക്‌ ഉറങ്ങാറായി ചേട്ടാ. ഞാന്‍ പോകുന്നു."

കിടന്നിട്ടും ഉറക്കം വരുന്നില്ല. അലട്ടുന്ന പല പ്രശ്നങ്ങള്‍.
"എവിടെയും ആശ്വാസം കിട്ടുന്നില്ലല്ലൊ ദൈവമെ."
അവന്‍ ഒച്ചയുണ്ടാക്കാതെ റ്റെറസ്സിലേക്ക്‌ കയറുന്നു. വാതില്‍ തുറന്നിരുന്നു, മങ്ങിയ വെട്ടത്തില്‍ ഒന്നായി തൊന്നും വിധം രണ്ടു ശരീരങ്ങള്‍ ചുമ്പിക്കാന്‍ ഒരുങ്ങുന്നു. അവന്‍ നടുങ്ങി.
"എന്നാ ചെയ്യും," തന്നോട്‌ തന്നെ അവന്‍ മന്ത്രിച്ചു.
കോണിപടിയിറങ്ങാന്‍ അവന്‍ ഒരുങ്ങുന്നു. ആ കുട്ടി തനിക്ക്‌ വേണ്ടപെട്ടവള്‍ അല്ലെ. അവള്‍ ചെയ്യുന്നതെന്തെന്ന് അവള്‍ അറിയുന്നുവൊ? കുടുമ്പം, സമൂഹം, വ്യവസ്ഥിതി...എല്ലാം അവളെ വേട്ടയാടില്ലെ...വെറും ഒരു രാത്രിയുടെ കാമഭങ്കത്തിനു വേണ്ടി. ഒരു സംശയം മാത്രം ബാകി...രക്തബന്ധം ചുരുങ്ങിയ സമയതിന്റെ പരിചയത്തിന്‌ സമം തന്നെയോ. രണ്ടും കല്‍പിച്ച്‌ അയാള്‍ വാതിലില്‍ തട്ടുന്നു. ഒരു നിലവിളി പുറപെടുവിച്ച്‌ അവള്‍ നിലത്തേക്ക്‌ പതിക്കുന്നു. പുരുഷ രൂപം ധ്രിതിയില്‍ തന്റെ അടുക്കലേക്ക്‌ നീങ്ങുന്നത്‌ കണ്ടു പരുങ്ങുന്ന ജോണി അയാളെ ഭയം കലര്‍നെങ്കിലും ശ്രദ്ധിച്ചു നോക്കുന്നു. തന്റെയത്രേം പ്രായം. താടിയുണ്ട്‌. ശര്‍ട്ടും മുണ്ടുമാണ്‌ വേഷം. പടിയിറങ്ങുന്ന രൂപത്തെ തന്നെ അവന്റെ കണ്ണുകള്‍ പിന്തുടരുന്നു. തിരിഞ്ഞ്‌ നിലം പതിച്ചു കിടന്ന സ്മിതയുടെ അരികിലേക്കവന്‍ പകച്ചു നീങ്ങി. സടകുടഞ്ഞെഴുന്നെറ്റ്‌ പഴയ പ്രസരിപ്പും ഒരു പുതിയ ധിക്കാര ഭാവവും അവളുടെ മുഖത്ത്‌ പ്രകടമായി.

"ഒന്നും പറയേണ്ട ജോണിച്ചായന്‍. അയാള്‍ എന്റെ കൂട്ടുകാരനാണ്‌."
"കൂട്ട്‌ കൂടാന്‍ സമപ്രായക്കാരെയൊ കൂടെ പഠിക്കുന്നവരെയൊ നിനക്ക്‌ കിട്ടിയില്ലെ?"
അതിന്‌ അവള്‍ മിണ്ടിയില്ല. ഒരു ബൈക്കിന്റെ ശബ്ദം. അതു നിലച്ചപ്പോള്‍ തന്നെ ലജ്ജ കൂടാതെ തുരിച്ചു നോക്കുന്ന പെണ്ണിനെ കണ്ടയാള്‍ അദ്ഭുതപ്പെടുന്നു.
"നിന്റെ അമ്മയെ കുറിച്ച്‌ ആലോചിച്ചോ. നീ കാരണം ചീത്തപേരു കേള്‍കണ്ട സഹോദരിമാരെകുറിച്ചോ?
"ഉവ്വ". ദ്രിഡമായ അവളുടെ ഉത്തരം കേട്ടവന്‍ ഞെട്ടി.
"ഞാന്‍ ഒരു ഭാരം തന്നെയാണ്‌ എന്റെ അമ്മക്ക്‌. അത്‌ അവര്‍ എന്നെ പലവട്ടം അറിയിചിട്ടുമുണ്ട്‌. ഞാന്‍ എങ്ങനെ പോയാല്‍ പിന്നെ ആര്‍ക്ക്‌ എന്ത?"
"ഇപ്പം നന്നായി പഠിച്ച്‌ നിനക്ക്‌ ഒരു ജോലി കിട്ടി രക്ഷപെട്ടുകൂടെ?"
അതിനവള്‍ക്ക്‌ മറുപടിയില്ല. മുഖം തിരിച്ച്‌ കൈകള്‍ മുടിയിലൂടെ തടവിയുള്ള അവളുടെ മൗനം തന്നെ അവന്‌ വാചാലമായി തോന്നി. അവളുടെ നിശബ്ദ്ധത അഗാഡമായ ഒരു ക്രോധം അയാളില്‍ ഉളവാക്കി.
"എന്റെ തറവാട്ടില്‍ വേണ്ട നിന്റെ വിളയാട്ടം."

അയാള്‍ ഉറങ്ങാന്‍ ശ്രമിക്കുന്നു. തന്റെ ശകാരം അതിരു കടന്നോ? എത്ര പെട്ടന്നാണ്‌ തന്റെ ദേഷ്യം കെട്ടടങ്ങിയത്‌. അവളോട്‌ എന്തന്നറിയാത്ത സഹതാപം അയാളില്‍ ഉടലെടുക്കുന്നു. പക്ഷെ നിദ്രയുടെ പടവുകള്‍ അവനെ ബന്ധിയാക്കിയിരിക്കുന്നു. ഏതോ സ്വപ്നലോകത്തേക്കവന്‍ മറയുകയാണ്‌. തന്റെ ഹൃദയത്തില്‍ തട്ടികൊണ്ട്‌ ഒരു ഉപദേശസ്വരം പുറപ്പെടുന്നു.
"പ്രിയപെട്ട സ്മിതെ, യൗവനം കഴിയുമ്പോള്‍ ശരിക്കുമുള്ള ജീവിതം തുടങ്ങും. ഇന്നീ ചെയ്യുന്നത്‌ അബദ്ധമാണെങ്കില്‍, നിന്നെ ഇത്‌ ചെയ്യിക്കുന്ന അതെ യൗവനത്തെ പഴിച്ച്‌ നീ ജീവിതം കഴിക്കില്ലെ?" ഈ വാക്കുകള്‍ അവള്‍ കേട്ടുവൊ? അതോ ഫാനിന്റെ കാറ്റുപോലെ ആ മുറിക്കുള്ളില്‍ തന്നെ വട്ടം കറങ്ങുന്നുവൊ?
ഒരു പെണ്‍കുട്ടിയെ നാടുകാര്‍ കല്ലെറിയുന്നു. അതിന്‌ നേത്രിത്വം നല്‍കുന്ന ആള്‍ മുഖമൂടി അണിഞ്ഞിരുന്നു. അവള്‍ സ്മിതയാണ്‌. പശ്ചാതാപമൊ വേദനയൊ ഒന്നും ആ മുഖത്ത്‌ കണ്ടില്ല. ആ മുഖമൂടി അഴിയുന്നു...സാമൂഹ്യ സധാചാരം അടിച്ചേല്‍പിക്കുന്ന ജൊണി എന്ന കുമ്മാട്ടിയുടെ മാന്യ മുഖമാണ്‌ കണ്മുമ്പില്‍.

അവന്‍ ഞെട്ടി ഉണരുന്നു. സമയം 9:00.
"ദൈവമെ, എന്തൊക്കെ ദുസ്സ്വപ്നങ്ങളാണ്‌ കണ്ടത്‌. ആ കുട്ടിയോട്‌ കുറച്ചുകൂടെ മൃദുവായി സംസാരിക്കേണ്ടിയിരുന്നു. അവളോട്‌ ഇറങ്ങി പോകാന്‍ വരെ ഞാന്‍ പറഞ്ഞില്ലെ."
അവന്‍ ചാടി എഴുന്നേല്‍ക്കുന്നു കട്ടിലില്‍നിന്ന്.
"സ്മിത എവിടെ അപ്പച്ചാ?"
അവന്റെ അങ്കലാപ്പ്‌ അപ്പച്ചന്‍ ശ്രദ്ധിക്കുന്നു.
"എന്നാത്തിനാ? അവള്‍ കോളേജില്‍ പോയി."
ഒാടി ഇറങ്ങുന്ന കൊച്ചുമകനെ നോക്കി ഒന്നും മനസ്സിലാകാതെ വൃദ്ധന്‍.
ജോണി കോളേജില്‍ അന്വേക്ഷിക്കുന്നു. സ്മിത കോളേജില്‍ ചെല്ലാറേയില്ല. മാര്‍ക്കുകള്‍ മോശം. അവന്‍ തിരികെ തറവാട്ടിലേക്ക്‌ നടക്കുന്നു. അവളുടെ വഴി അവള്‍ തിരഞ്ഞെടുത്തിരുന്നു.
സമയം വൈകുന്നേരം. അവളെ കാണുന്നില്ല. അവന്‍ മുറിയില്‍ അടച്ചിരിക്കുന്നു. തന്നെ പോലെ സന്ധ്യയും ഇരുട്ടിലേക്ക്‌ മറയുന്നു. ജീന്‍സും റ്റീ-ഷര്‍ട്ടും ധരിച്ച്‌ ബാഗും തൂക്കി പിടിച്ച്‌ അവന്‍ മുറിയില്‍ നിന്നിറങ്ങി.
"സ്മിത മോളെ കണ്ടില്ല"
"പോലീസിനെയൊ അവളുടെ വീട്ടുകാരെയൊ അറിയിക്ക്‌. അവള്‍ വരില്ല."
അവസാനവട്ടം എന്ന് മനസ്സില്‍ ഉറപ്പിച്ച്‌ ആ തറവാടിന്റെ പടികള്‍ ഇറങ്ങി അവന്‍ നടന്നകലുന്നു.

P.S - Just a simple, threadbare short story...more of an experimentation with the mother tongue.Best read with Internet Explorer and Anjali Old Lipi Font. Criticism most welcome.

The Bitter Harvest...

2007-01-19T12:00:00.000-08:00

They say I am a 50 year old...I am not sure though. They honoured me and celebrated my birthday with great pomp, confusion and disunity. I puffed up with pride...though only momentarily...hearing the great man who made missiles for my Mother and before that had lived with me for 20 years...heap lavish, mostly undeserved praise on me. This is my story, but I wonder what I am in this tale...the narrator, the stage, the prop, the bystander or just an onlooker.

When I was but a year old, Mother decided to turn me over to my people, hoping they would bring me up well, as she had her other 15 children too to look after, not knowing yet how many more would be carved out of her womb. Not a bad decision because she gave birth to twins a few years back, i suspect her 27th and 28th child...pardon me, but i have lost count. As for my Father he died 8 years before my coming...a sad, disappointed man he was when his end came. I leave it to you readers to let your vivid imaginations take flight, to figure out if i am a case-study for divine conception or bastardy. Anyways to take my story forward...my good people, both the poor and the enlightened of the land handed over my upkeep to something we will call a trust, which I must say did well. They gave land to the landless farmer, ushered in affordable education for all and a good many sweeping changes.

Before I could turn 4, the Rich, the Establishment, the Church and Mother's people colluded in what they called a struggle for liberating me and things were never the same again. I fell into the lap of a Governor for the first of many future ones.

Throughout my early childhood I was witness to a great dichotomy; the men who spoke great principles and supposed to nurture and lead me on forsook all their responsibilities in the quest of an eternal mojo...they called Power. And so for, with and by Power they flourished as a great multitude of associations they called Parties which swore by bigoted interpretations of religion, caste, the oppressed, the middle class and the farmer. And the greatest tragedy was my poor people who were beginning to make a name amongst my Brothers for their intelligence, hard work and education become toys in my name but everyone elses for gain.

In my teens we got a fellow companion, a mean bully, who went by the name of Trade Union. He struck us hard when we worked, studied or tried to usher in changes. Because of his adamant stand, I saw many people losing jobs, others bidding me farewell, some watching the tamasha in approval and a majority feign apathy or helplessness. Our backs had all begun showing signs of rubber than any presence of spine or bone.

The teenage years almost went past, when a woman who came so close to taking Mother's position in my mind, decided I had turned a juvenile and had me and brothers put in shackles for plotting her fall. A friend of my age studying for engineering was taken away never to be seen again but his father's struggle for justice will remain the stuff of legend for as long as I live.

Soon I was in my 20's and yearning to break free but the men who made my life miserable in the past was in no mood to let go. The storm in my life refused to abate...it was decided one front would pull me from the left and another front from the other side. And so they prostituted me in the farce they called coalition which continues to this day, though they have sucked me dry.

Then I turned 30. Not too late to learn computers, i thought and turned towards it. But rowdies, though they call themselves students, in one stroke, obstructed the one avenue I had hoped would lead to my survival. Meanwhile some of my Brothers latched on to IT and today almost all my educated young friends work for them while so many capable men and women who could have helped me out remain lost forever. Of course they built two lopsided parks which continue to grow belatedly; in two unplanned, unclean and unscalable cities called Trivandrum and Cochin where chaos is waiting to happen not too far away in the near future.

And 40 I turned. A time to invest, dream big and a plan to empower and emancipate my people ended with them looting me and leaving my coffers dry. The loans to help people get self-employed and develop subsidiary incomes was a ready reckoner to the poor businessman I was, and recovering none of the spent money, in desperation I turned again to the two hydra-headed monster brothers they affectionately or otherwise call adb and wb whose loans today keep me afloat despite the quicksand of unreasonably huge interest payments that eat into my revenues viciously.

Now I am 50. In the pangs of a large mid-life crisis. The fighting doest happen anymore between my two fronts...but within them. I turn away from them for some relief to the movies but the rot has set in there too, elsewhere mosquitoes with their vicious fangs bay for my dying lifeblood as the darkness approaches. I see the future written boldly but none else bothers to listen or see me crying...the roads will choke, the rivers run dry, crops fail further, more heads hanging on ropes.

Well that was one story on my life, there are others too...I know tales of losers don't sell, but if you are good at it, someday you can tell it with conviction to your grandchildren and sugarcoat it with a nice moral that appeals to them. As for me...
I am bitter at all the pent-up potential gone down the drain,
I am bitter as past achievements pale away into stagnation,
I am bitter that I am the luckless ground that stands beneath your all-stomping feet.

2006...As It Stands

2006-12-13T04:56:00.000-08:00

The journey in life takes you through so many places, situations and experiences you never thought was possible. Following your heart is simple, but the equations that rule your upbringing does complicate matters a lot. Ever since this blog has begun I have had a post in december, dedicated to the year gone by and the one ahead. In many ways this year was a failure on several fronts, i saw my courage melt, i gave up on the Indian Dream a second time in life, if being a man means standing up on your feet, working for a living, having goals in life and all that crap, i find myself today a drifter, so far away and lost to all the people trying to drill sense into me.

Jan - Hmmm...enjoyed the delhi winter, studied all night through streaming cups of hot tea, made with milkpowder, played cricket at dawn on the terrace for an hour with the sun looming on the horizon and a fog hesitant to depart, and then went to bed, only to wake up in the afternoon for classes stretching all the way to night. I remember Rang De Basanti released around that time, and i went thrice to watch it in the first week itself...what a rage and wonderful change that movie was for us youngsters. Another funny thing then was my fascination with orange juice and how i believed drinking lots of it would kill my suspicious intuition of an impending fever...and it happened, though when i least expected it to.

Feb - Feb was the month i screwed up the upsc. Got too close to my roomies, indulged a little too much in fun, movies and non-curricular reading and studies suffered, though i missed not a single class. The night-outs continued but the sting was blunted. The backlog that crept up therein was the Waterloo. But there were good things too...on every sunday i would wake up very early if i slept, walk, take the cylce-rickshwaw, auto anything that came my way and go to the malayalam church some kilometres away. That was the only time i saw delhi mornings out on the road...the temples opening up, its bells ringing, the dairies parcelling out the milk supplies for the day. Like the cows still in slumber, only a handful of the million vehicles that would later buzz like a bee in the huge city were out...it was as peaceful as it could get. That was the last I've been to church, never felt like it after that, even the dozen weddings i attended later on i stood outside waiting for the reception to begin, later i stayed a few hundred metres from the church above, and could only smile at the contradiction i was. Maybe all the socialist, rationalist thinking and readings which the upsc examination demands got onto me at some level. Or maybe its just a matter of time.

Mar - i moved out of my heavenly quarter realizing any time longer spent with these boys was harming all the sacrifices made till then. It had been a good time really...we discussed Tagore, Neruda, reservations, communism, the past, the present, future...a lot. For a long time I had known only friends who could talk movies, drinks and fun. The new place was a room on top of a Sardarji's business establishment. A centimeter thick curtain of dust invited me every day to sweep, the taps wouldnt work, and there was never water in a huge barrel kept for our needs. The romanticism with Delhi was over. Well...it wasnt all that bad, a beautiful girl working in a callcenter was the tenant next door, but then thats a story for another day. And well if this blog is alive today it has to do with this first piece i wrote with pen and paper at 4 in the morning...the first of an irregular series of posts i wrote, riding on sheer inspiration which crept in out of nowhere. It was my longest break from blogging, and i hadnt written a single post in 6 months that satisfied me, when this happened.

Apr - One of my classmates, a girl with one of the best south-indian faces i saw and kept admiring despite knowing she was married, committed suicide. We never knew what happened. That night quite depressed and taking a walk, right in front of our eyes the next suicide attempt happened...another upsc aspirant who had not cleared the interview round and exhausted his chances. The Delhi summer had begun and I was just happy to go home. You know there are times you think you have setup everything so well, for that last lap, that things totally off your control happens. Pops landed up in hospital with pneumonia, and with mom away i had to take charge, the viral epidemic began in trivandrum, laid me low and i never quite recovered till the exam got over.

May - It was a valiant but foolhardy attempt. Noone must have cracked the upsc prelims in 6 months but I think I got real close. For me the end of that road had begun and that hated feeling of running-out-of-time-and-steam hit home. Delhi was beckoning again but this time I had a totally different plan in mind. There was a part of me I had yet to explore...a traveller to lands till then unknown to me. Nothing could stop me, i took up quarters in a forgettable part of Delhi, a place i couldnt stay for more than a week without wanting to escape, the only relief was a friend as neighbour, who was a philosopher-orpoet-ordrifter-orgenius which of these, i dont know yet...sometimes alone, sometimes with him in a park that at night was a haven for long conversations, interspersed with equally long moments of tranquility, discussions on life, psychology, literature, the people around us, it was a new experience for me. Thinking of that park, I am reminded of this great poem by Derozio - A Walk by Moonlight, as i write this.

Jun - The wanderer in me had set out...there were classes seven days a week, but despite that on weekends i ventured out, the sights and sounds of Delhi, the hill station of Nainital, it was an exhilerating feeling. It was my vengeance on modernity that demanded i study, work, earn big money all year long, then start a family, then buy a house, then have kids, and all those "set" ideals...i was in some ways now like the characters in books and movies who travelled to exotic lands. I knew it wouldnt last...my money was running out. It would have to be back to the staid old life i abhorred...but i would come back and keep doing this for the rest of my days. There was another new beginning and in no way insignificant, after 12 years i wrote for the first time in malayalam, a translation of an english interview by uncle had done for his novel. It came as a big surprise initially that i could do it, then a feeling of loss, then a feeling of uyrgency, that i had ignored my mother tongue for so long, and i wrote on...my first piece of fiction that i rode out to completion was born, and it was a short story in malayalam...a language i though i was never comfortable in. Today i have brought along a huge collection of malayalam literature to the New World hoping it improves my vocabulary and feel for the language. We will see.

Jul - July continued in the same vein as June. The upsc study continued to fade away, the travelling increased, the classes on the weekdays too became a casualty, this month was to UP and Haryana, if the heat wasnt enough humidity had set in too worsened by the blackouts. We were all getting sick, the tiffin from the kerala hotel which was a relief earlier had begun to loose its glory, the difficult re-entry back into modern society had begun to depress me more than the surroundings, the delhi phase of my Swades journey was all but over. The schooling in life doesnt leave you with any degrees but lots of bittersweet memories.

Aug - Haridwar, Rishikesh, Yamunotri, Mussorie, Dehradun, Agra all seen and relished, still so much of the North and the East and the West and the South to set eyes on...India is a country like none other, even for its citizens the sheer diversity of its culture must be a wonder, i have traveled vastly in america and a little of europe but nothing excites me like India...in those places you get to see all uniformity...all cities look the same, the natural beauty is great but not wild, the people are nice but predictable, Oh...the sights, smells, sounds and touch of India...isn't it all one heterogeneous, mostly discordant,yet congruous mosaic that goes from one day to next knowing not if its a flood, an earthquake, a bomb, a riot or a celebration thats going to rock their life.

Sep - The city of your birth and most of life and hopefully the rest of it, yet a city that holds little promise for your future, its a sad testament about trivandrum i have heard so often...not just from me, but so many others who left it to mould their future, not knowing the way back home is harder than imagined, almost impossible. The one month at home was fun, laidback and memorable. Yet, today i regret i never made a serious effort to find if tvm had some job that i would love to do. I fell into the same anxious cliches of ordinary men running out of money and who had sniffed big cash earlier, going back again out there for another kill.

Oct - A forgettable month. Did nothing other than wavering, pondering over what next to do. Yeah wrote that kite story for a change. And of course a fun trip to chicago for a reunion with schoolmates happened. After a year of hanging around many idealistic young men of a different temperament the career-minded, joke-cracking bunch that these guys were, was a big difference...i wondered how easily i fell back in this circle too.

Nov - Back in action. Back into the "real" world. Goodbye to programming, taking training in data-warehousing, hopefully a less stressful, undemanding job, 2 chapters of a novel which may remain unfinished, a thanksgiving trip on an RV to Arizona and Utah with my still other circle of good friends, married ones...who tempt me to join their jolly band. I can see how happy and contented their life is...but i know failure stalks me down that aisle they walked.

Dec - Out in a job market conked out cold by the holiday season, a new, strange resume with 6 years experience, jobs in unknown places, a new skill-set yet untested, and a whole pack of lies scribbled on it, thanks to desi consultants in whose hands i have once again pledged my career for a 4-month contract despite old mishaps from which i dont seem to learn. The year promises to end on a cracking note though with Viswan, my college mate and closest friend coming from NY, Kicha, my schoolmate and chum in Delhi arriving from Berkeley, and Rajay and Rege, juniors from college all descending on LA for the XMas break...should be back to the kind of mallu parties and drinking i thought was over for good. Well that was the year 2006...sorry for this long diatribe, and if you got this far my heart-felt commiserations. I did mean that!

Res - Oh! Dont worry...this is not a new month in the calendar, how fun/irksome can writing year-end reports be without a glimpse of forecasts for the next year. Well...made humble beginnings in fiction-writing this year...hoping to carry that forward next year with better sense of purpose, A new career seems to be opening now...need to keep my focus on this for the next few years, and if no creativity exercising career options arise in life this might be my ticket to an MBA or doing a business. How much more boring can a resolution get, yeah you bet...india beckons in may for the stated reason of writing the next upsc exam which for now looks a mere formality, though i know what will end up happening is this lonely lost wanderer getting to exercise his goddamn propensity to travel...to his heart's content.

Mullaperiyar: The Sad, Sad Water War

2006-11-29T02:56:00.000-08:00

As I write this post, the news has come rolling out that the talks between Karunanidhi and Achuthanandan have ended in a deadlock. It is a real sad situation...I never wanted Kerala to be caught in the national limelight on such a divisive issue. I have followed discussions on this issue on ibnlive.com, orkut and many other forums and have seen a lot of hatred and heated outpouring of words between indians of two neighbouring states. Politicians in both states have spat out a lot of rhetoric and worrying is the effect it is having on the Tamil Nadu side with men like Vaiko and Nedumaran around. For one, they know they hold a great bargaining chip of being the essential supplier of most food items to kerala...vegetables, milk, chicken, eggs, beef, anything you name which have threatened to blockade and already done though on a limted one-day basis which caused great harm to traders who saw their farm products rotting away at the Valayar check post. The greater threat i feel is to malayalis living in Tamil Nadu who may have to face the ire of Tamilians whose blood is on the boil as they feel another great wrong being done to them after the bitter Kaveri dispute.

The seed of the whole problem dates back to 1978 when leaking of the Mullaperiyar Dam forced Kerala to curtail the water flow down to 138 feet for the first time. Going back even further is the 999 year lease signed under duress by the Maharaja of Travancore-Cochin under pressure from the powerful Presidency of Madras under the Britishers through which water from the Periyar flowing entirely through Kerala was diverted to irrigate the water-deprived Kambum-Theni belt using the newly constructed Mullaperiyar dam. All was well until the recent earthquake and further leakages to the dam made its safety doubtful and Kerala was forced to cut down the water level to 136 feet from the 142feet it was earlier. To compound the confusion on the Kerala side has been recent media reports on who actually controlled the dam...while some said TN police had taken over the dam, others said it was still safe in Kerala's hands.

Thankfully Kerala has been blessed with good rains for the past many years and it has never hesitated in sharing the waters of the Periyar, but now that the issue of the safety of the people and their property in the five districts of Central Travancore if the dam bursts has come up, it is surprising Tamil Nadu hasnt shown the sensitivity that was expected especially when it is faced with the issue of Karnataka not releasing TN's deserving share of Kaveri Waters after its newly constructed dam has come up. While demands have come up in Kerala to scrap the 999 year agreement and stop sharing the water altogether or to go in for a fresh lease, Kerala's proposals of a new dam being constructed close to Mullaperiyar and decommisioning the current one has not found favour with Tamil Nadu. Further damaging is the fact they have closed their eye on the recent damage to the Theni NH across the border when heavy rains caused the water level to rise above 136 feet at the dam causing water to overflow through the spillways.

The Supreme Court judgement that asked Kerala to implement the 142ft level complicated matters further as Kerala passed an ordinance circumventing it. It must be stated here that while Tamil Nadu showed the CWC report that stated the dam safe the Kerala side failed to argue its side properly despite several reports by its agencies, contrary to the CWC report. Seems like the highest court of the land is looking to review its earlier stand by now requesting both chief ministers to meet to sort out the issue instead of enforcing its judgement. My ancestral home and land in Idukki lies bordering the Periyar river and its not just loss of life and property, many of our valuable flora and fauna too lie under the threat of this disaster. If the Mullaperiyar dam bursts its not just the people of Kerala who will lose, the people of Kambum-Theni can kiss goodbye to their precious source of livelihood, agriculture. Building a new dam might take a few years, and cost a lot of money but if that is the only solution to unneccessary quarrel, i hope our politicians will be wise enough to go that route. Culturally, economically and for humanitarian purposes people can come closer...westernization, globalization, United Nations initiative are valid examples, but where mindless politics drives all meaningful intercourse, political boundaries will remain a hard fact of life. To wind up, it all comes down to a simple question like does not water belong to everyone, and to even tougher posers, what will happen to the National River-Interlinking Project, etc...is all this even remotely feasible in this age of fiercely independent meaningless entities like our Indian states.

Diverting totally, read this wonderful short story that is taking shape at this blog-pal's site if you haven't already.

Bhargavi Nilayam...

2006-11-02T02:35:00.000-08:00

I am struggling. Day before yesterday's night-out exertion had worn me out. I was sleepy all of wednesday. I woke up yesterday with a sprained neck. Was about to start writing in the afternoon hoping Moov would get me up back and moving. But a pal called wanting to take me out to drink. He had secured for his company a multi-million dollar project and wanted to celebrate. Back at home again got interrupted. The hit malayalam movie, Classmates was running in LA and everyone were going. I couldnt stay out of that either. I am just done with Chapter-2 but need to finish another one today to make up the backlog. The neck is still giving trouble, looks like thailam is the only way out. Maybe novel-writing is just not my cup of tea, but i will strive to complete this one.

The day before, decided to relax by watching a wonderful movie, Bhargavi Nilayalam(1968), the evergreen, first horror movie made in Malayalam based on the great Basheer's novel by the same name. For those who have not seen it, it is about a young writer played by Madhu who moves to a new village, and takes up accomodation unknowingly at a haunted house. He befriends the ghost Bhargavi and calls her affectionately, Bhargavikutti though he is still scared of her. She lets him unravel her romantic but tragic past. Her lover is played by Prem Naseer, who comes to live in the house adjacent to Bhargavi Nilayam. There are almost 10 unforgettably melodious songs too in Bhargavi Nilayam written and tuned by the P.Bhaskaran-Baburaj team. In todays cinema that many songs would have killed the suspense but the milleu and the sensibilities of those days must have demanded it. Both Madhu and Prem Naseer in their respective roles create an aura of classical romance that modern actors of the colour era will never succeed in matching.

I just cant help remarking that the 60's and early 70's were the age of romantic and amazingly good-looking heroes in all languages, be it Rajesh Khanna, Dev Anand and Dharmendra in Hindi or MGR and Sivaji Ganeshan in Tamil and the above-said two thespians in Malayalam, to name a few, though many of them were hampered by limitations on the acting side. Heard that a huge team of today's big directors, who are unfortunately burnt-out now are about to remake this classic together. Hope they get over their mammooty-mohanlal fixation and cast prithviraj and sunil for madhu's and naseer's roles, for one the characters need young, vibrant actors but then does our change-resistant public or film-makers even care, this is the age of 50 year old heroes still running around trees.

I have decided to make this a feature as often as possible. Write on my moods and struggles in this blog for each day i write on the other blog, and add a little bit of all i did...i think finally all i will end up talking here, is about the books i am reading now and the movies i watch. And finally I leave you with the story of a great indian hero. And for loyolites who visit this space, this should make you all proud.

Chapter 1: A Reunion And A Resolution

2006-10-31T21:54:00.000-08:00

The tentative title for now is "Finishing School". I though it apt, though i know that is a girls concept but I am really bad at titles...if any of you can suggest a better one I'd be glad to oblige. For the last one year I have been hunting for a name for this blog than "Jiby Starts Blogging" but it eludes definition...i think i may leave it that way forever. Well to start off, here's the link to Chapter 1 . Have decided not to crowd this personal blog with this stuff. The writing took me 5 hours and 2400 words, i am exhausted but glad i stuck with it. With that kind of time and words I would have had 6 posts on this blog and kept it ticking for more than a month. I never expected to begin this kind of serious writing until I was 30, if at all I got to it...glad the process has begun four years earlier.

As you read you may wonder who these characters are...you may have come across a few similar people in my earlier writings. I will talk about them in detail when I conclude this novel. I decided i couldnt approach this like a short story and a lot of planning had to happen ahead. Found this real helpful resource on the net. I now have a lot of it falling into place but not all of it...but i guess that shouldnt bother me. Selecting the number of main characters whose lives play out troubled me. Most novels have two or three main characters but i find mine having 6 and more worrisome is the problem of developing them simultaneously. Would I be able to do justice to all of them or would I leave them half-baked in its wake? The other problem is the worry that so many characters will crowd the plot and pull in different directions. I guess we will all know soon.

For a few spaced out chapters I think I should leave it open to comments to get your feedback. There must be a galore of factual inconsistencies and blunders in the plot. I am treating it as a first draft. I would be glad if some of you have the time to take the trouble of noting them down and letting me know at the end. Well enough of my ranting here. Hope to do justice to your expectations. Thank You all for the encouragement.

A Novel Madness!!!

2006-10-30T01:58:00.000-08:00

So what next? That is the question i have been asking myself with regards everything...the future, the blog, the career, et al. Having written that story I was tempted to begin writing another one. The story was the second one I have written in my life, the first was in malayalam...its either inside one of my ias history texts i left back in india or lost. I will have to wait another 3 months when my sis visits India, to find out if I still have it. Anyways the National Novel Writing Month is here and I have decided I am going to write a novel in the next 30 days. Now you guys must be wondering why I would shoot off my hip and let everyone know before I have even penned a single word to it. The reason is purely psychological - it is to put pressure on myself so that I actually sit down every day from this moment on and write one chapter a day and post it on this blog. I wonder how decently it would turn out and hurried the novel would look if I manage to finish in 30 days but for now thats the least of my concerns. I will be disabling comments until its all over.

Actually about 15 years back my childhood buddy, kichlu and i began writing a book on the lines of The Hardy Boys, we called them "The Fidswilliam Boys"(lol!) but after 6-7 chapters we realized the story was developing "quite" similar to a Nancy Drew one we read then, if i remember right called the "Mystery of the Missing Mannequin" or something similar and we gave up. The funny thing with writing stories, i wonder how other people do it, like they fix the story outline and then proceed but for me the story develops as i write it...even I have no idea what should happen next. I have spent the last 2 weeks scratching my head, wondering what theme to take up. A few ideas came up but got nowhere. I even searched on google for "How to Write a Novel". I read The Alchemist just a few months back and was surprised the book couldnt inspire me as much as i expected maybe coz of the fact that I had set course on a journey akin to the young shepherd a year back. But one line in the book fascinated me, If you dont listen to your heart, soon the heart stops listening to you. I have this gut feeling that if I dont try this novel thing out now, my life will soon go on the same track of moneyed madness that I had so much difficulty in coming out of last year.

What to write? I had this story idea of an American who travels to India for a vacation, fumbling into a lot of intrigues, finally falling in love with it, taking his family there and their struggles with assimiliating into the culture but I got scared at the thought of it falling into cliches. Maybe I will take it up later. And then I had this idea of a family story, set across generations from tales I heard of my grandma speak and from the biographical descriptions of some ancestors in the Kattakayam Kudumbacharitram book that was recently published but I have decided anything I write in fiction about Kerala has to be in Malayalam first. Though I havent written anything I have this belief that I can write better in Malayalam than English. As of now I am focussed on a story about schooldays. School is something I still relate with, blessed with a huge repertoire of memories from then, and an interesting array of characters who are still an integral part of my life to some extent. I am wary if the final product will mimic Tom Browns Schooldays, a masterpeice I last read 12 years back. What amazed me most about that novel is the timeless quality and universal appeal of that book. Even 150 years hence, the story of Tom Brown and Jimmy East, the two main characters of the book is one, every child identifies with and lives through, every day in school.

As far as life goes, i am in hiding. Only my closest friends have my number, i hate speaking to my parents coz I feel like a total loser as I go about bashing all their hopes of me finding a steady career, and thankfully all the nagging my sister does is insisting i wash my dishes and watch movies with her. Anyways the next 30 days of November promises to be an interesting time if i manage to keep the novel afloat. If by any chance I loose steam midway and give up please dont hold it against me...that certainly would be embarassing after this loud declaration of intent here. As I wrote the last line i couldnt help remarking here that except for writing on this blog every other challenge I have taken up over the last 2 years I lost. Discipline. The one thing I lack and what I need most now. Coz if I can pull this off I think I will gather the guts to write a script. And the magic that newcomers can do to films these days. Looks what James Albert did with Classmates!

Unlike The Kite…

2006-10-15T23:56:00.000-07:00

The kites soaring in the sky made a pretty sight. The thought that he had never flown a kite embittered him, but seeing the city where he never saw birds, now looking like a bird sanctuary, brought a hesitant smile to his puckered lips. A solitary boy sprinted from one end of the park to the other, his kite following closely, threatening to fly. It came crashing down the moment the little boy, slowed down while he looked back to see its progress. Crestfallen, yet hopeful, he tried again and again, finally stopping to rest at the bench, where the man was seated at one side watching the boy’s valiant efforts in fascination. The boy longingly looked up to the skies. He could never hope to reach the heights that rich people flew their kites to, from their terraces. He noticed the man eyeing him intently and started to walk away, his eyes pinned up still, towards the heavens.
"I can take you to my terrace", called out the man who was surprised by his spontaneous act of graciousness. The boy spun around instinctively, but turned away, wondering whether the man was mocking him.
"Come on, I am not joking, I want to see you flying your kite like all the other people".
He rose up and moved towards the boy and placed a hand on his slight shoulders.
"And you could teach me how to fly it too."

The kite flew farther and farther. The light breeze on the terrace was taking it away. The boy's nimble fingers danced around the thread, expertly letting it go a lot and tugging it back a little. He looked up occasionally at the man, whose eyes betrayed his yearning to take control of the string. The man felt a youthful freshness that had eluded his staid life for a long time now. The terrace would be his favorite haunt now on.
"Do you want to try?" asked the boy.
"Yes, but you will have to help me".
Within a few seconds of the man taking charge, the kite swooned, and dipped in a free fall, with the man frantically trying to arrest its descent.
"Oh, I have lost my kite, Ma will kill me now", the boys mourns as he sees his kite entangled on a telephone post. The man yanks at it and with resignation writ large on his face; he realized the thread had snapped.
"I will give you money to buy a new one. Don’t worry", the man says trying to soothe the disappointed look on the boys face.
The kite, which flew proudly like its namesake, a few seconds back, cavorting at each flourish of the boy's wrists, now lay on the wires like a star fallen from the skies.

"Come to my room. Let me get you the money." The man's words seemed to be of scant relief to the aggrieved boy.
"Here. Have some biscuits or better take it with you home." He could see the child's eyes widening at the sight of the food.
"What class are you studying in?”
"I don’t go to school anymore. They stopped giving mid-day meals", the boy replied.
"Where do you live? I need to talk to your mother."
"We live close by. My mother will be very angry. She will shout at you too if you come".
He locked his room and came down with the boy praying the landlady wouldn’t be hovering around to make small talk. They walked past the park, the houses were becoming smaller, the streets narrower, with shanties encroaching the road that shrunk almost to a bylane. The man hadn’t been to this part of the neighborhood before. He never felt the need and much lesser, the curiosity. That is, until today. They arrived at an ancient tenement. The door to enter was shorter than the man. The boy went inside while the man decided to stand outside, uncertain of his place there. Immediately a loud high-pitched voice rang inside, "Where have you been? I come back home tired, slaving at other people's homes, and find you gone, just like your wonderful father. I know you too are waiting for the chance to leave me". A brief silence interrupted by hurried whispers, and a head appeared from behind the door.
"Please come in sir. Has this boy been giving you trouble? I have to beat him more or he won’t straighten".
"No please don’t. He was only playing with his kite. And he lost it because of me," the man timidly responded.

All their living quarters had, was a single room. On one side was what looked like the kitchen with a few bowls stacked nearby. A few clothes and a metal trunk chest lay carelessly on one corner, with a few more clothes, left on a string tied across the room, presumably to dry. The man’s eyes lit up, seeing an old 14" TV. He had remembered this was now a common sight across many slums in the old city and many even had cable tv, wired illegally.
Seeing the man staring intently at the TV, the woman fearfully offers, "Please sir. That is all we have. His father took it from somewhere two years back. He has left us since then".
That was when he got a proper look at the woman. She must be no older than 25. A little dark in complexion, she had a beauty and elegance that he couldn’t quite place, for her surroundings. She was slightly on the plump side; her salwar-kameez clung tightly to her body. He bit back the odd arousing of lust that had involuntarily kindled. Despite bottling his feeling, a telepathic wave seemed to have told the woman, of his need, and she self-consciously pulled on a dupatta lying on the wardrobe.
Slightly embarrassed, he remarks, "I came to talk about the boy's education. You should send him to school again.” And after a brief silence where his eyes mediated casually on the woman, added, “I can help you".
"Thank you, sir. But he is old enough to start working now."
At this the man gets angry and responds, "Do you have to live with his money? I am sure you are capable of earning enough for both. I will bring him books and clothes. I need someone to clean my room and toilet. Can you come?"
"Yes sir. Thank you, sir. Child, say thanks to the good man".

With gentle sweeps of her broom, the woman fanned out around the room, her gaze fixed stiffly on the mosaic floor. The man appeared to be reading a magazine, lying back on his bed, occasionally looking up to watch the woman, hard at her work. She seemed to be uncomfortable with his presence in the room, How would I make the first move? he thought. The hands moved towards the woman, and came to rest on her shoulders. Her back had been turned away, and in shock, she spun around.
“Please sir, Please sir…”.
“It is okay, it is okay,” the man assured as he buried his face in hers. A tear fell from her eye which came to rest on his upper lip. A pang of guilt shot through his body. So transient was everything else before his lust, he thought to himself, as his tongue came out to wipe his lip clean. The broom fell from her hands. Her fingers wandered to his back where they brushed against his wallet. Maybe, he will save me, she hoped.

The boy bounded his way back home. It was nice to be back in school, amongst people his age, to be playing with them, he didn’t understand anything the teachers said and neither had he the courage to ask nor had they bothered to help, a courtesy he expected as a new student, but he would learn all that soon, the good man had promised to help. His mother was not at home. He wanted to tell her a lot of things. “I should go thank the nice man”, the boy thought aloud. As he neared the man’s room, he heard his voice, “Now your boy is like my son.”
“Hmmm,” he heard his mother’s feeble reply, and after a brief pause she added, “I will come back after 3 days.”
”No, I need you to come to me every day, and send your son to me; I may have to help him with his classes”. The door was closed, the boy couldn’t understand, his mother never went to the same house to work every day, he decided it would be better to go back to his house.

She came home, he watched her carefully, only a blank expression enveloped her face. She hadn’t even bothered to ask him about school. She was so talkative, but today she seemed so subdued. He knew from experience, never to ask her questions, because she had only scoldings to give for answers. He walked out of their house, and he thought it odd that she hadn’t even noticed. In contrast, the man, seemed exceedingly happy to see him. He patiently taught the boy, gave him sweets, and sent him away happily. The boy walked back home unable to contain the smile on his face. His mother’s behavior was forgotten, he had found himself a guardian better than his father, and he had a better future to look forward to. In a few days, he was relieved to find his mother back to her cheerful self, and he went to the temple, and prayed hard to god, to make all this bliss last forever.

The Notice of demolition was a rude shock that sent into a tumble, the new life that was budding, for mother and son. Until then, she had consoled herself that her relationship would save her son. She had forgotten all her physical needs in the face of the struggle to survive, and now she had begun to love the way, the man aroused in her the feelings, that had been stoked first by her husband and then left cold to wither away. Her hands trembled, as she struggled to muffle her tears. They had nowhere to go, no relatives who would take her in, no employers sympathetic enough to let them in, except for the man. Taking the boy by one hand, and clutching to the notice by the other, she walked towards the man and knocks at his door.

He looked up from the notice, a look of displeasure, mixed with sadness.
“There is no way you can fight this notice. Where will you go?”
The woman who had looked up until then, lowered her face, her shame had washed away all the dignity he saw there, the first time his roving eyes had fell on her. A brief silence followed, it was obvious to the man that she needed his help.
“You tell us….”
“I am sorry. The landlady won’t allow. My friends and family can’t see you both here. Can I give you some money?” How pathetic he looked, he wondered, to the desperate souls in front of him. His eyes darted to the boy’s to escape the woman’s fierce look. He cringed at the pitiful look of betrayal that wore on the child’s face.
“Come, my son, the gentleman has had his good deed and his hearty meal and he’s satisfied. Remember what he’s taught you now.” He couldn’t bear to face them any longer and shut the door. He turned around. Like a curse, it had to be the mirror he encountered. In it he knew he was seeing the worst coward of his life.

A few days later: yet another evening, a steady breeze was blowing, a time for kites, a time for people to escape the confines of their homes. The man trudges up the steps to the terrace. He sees the boy's kite still there, caught on the wires, how long would it survive as a token of his noble gesture of humanity, he wondered. The kite had been played with and forgotten by its owner. The man remembered how he toyed with and discarded the boy and mother. At least, the kite had found a resting place, too high for any man to stomp it down. What about its owners. Have they found an abode, safe from the cruelties of fellow beings?
-----------------------------------------------------------------------

For those of you who wondered what this is about, this is my first attempt at fiction and writing a short story, on this blog. The characters are drawn from people I have observed in real life, during my stay in Delhi, like the lonely boy in the park who ran with his kite, reminding me of my young days when we used to fly kites with my neighbours, the washerwoman who my landlady contracted to launder my clothes, and who I thought was the most beautiful lady I had ever beheld, and the man…well isn’t he like most of us men!

Criticism is most welcome, this time around!

On My Blog

2006-10-04T03:15:00.000-07:00

I have been tagged by the wonderful Silverine, to write this tag about my blog and its a special occasion too. My blog is turning 2 years old in less than a week's time and I found out that this is my 100th post too. I am really not in a mood to blog but this is another one of those super-tags I just cant shy away from.

1. Are you happy/satisfied with your blog, with its content and look? Does your family know about your blog?
Yes, I am satisfied with all I have written on my blog. Sometimes i get so inspired i cant believe that I really wrote some of those posts. Other times I have had to labour hard to gather my thoughts to even pen down a few paras. My family found out about my blog almost 6 months after i had begun...recently, they just cant resist the urge to leave a comment though I really dont approve of it. The hard part is ever since he's found out, my dad thinks I can become a writer, but he doesnt realize its just my age, my idealism, my frustrations and my experiences that find a voice here.

2. Do you feel embarrassed to let your friends know about your blog or you just consider it as a private thing?
Many of my posts have been about my friends, their heroics, their achievements and their blunders...so I always thought it unfair not to let them know about my blog. I know for a fact that people feel real happy when others write good things about them...i always think the only good that may come out of my blog is that i have honoured a lot of good people who have contributed immensely to my growth as a human being. To be frank, before I began blogging, I always felt i hadnt done anything worthwhile in life, i craved for appreciation, and then when people began to relate with me from school, college, people who knew my family name besides total strangers, i got scared, i wished I had stayed anonymous, i wished i could be more frank and forthcoming than I already was on my blogs...now its too late to change.

3. Did blogs cause positive changes in your thoughts?
Definitely. I think I have begun the process of finding out who I am, what I am capable of and how little I know of the world around me. It is when you pen down your thoughts, that realization dawns on you about how age, maturity and experiences have shaped the growth of your personality all these years. I have read so many interesting thoughts and viewpoints, its helped me in my growth as a person.

4. Do you only open the blogs of those who comment on your blog or you love to go and discover more by yourself?
For close to a year I havent had the time, the computer, or the luxury to let myself loose in blogworld. So I have restricted myself to only those people who regularly comment on my blog and yet I dont even find time to visit some of them regularly. Many of the blogpals who were active a year back dont blog anymore, but I have discovered many other talented writers along the way to offset their loss.

5.What does visitors counter mean to you? Do you care about putting it in your blog?
I think I put it on just a few months back. A friend told me I had some fans at the place he works and thats when I wanted to find out how many silent readers pass by my blog daily. It really doesnt matter who reads and who doesnt...i just wish I had a perfect professional life to balance all the happiness I get from blogging to my hearts content.

6. Did you try to imagine your fellow bloggers and give them real pictures?
Reading what they write has given me a mental idea of the wonderful people they are and how they go about their lives. I think appreciating what they write has given the word, friendship a whole new dimension on cyberspace. I havenot and maynot meet any of them, nor will i make the effort and most of my blogpals, i think, have certainly overgrown the fancy of giving faces to each other.

7. Admit. Do you think there is a real benefit for blogging?
Definitely. I began to blog when I quit my first job and was bereft of inspiration. It continued along with me in my quest for professional sucess. All through school and later years, i never could write anyting coherently, but I have noticed how much the way i express my thoughts on paper have changed recently, from the time i began to blog. I think even the courage to pursue a childhood dream of writing the civil services exam came through the confidence i got with being able to write here.

8. Do you think that bloggers society is isolated from real world or interacts with events?
People who think we pale in the face of newspapers, magazines, TV and other forms of media may think so. 5-10 years back i was jealous of the journalists and columnists of India Today, Hindu and Readers Digest. But today I feel so empowered. I can voice my opinion through my blog or leave a comment on another blog on any issue or event somebody decides to blog about. We bloggers are a part of the society we live in and absolutely everything we write is about the people and incidents which happen around us or somewhere in the world. If its our limited reach, that makes others call us a bloggers society, it only shows the limitations of the billions of people on our earth who dont know what a blog is.

9. Does criticism annoy you or do you feel it's a normal thing?
I hate people criticising me. From reading so many other talented bloggers, I know my limitations and try to evolve. But that takes time. I hate people who dont agree with something a blogger has written about but ends up crticizing his/her writing styles and that bloggers very intelligence. Its easy to leave a harsh comment, but they dont realize the courage and skill it takes for an amateur to write a good blog or voice an opinion knowing they could get scorned at or not appreciated.

10. Do you fear some political blogs and avoid them?
No. I try to appreciate what the author wants to say. But if I cant agree I just move on without leaving a comment. Infact two of my seniors from school, MindCurry and Vinod Chetan, have begun two of the best initiatives among kerala bloggers on our politics and society...and sad part is i havent been in a mindset to visit their blogs recently. And ooh, its been a long time since I have written something serious.

11. Did you get shocked by the arrest of some bloggers?
I feel sorry for those guys in China, Pakistan and other Islamic and dictatorial countries who get arrested for blogging in the name of freedom and democratic values. As for those bastards who use it to propogate violence against others, what a shame. Finally, have they realized the pen certainly is mightier than the sword??

12. Did you think about what will happen to your blog after you die?
It will die with me for sure. Then the only people who stumble on it will be the ones who look up trivandrum, kattakayam, loyola or a jiby on google.

13. What do you like to hear? What's the song you might like to put a link to in
your blog?
There are so many songs...i'll just list the ones that inspire me the most
Let It Be - Beatles
Yeh Jo Desh - Swades
Kadam Kadam - Netaji
Naalikerathinte Naatil - Thurakkaatha Vaathil

This is a tag for every blogger. This is a tag for every blogger who has gained something from this pastime. I earnestly hope all my blog-pas will take this one up.

I am not living in India anymore. I am one of those oddities in our 21st century India abounding with jobs who still doesnt know at age 26, what he wants to do with his life. And i think about all those guys in the 70's and the 80's like my dad and others who had to apply for 100's of jobs to get an interview or were desperate to go out of the country to earn a living. A turbulent phase lies ahead...maybe this will be my last post for a long long time or maybe not...its hard to turn my back to this blog. I return to India in May, for next years exam...maybe after that with some more money at hand, which i will make now by goin back to work in the industry i got sick of, i can start on some other saner venture. Adieu!

A Man in the House!!!

2006-09-08T02:58:00.000-07:00

The servant returned from her 5 day onam vacation. Both of us blew a big sigh of relief...i was supposed to babysit my ammachi with dad and mom also away. For 2 weeks tension and worry was wrought on ammachi's face, as she despaired over the holocaust awaiting her under my charge...all my efforts to put her at ease hadnt really worked. Until a few years back, she would single-handedly marshall the house, but old-age had caught up...she needed help, yearned for more company and had sadly yet happily and uncomplainingly accepted the reality that her grandkids had grown up and couldnt be around, that her children had begun to also miss their kids, somewhere along the way I am sure she began to feel like excess baggage. Luckily my uncles, aunt, cousins, my parents and sis had resolved someone or the other would spent seperate months of their crowded year with her. Well, that is everyone, except for me...gave her their quality time. Sadly, Trivandrum for me, is also about my friends, cinemas, cable tv, reading and wandering the city...i always get scolded for not doing enough at home.

So ammachi and I began our few days, virtually keeping an eye on each other. She wouldnt trust me with the stove, would always keep checking to see if I had left taps running, had latched the door and locked the gate...sometimes, it was comical, other times irritating. "Ammachi, njan pazhaya aalalla, i have changed", i tried to reassure her, well i failed. Early Morning 7am. My dad had reminded me she needs a bed-tea to warm her frail body. Ofcourse I was blissfully sleeping. She comes over to my bed and softly taps me, "Moneh". "Ayyo chaaya idande", I wake up with such a wild start which scares her. Breakfast. I take the dosamaavu out, of the 8 dosas i made only 5 turned out okay. For one I forgot to apply oil on the kallu, another i tried to flip before it was ready and a third fell to the floor from the chattukam. Of the 5 right ones, 3 had got a lil too burnt...total disaster! I turned around to see a smile on my grandmoms face, and announced, "naalethotte kaappikke bread, jam and butter"! Lunch. The servant had thankfully cooked 4-days lunch, dinner and left marinated fish in the freezer. Only rice had to be cooked. I didnt remember how many whistles were needed...called up a friend and asked him to consult his wife. I had idled over doing the dishes, and ants had crept up all over the sink...dang, so this is the life of a woman, i turned towards ammachi and asked all dazed, "ammachi jeevithathil ethra dosa chuttittunde, ethra aalukale pottiyuttunde?".

Things really got bad. I misplaced the gate lock and she wouldnt go to sleep until i found it. But I tricked her, found a small lock and got the job done for now...thankfully she wouldnt step out onto the yard at night to inspect . Next morning she found out I had forgotten to keep the aviyal back in the fridge. In the evening she discovered I had forgotten to turn off the Goodknight from last night...i didnt tell her it had been that way for 2 days now! The neighbour had forgotten to turn off an outside lamp facing ammachis room and by afternoon, this was disturbing her...she called over to the aunty but noone could hear her. Finally, she asked me to walk over and tell them...i was cosily ensconsed on the sofa watching something crappily interesting and no way was i going now! She finds a neighbour passing by and asks him to carry the message. Damn, my lazy self! In the evening a few friends came over, they wanted to hit the terrace as the view would be good at sunset. I wondered what to do...until i hit upon an idea. I showed ammachi the locator button on the cordless and asked her to press that to summon me anytime she wanted, i took the handset along and trooped upstairs. A little later the calling bell rang, a visitor must be at the door, i came down, ammachi was frantically searching all over the fone for the button i had shown earlier, but though she was exceptionally intelligent, her memory had faded. Again I feel rotten. Onam, was playing out in the city. I got a boy to sit with her, while i slipped away with Shan for a few hours to see the city and its illuminations, besides guzzling a beer. I got back only at 10, an hour past her sleeping hour...and there she was waiting anxiously for me. I felt an anger rising in me, but that dissipated seeing the happy relief on her face.

"Innokke Onam, TVyude mumbil theerum"...she doesnt talk much, but today she was chattering away, while along i had one eye and one ear on the screen...i was setting records in callousness. "Ammachi samsaarikke, inne muzhuvanum namukke ellaavare kurichum kushimbu paranjirikkaam". So i egged her on to gossip and she complained how mom didnt have enough patience for her, how the servant though a good lady would spent more time chatting with neighbours than her and tell her to massage her feet by herself, and how only pappa, her son-in-law and jancy, our kid cousin had adapted to her helplessness. Anyways the servant is back. The house still stands and ammachi told me she expected much worser things. For the last one week, i got calls from my two other ammachis, one is actually my grand-aunt, asking why I never call and when I'll visit. I turned on the charm, said I was just about to call when they did, assured them I am coming right away, but to little effect. Oh Jibs...tera jadoo chal gaya! All of them were like kids now...charm doesnt work with them anymore but sincerity would...i realize that becoming a man also means watching out constantly for those who got me here. Will I?...and thats the big question.

My Two Sweethearts

Oru Vattam Koodi Pazhaya Vidyalaya Padimuttathethuvaan Moham...

2006-09-02T14:42:00.000-07:00

Today i sneaked into Loyola...some of my classmates are in town besides the guys who work and live in tvm...thought of inviting them along for a sec...felt guilty but i wanted some solitude...it has been three long years, it maybe years before i come here again...saturday, onam vacation...not a soul in sight...it was just me and my alma mater. Deserted look, is the word i am tempted to use, but a thousand memories, hundreds of shiny young faces, a dozen inspirational teachers, all seem so alive and buzzing about, around me. I remembered how troubled, insignificant and mediocre i felt when i walked out of school in 1998...even then i knew i made a wrong choice with engineering, but I didnt know much about life, the world outside tvm, big words like fate and destiny, i was a simple kid without any pretentions, ambitions or big dreams. Today I am back here, again feeling troubled, insignificant and mediocre...under the gulmohar's shade, a soothing gentle breeze, i relaxed, i started dreaming, of good days, of hardships that i would tide with a smile, of all the places on earth i would let loose my carefree spirit.

A Week Back...
The three strapping youngsters with a smile on their faces asked me,
"Chetan Loyolayil padichathalle...njangale ormayondo".
I really felt happy...I knew I should blog on my school soon.
Only a few minutes back, the school-bus had passed me, and as always I turned towards it part in reverence, part in the hope of some junior, teacher or the conductor recognizing me...no luck, i was way too history...i thought.
"Ningal ethe batchileya".(I faintly remembered one of the boys...he was one of the little boys who would hold seats for us in the school bus)
"ISC2006. We just got into engineering this year".
"Chetano?".
"ISC98. I cant believe you guys remember me. When I came out y'all were just in the forth"!
We talked for a few minutes. They were eager to know about how life treats them after school...I couldnt give them the hard part...told them to enjoy the next few years to the fullest.

As they walked away I smiled...they were yet to realize the magic 12 years of studying in Loyola would produce...how people would admire them, how they would begin to believe anything was possible under the sun, how the boys they studied with in school with would continue to be their best friends and would all grow into fine young men. This post is just a celebration...its my way of thanksgiving...to the school, to the teachers and most importantly to my classmates...in a space of a fortnight two of the boys are getting married, a third engaged and a forth broke the big news of him about to become a dad. This is a disjointed post...just some old memories, some hilarious incidents and a few personal recollections all thrown in.

This one evening, i overheard Pops telling this cool priest who teaches at the Loyola College, how studying in Loyola made a big difference in my life. Then i heard this wonderful story the achan, who i hope becomes the principal of the school some day, had to tell.
Night Time. Heavy Rain. Frantic knocking at the jesuit residence. An achan goes out to see who it is. A young couple totally drenched.
The guy desperately, "Acho, am an ex-loyolite. Am goin abroad tomorrow. Just wanted to show my wife, my school. Would you have an umbrella?".
The priest stands in disbelief for a second. But the next request floors him...
"Acho, I need a torch too..."
The poor dude was sticking to a long-standing tradition of showing wives the school...this was the place that made us men, endowed us with ethics and liberal attitudes, this was where we learnt to play hard yet fair, work hard yet be carefree, this was where we became rogues, yet imbibed lessons in chivalry and humanity. I can see Shenoi, captain of the basketball team, star-singer, center-forward of the football team, heartthrob to many a tvm gal, hero to many a loyola junior and Sajeev, top-ranker of the class, captain of the school cricket team, unfailing goalkeeper of the football team and Annan to all of us, who are marrying in this Onam season bringing their women here, recounting to them unbelievable exploits, sharing a part of the history that made them the men who appealed to the gals in the first place.

I remember this one evening at Humayun's Tomb in Delhi. My pal tells me, "Dey, lets look at it the way Pulickal would have done, in history class"
"Do you see the perfect symmetry in not just the monument but the surrounding lawns, walls and outlying buildings on either side."
"Do you see the some of the marble tiles are patchworks, done at a later time".
"Did you know, Dara Shikoh, heir to Shah Jahan, was beheaded here by Aurangzeb and this was Bahadur Shah Zafar's last stand during the 1857 revolt".
"Do you notice the steps up to the monument cant be seen from anywhere...on the raised platform...the builders must have thought it hindered the beauty".
"You know what...for this kind of crappy analysis Puli wud have given us a zero"!
We laughed heartily...remembered the old man, and what he meant to us, how he could brutally make fun of us and yet we never felt any ill-will, how he would set the most difficult question paper, how he would be so stingy in giving us marks and fail most of the class, and as if to rub salt on our wounds, would publish our blunders in the school notice board for seniors and juniors alike to mock us...we still loved him, he was our hero, still is and forever will be. We remembered how Paili wrote in Pulickals history paper, "Rani Laxmibai had no natural hair"...instead of "male natural heir" and how the whole class, and from the notice board, the whole school had a nice jolly laugh about it!

A few summers back we decided to have a reunion at school. Two of us trooped into our vice-principal's office. The surprised man was counting a huge wad of currency and my pal snatched it from him and said,
"Achanmaarke enthina kaashe...fees sherikkum kootiyalle".
I was smiling at all this when the poor priest turned to me and pleaded,
"Eda Kattakayam, avanodathinge tharaan para".
I turned to my bud and joked, "Aliya, u shud demand a Refund. Eitherways, u have turned out rotten after 13 years here and still cant speak proper English." (The Refund, a play abt a rogue who goes back to his school and asks for all the money he paid as fees back).
We three broke out into laughter. We had never heard of a Loyolite who got messed up...
Maybe I should take heart from the above...

A friend once asked me,
"Amongst all of us here, why is it that Pappanabhan and you are going back to India?"
I shot back, "Ask your parents why they didnt send you to Loyola".
"They tried, but..."
"Tough Luck, man". While saying that, I couldnt suppress a condescending smile then.
"You snotty bastard. There's one thing you didnt learn there...how to talk your way into a gals heart".
"Thats okay. There's always arranged marriage for losers like me!".
We both laughed...

I arose from the reverie i had slipped into, and headed for my car. A school is all about high spirits, the longing to grow up and become an adult, and "giving your best till the day is done"...i had soaked for a couple of hours in all what my alma mater gifted me...in a few weeks i will become a bird, i will soar, all i need is courage and perseverance, to go the distance, its a promise to be kept. The school will be watching, waiting for me...

Some Onam Movies, A Little Nostalgia, An Odd Thought...

2006-09-01T06:23:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, there was a certain excitement, which drove us, crazed college boys to the theatres...we loved the thrill of bunking class, having a quick beer, pushing and shoving other ruffians like us out of the way to the front of the ticket couter, cheering for our favorite actors, and at the end coming out satisfied at having "studied" another day in college, outside the rusted gates! These days cars have replaced bikes and buses as our means of transport, a hot tea /coffee is preferred to a visit to the bar, we huff and puff our way to the same old theatres, scowling at the rogues who wont stay in line while taking tickets, passing harsh stares to guys who whistle and etc, etc, etc. I guess we come here nowadays for the love of movies, for finding something of the old days in the new. Its funny, my approach to movies has changed, though only subtlely, i still go there deciding i am here for timepass and i wont come out irritated, however horrible the movie is...but nowadays i try to observe the screenplay, the camera panning in and out from the actors faces and visualizing how the script has translated to celluloid...oops wonder if that made sense!!

Keerthichakra didnt disappoint. An average though elegantly made film(discounting mohanlal's tummy) without all the masala that ruins war movies. What we call average movies in kerala these days invariably becomes moneyspinners...that better than anything else signifies the depths to which we have plunged. Mohanlal's dialogues have a punch that gives you goosebumps, Jeeva proves to be a very lively actor, the melodious songs come alive in beautiful picturisations of kashmir and kerala, the movie races to the interval but thereafter the director, Major Ravi loses his grip on the script for a while, before turning on the intensity with a violent climax.

Moonamathoral - Its a pity keralites have turned their backs on a very talented director who dares to be different. V.K.Prakash who debuted with that brilliant movie, Punaradhivasam gets the cold shoulder again. Malayalam cinema's first complete digital movie, stands out for awesome technical perfection, the camera, editing and sound design at par with the best, the rest of India can offer...but as usual our superstar crazy people stayed away. A horror movie, the first half kept us on tenterhooks, i tried to figure out all along which hollywood movie was being adapted here, but failed...the story seemed original though i am still not sure. What lets the movie down, are the two songs carelessly placed in the 2nd half that kills the suspense and damages the script beyond repair!

Classmates - If Vadakkumnathan was a great movie-going experience in May, this movie by Lal Jose, is my favorite this Onam by miles and miles. It is a must watch for all you people who studied in the tension-ridden atmosphere of Kerala's colleges and student politics and have suffered and enjoyed from it, if you have written loveletters to your sweethearts or to help out your friends, if you have called your best friends "aliya" and last-bit-not-the-least been part of college intrigues. It is also a must-watch for all you people who are looking for a well-crafted film with a riveting climax, with a script which irradiates freshness and stands out different from the cliched campus movies of our age. If Prithviraj isnt accepted as a good actor by malayalis even after this movie, I give up on him...he has given a superlative performances as a fiery student leader. The supporting cast of Indrajith whose comic timing is a revelation, Sunil who plays a crucial role in the film, Jayasurya in a surprisingly subdued comic avatar besides Kavya Madhavan and a whole lot of other actors, wonderfully cast for their bit roles...this movie sure is going to be the big hit this Onam. Just like me, I was sure Shan and Anoop must have been flooded by memories of our eventful college life, watching this movie...i had to drag them out of their homes to watch this one, but the grateful look on their faces when we came out of the marquee, was worth the nagging!

I dont even think Mammootty's Bhargavacharitam, Lal's Mahasamudram, Dileep's Don and Suresh Gopi's Pathaka deserve to find mention here...malayalam cinema's curse today are directors, scriptwriters and actors who are past their creative best but yet refuse to yield ground to a new generation, those who steal from others like Sreenivasan does in Bhargavacharitham, or repackage their old films like Shaji Kailas seems to have done in Don(seeing the trailer reminded me of Aaraam Thampuraan).

To wind up this post on movies, i picked up what i thought is an integral part of the indian male psyche while watching kabhi alvida...I was amused at how viciously people have badmouthed the movie coz i thought it was a decent effort...in it i found a karan johar having a keen insight into human emotions, his only fault lay in taking up an issue still taboo to most indians and trying to present it in the by-now-beaten-to-death romantic formula that DDLJ introduced in India. The friends I went to watch it with, came out with ghastly faces, telling others this was a movie about adultery(i certainly felt johar deserved more sensitivity than being called an adultery-panderer), they couldnt understand how people could cheat in their relationships...i asked them, dont you think this can happen to you too, dont you think even your marriages can fail? What i said must have shocked them...most Indian men, seem to think they they are infallible in life...if something unfortunate like this happens in their lives god forbid, i wondered how unprepared these people are for countering that situation and how wrongly they will analyze their position. Most chillingly, I realized I wasnt too different from the people above, until a couple of years back...well enough of my crappy hypothesis...wish all you readers a Happy Onam!!

One Last Travel Diary???

2006-08-21T09:12:00.000-07:00

Shan, one of my dearest buddies, took one hell of a risk...he travelled all the way from kerala to join me(i actually lied to him i had all things planned!) on one last adventure to see a part of India, we knew till then only from textbooks. The beauty of our trip was that it was unplanned, we barely knew where we were going, if we realized a jeep was going close to our destination, we would hop in, hoping that another vehicle would take us from there closer and closer to yamunotri. When nothing came our way we hiked, the rain-gods seemed intent on accompanying us for the whole trip and ruining it, the cold fear at seeing landslides on every curve wondering which one would take us away, the happiness at seeing a hotel to rest our tired bodies for the night(there were many, thanks to the Garhwal Mandal Vikas Nigam Ltd(GMVN), and having a few pegs of whiskey to call it a day. I know the fotos we have here are not the best...i'll need to start a flickr site to upload the scenic ones...here we are the protagonists and our faces had to feature in the snaps...eitherways we both kept squabbling all thru the trip on who was the worser photographer...compressed these pics 20 times over to get it to 50kb!!!

Through Haridwar we reached Rishikesh and the faint beginnings of the Himalayas showed, besides for the first time in my life I set eyes on the Ganga. So majestic from afar, enjoying a position of superiority amongst all the rivers of India, but cursed with a people intent on destroying its aura. The sight of human refuse at the Triveni Ghat which looked so clean in the movies was jarring, the brown colour of the water was disconcerting...just for the sake of it we dipped our hands and feet...will that suffice for my sins to be forgiven?

From Rishikesh, we took a jeep to Dharasu, 100 kms away. The road here diverges into two...one to Uttarkashi, Gangotri and the other to Yamunotri. From Dharasu we get a mini-bus which dropped us at Barkot, the last village/town where civilization as you and i know it sort of ends. From there another mini-bus took us to Hanumanchatti, 80kms away where we decided to cool our heels for the night at a GMVN inn.The snap is from there.

We begin our trek from Hanumanchatti to Janakichatti, 9 kms away hoping a jeep wud pass-by. The scenery from here-on is absolutely breath-taking...the snap here shows Shan all-edgy, next to a cliff, with the Yamuna beneath in all raging fury, with me fumbling with the camera as always. We pass by several locals...all very people, infact we noticed all through uttaranchal the women were hard at work while men mostly hang around tea stalls.

We had walked 2kms and not a single vehicle was stopping for us. The place where we took this snap looked eerily similar to the ones in Yodha. We threw our bags to the floor here and decided to wait for a lift. I saw some kids hard at work here...we had not seen a single school for about 75 kms. Would people in Kerala be able to associate with something like that!

And Behold!...along comes a tractor and the good man in the pic takes us along. It must have been the bumpiest ride of our lives...but we enjoyed it immensely. After all, how many people get to travel on tractors when they are on vacation! The man wouldnt take any money from us...in contrast the rich jeepvalas where charging Rs.15 per head for traversing just 3-4 kms. He lets us off with a warning to watch out for stray rocks falling from above.

Shan mournfully mulls wetting his brand new sneakers...what the hell did he expect...a tarred road!!! The whole place was littered with marble rocks that came down in previous landslides. In that part of the Garhwal, the pavements and milestones are in marble...i sincerely hope quarrying is banned there knowing how expensive marble is elsewhere.

We reach Janakichatti where the road ends, and began a 5km grinding trek to Yamunotri. We huffed and puffed our way up in 3 1/2 hours upto what was a height of 5000mts. Yamunotri is for all purposes a pilgrimage, we had to keep greeting pilgrims with Jai Mata Di, Jai Yamuna Mata, and i forget the other slogans. Young men were taking pilgrims up on their shoulders, on palanquins and ponies which made us trekkers real miserable. The air was thin, we struggled to breathe, the temp must have been 2-5degs, the rain continued to irritate us and foiled our plans to trek further to SaptarishiKund 14 kms away where the actual glacier that feeds the Yamuna and overlooking a beautiful valley of flowers where a mysterious BrahmaKamal flower which has an intoxicating smell and in which Saraswati Devi supposedly resides. We stayed that night at the Kalindi Ashram hotel at Yamunotri and started our return journey the next morning.

If Yamunotri symbolized what must be the most beautiful creation of Nature we set our eyes on, we headed out next to Agra and the Taj where Shah Jahan gave expression to human creativity at its zenith, the sight of which totally blew us away. We were speechless, just gaping at the magnificence in front of our eyes, amazed at the power and the riches the Great Mughals commanded over India...Shan vowed that when he would marry, he would bring his wife here and promise her that he would build her a Taj in 10 years time! I was amused coz my dad used the same line with my mom when he built our home.

The Agra Fort was equally grand, and obviously more subjected to the ravages of consequent invaders like the Afghans, Marathas and the British. Agra was my opportunity to download all my history knowledge on poor Shan, and the good sport he is, was all ears to my chance to show-off! I was dejected to hear that Fatehpur-Sikri the ill-fated capital of Akbar was 80kms away...another place i will have to put off to visit for some other day.

At the end of the trip, the poor guy had lost several kilos, missed his mummy and her food, had got severely tanned, was so sick of roti, sabji and daal and kept muttering he wanted chicken and was crying at the kolam he had become...i was really amused with his woes because i never felt any of it...wandering through so many places and situations, the last many years, had hardened me. I dont know when i'll venture out like this again...so many places still out there that entice me, so many years of life left, yet so little time for things like these. Pops calls me up a few weeks back and jokes..."i tell folks who inquire about you...avan civil service paditham onnumalla, Discovery of India ilaanu"!!!

A Vagabond Comes Home...

2006-08-19T09:31:00.000-07:00

Every time I decide to let the blogging habit die in me old friends, family or casual acquaintances show concern that leaves me a little perplexed! I have fed everyone with so much juicy details of my life that its become hard for them to detach from me and even harder for me to forsake one more reason to keep blogging. So I guess its fare enough to blog down both the good and the bad bad days.

A Summer of Discontent, And...
When I reached home, I peaked into my spotlessly clean bathroom, the first thought that struck me was what a fine place it would make to sleep unlike my 8ft by 6ft dinghy that served as my room in Delhi made worse by 8 hour blackouts that killed the zest for sleep and aggravated by rains that raised the humidity rather than dipping the mercury. Playing hop-skip-jump on cow-dung littered streets and developing batman like skills to traverse those same streets at night, flea infested bylanes, an array of colds, throat infections and dysentry's that kept dogging me and my friends. It helped though...the dissatisfaction with my surroundings fuelled the interest to venture out to the world around. Delhi's ancient wonders, Agra, Yamunotri, Rishikesh, Haridwar, Dehradun, Mussorie, Haryana, Nainital and Mukteshwar...some of the many places I have dreamt of visiting ever since I was a kid...lay conquered at my feet. The trek to Yamunotri was an adventure to paradise...a picture post is on the way!

A Sabbattical at 25
Exactly 12 hours since I am at home. The sights on the train right from the Konkan Coast upto Veli Lake have been so beautiful...no colour in the world makes me so happy as green, The weather in tvm is so pleasant, so balmy...i just love this place. Well, Almost!!! What are your plans...enthaanu ninte future plans...i keep getting the same question from everyone except my parents who have continued to be so wonderful and supportive though i just dont deserve it. Everyone wants to discuss with me, help me out, talk me into a firm decision...i dont blame them, the jiby most of them knew was never like this...noone realizes I just cant be helped. I wonder if i should go back to coding, i wonder if i should go back to the US, i wonder if i should continue with this mockery of a civil service prep that I've lost interest in, i wonder what to do next and all i have is a curious optimism that i will somehow strike a path...an absolute vacuum stares me...but i am oddly happy...i realize this is the hard path to maturity...its sad, everybody would have loved my story to end up like Swades but its turning out all like Varavelpu and I have only my personal failings to blame.

Some New Beginnings...
25 years on earth...yet this fine dawn when i should have have been cozy in bed i woke up to a new resolution...to win back my health. The few earlybirds must have wondered why a 55kilo crackpot needs to jog but man i feel so good now...i barely could run the 1/2 km to Pattom Junction and struggle back today, but in a month by Sep 15 I will be running all the way to Kawadiar Palace and back. The 6km trek up Yamunotri when we were humbled by several oldies was a wake-up-call as we struggled to catch our breaths and egg our tired bodies on...i realized my body had aged almost 20 years over the last few years of inexercise, poor sleeping habits and irregular diets. The hard part is to win back all the pounds I lost in Delhi...

Books, Movies...and Guilt
I am so in love with reading again. On the two days in train I lapped up The Alchemist and Five Point Someone, both books which had a distant echo of similarities to my personal life. Today I have picked up my uncles novel and am just breezing through it...I need to put up a review on the blog and try to get more of you to read it if it releases in India...problem is i am so proud of his work i wonder if i can be objective...he seems to have kicked up some controversy in the US Church but I think its high time more reforms came up there! Today i wandered around tvm and picked up a jhumpa lahiri and tolstoy from roadside vendors. So many good movies too coming up this Onam. Man i really am having fun...oh shit, the last thing i want to feel is guilt...its odd...peer pressure never bothered me all these years in life but now I think of my friends hard at work and here I am lazing away in the comforts of home. Dang! I am seriously messed up or what.

Whats Cooking, Mom???

2006-07-25T02:10:00.000-07:00

Picked this tag up from Silverine. Many years back some regular refrains my mom had to bear with from me was, "ithrem currykale ollo", "inne erachiyum meenum onnum ille". My mom would throw her arms up in the air and remark, "ivaneyokke hostelil vitte padippikkaathathinte doshamaanu"!! Cut to these days, every time I land in tvm, as usual she cooks her best stuff, but i just dont have the stomach to eat all that anymore...i try explaining how i need to return to despair-inspiring food and that too just two times a day and how eating all this would upset my carefully calculated rhythm. But who was I trying to explain to 'Her Eminence'...afterall she is the BOSS in tvm. Over to the 10 best dishes she and my ammachi makes.

1. Cashewnut Curry - It is 4-5 years since I've eaten this one. It is so yummy...i would sacrifice chicken for 6 months if i can get to eat this once more. In the 90's before the Technopark started progressively eating into the Kerala University Karyavattom campus the place was full of cashews and my dad would being sackloads home in summer. One lingering memory is my poor moms fingers which would keep burning for a week with all the "kara" from the cashew.

2. Karimeen Fry - Just once or if we are lucky twice a year we used to get to eat the Karimeen Pollichathu of Karimpankala near Changanasseri but moms decided she needed to end our fascination with the place and soon we were enjoying the same delicious stuff at home instead of drooling over the next trip to that shappu! This time I went home I had Karimeen for one month continuously. She had taught our servant how to cook it before leaving and finally beg with the lady to stop making me anymore karimeen.

3. Chicken Cutlet - Cutlets used to be a horror story till my mom discovered the trick of adding a topping of ruskcrumbs with the egg-white and this became the bofors in her armory. Last year one of my classmates and his wife was visiting us, after eating dinner, i was amused seeing him plead with his wife to learn to make the cutlet.

4. Chicken Biryani - The story of my mom's "CB" includes a fascinating competition she had with her brother who is an excellent cook too and is even vain about it. They both made their biryanis and looked to us, to say whose was better. Finally both of them, had to grudgingly agree they were equally good.

5. Chocolate Cake - It takes a few weeks of pepping up my mom to get her to bake us a cake. So what she does is make a week's stock to shut our mouths for some time. What begins is a game of one-upmanship between my sis and I in raiding the pantry. Very rarely have the cakes survived to see a 3rd day.

6. Crab Curry - One of my favorites for all time. Ofcourse I get the fleshy body parts and leave the limbs to my parents. Last year we were in Baltimore with my cousins and our aunt cooked a huge quantity of crabs and laid it out the patio for us to attack. It was such a wonderful family moment...all of us together and we guys getting to be kids again as we feasted on the crabs...no talk of marriages, careers and ageing!

7. Putte, Payar & Pappadam - Until this combo came into my life, Putte and Kadala was my favorite dish. The first time my mom laid this out for breakfast I gave a look of horror...wondering how on earth i could mix these seemeingy total opposites together! And thanks to a hereditery gas trouble...i have given kadala goodbyes!!!

My Ammachi's Cooking
1. Kumbalappam, Elayappam, Kozhikotta - Before ammachi came to live with us in 1990, famished evenings after school was all about eating biscuits, fruit bread or some other crap. Kumbalappam is the most delicious thing i have ever eaten in my life. The flavour that the leaf imparts on this cone-shaped appam is one of life's most pleasing aroma's too. Grandpa planted that at one of our properties in tvm long back...i am amazed at the foresight of these kaaravanmaar. The Elayappam and Kozhikotta was almost a daily affair until we started goin to college and both taste so good...hot and cold!

2. Banana Chips - Everytime I look back at one of my most memorable academic achievements, the 12th public exams...the taste of my grandma's freshly fried banana chips and the sweet sound of her snippets of naadan pattukal she would breathe into my ears to keep me awake makes me so nostalgic.

3. ChakkaVazhattiyathu - This takes a painful long time to make, but what a labour of love this thing is. Its irreverently called "jackfruit jam" but i love to eat this to the point of indigestion!!!

Ooh I am fighting hard not to salivate by now!!! Ultimately more than all these the rice, morre curry , a fish fry and a payar thorran are all i need my mom to cook to make me happy...day in and day out!!! Mummykuttiye, thanks so much for overcoming all that stress from work, clients and frequent guests to cook what ever we greedily wanted me to eat. I would have loved to add more fotos...but blogger is crapping up on me. Many thanks to my buddy Rajay from whose forward i lifted the fotos above! And most of my blogpals havent taken up this tag yet. So comeon...Thanu, Sarah, Pappanabhan, Neil, Arun Hari, Jofu ... give this a shot!

He Versus Me...

2006-07-19T07:49:00.000-07:00

I looked at the adversary sitting next to me in the darkness. Only our voices spoke to each other. We were like boxers trading punches, not yielding any ground to the other. Noone had derided me, questioned my ideals and labelled me ignorant in quite a long time and what began as a discussion between my pal, Sreehari doing his masters at Haryana Agri University in Hissar where I was visiting him ended up becoming a debate, argument or quarrel as our constrasting beliefs clashed, depending on how a third person percieved the situation. I thought it worth to share with you all some of the stuff we talked as Sreehari's ideas and thoughts are on a plane different from many of us and though I couldnt agree with him on much, its nice to read about the alternative socio-politici-economic systems others think should be in place of the one we fortunately or unfortunately have in place now.

He: I dont agree with the IT Boom happening now, the BPO revolution we see now is making India a slave. Instead of asserting our creative energies we are working cheaply for Uncle Sam and his cronies, bcoz it costs them more there.
Me: Look at the number of jobs this has generated. Havent you thought of the huge urban unemployment crisis that would have been created. For 50 years before the mid-90's what creative resource channelling have we done. Atleast the Brain Drain stands reversed today.

He: Why dont you open your eyes to reality? We are being recolonized again. The WB and IMF keeps pumping in funds and we recieve with open arms. Do you know anything about the Chinese Model and that they dont beg for aid.
Me: In 1991 we were on verge of default and about to pledge our gold. The economic reforms we undertook thanks to the conditional aid they gave us has rejuvenated atleast a part of India. It is the West's helplessness of their lack of manpower to leverage the technological revolution that they are turning to India. It is fiction that our billing rates are dirt cheap. I know Infy bill at more than $25 an hour which is more than my first salary in the US.

He: 65% of India is dependent on agriculture. Compare this with US where only 2% lives on agriculture. Ignoring agri and villages in not the way to gun for development.
Me: I agree. But if you put things in proper perspective you will find that coz we have solved the problem of urban unemployement to a great extent the govt has been freed to pursue rural development now. Havent you read how NREGP, Bharat Nirman and PURA are all doing good work.

He: Gandhi's call to go back to villages and the self-sufficiency inherent in that model would have saved India. The bastard Nehru's socialist industrialisation programme ruined everything.
Me: Cant you guage the enormous amount of responsibilities Nehru worked under. There were communal riots, states reorganization, the kashmir problem, refugees, etc and then india was lacking in any sort of industrialization and only the govt had means to invest money. Until the 1st FYP and 1957 our focus was entirely on agriculture b4 Nehru changed focus to industries and in 1960's green revolution came and we had a food surplus.

He: Whats the use? They havent implemented land reforms except in WB and Kerala. Kerala has been ruined by joining the Indian Union. We were a self-sufficient state. We had the leading spice trade in the world. Today we have to beg to India for everything.
Me: Would Kerala have been able to pay the salaries of our huge edu and medical and other govt employees with just the spices trade? It is meaningless to conjecture separatism today. No state in India can survive by itself. You are not looking for ways to improve the current system but just ranting and raving at it. I have an Indian identity and there are millions of malayalis like me who are proud of it.

Me: Look at Smart City. So many people would have got jobs. That land lies waste now.
He: We dont need Smart City. It is obvious from T&C's that Smart City is a fraud and eitherway if jobs come from selling our land and resources to foreigners to do dirt-cheap work, we dont need those jobs.

He: You are speaking for your class. I expected you to have a voice for the underpriviledged. You are just another bourgeousie.
Me: You speak from outside the system. Your grouse is you feel frustrated at not being able to be part of the changes the 91 reforms brought about. You havent attempted to see the change through millions of young people who can dream of good jobs now and you doint attempt to find out how we can channel these changes to rural India too.

He: You are ignorant and unable to percieve things better. Your class always wants to keep the poor in chains. You are hiding in the convenience of pragmatism like thousands of Indians and dont want any meaningful change in our feudal system.
Me: You speak of idealism and utopian change when it is so hard to bring changes in present system. Good things are happening and you are blind to it coz the changes are not happening the way yo want them to. You look only at the negatives. I am frustrated at your inability to see even a little silver lining.
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We ended it there. It had taken harsh tones. We had to use words that fell below the normal courtesies among friends. Somehow we relaxed. An unspoken agreement to not talk on these issues emered. The rest of my time in Hissar was spent in malayalam songs, old memories of schoolife, a junior of his who entertained us to some soulful rendering of Hindustani vocal and a little sightseeing. Meanwhile I am pissed at Manmohan that while he urges G-8 leaders to take a strong stand on terrorism while the best stand he could do was block bloggers like us from talking to the world. Now I want to take you to another scene, another conversation, what you read may disturb you. All this happens only in India!

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First Friend: I am sad man. My mind is telling me to cheat. I know I fall in the creamy layer. Its so easy to get an income certificate and so much easier to crack the civil services through the OBC reservation. What should I do?
Second: I made a mistake. I didnot know my community was notified as an OBC. This time I wrote in the General Category. But next time I'll fix it.
Third(a Mallu): When others are manipulating the system why should we be left behind. I decided long back that I would make use of OBC reservation.
Myself(a little uncomfortable, yet unable to muffle a smile): Do you guys know what Narayanamurthy said, "India must be the only country where people fight to be called backward".

Smiles all around. My point was made for a little time but will soon be forgotten. In India our youth are taught to survive at all costs. Morality can come later!

Lets Beat The Block!!!

2006-07-18T08:39:00.000-07:00

This Wikipedia link mentions how to evade the block http://censorship.wikia.com/wiki/Bypassing_The_Ban You guys cud use these proxy servers too www.shadowsurf.com www.hidemyass.com www.shysurfer.com www.daveproxy.co.uk www.ninjaproxy.com We were born free! Lets not yield to these bastards!

A Blessing in Disguise...

2006-06-28T01:58:00.000-07:00

A chance request heralded in a refreshing change in life. My uncle needed a malayalam translation of an interview he gave for his forthcoming novel. I hesitantly embarked on it, scared of not being able to do justice to something that would be appearing in the papers, 10 years after i last wrote something seriously in malayalam, the 10th ICSE exams and barely escaped from disaster. But the words flooded in, the beauty of the malayalam language manifested itself in me, something that never happened in 10 years of cramming malayalam at school. Oh! I have rediscovered a lost love. All the years of wondering whether I squandered a legacy in the mother tongue has lingered like a permanent scar, several times in life i have rued my overt fascination for the english literature at the cost of malayalam, but this time I am determined to make a new beginning.

And so a new beginning, i think i am making...a friend who has come into life like a whiff of fresh air, a person who has begun to make me think in new dimensions, look at human relationships from new perspectives and introduced me to paradigms in philosophy and psychology i had not cared to observe...handed me a collection of 6 scripts of M.T.Vasudevan Nair. I took it up pessimistically, with a valid reason too...none of the 6 films, Kuttiyettathi, Murapennu, Olavum Theeravum, Nirmalyam, Iruttinte Athmave and Kanyakumari...I had not had the priviledge of watching. I wondered how I could relate with it, but what an experience it has been, scripts as a branch of literature have come to stay!! MT's character have so much life and feeling in them, he invests his simple stories with such multi-dimensional relationships and the beauty of his language just leaves you captivated. As I write this, i am a fortunate reader transported to the banks of Bharathapuzha, wondering if characters and families like this still live, whether time has eroded the values, stigmas and burdens these people carried and so much more.

Its been ages since that romantic feeling coursed through my veins, I never thought it possible again...somehow i have become charged and inspired to pick up my pen and start scribbling in malayalam my thoughts, and the also resume an old habit that i thought had died in me...of writing little stories. Its such a painful, tiring process...to be laboring with the language thats my mother tongue, my diary which had for so long been eclipsed by this blog is coming alive again...i know its now or never. Its like the next few months are all I have been given to do all I want, before I sacrifice myself at the altar of what's still a maddening world to me...of careers, consumerism and monotony. When MT talks of silent, sometimes unrequited love i gush at how convincing and universal his characters still are, i wonder if it will remain so for eternity. I once read of how all of MT's male characters are weak, vacilliating, defeated creatures and how somebody wrote a peice called Shantante Amarsham(An Impotent Man's Rage) deriding him...but i now think no amount of criticism can take this man's genius away from him.

Anyways I just cant wait to head back home, walk into DC Books and come out with a shelf-load of modern malayalam literature. All those years in college of fretting at long, boring homilies at Sunday mass where I was more impressed by the command of the priests over the malayalam language rather than the message they strived hard to impart, and the online reading of Manorama, Deepika and Kaumudi must have struck root in me somewhere. Else I wonder how I achieved my little feat of doing the translation...i was about to give up even before i looked at it, but my dad, my most earnest motivator urged me to look at it as an opportunity...tonite as i pen this post down in my diary to take to the cafe and key it down, i wish you readers could feel my euphoria, my excitement and happiness at discovering a lost love. When life gets too boring and that accursed question mark hovers about you...a blessing comes in disguise.

Getting Personal...

2006-06-24T03:46:00.000-07:00

Been tagged by Silverine...and i just love to take up tags...nothing better to lighten the mood at this dreary blog of mine.

My Accent - I believe its neutral but I think I have a little South-Indian tinge to it...but not the mallu version of it.

Booze - Was initially a hard-core drunkard. Restricted myself to beer in later college life. Took to Chabillis and Merlot first and then Scotch with a vengeance in the US. Nowadays its beer once a month. If I didnt keep running into old friends still, would have given it up for good.

Chore I Hate - Cooking! I'd rather be washing dishes or sweeping the floor than cooking. Was the source of several tiffs with my roomies and then my sis!

Dog or Cat - Neither. Infact I am scared of all animals!

Essential Electronics - Nothing these days. I am learning to keep life simple these days...wud have given up my fone if not for parents and friends.

Perfume - lol...not the rite question for me...caught in the sweat and toil of india...my natural body odour most of the time...but if ur already letting out a yuckkk...I take 3 baths a day to compensate!!

Gold or Silver - I hate both...my mom makes me wear a gold chain...i comfort myself that it'll be the first thing i pawn when i get into financial trouble!!! But speaking of others, gals certainly look good with a lil gold on them...thats the old-fashioned mallu in me talking!!!

Home - At Pattom in Trivandrum...the place has been my home forever. Its exactly 4 years and one day since i left the cool comforts of my home to make my life...these days i feel like a guest there if not for my ammachi...my sis has left and taken my mom along and dad is always travelling...my bedroom is twice as big as the rooms i have lived in over the last 4 years and i just cant get used to it!!!

Insomnia - I can stay up all night at will and go to sleep too with the same ease if i choose. But insomnia scares the shit out of me...it wud be really dreadful to be afflicted.

Job Title - IAS "Aspirant" ...hehe

Living Arrangements - Now...dont make me cry!

Most Admirable Traits - I love kids and am always a big hit with them...yeah I am really proud of that fact...nowadays i wonder if thats my only talent!!! And I make sincere efforts to keep my friends in touch with each other...wherever I am. This website and many of the posts in my blog are dedicated to the fond memories they have given me over the years.

Number of Sexual Partners - I am a "loser" in that department. Blame it on years of male bonding and lovable rogues who have orbitted my life thats ensured i never felt discontented and incomplete.

Number of Times in Hospital - Quite a few times. Once for a bike accident and the rest for fevers.

Phobias - Vertigo!!!

Quote - Kittiyaal Ooty Allengil Chatti

Religion - Catholic

Siblings - One Sister...she is stupid but she's still the BEST!(u reading this jish?...hehe...cudnt resist choriyufying)

Time I Wake Up - 10:30am - 12:30 am now that i dont have to work.

Unusual Talent or Skill - Flatter to Decieve!

Vegetable I Love - Cabbage(Thorran)...Infact I am beginning to like all vegetables except pavakka...talk abt getting older!!!

Worst Habit - I am too restless...i think it reflects in everything i do.

X-Rays - Once!

Yummy Food I Make - Though I hate to cook, I make excellent Chicken Curry/Fry. And in university, I once made a sizzling Chilli Gobi by accident, this inspired my friends who joined in to cook their specialities and finally we all had a surprise feast, one night...good days come unplanned!

Zodiac Sign - Virgo/Libra Cusp

People I Tag - Reji, Thanu, Geo, Sarah, Anand.K and all my blogpals if u guys are interested.

Wanderlust Uncorked...

2006-06-21T02:39:00.000-07:00

Just back from another typical adventure...typical coz of all the bottlenecks along the way. The opportunity to break free arrived sooner than expected...no classes...i announced my decision to travel...3 pals joined in...the places shortlisted were Nainital, Badarinath and Yamunotri...we decided on Nainital and Mukteshwar. Huffed and puffed our way to catch the last bus leaving for Nainital that night on crammed backseats that screwed our plans to get a decent nap.

Saturday: The morning brought us 4 tired folks to the main junction by the lakeside in Nainital and welcoming us was a steady shower and over-priced hotel rooms. Despondently we looked at our options aka wallets and left for Bhawali, a village-town 12kms away in the hope of finding accomodation. We wandered abt till lady-luck took us to an Uttaranchal Govt Tourist resthouse where they had a dormitory available. This was the beginning of an odd experience as we found ourselves in a room with no matresses on the bed, a hotel without enuf buckets for their bathrooms, hopelessy incapable staff and to make it worse taps that wud spit out only air and my thoughts went to the cash-laden KTDC. My pals were getting angry by the second and my efforts at cooling them down succeeded but not before they had given an earful to the hapless manager. We decided to give the lake, the waterfall, zoo, suicide point, etc which were tame affairs meant for family folks and had become cliched sights at hill-stations, as we knew the only outing that could satiisfy us was a grinding trek and so we headed to China Peak, 10kms away from Nainital on a taxi followed by a 4km trek up a jungle trail.

100 mts up the hill, the 4 of us, threw ourselves at the forest floor, breathing heavily, listening to our pounding heartbeats, staring at each other as we wondered who would be the first to get a cardiac arrest. We decided to carry on, and fortunately for us, were soon distracted from from the physical exhaustion by amazing views of the Nainital Valley, steep gorges on both our sides and the flush forest cover. At the end of it all China Peak lay conqured, it was a supremely solitary spot, far away from the madding crowd, very few of them would be able to make it up here thankfully, and we sat there like in a trance for almost 2 hours and to finally top it all a canteen at the peak, provided us with a much-needed refreshing tea and cream-biscuits. The 4 km trek up had taken us almost 1.5-2 hours but with dusk approaching we virtually jogged our way down unmindful of the slippery rocks or the steep fall on either side. At base-camp, we found to our disgust the last taxi had left and we began a tired walk to the nearest point in civilization...5kms away, the High Court where to our disappintment we learnt that the Mall Road was closed for pedestrian traffic and after another 2kms and our whole body crying out for a much-deserved repreive after a 15km exercise i slept like i had been knockedout!!!

Sunday: The next morning brought abt a dilemma of another kind. One of us wanted to head back to Delhi while I was intent on staying another day. The 2 fence-sitters decided to stay on and coz of our bone-crunching adenture yesterday we rented a cab and visited the same "tame" places we had derided yesterday like the waterfall, suicide point, etc and what a sham all these places turned out to be and what a miss for the 98% tourist crowd here who would never be able to trek their way up China Peak

Monday: By afternoon we left for Mukteshwar which we found to our surprise to be just a sleepy village with a few expensive resorts and a Shiva Temple with an enchanting suicide point with rocks jutting out into mid-air being the only sights here much to our disappointment. By 3 we came down, waited for a jeep until we finally got one at 4:30 to anther junction Bhattalia, 7 kms away where we were alarmed to find no jeep/bus going to Bhawali until next morning and we had a bus to catch at 7:00pm. We decided to bail out of this gudham and took a jeep to Dhanachuly, an even more remote village tucked away in the hills. The people here were real poor and just when we figured our luck had runout and were gettiung desperate a taxi came by at 6pm willing to take us to Nainital. He raced thru the hills like a madman almost going over a few gorges until a road-tarring derailed the cliffhanger ride and our effort to catch the bus.

At Nainital we heard of a bus leaving for Delhi from Ramwani, a town 35kms downhill at 10:30pm and a Tata Sumo was willing to take us and 3 other families there and so we all crowded inside and I found a little girl too on my lap. I was cold to her and treated her like a nuisance and she responded by a vomiting spree when the hairpins started but luckily she was a smart cookie and thrust her head outside and saved me a lot of trouble!!! Soon she fell asleep on my lap with her head resting on my arm and it felt real beautiful. The silly anger I felt earlier had dissolved...until then we were cracking wry jokes abt our misfortunes, money wasted in unneccessary taxi rides, our ill-planning, the difference between optimism and our idiotic optimism and that even if "aakasham idinje thalayil veenaalum we wud find a way to shake it off and keep living", etc, etc but this child bought such a peaceful change to my heart and spirits, i felt a magic i had never experienced earlier, in this stranger feeling so secure and cosy next to me. At Ramwani we parted from the child and her jovial family, and raced to the bus-stand were the bus was revving to leave.

Tuesday: Another difficult trip was over, many factors were beyond our control, it was impossible to plan considering our ignorance abt the scarcity of transport and like, but in the end we made a good trip out of it, by our cool and steady heads, good-natured acceptance of every adverse situation, the trademark indefatigable mallu sense of humour and an unanimous agreement that we had learnt more about our country, our people and their struggles to survive even at the expense of others and how to deal with that. It was saddening to see how places like Nainital were the last-surviving relics of natural beauty in an earth we ravish incessantly. The souring moment of the trip was at Delhi near Kashmiri Gate ...3 ragpicker girls running away without paying money for tea to a helplessly cursing poor tea-stall owner. There is no escaping the realities of India - whether at a hill-station or a metro-station!

**fotos on the way**

A Defeat, And Its Aftermath...

2006-06-12T09:50:00.000-07:00

Tears welled up, threatening to roll down, as I tallied my right answers in the History paper with the sinking feeling building up every second from somewhere deep inside. I couldnt even count on my fingers the last time I cried over a poor exam. My above-par performance in the GS paper had come to zilch. I furtively looked up at my sir, expectantly looking on to see which of his students would raise their hands in success, while I buried mine in my face to choke the liquefied remnants of the 7-month long hardest-fought battle of my life. The moment passed, the tears receded somewhere back into my eyes...the disappointment lingered for a few more days...all that is left now is to log it down in this blog of mine...and get it out of my system totally...hopefully. Exactly two years since I walked out of university, brimming with optimism, 4 jobs that didnt work out, a migration, a gut-wrenching life-sapping effort for a job with a three-letter tag attached to your name...all to be rewound and begun again...its been a string of galling failures to make my education, jobs, inheritances, experiences and hard work all count.

I looked at the man seated opposite me, who I had hoped to avoid for a few months. The plush suite I found myself in, was in "stark" contrast to my Rs.1300 room in a rundown colony in North Delhi populated by a few struggling CS aspirants like me, hundreds of unskilled workers from kerala amidst decadent partition-era refugee Punjabi families still mourning their fall from riches. For a second I dreaded the thought of him suggesting a visit to my new place and searched for a suitable excuse. Like always he made suggestions for my future. Unlike always, this time I had no answer, no comment, to pass back. I could sense the disappointment my dad tried to hide despite his unconditional support for all my efforts. And the excuses he must be offering others, for my failure. Oh God, was I becoming an embarassment? The impasse that kept developing in my life in America and which I hoped to skirt through coming back to India had somehow inevitably arrived. Maybe it was inherent in my restless nature or overt idealism...maybe there will be a turnaround in my fortunes, or maybe not. I have chronicled the heroics of friends who utilized failures to achieve greater things in life, somehow I wonder if I am capable of replicating their efforts.

My blog took birth almost 2 years ago in my frustration but somehow every word that came out here looked to the sunny side of life. In every defeat, I saw positives and so spun them around here to boost myself and keep me going. This perhaps is the first time ever, a post appeared here tinged in negativity. What more can I write when the year holds nothing for me except studying more of the same thing...my sir says I am a sureshot for next year's attempt...but I am not so sure. I am tired...maybe when classes get over next month, I'll travel from Kashmir to Comorin, maybe like other plans even this wont materialise. This is me at this point in life...the journey continues...maybe I will come back some day and laugh at myself for writing this post...or I'll laugh at the astrologer who predicted in my jathakam that I would "prabhuthulyanaayi vaazhum".