Summers, Bygone, Forever...

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...

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

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...

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

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...

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...

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

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

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...

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

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!!!

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…

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?
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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

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!!!

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