A new year... a new beginning...

I like the advent of a new year. Technically speaking, it is just another day. A day which has 24 hours like all other days, a day where one goes through the self same routine like most other days. The first of January is no different from the 24^th of June or 8^th of August or any other day. I don’t understand why, but somehow, I can’t stop that excited feeling growing within me as I reach the end of December and I eagerly wait for the 1^st of January.

Perhaps this excitement is due to the symbolic ‘newness’ which is attached to the arrival of every year. I actually revel in the feeling of ‘hope’ which engulfs me during the start of a year and it sort of inspires me to kick out all the negatives out of my life which had unwittingly become a part of me all these days. Out goes the every thought and action of mine which makes me sad, angry, irritable, envious, de-motivated and dejected; instead I enjoy the process of filling myself up with peace, contentment, and acceptance which automatically motivates me, spurring me to dream of a better tomorrow and work towards realizing it. I also enjoy making resolutions. Ofcourse it is another fact that these resolutions are seldom carried down the whole year, but nevertheless it is a ritual which I enjoy observing religiously.

As I am getting ready to step into the threshold of 2013, I am so very thankful to all the myriad, mixed experiences and emotions of the year that was and grateful to the various people who have been a part of my life all these days, inspiring and motivating me to become a better individual in a variety of ways.

Here’s wishing each one of you a very happy, healthy, peaceful and prosperous 2013! May you be inspired enough to achieve your dreams and live life to your fullest! 

Nirbhaya shouldn't have died in vain...

Nirbhaya is no more and the people who are responsible for her death are still living, enjoying the protection and security accorded by the Delhi police, eating food provided by the Indian govt, and perhaps hefty negotiations are taking place between their concerned relatives and smart lawyers who may take up their case, and prove that it was a human error or an act committed due to insanity. Like most other rapists who are unfortunate enough to be caught, they too may have to suffer a few years in jail and then would be released into the society, and may in due course become respectable citizens of this country emboldened by the attitude of a ‘tolerant’ society which pretends to sleep.

Each day, as I wake up to the news of assaults, rape, abuses, and atrocities against women and children, I can’t help feeling a sense of shame and anger. Why do we tolerate such nonsense? The more I think about it, the more I feel stronger laws are required to punish the guilty. But to prevent such devilish incidents from occurring, we have to first change ourselves, our thoughts, and our myopic, fear filled minds. We have to stop haunting the victim, causing her to cringe in shame and fear all her life and instead hunt down and punish the wrong doer at the earliest. The society, instead of ostracizing her, needs to encourage such victims to emerge from her trauma and lead a normal life in every possible manner. Let us learn to react and protest strongly against ill treatment of women, whether at home or the workplace. Let us teach our sons to treat all women with respect and dignity and let us teach our daughters to command that respect which is rightfully theirs and live a life of dignity without guilt.

The Delhi incident has sparked off a public outrage and hopefully, this spark will flare up all over the country to bring about a change in the way women are being perceived and treated in our country. Nirbhaya shouldn’t have died in vain…

Rest in Peace

I came across a corpse yesterday.

You may be wondering what is so unusual about seeing a dead body these days. People die and there is nothing new about it…

 Well, why I mention this incident specifically is because this was not any ordinary dead body that was laid to rest in a satin lined, wooden, decorated coffin. Neither was this a body which was swathed in white and respectfully surrounded by mourning friends and relatives,  awaiting its last rites so that the soul could peacefully pass on to the netherworld. No flowers… no tears… this was just a corpse on the street.

The pathetic death of the unknown man must have occurred at an unknown time. It was lying adjacent to a filthy ditch on the side of a busy road. At first glance, I mistook it for that of a drunk lying totally sozzled, without a care in the world. (There is a bar which caters to the ‘common’ man nearby and such sights are frequent). But the presence of a small crowd of curious people around the body as well three policemen with totally uninterested faces, trying to act unduly important rather confirmed my suspicion and I knew for certain that I had come across a corpse.

You know, I strongly believe that however refined we are, there is this base nature within each one of us which is attracted towards the grotesque. I was reminded of a childhood incident during a long ago summer vacation when a rich old lady was found murdered in our village. Those were the days when murder was very uncommon. We (I and my cousin) were totally excited about it and seeing the neighboring children rush off to the spot which was some distance off, we begged our elders for permission to go and see the body. But small children from decent families are absolutely forbidden to have any such adventure and as expected, our request was turned down accompanied with quite a bit of harsh words. It was another thing that they spoke about the murder in hushed tones among themselves, which made it all the more unbearable for  my cousin who managed to  give them the slip and make off to visit the spot of the murder. I still remember my excitement mingled with fear at the vivid description he gave me (in secret) about the corpse…

Well… to come back to my present story, that base instinct which overpowered my senses at that particular moment, compelled me to take a quick peek at the lifeless body lying on the roadside. For a moment, it was as though I was looking at a weary, sick, sleeping man with the word ‘alcoholic’ stamped all over him. He would have been in his late 40’s, had a heavily suntanned, bony structure, and his weary face sported an unkempt beard. Dressed in a cheap, pink polyester shirt and a dhothi that had seen better days, he looked like one of those umpteen people whom you pass by on the road with utterly defeated looks on their faces…

After the preliminary enquiry conducted by a dozen policemen for about an hour, during which the whole road got blocked with curious onlookers, impatient vehicles , three police jeeps and an old, derelict ambulance, the corpse was unceremoniously taken away to the Govt. hospital morgue to await relatives who would perhaps be traced out by the police…

It seems the owner of the nearby bar confirmed the fact that he was a ‘regular’ in their premises and was also suffering from TB. I guess that is a deadly combination. Back home, as I narrated the incident to my family, I must confess that I really was not surprised by their matter-of-fact reaction (non-reaction, rather). I guess death has definitely lost its charm for the living…

The festival of Karthika… Nostalgia unfolded…

Once a year, the small earthen lamps that were stored away carefully in a rusty old tin on top of a shelf in our store room gets a new lease of life thanks to the festival of Karthika that has a special significance mainly due to the lighted up lamps that adorn the courtyard of houses, filling them with an inviting golden glow at dusk.

As a predictable ritual, my mother washes these earthen lamps collected over a period of time and sun dries them for the evening ritual.  Oil for the lamps and wick cut to proper size are readied simultaneously and as dusk arrives, the lamps are ready to be lit.

It was up to the youngsters of the house(myself and my sister)  to arrange these  lamps at suitable places… in geometric designs on the courtyard, lined atop the compound wall, on either side of the steps leading up to the house, on window ledges, and where ever possible. The children of our non-Hindu neighbor too would assist us in lighting the lamps and it was total fun trying to shield the small flickering flames from the sudden gust of wind which mercilessly blew about this time of the season and relight them which was of absolutely no use as we just couldn’t compete with the wind. My mother used to make a sweet to be offered as ‘prasadam’ which we all used to sit and relish. I would say the whole process was one of family and neighborly bonding and as far as I was concerned, it had less of a religious significance.

Today, once again, a Karthika has dawned on us. My mother still prepares the earthen lamps and I along with my son would definitely light up our courtyard. The glow of these tiny flickering lamps would fill up our home and definitely find a place in my facebook page, but I feel the lack of a vital element that used to be the life force of such festivities in the yesteryears. In general, the enthusiasm seems to have toned down considerably as everything feels more of a chore than an event to be looked forward to. Perhaps it is the absence of the members of the family who are elsewhere living their own lives, perhaps it is our unwillingness to step away from our rigid daily schedules that rule our lives, or perhaps it is the general decline of our values and traditions… I don’t know.

All the while we light the lamps, my son would be thinking of tomorrow’s chemistry pre-model exam, impatient to get back to his studies; I would be wondering as to the night’s dinner dish that is yet to be made and the various jobs  that I need to do before calling it a day; my mother perhaps would be wanting to complete the whole ‘procedure’ before her favorite reality show, Idea Star Singer starts… I guess it is just the strong breeze that would remain the same, blowing out the tiny flickering flames one by one…

Sabarimala 2013 – A ‘Green’ Pilgrimage

Another mandala season has arrived, bringing with it cold, crisp, foggy mornings complete with the energetic cries of ‘Swamiye Saranamayyappa’ by ardent devotees. Kerala seems all geared up to meet the massive inflow of about 2.5 crores of devotees flowing into Sabarimala from all parts of the country.

One heartening piece of news which makes this season different from previous years is the fact that the State govt, acting under the orders of the honorable High Court, has issued a complete ban of plastic and other non-biodegradable materials in Sabarimala, with the intention of protecting the fragile ecosystem of this divine place of pilgrimage. Infact, several voluntary organizations had already undertaken a massive cleanup operation on the trekking path as well as the Sannidhanam recently, thus making it free from all accumulated plastic debri and other litter. This is a tiny step towards keeping Sabarimala clean and green, but definitely a noteworthy one and I hope that pilgrims comply with the rules and cooperate with the officials.

I was also pleasantly surprised to see an article by Sabarimala’s Tantri, Kandararu Rajeevaru in a newspaper, appealing all devotees to refrain from using plastic materials like containers, wrappings, bags, etc in their ‘irumudikettu’ and replace it with ece-friendly materials like cloth or paper. Similarly, he has also appealed to the pilgrims to deposit used plastic pet water bottles in designated dustbins only. I totally appreciate the Tantri’s concerns regarding the pollution of the sacred place of pilgrimage and his efforts to keep the area clean and sacred.

A lot more need to be done by the govt and concerned authorities in preserving and maintaining the temple environment, but above all, it is up to each one of the pilgrims to understand they are totally responsible for the conservation and upkeep of the serene surroundings that is the abode of the Lord Aiyappa.  

May the Lord’s blessings be with each one of you.

When the going gets tough, the tough get going….

My neighbor Meena aunty has her own theory when it comes to the topic of inflation and how it is affecting us, the common man/aam admi/mango people ( I rather liked Robert Vadra’s usage).  She is all praises for the govt and its policy of raising prices left, right, and center.

As per her logic, the main reason for India’s low- economic development statistics is sluggishness. People are so very lazy and lethargic and the main reason she attributes to this habit is over indulgence in food. “Observe people eating and you will know what I mean. Most people don’t eat; they attack their food vehemently, trying to get in as much as possible, slowing down only when they find it difficult to breathe”.  According to her, a land of obese and overweight people incapable of performing even their day to day affairs normally will result only in negative growth of the country. She is all praise for the present government who has been kind enough to implement courageous reforms that will ultimately help benefit us greatly…

Look at what Meena aunty has to say: “Unsubsidized LPG cylinders that we have to depend on atleast half a year is priced way beyond the common man’s reach. One needs to think thrice before embarking on the Sunday dum biryani and chicken 65 , with the housewife automatically calculating the amount of gas consumed in the preparation of every meal. And woe on any guest who decides to pop in”. (I guess the Indian govt rethink on its tourism caption ‘athithi devo bhava’. )

I am curious. “Aunty, so what if there is a cap on LPG subsidy? Aren’t there other means? Can’t one make use of the versatile induction cookers or microwaves? After all, lots of households have one”.  

 “Sure dear”, retaliates Meena aunty. “But then how do you pay the huge shocker of an electricity bill that accompanies their usage? If you dare exceed the 200 units per-month slab, you will be bearing the brunt by paying through your nose for the extra units consumed. So where does that leave the family budget”?

Hmm… True. My mind started working overtime. “ Meena aunty, I guess people are going to go back to cooking food over a wood fire or kerosene stove. Pat came her reply,“My dear, people may suggest going back to good old firewood to keep the home fires burning. Fair enough if you live in a rural area or have an independent house with a lot of trees generating deadwood and fallen leaves, not to mention enough helpers. But stoking wood fires in small apartments is not exactly safe or viable and moreover I doubt if apartment complexes permit it. Wood fires do not exactly complement the décor factor as they leave their trail by means of thick smoke and grease deposits on interior and exterior walls. Have you forgotten the dark and smoky kitchens of yesteryears? By the way, don’t ever imagine cutting trees for firewood as you are certain to be hauled up by the forest dept for causing eco damage”.

“Thinking of kerosene stoves? Do you suppose the meager ½ litre quota (for lucky ones) of this precious blue-hued fuel available through public distribution services will suffice for even a day? What if it gives not-so-desirable ideas to unscrupulous in-law’s of young brides? Nope. Cross that out of your list. It is definitely not a brainy idea, my dear”.

I give up. I am left with a totally hazy look in my eyes.” Meena aunty, just what are you trying to prove? (by this time, the twinkle in her eyes told me she had something to convey). “Listen dear; we Indians are renowned for our ways of tolerance and resourcefulness. We tolerate atrocities, corruption, starvation, assault on freedom, crowds, persecution, murders, dog bites, ant stings, and a whole lot of things. To put it briefly, ‘when the going gets tough, the tough get going’. So tough Indians that we are, we simply alter our food habits!”

“Right from the practice of a daily cuppa at 6:30 in the morning, to breakfasting on ghee roasts, idly-vadas, lunch comprising of a sumptuous fare complete with a sweet dish, tea time snacks, and tantalizing fare for dinner, things will change.  The policy of the govt will force people to go the healthier way and salads, bread, cornflakes, and other foods which require minimum or no cooking (saves time too, dear) will be the order of the day”.

“So the net result? Healthier Indians who would have got rid of their obesity (low oil/fat/sugar/salt diet with plenty of liquids (water) which may suit our digestive system perfectly). Add to it the fact that you may have to walk more instead of driving (fuel price, ofcourse!) will provide enough cardio exercise to keep you fit. Include weights and stretches or squats as much as you want and you have a nation which comprises of fit and healthy people. Moreover, with fewer hours spent in the kitchen, work time will become more productive and hence people can deliver better results. People are healthier, and the nation too prospers… “

Howzzzat! I must say I was totally floored hearing Meena aunty’s logic. All I could add to it was that perhaps, given the circumstances, in about a couple of decades, we may soon witness a food museum where most of our present day delicacies would be put up on display under tight surveillance and students would be  taken for visits there to enlighten them about a food culture of a bygone era…

Storm in a teacup...

I wish I were a Male…

The last time I uttered this statement in some context (I forget what) was to a friend of mine, who seriously thought I was talking about a getting a gender change.  It was rather hilarious. No. even now I am not implying a gender transformation. I just wish I were born a male as life would have been much easier…

Why I wished so this morning was totally due to utter despair and irritation. 8’O clock on a Monday morning in a working household needs no particular explanation. But in the absence of a maid and the presence of hungry family members, and in the instance of a late morning start, not to mention a clogged sink, the kitchen becomes a literal battlefield. There I was, hurriedly creating lunch, and breakfast simultaneously, while supervising a whole lot of other chores I had to get done before starting the day’s work within the hour, when an unexpected guest drops in and my father insensitively places an order for two cups of hot tea- one black and one normal (remember, ‘athithi devo bhava’.... Any other circumstances, I would have been only too happy to whip up a cuppa, but well… happy or not, I had no other option. Things would have been left at that and I still would have been happy to be a member of the fair sex, had I served the tea within a span of 8 minutes. But the lack of a fourth gas stove burner had slowed down my task and on the 9^th minute, in walks my octogenarian dad with a grandiose statement of “has someone gone to the market to buy tea leaves or what? Why is the tea getting late?”

 That did it.. That just did it!!! Male readers might be wondering what the fuss is all about, but I’m sure most of my lady readers would empathize with me.  Inwardly I was fuming...ready to burst at another provocation, but with great effort I restrained myself from blowing up (waste of energy and presence of guest) and smilingly served the tea in the 10^th minute. Seething with anger born out of a vague sense of total helplessness, I sincerely wished I were born a male.

My reasons for this are quite practical. For one, if I were a male,  I wouldn’t have had to worry about cooking or cleaning or washing or ironing or other such mundane every day thankless activities that are so very essential to keep the house running on oiled wheels… I wouldn’t have to worry about what to prepare for lunch and dinner while making breakfast. I wouldn’t have to run outside to get the washing from the clothesline at the first drop of unexpected rain in the midst of spluttering mustard seeds for the breakfast chutney and neither would I have to worry about the pile of washed clothes that have to be folded up and shoved into cupboards at 10:30 in the night when I’m dying to go to sleep. Well friends, it is not all about what I wouldn’t have to do… I could wake up one lovely rainy morning and take off for a long drive with my thoughts to keep me company if I wished… I could laze around in the sofa watching TV half the day and demanding endless cups of hot tea after which I could go back to sleep…  I could work at office the whole day and come back to a neat and tidy home with hot food on the table…  (The list could go on and on).

Well.. ‘If wishes were horses, beggers would fly’, as the popular English proverb goes.. and since my wish has acute limitations, I guess I would sit back contented to be a lady all my life, and reap a whole lot of benefits hitherto unavailable to my male friends…

I wonder...

In my opinion, whoever had said, “naattinpuram nanmakalaal samriddham”, never did have a futuristic outlook. Looking at the sorry state of our village life today, he would definitely have regretted his words…

Recently, we had been to our native village, Manjallur.  It was around 5:30 PM when we reached there,  and as my mother and aunt were chatting away with a cousin of theirs’, I got out of the house and made my way to one end of their compound wall which adjoined the magnificent ‘Mananchira’, a pond which has a history  that dates back to the Zamorin’s times, it seems. The cool and still waters of the December evening reflected the various trees that lined its banks and now and then, I could see the head of a water snake gliding away in its cool waters. On the other side of the pond was the small Aiyappa temple where a Narayaneeyam recital was going on. The serenity of the atmosphere coupled with various old memories, brought in me a sense of sublime joy which is really hard to describe…

Gradually, the sun began its Westward descent and the very place which looked bright and cheery sometime back, slowly assumed an eerie silence that rather unnerved me. Twilight had arrived as unobtrusively as possible and I realized that it had also brought along a pall of gloom to the whole atmosphere.  Dusk, to me, does have its peculiarities, and cheerfulness is certainly not one of them…

The time was just about 6:15 PM and as far as I was concerned, there was still a good part of the day left. But surprisingly enough, in that small village, not a single soul could be sighted anywhere in the vicinity. The houses in the area which had earlier seemed warm and inviting in daylight, suddenly assumed a ‘haunted’ feel in the twilight hour…

Ruins of old ancestral homes cast shadows over the recently constructed ones that had come up thanks to the money brought in by the present generation who were settled in far off lands… but what I found common in almost all houses was the fact that they were frequented by not more than two people at the most. There were old grandparents, spinster aunts, widows, widowers… helpless people who either chose to live their remaining days in the land of their birth, or people condemned to a life of loneliness by a quirk of fate!

As soon as twilight set in, all doors and windows were shut and fastened and only a dull glow from a lonely CFL lighted the rooms and the minds of the inmates who were seen absorbed in the melodramatic fare churned out by the idiot box, providing a sort of escape from the lonely hours ahead…

As we bid goodbye to my mother’s cousin and got in the car, a spinster aunt – a childhood friend of my mother- who was condemned to live alone, ran up to us and started chatting nineteen to the dozen of her siblings, nieces, nephews, grand nephew, etc. somehow, I couldn’t help feel irritated as I was seriously on an ‘escape’ mode and was in a hurry to get back home. As I started the car and turned my head to bid a cordial goodbye, I caught a glint of tears in her eyes that have haunted me ever since…

The poem of G. Shankara Kurup, ‘Innu njan, naaley nee” comes to my mind…