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…

Karthika - A Festival of Lamps

I still remember with amusement, that small school girl of yesteryears who desperately wanted to accompany her parents for a much longed for ‘town trip’ and hence risked lying to them that it was a school holiday for the Karthika festival.  It was another matter that her lie was discovered promptly by a quirk chance of ill luck and due punishments doled out…  I was that 8-year old girl and what makes it so very embarrassing is that even today, after about thirty years or so, I am still ragged mercilessly for that one stray incident!

Even otherwise, the festival of Karthika is something that I truly bond with, not because of any religious sentiment, but due to the fact that it is also considered to be a festival of lamps. In fact, it was only recently that I bothered to find out that Karthika which falls on the Malayalam month of ‘vrischikam’, is in commemoration of the birthday of Lord Murugan or Karthikeyan.  

Pure, mesmerizing magic! That’s the only way I can describe the atmosphere created on a Thrikarthika day! The soft golden glow emitting from the tiny flicker of dozens of clay lamps (chirathu) lit during dusk at the front entrance of the house is indeed an enthralling experience and rather humbling too in a way, and what makes it special for me is that it gives a sense of peace and harmony which is hard to define. Perhaps it’s a rare moment when I am able to connect with my inner soul…

A Room With A View

The health club that i am a member of is situated on the first floor of a particular building on a rather busy road. It is actually a big hall with tinted glass windows on the side facing the road so as to accord a certain amount of privacy to the members who desperately sweat away their store of blubber on various machines. 

I particularly enjoy my 20 minute stint on the treadmill, contrary to the views of my fellow gym-mates many of who find it rather boring and uninspiring. But what makes it interesting for me is not just the exercise factor which i find particularly effective, but the fact that the treadmill is situated at the far end of the hall adjacent to those big glass windows overlooking the busy road which happens to be a sea of activity. 

One particular type of activity stands out from the others, highly intensified due to the location of a watering hole (a bar, if you please) right across the road, the entrance of which can be viewed perfectly from atop the treadmill. This is when i am convinced of the various stories which make the round about the Malayalee's insatiable tryst with liquor. 

What i understand from my voyeuristic activity is that this is a bar which is frequented by the 'downmarket' crowd. It starts as early as 7.AM when you can actually see a considerable queue of patient people waiting nearby for its doors to open. There are no seats or tables. People just walk in, give their order, and are served instantly. I understand so because often i see people walk in and out within a span of 5 minutes! Previously, there used to be a crude notice on the door of the bar emphasizing rates/glass written on it. But i don't see it these days. Perhaps someone objected to it, or a pauper of a drunk tore it off in anger... who knows!

Yesterday evening, i saw an old man in crutches (one of his legs were heavily bandaged from his knee down as though he had suffered a fracture) and a bandaged head hobble down the  bar and walk unsteadily down the road. A few minutes later, a young boy (can't be more than 18) with a red cap and a backpack made his way out of the bar and walked away nonchalantly. 

Though i don't really encourage liquor consumption, I don't have anything against people who enjoy their drop. But the problem starts when it transcends limits and reaches to such an extent where they lose all dignity and self control. Watching half naked men sprawled across the gutter in an inebriated condition certainly evokes a sort of pity not for them, but for their family members who perhaps might be anxiously waiting for their return back home... 

Well.. my 20 minutes have elapsed and i need to spend time on other fitness machines as well. So until next time, it is adieu to my picture window.

Guruvayoor Ekadasi... memories of another day!

Guruvayur Ekadasi brings fond memories of my childhood days spent at our village, Mannalur in Palakkad dist of Kerala. As an eager 8 year old whose thoughts were filled to the brim with mystical fables from mythology, Ekadasi day was indeed a special one more so due to the visit to the nearby temple in a group consisting of cousins and other elders as well as the special diet which certainly had a charm of its own.

We would be woken up early in the cold December morning and after a bath in freezing waters of the  'Mananchira' (the nearby pond), would partake of the 'theertham' which rather signified the culmination of the fasting process. The main challenge after that would be to refrain from eating anything made of rice, and so wheat attained a whole lot of importance that day with breakfast consisting of wheat upma, lunch of wheat 'kanji' and dinner possibly a repeat performance since chapathi's were more of a rarity those days. (i'm speaking of the late 1970's). 

Betel leaves with arecanut was considered auspicious after lunch and older women would assemble in the cool courtyard after lunch for this ritual. Somehow, the teeth and tongue stained red by the betel leaf juice  held a sort of repulsion for me and to this day, i have not developed a liking for the stuff! I remember i used to be enthralled by the stories from Bhagavatham which one elderly relative used to narrate...

The evening temple visit in a group which consisted of several cousins, aunts,and other relatives were the main attraction of the day and we would happily walk kilometers to and fro savoring in the sights and smell of the countryside. we had to walk across fields and rough terrain to reach the temple, but who cared so long as there were pretty flowers or 'vellarankallu' (white pebbles) to add to our booty! 

Ekadasi, in those days, was not just another ritual to follow. It was interlinked with a lot of other traditions and held a different sort of charm which has totally disappeared along with time. I am not complaining and  neither am i lamenting the fact. Change is a way of life and the sooner we adapt to it, the better. But tomorrow, as another Guruvayur Ekadasi comes by, i can't help thinking about those carefree bygone days which my son can never experience nor enjoy...

Sabarimala Online Advance Queue Booking

Thanks to the initiative taken by the Kerala police, it is now possible for Sabarimala pilgrims to book their place in advance in the serpentine queue for darshan of their favorite deity.Intended to check massive congestion and overcrowding which leads to chaos and confusion, this new system of issuing Q-coupons online is supposed to bring in some relief both to the pilgrims who avail of it, as well as the concerned security personnel.

 Accordingly, prospective pilgrims can register at the kerala police website by filling out the mandatory forms and uploading their photograph, after which they can take a print out of the Q-coupon which is to be produced for verification at the site, along with their ID card. A particular time would be issued during which they can take their respective place in the queue at 'nadapandal' without having to go through the hassle of waiting indefinitely. At an age where everything has a price tag, this facility is surprisingly free of cost and involves no payments at any stage!

 Must say that this is definitely a commendable effort by the Kerala Police and would certainly bring a lot of relief to pilgrims coming from far and wide. Here's hoping that they come up with much more innovations which can lighten the load of these devotees of Lord Ayyappa and ensure their safe return.

A heartfelt eulogy to Joy Sastampadikkal

It was pretty unnerving, seeing Joy sir’s picture in the front page of the Mathrubhoomi for the wrong reason. Ultimately, death has taken him away from our midst and the thought that he will no longer be around in the Palakkad social circle seems quite odd.

I didn’t know Joy Sastampadikkal personally. There were a few opportunities where I had interacted with him, but those moments did leave a lasting impression of this great personality in my mind. I still remember those days when I used to be associated with the Balajanasakhyam as a rakshaadhikari of our colony unit. My visit to the Malayala Manorama office to attend a Sakhyam meeting was the first time I came face to face with this dynamic personality.

The phrase, ‘Simple living and high thinking’ certainly attributed to Joy Sir. Dressed always in shirt and mundu, he was simplicity incarnate and there was none of this ‘I’m an influential person’ attitude about him which is rather common these days especially among the media. But the aura that he emanated, certainly commanded a whole lot of respect, that too voluntarily. We did meet on several other social occasions, and each time as he saw me, there would be a hint of a smile on his lips even though I was pretty certain he was racking his brains trying to place me.

The last time we met was while I went to the Malayala Manorama office a couple of years back with an invitation card for my exhibition. He offered me a seat in his small cabin and read the card patiently and with great interest. He asked me a few questions about the exhibition and guided me to give an invite to the editorial section too and assured me that the event would be covered by them. He never attended the exhibition, though.

Joy sir, I don’t know why you have influenced me so and neither do I understand why I am writing about you. But since yesterday morning after I learnt of your death through the newspaper, I felt a compelling urge to put my thoughts down as words. I will certainly miss your presence in this world.

RIP.