Requiem for a Turkey

I picked her from a vendor who sells gallinacean birds. In fact she was marked for slaughter. Her whitish feathers and plumes where mud brown out of dirt and the cramped existence in the abattoir. It has been three months since.

I and C used to talk to her when she, out of her curious and inquisitive self ventures on to the veranda of the house.. We used to tell her that she is a lucky turkey. And that seldom will people by fowls from an abattoir and domesticate them. Wonder if she understood us. Perhaps! She, along with the tom turkey we have, always preferred to be near us when we are outside the house. She with her mate  used to follow us around the compound . Twice she fell into the pond, and had to be pulled out. She leans over the edge looking for insects by the ledge of the pond and also to quench .The good thing that came out of her two adventurous falls into water was that her muddy brown plume were washed off the dirt. and became milky white. She even started growing new bright white feathers. We called her ‘Old lady’. Because we did not know her age and presumed that since she was kept for slaughter she must be pretty aged. Sometimes she kept an imperious air. She was agile and some times ran quite fast when chased by the male or the ubiquitous guinea fowls.

She often jumps on to the chair in the verandah and purr. She I guess wanted to be seen sitting next to us. This happens most often in the morning when I and C sit on the verandah with our morning tea. She stretches her neck long and looks at us inquisitively.We felt she is a turkey with human sensibilities.

She had a very annoying habit of teasing the dogs especially Blacky, the Labrador. She used to entertain herself at the dog’s annoyance. She used to stay very near his meshed enclosure and stare at him with a mocking air. The dog gets annoyed and absolutely exasperated that he barks and jumps all over wanting to pounce on her. The acrimony of the dog gets unbearable and we will have to shoo her farther away from the kennel.. C warned her of the danger of getting close to the dog enclosure and irritating it. But I guess she was indifferent to that advise.

Yesterday, strangely she decided to do something she has not done before. Take on the two Rotweillers at the other end of the compound, Rambo and the hyper bitch Emma.

The old lady perhaps found irritating the two dogs at the same time, quite enjoyable. She was moving around close to their enclosure teasing them and enjoying their irritated bark. But then she did the unthinkable. She pushed her head through the metal mesh into the enclosure and clucked at the dogs. And before she could wink or yelp Rambo the Rottweiller had her head in its mouth! It did not take longer than a couple of  seconds. The old lady was limply flapping her wings, and head gone- decapitated – pulled out. The head was gone into the mouth of the Canine. It was ripped off from the torso. The strong jaw bones of the Rotweiller clapped the canines deep into the sides of her head and the force of the pull severed her head along with the strand of the wind pipe.She may not have realised the pain  of the gruesome and brutal manner of death. It was swift!

It was stupid and casual of her to have put her head into the enclosure. Well then she did not realise the reprieve she got when we took her away from the slaughter house. Like many of us she took her life a bit casual and paid the price for the indifference in very, very dear terms.

She now is cleaned and dressed and in the freezer waiting to be meal for the dogs tomorrow.Sadly we found that she had been laying eggs some where in the compound and the crows where feasting on them- she was full of maturing eggs when we cut her open to remove her entrails.

Meenakshi

Some faces can never go away from memory. They are etched in us. And elapse of time seldom eclipses or erases the face.. Even before adolescent days, I was sent to my ancestral house to spend summer vacations. The white sands of that place bordering the sea, with its un- demarcated boundaries between families and homes was indeed a vast expanse, a canvas that an adolescent mind saw as a never ending horizon.

It was there that I happened to know Meenakshi. This must have been in my early teen.

She was pretty and cute little girl perhaps thirteen or fourteen of age. her facial expressions where captivating and her eyes always seem to tell  the wonder the world is .She was sparkling and loaded with life. She used to join us (I and a retinue of cousins) when we venture out to the mango groves and the lily ponds that where strewn all over. She was always effervescent amongst us and in what ever we did and where ever we went. The day used to begin at around 6 in the morn when we children from different house holds used to scamper around the vast expanse and beneath the mango trees in search of  ripe fruits that may have fallen down during the night. And Meenakshi was always the first to be around. It was a sort of early bird gets the food kind of situation.. Hours used to be spent in the ponds frolicking and yelling, splashing water and diving deep and surfacing from nowhere. Meenakshi was ubiquitous in all and every where. She was the daughter of Kaikeki Amma..  Kaiki as we used to call the elder woman used to do house hold chores there. She used to venture to around four houses that where spread around .Meenakshi was the last child of her long line of seven children. Being the youngest of the siblings she had to at times absorb the audacious attitude of some of her big ones. Meenakshi used to tell me how much she loved her family her, mother, father and the sisters and brothers. The family was maintaining on a kind of collective pooling of resources that they bring home. And Meenakshi being the little one was let to enjoy some of the spoils and indulge at times, (but all that was free was always with a rider).

Every visit to the land of fun and frolic during each summer holidays, and Meenakshi  seemed to be growing in splendour  and lure. During one summer, I noticed that Meenakshi was not around to charm the holidays. I was told that she was married and had gone away with her spouse. I felt a bit forlorn for not only having lost her presence,but out of a bit of envy as well.

Years went by and I met her again during one of my visits to the ancestral home. She was into the mid forties and the travesty of life, I felt had corroded her beautiful face. There where streaks of grey on her forehead. The cheerful girl who used to charm and pleasant with her presence was now doing house hold chores for sustenance. Where she always used to sport a saffron hot red sindhooram , her fore head  was pale.. Her family had hit it rich and moved away .They where now free from all the trappings of the country side and was immersed in affluence and pomp. Meenakshi told me that she visits her mother on most week ends. The old woman Kaikeki Amma who used to vex to meet ends working as house maid now employs a retinue of servants at her beck and call. She owns a rich farm as well. Meenakshi’s life had fallen by the wayside to ill luck and bad times. And she had to come back from the city she lived after her wedding, and take up what Kaikeki Amma , her mother did long before- work as maid at various house hold.

I asked her if she could not approach her family for assistance. She smiled wryly and said nothing. Then she whispered with a faint sob, that she went to see her mother to pay for the half liter of milk she takes home for herself from her mother's dairy farm. And all that her mother could tell her was to remind that she did not pay the month’s bill on time and that the price of milk is not what she pays. Her mother did not see that she was devoid of even the last strand of gold chain she used to wear. And that she had to sell it as a last resort to burn the kitchen stove. Kaikeki Amma  either failed, or did not notice or simply turned her eyes away from the glaring fact that how bereft her daughter Meenakshi  was.

Machiavelli

I have the book “The Prince” by Nicholas Machiavelli. And I have been reading it off and on. Though the book is of a hundred and odd pages and was bought from ‘Land Mark’ Chennai some years ago it has taken me all the while to even reach any where near the end page. Now that I get frequent calls from R and she keeps reminding me of reference books she wants for her political science class, I decided Machiavelli’s ‘Prince’ would be an earnest choice of reference. I have to give her the book when she comes home in a few weeks time.


However to me, a lay person, with little understanding of political treatise and political science, the book was more telling from a social point of view vis a vis myself as a social being and the others - friends, relatives, acquaintances, business accomplices etc.What  is told in the 'Prince' is ipso facto seen happening all around in various relationships.in the present world.

Machiavelli did not precede father figures of political science like Aristotle and Plato but he lived centuries after .He lived in the fifteenth century in Italy, and, is  considered as one of the pillars of political science and the art of  political dispensation, a la Chanakya in ancient India. The “Prince” was published only a few years after his death, though he shared the treatise with his close people.

It is trifle unjust that Machiavelli’s name must be identified with or taken as synonym for wickedness, furtive and be seen as a repelling trait or character in a person.

Machiavelli was born during a turbulent time in Italy. And the Papacy was at one end trying to dominate the Princes and assert divine dispensation. Whilst the princes and the wealthy elite where sceptical about one another and were at loggerheads and war.Machevellie was trained by his strong father and he entered Florentine bureaucracy as junior. He later was sent to French court as envoy. He soon got absolute authority in war related matters and the militia. After a grievous coup de tat he was imprisoned, tortured and let free. He retired and retreated where upon he wrote the “Prince”.

The Prince is a discourse of prudent and crafty political dispensation. It is simple in context, how a ruler can achieve control over his domain. Scruples and values have no meaning when it comes to struggle and perpetuation of power. Though morality is given a pedestal it is seen in the context of political dispensation and necessity. The criteria are acceptable cruel action, decisive swift and short lived. The book is a manual which explains how to acquire and keep power.

The church proscribed 'The Prince' as it has always done to thoughts .Machiavelli’s   treatise is based on his observation while in the government and the ways and means by which Princes conduct themselves.

 Interestingly Machiavelli did not believe that virtuosity brings happiness.. And terrifyingly he says the ruler better be feared and loved, and better be feared than loved, that he can rule. It is no wonder that taking the Machiavellian cue many coups have seen total annihilation and rooting of the surviving members of a dynasty. Let it be the Bolshevik revolution, the French, or the Mujib family annihilation in Bangladesh, brutal and swift action has been the thumb rule.

 Machiavelli documented his observations as to how, if , when and why . He valued virtue. He valued individual freedom and hence a republic. But he warned, that for freedom and liberty to thrive the citizenry has to be virtuous, courageous and on guard. Though he believed that it is difficult to achieve an assembly of these idealism and they rarely existed anywhere.

Machiavelli believed that human nature was immutable and led by passion.

What is strikingly contemporary is the cunning and deviousness that is orchestrated in day to day life in our society. The usage “Machiavellian”, as an adjective and a synonym  for stealth and wickedness to achieve once end though was only commented upon by Machiavelli is now practiced in his name .The immutable nature of human beings is incorrigible as well. In every aspect of human society and life we can notice the prophecies and inferences of Machiavelli zealously practiced. .If Machiavellian thesis was about drama that would be enacted in courts of princes, and their wily ways to harbour power, in our present day society, it is in fact a daily facet of life be it in politics, business or social and personal relationships.

WHY???

Since sometime I identified two activities that would personally relieve me of stress and strain of the day or the moment. One is cooking and the other, pen my thoughts.

Cooking has not been strange to me. As I learned the subject through practical follies and little success, while I was living in Cochin in the early 80’s.And now cooking, which also includes chopping and cleaning of meat or vegetables are so helpful to relieve stress. Perhaps it is because one is engaged in an act in which full attention of the mind and limbs are directed. And that involvement outside the factors that trigger and contribute  towards stress and strain helps in alleviating the later.

Writing down my thoughts and feelings is another trusted engagement that helps me get over the persistence of stress. And when the electronic aid of Blogging was free at the door step, I thought why not post it as well.

I write this on this Sunday morning sitting at my table in my office. There is no distraction, and no body around except the watchman outside at the gate. And I’m free to type what I feel. And post it as well.

Do I have to trouble and worry if others read my blog post or choose not to? Do I have to worry if others eat what I cook? Well I decided not to,(though the cuisines have not been disapproved yet by any person).And I certainly do think that I must not care an iota  if someone disapproves what I write only because he or she feels that I’m blunt and use strong words and touch upon inconvenient subjects. Honestly, I repeat again, that I write for myself. It is a sort of relieving. Strong emotions evoke strong words and comments. And any one may, and has the right to disapprove. I do not in any remote way want to infringe on that right of a person.

I have in this short span of two odd years of finding the solace in blogging has not in any way directly mentioned any person by name. Though at many times the subjects that I commented and spun can or may be real life characters. It is the experiences in the outside world that provoke ones thoughts. It is the people that you were fortunate or unlucky to be in contact that creates reactions in you. And that is exactly what is helping me pen.And if anybody opines that when I m negative in my blogging or when I harp upon characters that are to be kept away or left alone ,I m in  a way corroding my thoughts , well I have this to state- "in fact on the contrary,when I do exactly that, I m scraping off  the corrosion that may possibly have coroded my mind".

I have no regret about that and I do not see any reason to offer apology. If  I sounded negative it is only a natural reaction to a mendacity and impiety of the subject or people I write about. So who should fret and wonder why I write such?

People of little or no understanding of the situation, thought or the experiences of the other are more apt to be upset when they feel that their sensibilities are questioned by the other through words or letters. And that again is not to be contested. Feeling offended is also ones birth right!

So I will continue to pen and post my thoughts, experiences and feelings. If any body out there feels offended or peeved, skip my blog. I write as I said, like I cook to share invisibly with myself. And intent to continue that lonely journey till biological factors supersede.

"Christ of Saint John of the Cross”

I went surfing through the Net listless. And I stumbled upon a section on Salvador Dali the surreal artist. The iconoclast of the concept of art and its depiction! Though I cannot draw a line straight, I was indeed fascinated by the unconventional appearance of Dali. I first noticed him in the obituary column of ‘The Hindu’ years ago. His facial expression and the waxed mush were indeed esoteric like his creations. And later, I happened to see a few of his paintings and an article on his whimsical and unpredictable facade in some magazine..

I browsed the NET and got some fascinating information on him. And most of all a painting of his that right from the first glance looks like an extraordinary piece of cinematography. An amazingly vibrant and strong, the color and the angle of the depiction of the object! The Painting “Christ of Saint John of the Cross”, in fact is to me a strange but unique depiction of a much known and highly dealt subject- ‘the crucifixion’.

This painting like many of Dali’s creations perhaps gives one a faint idea about the temperamental and unconventional personality of Salvador Dali. I browsed a bit into his biography. Salvador Dali was born in Cantilena an Italian town bordering France. He was brought up by a strict and disciplinarian father. Dali had two siblings an elder brother and a little sister. His brother died when he was little. And when Dali was five his father took him to the grave of his brother and told him that he (Dali) was his brother reincarnate. Dali believed it. This statement and subsequent reminders of this formatted Dali’s personality. He later said that he and his brother resembled each other like two droplets of water with different reflections.

Dali had a turbulent life. He lost his mother to cancer when he was in his teens, and he lamented his loss. He said that he worshipped her and she was instrumental in aiding him clear the blemishes of his soul.

It is said that his wife have been giving him some un- prescribed concoction that damaged his nerves already mauled by Parkinson’s. Dali is said to have attempted suicide as the fire that broke out in his apartment is still unexplained. He deliberately dehydrated himself to aid his death.

The painting of crucifixion was from an inspirational dream. He depicted the subject without the blemishes of blood stains, nails or thorn -crown on Christ. The image seemed to be floating on water with the fishing boats in the foreground and dark sky. He was convinced by his dream to depict Christ on the cross in such extreme angle.

Mallu notes

The recent ruling of the Kerala High court banning (the so called) public meetings on public roads and motorways evoked as expected outrage amongst the political clan of the state.

Some of the clan members are so distressed by the courts observation and strictures that they might  even claim that the court is a protégé of the United States of America.

I heard one political creature on the television ask if the court wants public meetings to be held in “poora parmabu’, away from the glare and publicity of a public through way. Little did the ignorant fellow realize that in the age of visual and mass media explosion, even if a political meeting is held in Timbukootu it will be viewed and seen by the masses.

The political class of the state claims that all the jamborees and meetings on road sides are organized for the welfare and good of the public. They swear that the hardships and agony people encounter during such meetings are meant to tell the whole world that people of Kerala are enlightened and conscious of their rights and will resist injustices meted out to them.

I really wonder if in the whole world it is only Keralites who are conscious of their rights (obviously not of their duties). If one travel to other states in India one will not see the sit in agitations at the State Secretariat gates. But in Thiruvanathapuram that is now part of the daily life. Only Keralites are starved off their constitutional rights! Seems people in other States are either nit wits or are content. Keralites might say that other state dwellers are nit wits. Daily rallies and demonstration are never ending in Kerala. Even the co- habituating West Bengal is different. Keralites have now become a class apart who relishes opposing any thing and every thing. And if people cannot discern with reason then what behoves of a claim of one hundred percent literacy?

Over the past two decades of my life in Tamilnad I can remember of hardly a handful of hartals or general strikes ( bandhs). Whilst I understand that in Kerala such horrible events are four times over the annual privilege leave credited to a worker. I have not encountered any obstruction or hooliganism in Tamilnad while I have been out in my car or two -wheeler on such a day. But, I can still remember with quite a  trepidation the menacing faces of some VHP activists who threatened to smash my car while I was driving down to Thiruvananathapuram on a hartal day enforced by that out fit.

In Tamilnad farmers rotate their crops. They do inter cropping that fetches income during the non yielding times of the main crop.And that, being a scientifically and financially sane policy, the land also stays fertile and is not starved off its natural and regenerating nutrients. Farmers cultivate, maize, millet, ground nuts, sugar cane, banana and rice depending on the seasonal cycle. And the communist cadres in Tamilnad have not ever thought of decimating the cultivation. While in Kerala we hear and see of hooliganism wrecked on crops in the name of outlandish policies which the communist brethren of Tamilnad or even West Bengal let alone their inspirational mother land, China seldom enact. In the highly intellectual land of 'mallus' will the officialdom and their cronies allow a farmer to choose his crop, to vary his farming , to supplement with inter crops?No well not!. That will tantamount to ideological blasphemy.And the result is Tamilnad and Andhra have surpassed the land of 'mallus' with regard to food grain production and even cash crop cultivation. If it comes to a situation where in the Tamil folks decide to not sell farm products to Kerala, the vast intelligent and conscientious lot of that state will have no other recourse but to starve or learn the nuances of making “rubber sap” edible.A improvised version of alchemy perhaps!

And worst of all the vast of the lot in Kerala are sexually perverted and sick. This inference is not isolated or personal. But expressed to me by the very many who live their. I had a near terrifying time personally when I took my children and my friend’s adolescent daughter to a one day cricket match in Cochin. The eyes of the young and old where lecherous and menacingly eying and stripping that skinny little girl. I had to forget cricket and keep a watchful cocoon around her. And as recently as a few weeks ago the daughter of  another friend who just finished her Engineering tell  C that in Kerala men rape you everyday  mercilessly with their eyes.

Living in Tamiland over the past two decades has made me distance from any idea of going back to Kerala if given a choice. Not because it is heavenly here, but because even God has vanished from 'Gods own country' long before. And ,"all the kings men and all the kings horses can never put Humpty Dumpty together again”.

Little lady with the lamp

This happened a few years ago. And R was in the middle school class.
C spoke to me about her father’s death anniversary. And that she would prefer to visit his grave in the Kilpauk cemetery in Chennai where he was laid to rest. She confided that she needed some peace of mind on that day and so did not want to spend the day with her clan who as usual where all slated to make the anniversary day a day for feasting and superficial prayers. She also disliked the retinue of prelates who would descend on her clan’s bungalow. She traveled to Chennai by the overnight train on January the 11. I booked her return tickets on the 12 th evening flight from Chennai to Coiambatore . And assured her that I will pick her from the airport.

On the 12 th evening I and R (she had holidays) drove to Coiambatore. to pick C when she was back .

The drive back to our place was almost an hour and it was a bit late around 9 in the night. R took the rear seat of the car and we thought she slept off. C began to tell about her brief time in Chennai; her visit to the cemetery and how she got the care- taker to clean the tomb stone and arranged for some flowers to be laid on, and the time she stayed by the grave in quiet.

She also dropped over at her brother in law’s flat to enquire after him. He was living alone and after a by pass surgery of the heart. His wife  suddenly developed anathema to him. Perhaps he was past his prime, perhaps he was a handicap with a heart condition! Who can tell the wiles of woman without being charmed by her deceit? It was apparent from what C was telling me that he was finding it difficult to meet ends. And with no one for company, help or comfort. The discussion on this gentleman and the wickedness of people concerned went on for most of our drive back home. We in fact could only sigh for him.

C told me later next day that R was awake all through the drive back from Coiambatore . And she went to C first thing in the morning and said, “amma I was awake while you were discussing about ‘daddy’( she calls her uncle daddy).And I listened to all that you and atcha discussed. I have about one thousand rupees with me from my last birthday and other times. You can send that money to daddy. He is in need.”.

She was then twelve and I wish and hope that she carries such a heart through her life.

SHE

There has always been the one and only irritant which has created small tremors in our midst (me and C). It has been her helpless difficulty in accepting fait accompli when it comes to who are her siblings. There were quite a few heated arguments and yelling from my side. There were times when we chose to ignore the existence of the other for days. And I realised, I guess her as well, that we were being unhelpful to our life by being at logger heads on a subject which is about the malevolence of others.

But painfully I realised the burning ember within her that she has always tried to put away from me. Perhaps it was her way of not accepting and hoping that the reality is not what it is but what she long and yearn it is. Perhaps she thinks that if she breaks down in an unassuming and unguarded moment from the agonising puncture her inner self carries from the spitefulness of her siblings, that would be morally depressing after all the aura and fortification she created around the love they have for her.

I have wondered loudly during many of our discussions and arguments on the matter that she is being foolish showing her left cheek, while they have already mauled the other. I ask her often "why do you have to invite them to spite your whole face when you know that they have done that to your cheek”?

She confesses that she knows they are such, but she cannot be vengeful and dislike them. She laments she cannot hate them for what they do to her. She says that should they be in trouble and need she would be unhesitant to lend them succour. She cannot be what they are. That seems to be the perennial difficulty she would encounter and perhaps she being different is what I, Ara and R are lucky about.

Modern day Pharohs

This is a brief note on the Modern day Pharaohs who crave to reach the nether world with all their trappings from this world intact.

They are  amongst us. And they lost their soul long ago when the life they chose was one of lust for riches. Now they are all in their near twilight times. But the feeling of invincibility rules the roost and has metamorphosed them into impudent lot. The audacity comes from the power of the riches that flooded to them like manna from heaven. The weird sisters of Macbeth (the three witches) where a lot that was unfairly ridiculed as the dark characters. But the witches I speak about are the wayward ones, hand in hand, and assume to be the masters of the sea, sky and land”.

They are witches of dark and contradictory nature, with filthy trappings and activities.

They know that the days of the mortals are few. But the craving to walk the earth forever and ever lingers like the undying tempest.

They have now struck upon the idea of an after life. They yearn and will to carry the booty they amassed through their very many means into the crypt they will finally be interned. Like the Pharaohs they have decided to take into their sepulcher the gold, trinkets, money and all other material garnering they possess. They fear, they fear having to leave all that they possess behind.

They fear being dispossessed in this world. The fear of being dispossessed in the nether world! And like the Pharaohs they fear death and dispossession. And they look forward to the Day of Judgment when they they believe they can carry all that they have with them. Fear has begun to give them sleepless nights.

And yes they are building the Pyramids of the present times so that they can intern in with all that they possess.

The unimportance of being us

 Why do people cling on to the belief in the force they call God, even when it is so apparent at times that the inevitable has happened and if there is, or not such a force , it is helpless and status quo cannot be retrieved, or changed to our desire? Why do people pray for well being and fervently plead to their God for salvation in the after life but blatantly cross the rubicon of the commandments?

Some pray longingly to God for wealth, some for physical well being, some to stave of death, some for nemesis to others and so on and so forth. The other day I got a routed email from an acquaintance – it was titled “The fairy of wealth”.

The message was attached to a picture with a large room stacked with currency and a fairy standing by with a wand. The message exhorted and implicitly warned me that if the pictorial message was not circulated to seven people in the next twenty four hours dire consequences will befall me. I would not decline money if it comes as lottery but was in no mood to acquiesce the fairy.

During a discourse by a reasonably well known and financially galloping mystic, a gentleman I knew, who is worth assets of at least a few hundred million and more ask him in all seriousness if he could teach him alchemy. I for once was fortunate to see the today’s version of ‘Midas’ in flesh and blood.

A few months ago I happened to go to a famous and commercially rich temple. In fact I had to tag on with a friend and his accomplices. We were ushered in through a narrow path way (through VIP enclosure) past the serpentine queue of devotees and into the sanctum of sanctorum. I respectfully but with lot of amusement watched them pay obeisance and pray to the deity. At times their expressions were nothing but comical (no pun meant). In fact it was so. The prayer and rituals consumed around thirty minutes. Which also meant that since we were ‘Very Valued’ devotees of the deity we could hang around their much longer while the commoner was whisked away after a glimpse of the deity inside! Once out of the temple the topic of discussion my friend initiated was quite on the matters of promiscuous indulgence. And that he being a media person and consequently a familiar face cannot with comfort indulge in exploits outside marital relationship. So much so for the fervent prayers, respect and fear of God a short while before!

This is the state and statements of a mother, from whom fate had wrenched away her son. The boy in his mid twenties was drowned and body not recovered from a lake in Atlanta US. The parents are practicing Syrian Catholic Christians. The intensity of agony and trauma can be well imagined. The mother has now become a freak and recluse of sorts. She carries the Bible and a photograph of her son all the while. Christian help groups and friends gather in her house often for consoling prayer meetings. She is quiet at times, and then she weeps for long inconsolably. It is two months now since the tragedy. Now she and her husband go to the church every day without fail, perhaps a kind of deluding! They were Sunday church goers and practicing Christians in that sense. She makes statements that “I will not leave that fellow Christ until he brings back my son. He must tell me why he did this to me”. Reminds me of the story ‘Monkeys Paw’, wherein the grieving mother seeks the  powers of the talisman and wishes that their son who was maimed and killed crushed in an industrial accident be brought back to life. And behold he came back to life but it was the crushed and contorted creature that came to them alive. And the father had to usurp the grieving mother and wish the last wish to the talisman to take away the creature –‘their dead son’.

A few months ago on business tour outside India I lost almost a hundred thousand Rupees in an apparent ATM fraud. Coming back to India I have been in constant complaining mode with my Bank. When I realized that I was cheated the feeling was of despondency. Felt like a fool and stupid at that. It could be my careless operation of the dispensing machine. I felt terribly guilty. And goodness forgive me that sum was what was required for the college annual fees for Ara.

However the other day I was informed by the Bank that the matter was sorted out and they have received instructions to credit my account with the sum. Their anti- fraud team had gone through the CCTV footage at the ATM and found what and how the fraud actually happened. It will be insufficient to say how relived I was. When this issue was elatedly told to a family friend she said, “That was the hand of God”. I wondered loudly where this hand of graciousness was when the fraudsters took the money from the ATM.  She said, “well the devil had his way then”.

That tells after all, the matters of life are just another T-20 cricket. You cannot tell which way and how it heads until it is over. A game of chess as the old timers said. And most of the while we play we stay intoxicated by the belief and wish that we are something special to be taken care of and handled with kid gloves. But the God we put up there may think otherwise more than often. He may not need us for the sun to rise and set and the planets to move around the stars. We are not important enough.

…

The Plague

He avoids them like plague”. The statement was from a person who was refering to me the attitude of her friend towards some of his kin. She continued, “While in Coiambatore he prefers to call up on his few friends rather than go to the abhorred lot”.

Made me think a bit, but at the same time also struck a cord with the statement. Yes most of us have encountered people in flesh and blood  whom we later chose to avoid like plague. The civilized thing we could do most is not to burn them at the stake, like they did to plague afflicted lot in medieval times, but keep away.

But what this person referred to was not biological plague but plague of the soul, mind and the heart. Sounds quirk? “And there are many amidst us who are incurably afflicted by the disease of the persona. They walk and live in our midst as carriers of the abhorred bacteria .The melancholia of the matter is they can be more often the people who have been nearest to you”...

I did not bother to continue the discussion. And let the matter rest there. More because it was indisputably so!

The Tenderness of Darkness

The first streak of light that sneaks in through the thick fabric curtain on the French window hits him with the mammoth force of reality. His body clock strikes every morning at the precise and conformed time of early dawn. And he never would be able to slide back into sleep any long. Now the early light of the new day throws ominous amber on the future ahead. He becomes forlorn and listless. He wishes if he could sleep longer. And longer! He recalls that it was total serenity in sleep!

It throbs in his head. He could feel the discomfort the brain is wretched with. The chemical reaction that ensues within his brain traverse all over the nerves- head to toe.

Then suddenly putting him into awe his brain settles into a plateau that runs through with the exuberance and free will of the mountain rapids. There cannot be a hiccup and it can never be forlorn in the days ahead.. He feels the blood pound within him with the air of hope and confidence.

The momentum is lost soon somewhere. It is a free fall into despondency  and despair yet again. He tries to claw back slowly from the abyss that he stares down. But he feels the quick sand is pulling him in.

And it is soon night and dark. He slides into deep sleep and darkness falls upon with the blanket of comfort and reprieve until the early streak of light the next dawn.