The Eye

Eyes have been the subject of many poetic creations and fantasies.

And the bard said ‘beauty is in the eyes of the beholder’. This statement has been famously adopted by a late 

Professor of immense repute who held sway over literature in the University College Thiruvananthapuram and went on to become the Principal of Mahatma Gandhi College as well. My mother told me this interesting story. The Professor married a woman who had perhaps the most ungracious physical appearance. Whilst the professor himself was endowed with masculine charm and was very handsome. He was tall broad at the shoulders and well built .And the woman was lean, skinny and had an emaciated appearance. His friends were aghast at his selection of bride and the woman to be his wife. Because the physical appearance where not compatible to the onlooker. The Professor was queried on this matter and he retorted, “If my eyes were placed where your eyes are then you would have my opinion”. That is believed to have silenced the critical comments.

Few years ago the then Governor of the Reserve Bank of India Mr Rangarajan visited the town I live. There were a hoard of Bankers and Bank managers assembled at the venue where he was to deliver a lecture. The Governor touched on the topic of the attitude Bankers must have in a developing economy, and how they should temper their psyche to provide financial assistance to the marginalised and needy sections and entrepreneurs. He quoted an interesting anecdote.

A commoner approached a local Bank manager and pleaded for financial credit and assistance for his tiny business venture. The bank manager was dismissive of the plea and quite exasperated too. However the man was persevering and finally the manager had to relent and reach a decision. The manager said, “Alright I can provide you the loan you ask for, but you must answer my question correctly”. The manager continued, “One of my eyes is fake and is crystal eye ball. You will have to identify which eye is false and which is real”. The poor fellow looked the manger in the eyes and smiled. He said, “Sir your left eye is real and the right one is false”. The Manager was astonished as the judgement of the poor fellow was correct. He agreed to abide by his words. But he asked the man, “my dear friend could you tell me how you could tell correctly, as both my eyes are absolutely identical even though one has an implanted crystal eye ball, and even my wife at times cannot discern the fake from the real”.

The man said, "Sir I saw some compassion in one of your eyes and I decided that eye is real”.

The Past Week

I have read a couple of books of Albert Camus. "The Plague" and I remember reading some essay of his. That was long, long ago when reading was still part of the diet. I can just about recall some idea of his, and I guess he said that happiness is fleeting and human life and achievements are meaningless. And he also said that, “I can accept periods of unhappiness, because I know I will also experience happiness to come”.

I was scared of having to live here at home alone for the next one and half months. In fact I was not afraid but just scared! And having to live alone here when the emotional turmoil and strain with the crisis in the business front looming large was very disconcerting to say the least. Because when one is in such strainful times it is always comforting  to have someone around with whom one can  feel and speak and release the inflated  and suppressed thoughts, lest it ruptures with irreparable damage.

C has been complaining about some discomfort and went for a check up a few days back to a Gynaecologist in a reputed hospital in Coiamabatore. The doctor, a woman sent her through the scanning machine, x-rays etc etc, and decreed that she needs an immediate uterine surgery. The doctor persisted that C go back the next day for the surgery for uterine removal. Because she has vesicles or cysts in the uterine wall, and that is the cause for all her discomfort and occasional pain.

I was not too sure, and prevailed upon C to go to Thiruvananthapuram, as being there she would be with my sister and cousins and even a post operative recuperation would be quiet there. There I believed she would have at least someone to care her! And with the stressful time s here it was always wise that she keeps away if she has to undergo surgery, more because the convalescence period is one month. An added advantage of being in Thiruvananthapuram was that there is this efficient Gynaecologist and Obstetrician we know personally as well.

But for me the impending trauma was the prospect of having to spend one month and more in a kind of a solitary state with no one to be with, speak to. And the looming loneliness was ominous.

Back home in the evenings sitting alone at home with absolute loneliness as companion, and confinement, would be directly threatening one’s level of ‘break point’.

C went on the night train last Thursday. And I spent the night of Thursday preparing for the one month of loneliness. It was impossible to read, mind never listened, watching TV was nonsensical as there was nothing to glue on and I kept surfing channels. Whisky as I always have was limited and never fancies that as a companion when alone. And the night- sitting alone was dreadful. Thoughts were disturbing and distressing. I hit bed and slept long -mercifully indeed.

The second night Friday was not much different. I was tumults, tempest like and helpless. I just about forced myself to gather and hang on.But the comforting news from C who reached Thiruvanathapuram was that the doctor there gave her a clean chit and confirmed that it was not necessary to undergo surgery. And the anomaly or discomfort can be corrected through medication. Wonder on what the doc in Coiambatore based her decree for urgent surgery?

This was wonderful, for C not having to pull through the surgery and the post operative phase. And for me the threat of having to fear the loneliness for a month was distant and gone.

I realised how companionship or proximity of someone close can alleviate the turmoil in stressful times.

And as Camus said, “I can accept periods of unhappiness, because I know I will also experience happiness to come”.

The Historian

I’ve always excelled in history, earning commendable marks in school. My mother, a history major in college, still impresses me with her ability to recall significant dates with ease. Ask her the year of the Battle of Plassey (1757), and she’ll answer instantly. The Second Battle of Panipat (1556)? She has it just as quickly. Though I haven’t tested her memory recently, her knack for historical dates remains remarkable.

One of the most captivating history books I’ve read, consumed with the eagerness of a well-crafted novel, is Professor A. Sreedhara Menon’s Kerala History. Written in Malayalam, I purchased it decades ago from Current Book House in Thiruvananthapuram, and its vivid details still linger in my mind. The book is an engaging read, sustaining curiosity with its inquisitive tone. In contrast, I recently bought Romila Thapar’s Early India but have struggled to progress through it. Let me clarify: I lack the scholarly expertise to critique Thapar, nor is that my intent.

Professor Menon’s work brilliantly illuminates facets of early Kerala, such as the dawn of Christianity and the Christians of Canon, who were granted authority to settle north of Cochin. He also explains why Tamil Brahmin households in Kerala and Tamil Nadu possess significant amounts of ancient gold jewellery. Menon attributes this to the fear of Mughal invasions in South India. Temples, as repositories of valuable metals and stones, were prime targets for plundering armies. To protect this wealth, Brahmin priests were authorised to move it to their homes. The anticipated Mughal invasion never materialised, leaving the gold with these households.

History is often written by the victors, but it takes a scholar with integrity, courage, and an unyielding commitment to truth—like Professor Menon—to document it impartially. Those swayed by ideology, beholden to a particular “ism,” wear blinders and cannot judge history fairly. As Menon aptly noted, such writers act as “lawyers who collect materials to suit their theories,” crafting stories rather than history. This is evident in the communist government’s rejection of Menon’s book on Kerala’s freedom movement because he refused to align with their official narrative. Had a communist written Kerala’s history, events like the Punnapra-Vayalar uprising would likely be painted red, distorted to fit an ideological agenda.

For post-independence India’s history to be written truthfully and objectively, it must be by scholars like Professor Menon. Otherwise, it risks being filtered through the biased lens of a Congress loyalist, a Hindu nationalist, or a communist ideologue, resulting in a skewed narrative rather than authentic history.