Musings at noon

Early this week, on the 23 August I and C lived our twenty second anniversary of our wedding, and we were in Thiruvananthapuram with my mother. In fact, the melee that life is now, we nearly forgot about that day.

Twenty two and one half years ago I was given an assuring blow by Cupid. And some eight months down we got married .At home it was a very inconvenient and unconventional decision that all had to live with because I was marrying a Christian. To me, and fortunately for C the trappings of Hinduism and Catholicism were not even a remote matter of interest and concern. The 'isms' were trivial in the mundane affairs of live.

We were in touch throughout those five months before the wedding either by telephone or by letters through mail (post). There were moments when people glared at me irritated and furious as I occupied telephone booths at public outlets for minute’s together (wish there were mobile phones then and in those times).

We exchanged by post one hundred letters each, and hand written too. And they all are still kept safe .I have not read them since. Feel that it will be like revisiting a sort of infatuation of those days! 

I wonder if the new age of computer and email, of mobiles and text messages  would provide the personal touch, the passion of the heart  and the feelings in  each alphabet, word and sentence that we store in those two hundred letters that were exchanged. There was nothing in those two hundred odd letters that denoted or even distantly alluded to the whims and influences of Aphrodite or Eros. I guess they were somewhat refined and reasonably matured exchanges. Towards the wedding month, we mutually agreed not to be in any contact what so ever from the August 1, until the day of the wedding.So the letter writings and phone calls ceased from then.

Relationships are sadly and increasingly being frivolous in the age of sms and emails. And exchange of letters and text messages would sound and   feel like writing, sending, receiving and reading business correspondence. When one received a hand written letter, one could see in each letter and word the image of the person who wrote it. There was nothing impersonal and everything was vivid. Even the Post man who ventured with the much wanted and awaited mail was seen as the harbinger of good tidings and a welcome figure at the gate.

But as life moves on and we become antediluvian and anachronistic, may be one day we will  retract into our confines and read those letters from the times  Cupid  stalked us. Which I' m certain will not be damaged by spy ware, malware and viruses.And perhaps we may in those letters see our star struck and dumb founded faces again.

Reminiscence of College days1

I presume that twenty eight years down is a fair time to reminisce the teens and the early twenties of once age.

I was in a college which had liberal sprinkling of the fairer sex. The co-ed institution was one of the best in Thiruvanathapuram and quite capable of standing up to the Women's colleges of that city in the matter of pretty beautiful girls.

Our class acquired a rebellious nimbus, and in the words of our professor “infamous and impertinent bunch”. The description covered both the sex in the batch.

I would in fact hesitate to term us rebellious- well if it is purely for antagonising the professor for conducting in an unconventional way, quite different from his and some of the staff members views, well then the adjective is apposite. It has to be acknowledged that the staff members were headed by a very conservative professor who would in all probability have proscribed co-education, if he had his ways. And also some of the staff members were quite respectful of him and would not will to antagonise or do something contrary to his opinion.

It all began in the first year during the fun trip to Bangalore. Those days the KK Express (Kerala- Karnataka Express) got one to Bangalore from Thiruvanathapuram. Some ten of us boys and girls took off after dinner without the consent of the leader of the pack the Assistant professor. We took a couple of auto rickshaws, bunched ourselves in and reached Brigades road and got into the cinema to watch “Return of the Dragon”. It was very late after midnight that we came back to the Hotel .And was given a severe dressing down by the Asst professor. He also reported the matter back to the college.

During the recess between classes we used to engage in the game of Lexicon cards. It was a fascinating game of alphabets and words played with “Lexicon Cards”. One needs a fair percent of erudition and vocabulary to consider the game as his or her forte. And for an onlooker,at a glance, it would seemingly be like the game of Bridge. The Staff members thought so, and we were pulled up to the Principal. Outrageous, boys and girls, they even have the temerity to play cards in the class room. This was the accusation of the Professor. The matter was given a cold shoulder by the Principal when he found what we were engaged in, but the Professor was appalled that boys and girls conduct in such blatant activity inside the college.

Once, a prankster in our midst, (whose identity is still debated amongst us) sent by post to the professor a fascinating book of pictures, those that were explicit, and akin to the ones from Khujaraho. This infuriated the professor. And instead of ignoring the audacity of the fellow who ever he was, he brought the matter in public and the whole college was laughing at his predicament. Fancy stories went around.

We found yet another way to revel in past time. There is a very Keralite game which is played in the country side. I would say it is a Kerala version of base ball. The only difference was that the bat was a stick that was feet long and the ball was replaced by another stick of six inches. And we played that amongst us with a mix team of boys and girls. The court was down the department building and in full view of the professor and the staff members’ room. Notoriety and infamy that was redefined! The fascinating game of "kuttium kollum" was thereby decreed as frivolous and a  game of impertinent bunch of rascals .

                                            The class of 1980 farewell day

The end result was during the farewell party in the far end of the terminal year the Professor and the staff members chose the moment to vent their wrath on us. The farewell party was boycotted by all of them except one gentleman, our Economics tutor. The class photo gave a fascinating look .Just the Principal and the teacher stood along with us. A similar incident had never happened before or after.

The bottom line was the graduation result,and it  was a sweet retort of sorts. Two University rankers, the first and the second were from amongst us. And a record number of First class graduates. I was lucky one of them! 

But the Professor did not relent he refused to endorse our conduct certificates.

Fear

To close ones eyes and wish it is dark

To wish it is dark cos of the fright to face light.

Run away in fear from dedications ethical

cos love for self is the volition of  heart and soul.

To live in fear of  reality that stares

And close ones eyes to values that must be held dear.
Fear the present and bury the future
And endure in fear of the ghost of ones past.

Oh eternal misery are such lives unto the grave.

I had a dream

I had a dream, and I was on the precipice

The rocks were keen and steep, I clutched them with my life.

Looked below and dread the abyss deep.

The piece of bread seized 'tween my tattered fingers,

because I was 'fraid to let go the crump

Lest all go hungry and vain..

As I moved down edging,

Afraid of the slide and the fall any moment to come

The ground beneath my feet

ne'er reached me soon.

I had a dream, and I saw the dead

Rotten and dried cadaver of men and women

Hung on the string like meat put to dry

Mummies, beyond reckon, and couldn’t know who they where,

and why?

I had a dream, and I saw the deluge.

Of gushing water that took me down

I gasped in the swirl, knowing not what-

the whirl held for me, down under.

I had a dream, and I saw the dawn

raise me in her arms, coddle me long

I woke up in time,

and saw it was morn.

Hope

Words stay aloof

They stay aloof and away,

Afraid to descend;

Like I fear the day to come.

And moments move relentless

into the uncertain, that is the dawn of morrow.

And I ebb with its flow

Clutching at every twig gasping with hope and only hope.

Hail Mahabali

Americans celebrate Columbus Day each year. In fact that day is a national holiday in the USA.

The officialdom and the citizens of the most wonderful and greatest country in the world exults on that day in memory of a alien from Spain who began the systematic annihilation of the native Indians  who owned and lived in the ‘new world’.

It happens in the Worlds greatest country who has acquired plenipotentiary powers from the creator himself.. And that necessitates that we respect that!

This morning I read a Blog relating to the Chinese manacling of Tibet. Again it was proved that there is no certainty that the native inhabitants of the land will have any right over the land, the culture, heritage and life that they preserved and brought down the ages. The Tibetans are foreigners in the land of their birth and the land of their ancestors..

Again all including us acquiesced the usurpation because of  the might of the Chinese!

The Palestinians are aliens and dispossessed in their on land. The financial powers of the Zionists have ensured that a fable could be treated as a historical fact and used to enforce their unnatural and dishonest right over the land of the native inhabitants.

Again might have silenced the dissenters!

Back here in India the tribals and other native inhabitants are being dispossessed and set on the run by the economic and commercial might. People are dispossessed and set as gypsies and aliens in their very on land and outside.

But the difference in the treatment of the mythical king “Mahabali” was that he was fortunate to enjoy the benediction of the Gods. Even though they dispossessed him off his land, he was retired to the comforts of the Nether land.

He enjoys a better treatment than the native Indians, the Tibetans, the Palestinians, and the natives of the many tribal and other hamlets of India

On this Onam season we can only wish that we and posterity will not have to leave the land of our birth and of our ancestors. To be homeless and alien in ones own land is perhaps the cruelest of all infliction of fate.

And let us hope that the agony of dispossession will not visit generations to come.

Besides the revelry in the reminiscence of  a bygone golden  era Onam must remind us of the agony  of being outcast in our land and  or having to live as a serf or an  alien in a foreign land.

So Wishes for a Happy Onam in Mahabali’s   name to all fellow Bloggers.

Ain't I by your side?

I woke in angst, the clock struck half

Saw her leave the room with wearisome strides.              

I heeded the click of the door as it shut behind.

Heard her open the door outside

And her footsteps wade down the verandah.

She moved down to the bench and sat by the pond.

The dog scampered to her and lay by  her feet.

The moon up above closed her eyes behind the cloud

Lest she sees the anguish of the poor soul below!

The dog looked in askance Tell me why this angst?

For aint I by your side?