Who is your favorite writer?

I can think of only one name and that name has been there on my tongue since I was a 9 year old girl. I don't know if 'Oru Desathinte Kadha' is still my favorite book. Actually there are some other books which I adore as much and a few even more than that. But my favorite writer? That definitely has to be S.K Pottekkatt.

I have always been in love with that signature style, that innate optimism and subtle play of emotions. I wish I could write like that. He tells you the most depressing of all stories, about half dead prostitutes and their ill-fated children, but he never asks you to shed a tear. He just makes you think and say 'hey that's life. What can you do about it?'. That is the optimism I am talking about. His novels, like most Malayalam classics are true images of a deprived society, there is poverty and prostitution, hope and disappointment, audacity and cowardliness,insanity and intoxication, and betrayal and adultery? - well the amount of adultery in them or any other Malayalam classic always makes me wonder. Does this all happen in the small world we are familiar with? But still they make you think and smile at odd moments. People might contract deadly diseases and die , but they laughed and cried and dreamed and loved before that, they told their story, may be its sad, but hey they got a chance to tell their story and there will be many more like them with better stories in this crazy cycle of life. So lets just observe a moment of silence for these ill fated people and look for other stories, may be , who knows there are happy endings there.

Subtlety of emotions is something I look for in a book. I word more, a sigh more, a tear more and it would ruin the whole book for me. I think S.K is the master of just saying what is enough. Even 'kadavuthoni' a sad story about a young man's first brush of love and subsequent doom is not a saga of tears. It just makes you a little sad and makes you wonder about the futility of life. You are happy and contented in your life a minute and in the next something happens (or someone happens) and the same life which was fulfilling just a minute ago has no meaning at all. I love it when a story makes me think, when it teaches me something new about life. (Ever wondered why Nicholas Sparks' stories are better when they are made into movies? His books are way too emotional for me but I have shamelessly cried my eyes out watching 'the Notebook',' a walk to remember' and even 'Message in a bottle')

Just a weird fact about 'Oru Desathinte Kadha', most women who have a taste for Malayalam literature will say that this is their favorite book. It is a story of a boy maturing into manhood breathing in the good and evil of the town he was born and raised and then finding his place in the big world beyond it. I don't know why women and even very young girls find it interesting? Something to think..?

S.K's travelogues probably offered me my first vision of the distant lands across the seas. I kind of became a 'global citizen' myself, but I'll never forget that first wonder and excitement.

Now, Lets make it a little personal. For the first three and a half years of my life S.K and I lived just a couple of blocks from each other. He was a friend of my Valiachan so there is a good chance that I have met him. I spent most of my toddler years bugging valiachan in his office, hiding behind those book shelves and playing under that big mahogany table. Actually there is a good chance that I even heard the great man talk.

The day S.K passed away is one of my earliest memories. Valiamma had just come back from somewhere and she told me S.K Pottekkatt had passed away. I asked her who S.K Pottekkatt was. ( Did I already know what 'passed away' meant?). She said he was a famous writer and a friend of valiachan. She showed me his picture in the news paper to see if remember the face. Then she told me about S.K's grand child who waited for the grandfather to 'wake up'. I felt sorry for his grand child. (Valiamma often told me very sad stories about children losing mothers and grand parents. May be it was her way of preparing me for all the sadness and confusion she was going to bestow upon us)

A few years later the corporation decided to build a park there near the big water tank. S.K park is a big art gallery now. I still remember all the excitement as this was going to be our own park. I remember climbing on top of the tater tank with friends. My eldest brother or an older cousin must have been with us, would they let the children climb up the water tank alone? When my brothers or cousins visited I used to show them around like I owned the place.

Since S.K had already given me a park to play I thought I should read that book which everybody made a big deal of and that's how I picked up 'oru desathinte kadha'. I had read a few of Basheer's 'funny books' and was already a die-hard fan of Madhavikutty. It took me almost a year to finish the book. Sreedharan, his protagonist is a child in the beginning and his style is very light and and it kind of grew on me. As he grows older the story and the style gains complexity.

 Once I finished the book and proclaimed myself an 'S.K fan', I started pestering valiachan asking about the great man. (We were very good friends valiachan and I. A 50 years age difference did not matter. I could talk to him for hours.) Valiachan duly let me in on one of S.K's secrets. Have you ever wondered about the diversity and perfection of S.K's characters? It's like they are real. This is how he created most of them. On any sunny day he would board a bus from Calicut bus stand to some village and would talk to who ever sits near him. I guess the villagers would feel honoured when a cultured city man asks about their life. Thus these people and their hopes and desperation becomes his stories. Clever ?

I had kept that copy of 'oru desathinte kadha' with me until a few years ago till I lost it in the U.S along with several other valuable things. Its o.k as it was a season of new beginnings. Life has taught me not to cherish any material thing beyond a limit.

A few months ago when I was in Trivandrum I bought a copy of 'Nadan Premam'. I don't particularly care about the story, but I still find his style very interesting.

I still remember the swings and slides of S.K park and in 2013 they will commemorate his 100'th birth anniversary there. My reverence to the memory of the great man to whom I almost made an acquaintance.

Madness Madness

Feminism by definition is a collection of movement and ideologies aimed at defending equal rights for women. I do believe in gender equality so I must be a feminist. But I never felt the need to proclaim it out loud. I was never denied anything because I was a woman and I am married to a man who loves to cook. So I figured if I complain about gender bias it would make me a hypocrite. Yea, I quit a well paid job and embraced a life of domesticity, but nobody forced me to do it.

I have been thinking about that young 23 year old girl from New Delhi who thought it was safe to board a bus at night with a male companion. But it was not. And even the bus driver turned a rapist.
Whats wrong with our society? How can women trust any man?

I just watched a new Malayalam movie. What was the name again? May be it's not even worth remembering . The hero meets a girl he knew once, but now this girl is all disrespectful and edgy. He is all set to teach her a lesson, show her her place in the society as a woman and marry her in the end. He slaps her and insults her in innovative ways, makes fun of the way she dresses and in the end she wears a sari and becomes his obedient wife. Do we really need such movies anymore? Is there any shortage of women with traditional values who knows how to wrap a sari? Then why get obsessed with this particular girl who is bad mannered and insolent. What kind of message is this movie sending to young boys and girls? Do men have the right to teach any woman 'a lesson' just because they are physically superior?
May be we should stop making such sexist movies.

When Humpty Dumpty gets pushed

Before I begin let me thank the 5 beautiful children who have blessed my life and taught me a lot with their silly smiles and contagious laughs, my son, my 3 nephews (including the one on my husband's side who is probably closest to me) and my very beautiful niece (who looks like me of course).

I have always been fascinated by childhood; not just because I remember almost everything from mine, but there is something about those years of endless excitement and energy which disappears magically after a certain age that I simple cannot help attempt to analyse it.

How do children handle stress? I have been thinking about this a lot lately. They are in fact living in a very stressful world like all of us, whether they like it or not they are often caught up in the whirlwind of their parents' lives and life styles. How do they vent it out with out alcohol, tobacco, stress control medication and yoga?

I think God or nature has thought it over when the human brain was first conceptualized. Children do not understand many things around them and have shorter attention span. Even when the family has poorest means they find their own sources of excitement. They might at times want things beyond their or their parents reach and throw tantrums. But the world around them, deprived as it is still offer a lot to be excited about that they simply cannot stay aloof.

Stress may be a different matter, but children do not identify it as stress. They just take it as their way of life. I have lived my entire childhood with out much involvement with my parents and siblings. But I don't really remember being particularly sad about it even for a single day. I don't know if not having a primary care giver was confusing, as I never really identified my valiamma as my mother. She was much older and had the responsibility of the entire house. My three college going cousins filled in when ever they could; they took me to school, helped me with the homework and took me for doctors appointments (which was easy as 2 of them were med students). But I was ok with all that. Once in a while a relative would come home and sympathize with me. Some women would stare at my unkempt hair and sun burnt cheeks and comment 'She definitely hasn't got her mother's good looks'. All these would puzzle me but only for an hour or so, beyond that I could not concentrate on anything. There was always so much to explore and be happy about that I would not even mind being 'not as pretty' at all.

But when did all that magic end..?

I like observing children. I may not be a good disciplinarian but I do like spending time with kids. I like talking silly to them, telling them stories and singing songs for them. And they in turn let me in on their secrets.
There was a time when my niece confided in me that her parents are 'total losers and dweebs'. When a 5 and half year old use this kind of language there definitely must be something wrong. Both my brother and sister in law were having demanding jobs and the princess was having a lot of unsupervised TV time. She drew pictures of aliens in her coloring book and talked in an american accent which was actually quite funny.
But eventually my sis in law left her job and the little princess got back to earth from the spaceship.

Imagination is the real medicine for stress control. There is no end to a child's imagination. Usually when a child is in a stressful situation they make up interesting stories about their life with out any reason just because its amusing. I have a very special young man in my life who is going through a tough phase right now accepting his parents' divorce. With much difficulty I have taught myself not to judge his parents. Grownups will always have 'grownup problems' which children cannot comprehend. For him his father is a hero and his mother is the embodiment of love. But the fact is those two cannot stand each other anymore. The child has no option other than accepting the reality. But it is not easy. At school when his friends discuss what they did with the parents over the week end he doesn't want to be left out. So he makes up stories. He lives with his grandparents as his mother is working in a distant city. When ever she visits or when he goes over to his father's place they shower all the affection as gifts. The child, innocent as he is, is slowly learning to capitalize on his situation. Just his way of adapting to the craziness of life. Can we blame him?

On a lighter note, this is a serious conversation I am having with my son.

'Amme why did Humpty Dumpty fall down?'

'Because he was sitting on a wall'

'He was just sitting there. But how could he fall down? Did somebody push him?'

'No. He just slipped.'

'How did he just slip?'

'The wall was slippery.'

'But why did he go and sit on a slippery wall?'

'He did not listen to his mother'

'But still, why did he go and sit there?'

'He wanted to see horses and king's men and he leaned a bit too much'

'Didn't he know that he would fall?'

'Yes. But he didn't listen to his mother'

'Why did he lean if he knew he would fall?'

... Well it will just go on till he arrives at a possible conclusion himself. He is a bit of an obsessive compulsive person. So I cannot convince him that easily.

I wish in real life Humpy Dumpties do not get pushed that bad. Let the innocence prevail.

Prayers

My prayers to the families of Connecticut shooting victims, hope they find the will and courage to live on.

How can so many young, pure lives full of fun and mischief end by a mad man's rampage? What could have made a shy 20 year old to be death's wing man that day? But why children?

Every time I hold my son I think of those children. Every time he tests my nerves and I am all set to yell at him, I think of those children. Every time I remember my 3 nephews and my niece I think of those children.

Do we appreciate the children in our life enough?

Its been difficult to write. May be I should not write about my petty life anymore. 

Inheritance and Legacy

Since I've got my blood sugar level quite high with Sharatchandra chatterjee's love stories I really want to take a break from them. I have 2 more of his novels, but saving them for later.

I've been holding on to the pdfs of 3 old Malayalam books since last month. In fact I had pestered my cousin for days till he finally sent these to me. All 3 are collection of essays by A.C Govindan , a judiciary officer from Malabar province. The books are Sambadsamridthy(1931),Sahithyavallary(1938) and Mukhaparichayam(1959).

Malayalam seems to be a whole different language back then and since my Malayalam is almost as bad as my English I struggle with big words. Some of these articles are extremely witty where as most others are inspiring messages to the youth. These books along with few others by the same author were once taught in the schools of Malabar and Kochi.

I find this one essay particularly entertaining. The author who is an officer in the judiciary, a graduate, a close friend of the legendary 'Sahodaran Ayyappan' gets almost fooled by a fake astrologer during a train journey. 

"Now I understand that Ayyappan has been putting all sorts of nonsense in my head. I have even been told to destroy my horoscope! My horoscope which is the key to an affluent future! Good that my wife guarded it with her life. I should go home and thank her."  He writes about the few hours when he almost became a believer of fortune stones.

I have never met him, he passed away 14 years before I was even born, but in someway I have missed him all my life. He is my grandfather.

Pushpavilasam, his house in Calicut city once hosted many an inspiring discussion on social reformation, agnosticism and literature. All notable personalities of Malabar's literary circle were his friends and visited him regularly at his house. My mother does not usually talk about it, but I try my best to grill her on the details of these famous visitors. One information which I have grilled out of her has thrilled me a great deal. The time V.M Nair and Balamani amma visited with their 2 daughters, Sulochana and Kamala. My mother must have been merely a child but she remembers that Kamala had very beautiful long hair. Kamala of course was none other than the famous Madhavikutty or Kamala Surayya, whom I absolutely worship.

I grew up in Pushavilasam in the 80's, a time when glory had faded in to a forgotten dream. My poor aunt, my valiamma struggled to manage the house with very less income. Her husband, my valiachan was a civil lawyer who took up cases for charities. His office was always buzzing with clients and the type writer tipped ceaselessly, but all that did not fetch them any money. Since my valiachan was a man on his own mission nobody dared to argue with him. Since my valiamma was a typical northern Keralite woman , she always spoke softly in front of her husband. And since this post is not about either of them I am reining in the flow of words.

It was fun to grow up there with my grandfather's books, looking at his portrait in the veranda imagining how things would be if he were still there. My mother seldom talks about her father. I assume that losing him at 16 would have made her insecure and that could be the reason why her job always gave her a great deal of satisfaction and sense of security.(Why oh why didn't I figure that out when I was young; understanding her could have totally eased my troubled teens.)

I am intrigued by this particular essay in one of his books. It's titled 'ulkrishtadarshangal' and he talks about the importance of having a goal in life. Somehow that makes me think about my present state and the question that is always there on the background . ' What am I doing with my life ?????' Ambition had always been a hot topic in my household as I was totally devoid of it. My lack of focus and sense of direction had worried my parents a lot. I always argued that ambitious people miss the most beautiful things in life. I was born a dreamer and technical education did not actually change me much. I really would have liked to talk to my grandfather if he were here about the things that puzzle me day and night. 

May be the goal he is talking about does not have to be materialistic. It could be something spiritual too.

I recently read an article a cousin wrote about our grandfather. She has done such a fantastic job with it that if I attempt to list out his accomplishments it would only be a repetition. I just want to imagine the day he sat down and wrote some of these essays in the 30's, a good 10, 15 years before my mother was even born. He would have sat there on an easy chair on the veranda and wrote with a fountain pen on the neat stack of white paper on a writing board. May be it was a still night and he was disturbed occasionally by one of the toddlers and his beautiful wife would have tried her best to pacify them. May be a cricket chirped ceaselessly and he paused for a minute and listened to it. May be it suddenly started raining and he put away his writing board and stood there near the parapet and watched the rain.

Isn't it amazing that his thoughts found their way to me, his grand daughter halfway across the globe almost a century after they were originated. 

Technology really is a blessing even for dreamers!

Poetry in film songs

This is going to be a crazy post. I actually wanted to write about Guru Dutt, but I am stuck on this song from his movie Pyaasa, the heart wrenching tale of a struggling poet.

I cannot help translating the last stanza.

If this is called life,

Then let me live like this

With out complaints,

 Sealing my lips and drinking away my tears

Why would I run away from the sorrow

Which I have seen hundreds of times.

If the magic of original Urdu lyrics is lost in translation that's entirely my fault.

This is another song from Pyaasa. For every body who feels like saying 'Ye duniya Agar mil bhi jaaye to kya hain' atleast once in a while.

Call me ignorant but this song is probably the best poetry I have ever heard. 

This is an approximate translation of few lines.

This world, of palaces, thrones and crowns

Where society is the biggest enemy of man

Where even tradition is hungry for wealth

What if I even get this world,

What will I do with it.

Where every torso is wounded and every soul is thirsty

With disoriented eyes and disappointed hearts

Is this really the world or just a realm of absurdity

What if I even get this world,

What will I do with it.

Where man's life is just a toy

In a society made of corpses

Where death is less expensive than life

What if I even get this world,

What will I do with it.

Where life has no value

Where loyalty and friendship are nothing

Where love has no meaning even when it gets murdered

What if I even get this world,

What will I do with it.

Burn this world, just set it on fire

Just destroy all of it.

Or take it away from my eyes at least

This world is all yours , just keep it for yourself

What if I even get this world,

What will I do with it.

Footprints in the snow

It's snowing..

First snow of the season. Navneeth is all excited.
"Its winter, Its winter" He shouts pressing his nose against the glass door.
So we go out for a walk in the snow.
Our footprints in the snow , dirty cruel intrusions on the pure white fluffiness.
Only to be covered by fresh flakes; only to be forgotten in seconds
He throws snow balls at us and sings a few lines from a German Christmas song.
Don't get too used to all this son. We'll sure take you back to India in a year or two.

I think I will  remember this day, this feeling, this lightness
And I hope my thoughts fly to far away places like they do sometimes.
And my prayers too,.

Some random thoughts

I am almost certain about one thing. There is no such thing called individuality. We are all bundles of preordained qualities, in different proportions may be , but a lot of us are mostly the same.
We still brag about our individuality, things that make us unique, but there is a good possibility that in some other part of the world somebody else is using the exact same words to express the exact same thoughts.

When we are upset we think that it is the end of the world, but many people must be going through the same situations and  feeling the same emotions. They might be making the same mistakes too. So what are our emotions considering that of the billions all around the world. Worse still considering that of the many many millions who were here before us. So are we just insignificant grains of sand in the history of time.

I am not able to get this thought out of my mind. If my feelings have already been felt a million times and my tears have already been wept, why should I waste a single minute over it. There must have been a lot of confused women like me in the history of manhood, sorry womanhood. They must have gone through the same struggles regretting bad decisions and doubting the good ones. They must have gone through the same turmoil choosing between career and family, love and acceptance and social pressure and happiness. They must have been torn between things they love equally and cried in silence and then put on the best brave smiles. If I am in no way different than them what is the harm in trying to break the cycle. Since they have cried a million times already for the exact same things.....

I am now reading Devdas, Sharatchandra Chattopadhyay's epic tragedy which has been made into successful films in all Indian languages and still finds its resonance in contemporary plots (both in films as well as real lives). I don't want to elaborate the story line as everybody knows it. Young Paro is convinced that she would rather drown her sorrows in the river than marrying any other man than her Dev da. Devdas's parents don't give their consent and he tells her in a letter that he cannot marry her as his parents think its not an ideal match. Her family is not rich and its not like he is in in love with her anyway blah blah blah. As soon as he posted the letter it dawns on him that he is madly and irrevocably in love with her. He rushes to the village to meet her and tells her that he will convince his parents somehow. But this what she tells him, " You think only your parents have honor, my parents may not be rich but we have honor too. And in a few days I am marrying this wealthy 40 year old man my parents chose for me and I will be richer than you." And thus she walks into her own doom driving Devdas to his. If only she knew that it was just natural to feel indignant in that situation and many women, may be even cave women have gone through the same before her. But she was only 14 and she didn't know.

Ok enough about Devdas. I have seen 4 of my friends going through bitter breakups and the cycle of emotion is more or less the same. Different variations of 'I want to die', 'Oh no I just want you to suffer',' you don't care ? then I don't care either', 'I can do better than you lets just see how better' etc etc..
There was this one time when I used to call a friend to her college hostel every night ( as this was in late 90's and we didn't have mobiles) just to make sure she hasn't killed herself. ( This might sound crazy but I lost my aunt (who brought me up BTW)  to suicide. Worse still she had written me a letter couple of months before that and I, like most 16 year olds was too busy to reply. So I have boundary issues with my friends and I understand that its quite natural. In my head they might take a whim and kill themselves any day leaving me to feel guilty all my life. )
So if we almost always follow the same pattern of emotions there must be some way to make it all easier?

During the corporate days of my life I have seen people getting into unnecessary arguments just to feel important. Especially in my last job where the workforce mostly was men. They would go on and on debating about the same things in meetings just to see who will have the final word. Business managers think they are important as they see in and out of the software, Delivery managers think this is all unreasonable, Test mangers blame everybody  and System architects think everybody else stupid. Programmers sit and watch all this. Sometimes when the chief architect gets into a grumpy mood my manager used to ask me to go and sit there with him as he was really fond of me. (He was over 50 and called me kiddo , so all safe there). Well its all funny. Why is the male ego so difficult to be satisfied? If its been like this for centuries why nobody came up with a cure?

Since I stared looking around trying to understand life I find it easier to forgive people. At least I am able to think of them as a part of the big universe with their own purposes. But I am not able to forgive myself for the stupid things I have done. My logic fails me there.

So if I've hurt anybody who actually did care about me (or not), unknowingly due to my tactlessness or knowingly due to my ignorance I apologize to them from the bottom of my heart. I was just an immature person with  lot of insecurities.

To a six year old boy I know

I see the world through your eyes,
But choose not to acknowledge it.
I smile and tell you that its going to be alright,
But I know its not, and my smile is fake.

You blame one and defend the other
And then you break down and cry,
When your tears dry up you do it the other way around
And then you cry again

I want you to 'understand'
But how can you, while they cannot?
I tell you that I love you
But I still get up and leave.

I remember the time you held on to me
With you scared little hands, never to let go
I still had taken them off with a smile
I am sorry I am a grown up, just like them.

You try to build your own world
A beautiful one, where nobody leaves,
And when you talk about it nobody listens
As its not real and good boys should not tell lies

Then you sit there with your toys trying to be happy
When you are not, you demand more,
Learning the ways of the world on you own
If not love then let it be toys.

I wish I had the courage to look you in the eye
And tell you that I will always be there
But I am scared as I am not sure
So I just walk away.

I want you to know that I am sorry
Sorry for leaving, sorry for not being there
Sorry that I am just the 'fun aunt',
Though I wish you were mine.

Srikanta! Srikanta!

Another classic by Sharatchandra Chattopadyay. This good Novel entertained me a great deal and I am actually sad that it is over.

To understand Srikanta or any Indian novel of this era we must first understand the political, social and religious aspects. Inequality, Injustice and social evils like caste system were gripping the society to its core and independence was a distant dream. It was customary to reveal your caste before you even serve food to another person as they might 'lose their caste' if you are from a lower caste. If the parents of a 13 year old girl were unable find her a groom they would lose their caste too. It did not matter if she was marrying a 65 year old man, but marry she must. Death was an everyday matter, entire townships were getting shutdown due to epidemics like cholera and plague.

Sharatchadra Chatterjee's  semi autobiographical novel is set in these crazy times. It is usually taken as a triangular love story, but I find it much more than that. Somehow the vivid images of 9 year old brides 11 year old widows haunt me day and night.

Srikanta is a high born brahmin boy. In his childhood he meets a woman who is the living embodiment of sacrifice and stoic idealism. The image of this woman (his Annada didi) stays fresh in his mind as he grows up and he wows that only such a woman would find a place in his heart.

Though he is educated, Srikanta lives the life of an aimless drifter with a talent to entertain princes in their parties and hunting trips. On such a trip he meets Pyari, a mysterious 'singing woman' with ethereal beauty.
Though he is disturbed by Pyari, Srikanta chooses to ignore her.The occupation of a singing woman was considered lowly those days, almost as lowly as a prostitute's.. Later he finds out that Pyari is none other than Rajalakshmi, a girl from his village whom he used to bully as a 13 year old boy. Rajalakshmi had been married off to a 60 year old man and was later believed to dead.

Her story deeply moves him and the fact that she had been in love with him since she was a 9 year old girl gives him a strange thrill. But he moves away from her. Reason : Lowly singing girl, another man's widow, goes way low on the Annada didi scale of stoic idealism.

As fate has its own ways Srikanta finds himself in Patna for reasons unknown to him. This time he joins a group of Sanyasis only to get deserted in a village with small pox outbreak. Rajalakshmi rushes to his help and nurses him back to health. Now he sees her as Rajalashmi and not as Pyari. A strong, independent woman with social responsibilities.
This becomes the pattern of their life. He gets in trouble(mysterious fevers,tricky relatives) and she comes and helps him out. He admits that he is in love with her though he cannot do anything about it. He says he can compromise anything for her but his honor. And to her that is the only thing worth compromising.

Like any two people in love who cannot be together they find ways to torment each other.
 I liked this one in particular. One day Srikanta finds himself in her darbaar where she sings for hooka smoking men. Half of him wants to storm out while the other half wants to throw all of them out. But he regains his composure and joins them with a hooka instead . He lavishly praises her voice and her beauty(every inch of it) knowing that his words would burn her eardrums. He even goes on to say that what admirers like him would do with out her. What a genius!

She on the other hand fasts most of the days and deprives her body of nutrition and blames him for all her sufferings. His physical attraction to her often puts him in agony. he wants to tell her about these turmoils but he just holds her hand and cries! ( This is what I like about old bengali novels. Its almost impossible for them to break any moral code yet they are completely believable. Then again my knowledge of Bengla literature is limited)

While in Gangamati, Rajalakhsmi gets in touch with her religious side and starts a life of sacrifice. She leaves her career as a singing woman and disposes her worldly possessions. And now its time for her to do the ultimate sacrifice before taking the widow's robes. Sacrificing him.

He goes away from her life and becomes the aimless drifter once again. He goes to the village of their childhood and finds himself in a Vaishnava ashram where he meets Kamal Lata. Kamal Lata's first words to him are 'don't you remeber me from Vrindavan?'. He is enchanted by her and finds the happiness he has never known  in helping her in the simple chores of the ashram.
He leaves the ashram convinced that he is healed of all the wounds.

But Rajalakshmi waits at his door, this time not in the widow's robes. She tells him she could not find God anywhere. Srikanta tells her about Kamal Lata and now RajaLashmi wants to meet her too.

Rajalakshmi's initial intentions are to match wits with Kamal Lata. But soon she finds herself charmed by Kamal Lata and the simple ways of her superior soul. Their stay at the ashram cures the couple of their respective ailments. Rajalakshmi is not arrogant anymore and she is convinced that she does not need any religious rites to take Srikanta as her husband ;the memories of the bianchi berries she plucked for him in her childhood is sufficient for her. And Srikanta finally sees that the honor has nothing to do with what society imposes.

So the couple sets out to lead a happy normal life. Only problem now is that Srikanta loves Kamal Lata too, in a totally different way.The beauty of it is that he never resolves this equation. Kamal Lata or Rajalakshmi? As it is not a matter of choice for him.

In their happy home in Gangamati, Rajalashmi starts a school for girls and Srikanta starts writing . He often finds himself thinking about Kamal Lata though he is convinced that he cannot live with out Rajalakshmi.

When Kamal Lata leaves the ashram for her ultimate pilgrimage Srikanta begs of her to take him with her at least half the way. He cannot bear the thought of never seeing her again. "If you love me, surrender me to God" Kamal Lata says to him. .And he replies "I will not insult you by calling you mine again."

I admire the profound honesty of the ending. May be love in its purest form, the kind Srikanta felt for Kamal Lata is not a thing to be ashamed of.

Editing... I cannot believe how many spelling mistakes I make..

Editing again,
Forgot to mention the array of supporting characters which makes this novel even more interesting. Indranath the wanderer , Abhaya the brave, Sukanya the just, Ghahar the poet and my favourite Ananda the young doctor in safron robs. And of course Annada didi the sad, ideal woman.

 This German virus is getting the better of all of us. Its the third week of passing the tissue box back and forth. But I am strangely happy today.

Delirious(A poem or I am just delirious)

Delirious

This familiar pain, old yet unforgotten;

These memories as they burn in my head;

This fever,this madness, this incredible lightness;

This uncanny feeling that someone is standing behind.

This incoherent chatter and distant laughter;

These clouds of thoughts as they float away;

This dizziness, this darkness, this invisible softness;

Ripping apart and Slipping away?

Learning and Fun

Navneeth is enjoying his fall break. We spend most of the afternoons in the park even though its getting cold. He is already dreading the idea of going back to school next Monday. Even I am worried about getting him back to school day routine.

Navneeth is having trouble lining up for the assembly and lunch. The good international school where he goes to emphasize on learning through fun, but unfortunately Navneeth's idea of fun is slightly different. He is hardly an artistic person and doesn't want to do anything with crayons or color pencils. We are told that kids normally learn to write through coloring and drawing.

Its been tough on him trying to be international and multilingual. He can communicate in English now but his German ,just like his mother's is limited to few basic words. To make things complicated we insist on talking purely in Malayalam at home.

Sometimes I wonder if we are being fair to the kids by uprooting them this way. I keep on telling Navneeth that your  'home' is where your parents are , but is that really enough? He is really attached to his grandparents and can we justify ourselves for taking him away from them?
Since we came back from our vacation in August he keeps on asking me when we are going back again.. I tell him we cannot afford to fly every now and then and he has to wait till next year. When we call home he asks his grandparents when they are coming here. "Soon" they tell him , and he believes that.

When we were living in India I used to take him around a lot, to temples , to near by rivers and ponds and small local toy shops. Since his father was away he was entirely my responsibility and I fulfilled it by being at his side all the time. I have not let any so called baby formula pass through his lips and I was there when he first turned, crawled, walked and talked.I used to carry him even when my shoulders were almost coming apart and totally refused the idea of strollers.

 But did I do all that for him? The fact is I was just fighting the ghosts of my own past.
 When I was just 4 months old my mother got a transfer to a distant city and I was left at my mother's eldest sister's care  in Calicut. Not that I had any complaints back then. I was actually quite a happy child and I grew deeply attached to the place, the people, the house and its surroundings. But when I was taken away at 11, it killed a part of my soul.

I always blamed my parents for this turmoil they put me through. I asked them a million times why I attended a local government school when they could afford the best education in the city.And when my exam results didn't meet expectations I blamed it on the fact that I was made to start school a year earlier.

The fact is , as I understand it now , they in their pure optimistic ways didn't anticipate that it would affect me at all. Come to think of it, all that has made me the person I am now, good or bad I let others to decide.
I have nothing against my parents now and in fact I am quite proud of both of them.
And if I hadn't started school a year earlier, would I have met my husband, my batch mate in college?

I know many women who juggle career and family and I never judge them or consider myself superior. I don't go about giving speeches on the 'importance of being a full time mother'. I know very well that a some of them must be even better mothers and home makers.

I have very close friend who is currently going through a  rough phase at work. We have been friends for over 12 years and we talk at least a couple of times a month. I know how difficult it is for her for now and I asked her a few times to take a break from work and stay at home with her daughter. But she is afraid she might turn overbearing and obsessive sitting at home like her own mother.

So this is what we all do? Try to protect the kids from our own issues and drive them to their own?

As for Navneeth's writing handicap, we were worried that it might be disgraphia or something. But then we decided to take it 'home style'. We explained to him how important it is to work on his letters.
"Don't  you want to buy a big blue car when you grow up?" yes he does.
"Don't you want to get a good job like your father to pay for the car" yes he does.
"Will you get a job if you can't write?" no he won't.
That settled it. We also promised to buy him a big lego box if he practices his letters for 15 minutes everyday ( He is quite a lego boy). And he is making good progress.

Right now he is playing with his Disney character dolls.
"Whats Mickey doing?" I ask him.
"Its not Mickey. Its my Achachan and he is plucking tomatoes"
Needless to say that Minnie is his Achamma and the other set of dolls are his Appooppan and Ammamma and they are all having a gallant time with 'Kannan Kutty'.
"I 've got all of them here." He smiles.

He makes me think, this child.

Oh Sandy

Hooked on to the news with super storm Sandy updates.

Wondering how crazy it must be over there in New York and New Jersey with the Holland tunnel and the subways closed.

Thinking of the citigroups building in Pavonia with a strange wish to to look out of the window.

Thinking of that old, almost ruinous building in Jersey city where we used to live and  wondering how our old care taker is managing out there.

Worried about all the friends  in New York, New Jersey and rest of the east coast.

The fallen Hero

Few years ago when I was going through the most difficult phase of my life, a book helped me to pull myself together and gather some sense of direction.

Well, Let me rephrase that a  bit. May be it was not the most difficult phase of my life. Actually it could have been the happiest phase. I was pregnant and back  home in India away from the responsibilities and it was exactly what I wanted at that period of time more than anything else. But certain things happened which totally changed the course of life there after. I was utterly tensed and helpless and the most important person in my life was sinking in to a deep depression. I couldn't even master enough strength to tell him everything was going to be alright.  So I kept to my room reading , it was the only thing that took me away. From Milan Kundera to Vaikkam Muhammad Basheer, from Ruskin Bond to 80's issues of Amar Chitra Kadha  I read what ever I could lay my hands on. It was then that  my sister in law found me a copy of 'IT'S NOT ABOUT THE BIKE" by Lance Amstrong.

Of course I knew who Lance Amstrong was and I knew his story, but the book was something else. From his passionate pursuit of success to his unyielding struggle and final victory over cancer, I couldn't help but salute his courage and spirit. So I decided to set aside all the self pity and embrace the blessing of life which was growing inside me. I convinced Kiran, my husband that we could actually turn things around and make our 'situation' an opportunity ( which he kind of did).

The recent allegation on Lance Amstrong has literally shattered my belief system. I know millions of fans all around the world must be going through the same bewilderment and confusion. I wish he proved himself innocent. But all the news channels tell me it is not going to happen. Hope he breaks his silence and at least owns up everything.
 So It was really 'not about the bike'?

Life and Bollywood - 1

My husband constantly teases me about my obsession with 60's film stars. Its true that I devote many an hour of my newly acquired free time researching on their lives. But that doesn't make me a celebrity worshiper. Frankly I don't really care about the' who is dating who' of the present times. But there is something about the yesteryear's doomed romances, bad career moves and over night successes that completely fascinates me. I take it as examples of human life as we can always find out what happened to the star later in life. And we have images from different phases of their life in celluloid and understand what time does to any living creature. Stars are no exception, try as they might time always catches up.



Lets look into the life of Rajesh Khanna , the star who is often referred as 'the original super star' of Hindi cinema.

Born as Jatin Khanna in Amritsar , Khanna was adopted and raised by foster parents in Mumbai. The young Mr Khanna started taking interest in theater from his school and college days and won many prizes. In 1965 he won a talent contest organized by United producers and Filmfare which made his way to 1966 films Akhri Khat (by Chetan Anand) and Raaz( by Ravindra Dave). These are the first images we get to see of him and we  see a handsome young man in his early twenties. There is a certain vulnerability about him which actually makes him even more attractive. Then comes Baharon ke Sapne 1967 in which he acted with the fabulous Asha Parekh. I don't know if this film was a critical landmark in his early career but I can watch this video of Aja piya Tohe pyar doom a million times (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ep10GUjctvw)

With Aradhana 1969 he became a national sensation. We see a more confident style of acting with that eye twitching and smile. I read in many articles that he had the largest female fan base in the history of Indian cinema. Girls were marrying themselves to his photograph. They would stand in lines just to catch a glimpse and would pull at his clothes and he often had to have police protection.
Now lets take a look at the star's personal life. He was dating the young starlet Ms Anju Mahendru at the time. Their relationship presumably withstood the craziness of his popularity and success. He was giving hit after hit and went on to give a record of 15 consecutive hits from 1969 to 1971.

1972 showed a decline in his success chart. As his films failed to do well at box office his personal life also took a toll. His relationship of 7 years with Anju Mahendru came to a bitter end. It is said that he went on to sabotage her career and married the then 16 year old Dimple Kapadia immedietly after the break up. His baraat was deliberately taken  outside Anju Mahendru's house. They didn't speak to each other for 18 years.

In 1973 BBC recorded a documentary 'The Bombay superstar'. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fWmucHoZN3U). We see Rajesh Khanna coming 2 hours 'fashionably' late to one of his sets, his wedding ceremony and him boycotting an award function as he was not the winner. Even the interviewers had to go to his house 5 times before he finally kept his appointment.

As years went by he saw many ups and downs in his career. In the eighties he starred in many critically acclaimed films. We see him with that special freshness of youth gone, though the larger than life 'Rajesh Khanna' charisma was still at large. Around this time his marriage to Dimple Kapadia also dissolved.

He had a successful career in the television post eighties. He also served as an M.P from 19991 - 1996.

I remember reading in a news paper many years ago that his son-in-law Akshay Kumar helped him out when his prestigious villa Aashirwaad was under the threat of being auctioned out. I wonder what made his financial situation this bad.

During his last years both his estranged wife and his first love came back to his life. Anju Mahendru reportedly held  Rajesh Khanna's hand as he took his last breath .Both women were crying inconsolably at his funeral.

So what does all this teach us about life. If even stars are mere puppets at the hands of time where do us, the mere mortals stand? Then why do we still take grudges to grave?

A little splash of magic

My Navneeth is a little science enthusiast ( Of course he got it from his father). He likes to play with magnets and experiments with their polarity. Usually at bedtime he moves his night lamp and make shadows move. Then he will explain to his 'uninformed' mother that they are moving because he is changing the source of light.

 Last week I started singing this song about teddy bears before putting him to bed. It goes something like this.

When the mid-night s striking
When everyone s asleep
Teddys yawn and stretch and shake
Out of warm beds creep

.............

Then the teddy bears sneak out and gather in the dark and walk along the empty streets to the park. There they play on the slides, the swings and the see-saws beneath the moon. And when the sun comes peeping they tip toe back to bed and snuggle down next to unsuspecting children.

This information about the thrilling night life of teddy bears have brought a change in my son. He now looks at teddy bears with respect. When he is in the park he takes a moment and looks around before running for the slides .

I am actually glad. What is childhood with out a little bit of magic.

Parineeta and some other thoughts

I just finished reading Parineeta by Saratchandra Chattopadhyay. I have been trying to get a copy of this book ever since I saw the movie which starred Vidya Balan and Saif Ali Khan. Somehow It was impossible. The book stores I checked never had an English translation. Finally my beloved sister-in-law gave me a collection of works by  Saratchandra Chattopadyay .( One of the best gifts I have ever received indeed)

So I finally read the book. I absolutely adore the style and depiction. But somehow it didn't make my heart warm like I thought it would. I am generally blind in my devotion to bengali novels of pre -independence era , I am a hopeless romantic who never get sick of love stories and I did enjoy the movie. But....
May be my expectations were high and may be I am really put off by the fact that Sekhar is a 25 year old man and Lalita is a 13 year old girl whom he tutors. So they didn't quite sit and write and compose 'Piyu Bole' they way they did in the movie.

 Can a 25 year old man really fall in love with a 13 year old. I know the story is set in Calcutta in the early decades of 20th century. Child marriage was quite the norm those days. But suppose if this happened in recent times wouldn't we just call Sekhar a 'pervert'? Especially since he was her tutor. Take the part where Lalita worries about repaying Sekhar all the money she owes him. He looks at her and says it is actually getting repaid.. Really? And when she accidentally garlands him in what is supposed to be a 'doll's wedding' he tells her what shouldn't have happened has happened and they cannot revoke it. He even goes on to kiss her and she doesn't protest as she is convinced that  he owns her now. Really...?

This actually makes me think. If this was love where do we draw the line. Whats is love and What is perversion?

Just saying hello

                                                            I started this off a million times but somehow never really got a grip. I really do mean to do this from now on. Aahh Perseverance - That is what we need.

Navneeth went to school.. So I sit here on my balcony looking at the trees below. Its interesting how the leaves move with the wind. Sometimes the leaves of the oak stay stubborn even when all the maple trees are dancing around it. I wonder why..

They warn you of this very day when you quit your job to take care of your precious new born. Suddenly you have plenty of time and you don't know what to do. May be you regret your decision of leaving the job, may be you don't , but certainly you have some re-inventing to do.You can immerse yourself in household chores,  or find the copy of your resume from that long forgotten 'work' folder and try to get back on track. Or just sit back on the balcony and let the quietness take over you.    

 I did have a plan. And as an Engineer I was trained to work according to plans. I certainly had a plan four years ago on my last day at work when I sat at the cafeteria looking at the Manhattan skyline across the river. But somehow life didn't quite go as I planned. Life runs on a different kind of software. It was high time that I realized that.

 I have learnt to love this life on the detour. I had a wonderful time in India roaming around the paddy fields with Navneeth. He used to love throwing stones in water.Now after coming to Germany, we have redefined our comradeship and idea of leisure. He does have the habit of driving me crazy at times, but which 3 (and a half) year old doesn't?

 What next? That is the big question.Hope I find the answer to it.