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,.