When we travel, we capture images, words, thoughts, come across people, cultures, experience feelings of different kinds... and in the end reach a destination.
Here is an attempt at recording whatever we can in a journey through life..
Wet with dew, scented earth, swept clean With tender shoots and gentle touch The horizon lightens up, in a line so lean From pure earth, life is born as such.
To the pores and holes, the wealth pours The wealth of rice has risen everywhere At equal distance and definite in fours Like nature's symmetry painted fair
Across the seeds of first delight Flashing, they come the swift lines Every wealth, within it's boundary right, Like light and sun and all that defines.
With wealth and limits set right Colours; they come, of blessed joy From the cocoon to the butterfly From pure earth, the new baby coy.
Flowers set to bloom, and birds fly Deities descend and tease her more But she, looks at her mirror and then the sky Is she the mother of nature or lore?
Before the descent, the blooms shall fade Birds shall die, and seek solace in her reign In the hungry stomachs of red ants, as they raid But the sun shall rise and give birth again
Dedicated to that beautiful practice of drawing kolams, the beautiful patterns and the untiring hands which create them.!
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter: therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
John Keats could not have been more right!. Art as such is beautiful, be it in the form of literature, music, painting or cinema, there is a certain beauty to it, and that cannot be denied. But when a truly imaginative mind explores a piece of art, tying loose ends, painting pictures out of the dark and unknown, horizons are expanded and a myriad of colours arise like a new rainbow discovered hiding, in what was initially a simple cloud. The beauty of art is metaphorically enhanced so much in it's interpretation.
And such examples have been many indeed.! In that sense, take poetry, their rhyming and simple lyrical quality lends them a beauty, but it is when different minds absorb different things, different meanings and evoking different emotions altogether, that a few words of poetry become so surreal and heavenly. So then take the case of an epic, like Mahabharatha, which is simply speaking a story of sibling rivalry and war, but how much of further analysis storytelling, painting and other art forms it has spurned!.
Raja Ravi Varma, wondered how Shakuntala would have looked like, and then gifted us the most beautiful paintings, that seem so heavenly and out of the world even today. So many philosophers, over a great long period of time, added to and carved, a beautiful piece, the Bhagavad Gita, which beyond being about religion, gives simple facts that lend meaning to life. Like life itself, art begets art.
Recently read "After Kurukshetra", by Mahaswetha Devi, a great author, a fiery social activist and a wonderful woman. She elegantly crafts three stories, with the Mahabharatha in the backdrop, looking at it from angles, in ways, we have never looked at conventionally. What was the common man doing at that time.? How did they react to the war? What is right and what is wrong.? Was kunti's abandoning of Karna, her only mistake. Why did she not acknowledge him later.? Is that correct from today's standpoint, so then were moral values not at part then.?
While Mahabharatha remains the backdrop, she crafts three beautiful stories set upon it's fringes, which analyzes issues like social inequality, widow remarriage and freedom of women in a subtle, beautiful manner, and the irony is that through the eyes of the characters she creates, we look at the characters, we had known to be symbolic of righteousness and then realize how successfully, they have been painted gray. The irony is that in many ways we then realize that when it comes to politics and class differences, things are not much different even today. Talking about irony, wasn't Mahaswetha Devi also the person, who created that beautiful character of Shanichari in the short story, Rudaali. A woman who suffers from grief all her life, and ultimately when shedding tears becomes her profession, her tears have no grief in them. Was Shanichari, her interpretation of Kunti.? A question again, probably which will get an answer in another work of art, when someone, later looks at the works of Mahaswetha Devi in 'that' unique way.
There are questions, which arise in our mind, only when an interpretation initiates us to ask them. To look at a piece of art, from angles we've never thought about, is an exercise that really adds layers to our understanding of any work of art.
When Literature, poetry and paintings vibrate with the sheer energy inherited from one source of inspiration, can visual and aural arts like music and dance be far behind. Take for instance, Shobhana's dance drama, Maya Raavan, which also happens to sketch the romantic, scholar and poet in Ravana, the villain of the piece, Ramayana.
In that sense, nature itself is a work of art. Daffodils were there much before Wordsworth was born. When M.T.Vasudevan Nair scripts a tale like vyshali, or when keats crafts untold stories from a grecian urn or on looking into Illiad and Odyssey, we know that in the end, there's only more art, more beauty, more interpretation and more life.
Tags are like a spark, in our other wise slow blogging lives. You get running for some time, take some rest and then there comes along a tag with a spark from wetspark and you get going. Reminds me of the spark plug in our old Bajaj scooter.! Mathew, inquisitive that you are, you want me to divulge 8 secrets of my otherwise highly confidential life, so here goes eight highly guarded secrets. :-)
8 things, I am passionate about. * Books of all kinds, whether I get to read them all or not. at least seeing them decked up on the shelf gives me a feeling of pride - My only savings so far.! * My family. My ideal family would have been a cross between the Addams Family in Cartoon Network and the one in Little Miss Sunshine, but I'm more than happy with what the dear lord gave. Love you.! * My Country, Like they say, MeraBharatMahaan. * Writing - I still remember the smile on my teacher's face, when someone showed her a poem I wrote. From then, it has just continued. Having said that, I'm passionate about blogging itself. It changed my life for me. * Nature - Green landscapes, Lucid clear blue water and the pure music of the breeze. What can I say, it inspires me. * Music - I love all kinds of music, mostly melodies, old romantic ballads. I get queer faces at me, when I sway sitting in my cube, listening to music. They think I'm mad.! I sure am.! * Society - Does that make sense..? I am passionate about at least working to eradicate one social evil. Don't know which one, probably Female Foeticide. * Cinema - I love films. Watching them, as well as the finer nuances of film making. Be it our very own Padmarajan, Maniratnam, Adoor or be it, Alfred Hitchcock, Tarantino, or the genius of Satyajit Ray. They all make my day. 8 things I want to do before I die. * Write and publish a book. What I will write about, I do not know, but write I must.! * Travel to the Himalayas and stand alone on a high peak and spread my hands and simply freeze that moment.. Ah..! Bliss! * Build a beautiful naalukettu house. Now this, I know for sure is tough! * Ride a bike properly. I know you will say WHAT?! but it isn't that easy for me. I've already failed once in the license test. It's a long drawn battle down there. * Have a wild pet, probably a big boa constrictor. * Sing, in front of a real audience for once. I'm tired of bathroom singing. I could have, but there is a big stage fear to overcome. Gives me the creeps even now. * Teach in a small school, somewhere in remote Wayanad. * Go to varanasi and spend some days in deep retrospect of life.! Grow a beard and dissolve into the confluence of life, nature and people. 8 things I say often * "What to do? Life's like that." - Some thing I claim to have invented. To be patented.! * I call up some one after a long time and they enquire what I'm doing. If it's in malayalam it is "Jeevichupovunnu"(Just living) , if in tamil, it's ethopoguthu.(Somewhat going on). * "Not Interested" - All banks upon earth, know my mobile number, and they wont rest until I take at least one credit card.! (*&^%$$@(!!!! * "Sheri" - means simply ok. * Great! - good or excellent, is not enough these days.. Life, simply has to be "Great!" * "Hello!" - Graham Bell's mistake. * Grre.. Hmprrh! - Ever since I saw The Incredible Hulk! * "Hi" - It's amazing how this two letter word has taken by storm.!
8 Books I last read. * "My Childhood Days" - Memoirs of Satyajit Ray. * After Kurukshetra - By Mahashweta Devi. * 5 Indian Masters. * The Penguin Book of Indian Railway Stories - Still reading. * The Last Mughal - By William Dalrymple. * A Readers' Digest * Outlook * Unheard Voices - Stories of Forgotten Lives by Harsh mander.
8 Songs I could listen to over and over again Now this is where 8 becomes too small a number.. :). So I'll keep two each for the four languages I know. * Tharalitharaavilmayangiyo.. sooryamanasam * Devasabhaathalam Classic of RaveendranMaashu * Narumugaye - Classic from movie Iruvar. Beautiful use of Sangam Literature and lilting music from Rahman. * En Vanile from Johnny * GhananGhanan - The arrival of rain celebrated with joy. Classic from Lagaan * Ae Mere WatanKeLogon - by LataMangeshkar ( Nightingale of India), she sings not only with her sweetest voice, but the most sincere passion and emotion. Great! - There I used it again. * Heal the World - A Beautiful Song, from Michael Jackson. I'm a great fan! (Strictly professional!) * When you believe! - When Mariah Carey and Whitney Houston croon so elegantly, there are miracles and you believe..! Amazing!
8 people I think should do this tag
* Alex - Alex!, In the middle of your philosophy, take a break! :) * Starry - Long time Starry..! Get back !! * Sreejith - My namesake friend.! you've been too busy lately. take this One! * Dwarak - Because I know you've never done a tag before.! * Shankari - In the middle of those wonderful stories, let's get to know you too..! * Chitra - In the middle of train journeys, children and mobiles, do a tag too..! * Jac - In the middle of your ever-exciting travels, how about a tag..? * Vinay - In the middle of your poetry, let's get to know you too.!
So the spark plug, sputtered, coughed, then sprang to life. The scooter travelled for a while, before it realized no one had boarded. I was lying on the sand.!
Why is there blood everywhere On this long winding road.? O' towering son of Kabul, Wherein goes this treacherous road?
This road will take us to peace, my friend But when are these blood stains washed, I ask Pensive and grim, someday there will be peace he says. amidst the workers at their task.
Someday, safe will be our women, they will live Someday, happy will be our children, they will live Someday, rested we shall all be, we will live Live, we all shall, and doves will fly.
Insha'Allah, may your words come true, but. No buts, Someday for the homeless, castles there will be for the hungry, all delicacies and all free Yes!, I say the city will be built as you see
For the homeless, castles there will be, Every brick as strong as a painful memory. For the hungry, all heavenly delicacies, Eating while they talk of those old miseries.
Insha'Allah, Someday, may there peace, be.! Insha'Allah, Someday, may there peace, be.!
In remembrance of all those who lost their lives, while taking valiant efforts to bring peace to the land of Afghanistan. We salute you.
Some souls are sent to earth, with lesser privileges, with almost nothing, but despite all barriers, they find each other, embrace each other and live on.
Gowripuram was not unlike any other village. It had it's own group of innocent villagers, mostly farmers, some lorry drivers, some mechanics and some casual labourers. Some were money lenders, some were housewives, some worked in the garment factories nearby, but all were part of Gowripuram. All were benefactors of the temple in Gowripuram, the blessed river Nelli which provided water and life for all their needs.
Like most other villages, Gowripuram also had it's own legends and folklore, that the villagers proudly related, be it the tale of the temple elephant, which brought up the idol of the goddess from the river or be it the legend of the wicked sorcerer who kidnapped the king's daughter and got punished for it, or the tale of the donkey with a vengeance, that stopped the rains.
But there was one story, that only some villagers, mostly old men or lonely women, told with a shudder, with a shivering of their lips only when prodded, for the story had occurred in recent times, and was no myth for sure. It was also believed that the legend of mad kokila was a curse upon Gowripuram's otherwise peaceful presence.
No one knew where kokila came from, Where was she born ? to Whom?. The truth was that nobody knew. The old beggar woman near the temple had called her by the name 'Kokila' once and the name stuck. She was a beautiful girl, with hazel brown eyes, long slender legs and long hair. She was always on the streets mostly playing around near Mohan's tea stall. She played all day long and when night arrived, she slept below the old banyan tree along with the old woman. It was one rainy night, when the winds howled and the sky turned deathly dark that Kokila became alone. The old woman passed away in her sleep and kokilakept crying as the villagers burned her corpse far away. Kokila knew her life would now change, that her tomorrow would be different, difficult.
The villagers, were not ready to take in Kokila. After all she had spent all her life till then as a beggar. Who knows what bad luck she might bring, but they built her a small shed, gave her food and so she lived. From dawn to dusk she roamed about, eating whatever she got and then she came back and slept, and life moved on in Gowripuram. No one noticed that Kokila never smiled, never laughed, never cried.
And then came Appu, and for kokila, life was suddenly colourful, more fun and full of sound. Where he came from nobody knew. Like kokila, appu was alone, he roamed around and slept at night in the forest. Perhaps because their lives were so similar, there was an instant connection. Kokila and Appu became inseparable as Kokila brought him to her shed. They roamed together and slept together.
Souls destined to meet, shall often meet. Maybe late but there's no doubt about this fate. Meet they shall and their lives, they shall share.
Often in the rain, it grew very cold. Kokila shivered, but Appu would cover her legs with his body and lend her warmth. In the summers, when Appu panted in the heat, kokila collected cool water in earthern pots and sprayed it on him. He would jump and keep running around her playfully, with delight always wagging his tail. Over the years kokila grew, tall and supple, full of youth and brimming with the ripeness of adolescence. A great pair they were, she and Appu, two people whose lives were full of each other.
The once unmindful villagers, in who's world kokila and appu never existed, today they kept staring at Kokila, making fun of her, jeering at her and trying to hug her. But Appu was always nearby. With his resounding bark and fierce grunt, he often set them running. Somehow Appu knew, that in their little world, outsiders brought only misery. With Appu she walked, and roamed all the streets picking at rubbish, sharing food, chasing chameleons and running helter and skelter. They spoke through their eyes, reading each others minds completely.
Days passed by often fun, sometimes tough due to hunger, sometimes due to heat or cold, but always together but one dark day kokila woke up without the soft presence of Appu's fur. Shrieks, barks and shouts rent the air as Gowripuram awoke to the violent symphony of pain and desperation. Kokila ran to the forest's edge with all the energy she had. Behind her the village gathered and stood looking at a cloud of dust, a pack of wild dogs barking and tearing at each other, running all around. Poor kokila, only she could see him, appu in the middle of it all, tired and haggard, wounded and hurt. Poor Appu.
For days and nights, she sat, beside him, beside the body he left behind, the last remnants of his soul's journey through the world, the last remnants of all hope, for Kokila. There she sat, through rain, through sun, through heat and cold.
Even souls have to part, but so often they take with them, the life in the souls of those they leave behind. The souls who remain, lose the remaining life they have, in the tears they shed until they unite, forever again.
In the dark of the night, in the silence of the moonlit night, in the chill of the cold windy night, they crept. They, the blinded poor souls who were deceived, that there would be life, emotion and womanly presence in Kokila's body, crept up till where she sat, beside Appu's departed trail. Blinded they were both by wine and lust, blinded both in body and soul.
As one of them, crept behind her and shook her shoulder, she turned back, her hair haywire, her face almost blue, her eyes blood red. She wounded him with her nails and screamed. They stepped back in fear as they saw Kokila. Frightened to move they just stood there as kokila screamed and screamed. She ran towards the village in seething rage. Screaming at the top of her voice, as once more Gowripuram arose to a violent symphony of anger, fear and blood red madness. Kokila was running fast, tearing her clothes, shouting at the top of her voice, shouting aloud, calling out for Appu. The village looked on stunned as kokila, ran in all her nakedness towards the forest, with all her madness. Gowripuram had lost kokila for ever as she was lost in the forest. No one knew what happened to her.
But the legend does not end, because the learned, and enlightened, the wise of gowripuram later came to know that Kokila was a gifted soul, her Appu had left her, but not without a parting gift, her madness. And so the legend is related to everyone who searches for more. After listening to this much they often depart, but only the wise remain to learn that for two souls to connect, to die for each other, they don't have to be human beings, they only have to be humane, only few stay back to realize that blindness is not in not seeing the sky ,or the bodies, but in not seeing the souls and privileges in life is not in all that can be relished, but in sharing with others all that you have to relish, and then they shared with everyone, the legend of Mad Kokila of Gowripuram.
“It is getting dark”, I must leave she said, With a smile, I nodded my head When again, we both did not know Though sad, our faces did not show
“One last game”, my brother did plead. “Alright”, she said, “I shall lead”. Happy I was, for that last time Play, we shall, like lost lifetime
Colour, Colour! What colour do you choose? Green, it would be, like her, I did muse. “Green!” she said and my brother fled Caught some leaves, “I’m safe”, he shouted.
Leaves, I could have caught, but I ran To nowhere green, did my legs slant Fast I ran, all around her giggling sound
Yet, slow I was feeling the bare feet ground.
Ran, I did round and round and all around If she caught me, or I got safe and sound By touching green, I knew the game would end As my legs hurt, I rejoiced at every bend.
Laugh, we did, at our silly game. Confused, my brother angrily came. “What are we playing”, he wanted to know Both of us wobbled, like penguins in snow
Dark it was, so we had to part Part we did, our lives crept apart Far away, like her I could not muse Like mine, her heart, I could not deduce.
Years and Years, we finally did meet. Shook hands, relived all old tales sweet With her beloved, to smile at me, she did choose Colour, Colour! What colour do you choose?
I still remember, in the eighties my tryst with that marvel called Television. Those years, which even today in several blogs across the Internet, several writers recollect with nostalgia about those wonderful programs on Doordarshan, even today we have had discussions with friends and at the workplace where we've discussed Hum Log and Buniyaad and even laughed at programs like Vayalum Vazhvum ( a daily series on agriculture and farming, in Tamil.), those simple detective serials and cultural programs like Surabhi in the 90`s, they were all the staple diet of the Indian audience. The present youth and middle aged people are all people who fondly recollect, those programs and talk about those golden days. But past is past and we move on with our lives today, those experiences just memories, but yet strong imprints on our conscience and mind. So what about today`s children.?
Since the nineties, television viewing has increased, with the onslaught of Cable Television. Suddenly there were lots of channels all over, and strange dish antennas springing up everywhere on rooftops of houses. There were suddenly a huge number of channels to choose from. From movies,to cartoons, to fashion, to sports, you name it, you've got it. Then came M.TV, F. TV and more, and then to top it all, the news channels, ( those fashionable channels, with brilliant graphics, with picture perfect anchors delivering news 24 x 7 about the most sickening incidents around the world). In computer terminology, we suddenly have had an information explosion in our society, and not just that cultural shock too. Where once parental discretion was used, while Chitrahaar was being telecast, today there is a state of confusion as to which button to press on the remote.
When one form of medium, grows exponentially suddenly in it`s reach and coverage, then others have to take giant steps to keep up. In my childhood, when television was simply switched on, only for that one particular program, books were the alternate pastime. Then I remember devouring children`s magazines like Chandamama and Gokulam. So it was with some excitement that I bought an edition of Gokulam recently while traveling home, simply to relive those memories. I must say I was taken aback at the stories and information. It actually had details about inflation, Ram Setu Issue, the incident of Priyanka Gandhi meeting Nalini and what not.? The maturity and the seriousness of the topics, the letters to the editor, where different children have written in, have all undergone a drastic upgrade. It is not merely the students who get the privilege of education, but due to the reach of media nowadays even the unprivileged are more learned in their own space.
Recently at a social gathering, I somehow ended up with the responsibility of taking care of this child from the fourth standard. Amidst all the festivities, and people running here and there, I decided to take up the responsibility of entertaining him. I pumped in all my story telling skills and told him the story of two monkeys and a cat. After I had finished, I looked at his face and knew instantly that he was simply bored to death.
I started, therefore to tell a new story about the lonely princess in a castle, when I was suddenly interrupted.
"What`s the score ?", he queried. "What score.?"
"IPL ?!". I must have seemed an alien to him at that instant, i`m sure. I was just beginning to explain, how I am not a big fan of watching cricket, when I was stopped midway again.
"Okay, who do you think will win? Delhi Daredevils or Mumbai Indians ?".
Before any more major embarrassment, "Mumbai Indians!", I managed to reply. And that is all I spoke, as I waited silently for the next one minute, listening to his discourse, flooded with statistics and news reports, and injuries, as he delivered the final judgment, the final nail, in my coffin of ignorance. "Mumbai Indians will not win."
It is with awe and admiration, that I see today`s children, their awareness of current affairs, their command over language, often English. I know for sure that I am not jealous, but there is a slight concern, whether all this smartness, this knowledge, is at the cost of their innocence, at the cost of their sensitivity. While there are things children of today should be aware of, like for example child abuse, It is also better they not know certain things. In some spheres at least it`s always better that children remain children.
With all the kind of exposure, there is, at times over exposure, would they grow up to become lazy storehouses of information, while emotionally becoming idiots, or will they become prematurely matured mutant intellectuals? Because after all, as time advances these changes will affect both body and mind. It is a well-known medical fact that young girls and boys are nowadays known to turn mature, in both body and mind at the young ages of twelve itself. Probably these are signs, or probably my thoughts and fears are totally unwarranted, unjustified and unnecessary. Perhaps, even downright ridiculous. I sincerely hope they are.
"How more long do we travel, Amma..? My whole body is aching", complained Chinnu.
"We`re almost there, Chinnu. Try to sleep". replied Seetha.
"Poor Child", she thought to herself, stroking his forehead as she looked into the eyes of Gopi, sitting across her. Gopi turned away. He could not look into seetha`s eyes. This was not the time to think of the past. Surely there`s a bright future, he assured himself. After all it was not them alone that were travelling to their new lives, it was not them alone that had left behind their roots, their homes and their hearts, it was not them alone that were leaving, leaving behind their dear old village near Champa, that small stream of life giving lucid blue water that was the source of all their joys.
"Life keeps changing, and we have to learn to adapt at God`s will", he consoled himself, a little loudly as well, so that seetha would listen. Perhaps she too would come to terms, he thought. But in one hidden glance at her eyes, he had known that it would not be as soon as he wanted it to be. Like the swaying bullock cart, life was a rocky ride, but still gopi managed to fall asleep. Chinnu kept murmuring, while seetha, looked back at her best friend, the river Champa with tears in her eyes. When would she see the sunrise at Champa..?
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The final bell rang at Vidyanagar Corporation School, and the children rushed out of the tall green doors, with great gusto. It was such a relief when the bell rang, as the boys made plans to play cricket at the nearby college ground, while the girls rushed home to their dolls, temples and games.
Amidst all the sweat and noise, Chinnu slowly walked home. His friend Raghu had not come that day, and therefore he didn`t make plans, rather decided to walk home. The exam papers had been given and he had secured decent marks. As usual hemanth had been the topper. O` how he envied him. Anyway that was not today on his mind much. The Class teacher, very unlike his usual strict demeanour had told them about the school`s plan to take them all on an excursion trip, and so all were very excited, already chattering and making plans for the trip, about the toys and snacks they would bring. Chinnu, on the other hand was worried. Would his parents give him the permission. He made a small prayer near the Ganesha Idol below the banyan tree and moved on. He had done his best, the rest was for Ganesha to take care of.
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Gopi reached home early that day. His shop did not have the usual crowd and even more, his son was to come back today from the school excursion and he was eager to listen to Chinnu`s animated conversation. "It`s so soothing to see these children enjoy life", he thought. As he walked towards home, he remembered his own Childhood, his grandmother, the evenings along with friends on the banks of Champa, those endless hours, he used to wait on those same banks, while waiting for seetha to sneak out of her home. All were clouded memories, but they all had that beautiful Champa river in common, at the centre of it all. It had been eight years since they left their home behind, since those government officials walked up to their homes and advised them to evacuate the place citing some welfare project. As living became more and more stressful due to lack of rains, they had been forced to leave. Today he had forgotten all about farming, all he knew was the constant rattle of his sewing machine.
If only, he could discuss all this with seetha, he would have felt lighter, but seetha had resigned herself to life in Vidyanagar, and he did not dare bring up the past and upset her, also worried that she might not share the same feelings anymore.
"There amma, dada has come. Now stop crying", shouted Chinnu. "What Happened ?", asked Gopi, while he hugged Chinnu, noticing seetha`s teary eyes.
"Nothing. I will go and prepare something for you both to eat", she sobbed and rushed inside. "Why is your mother upset, Chinnu? How was the trip? Were you up to some mischief?", queried Gopi. "No dada. I don't know why.? The trip was real fun. There were these two giant green hills and in the middle of it, this beautiful river. At sunrise, the sun rose over a giant gulmohar tree near the horizon and the river was almost decked in gold. I was telling all this when mother suddenly started crying. I didn't do anything.", replied Chinnu between gasps.
Gopi was no more listening. "The sunrise at Champa", he muttered.
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There was a gentle breeze in the evening which was soothing after a tiring day`s work. As children scrambled home, and others returned from a strenuous day at their offices and shops. Gopi was sitting at the porch looking outside, when seetha brought him a steaming cup of coffee. His eyes lit up with happiness. "Did you go to the market today ?", he asked. "No. It was really hot in the afternoon. Did not feel like going outside.".
"Forgot to tell you. Chinnu had called me on telephone from his college. He is coming day after tomorrow on vacation. He said he had a plan.".
"What Plan? Did you ask him to bring all his clothes and bedsheets..?", queried seetha. "Plan.. I don`t know. He didn't tell me. Yes he`s bringing all clothes. Don`t worry".
Two days passed waiting for Chinnu, and when he finally arrived, it was as if their home suddenly came back to life. "Amma, Dada, you remember I told you I had a plan ?"
"Yes. what is the plan?", asked Gopi. Seetha silently looked on. "Tomorrow dada, you shut down shop, amma pack everything for two days, we will go to Champa."
"But..?", seetha managed to say. "No buts, now or never amma. Let us go. I have booked the tickets and have saved enough money, from the tuitions I took, while at college. Let us just go.". Gopi never spoke, only his eyes beamed.
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"No! It`s not possible. The whole place is blocked and I could lose my job. No way", shouted the watchman. They had at last arrived near Champa at midnight only to find that the way was blocked by a government checkpost. It was no use arguing with the watchman. Before Chinnu, started to fight with the watchman, Gopi consoled him and they prepared to turn back.
"It`s Ok, son, you've already done so much for us, by just trying to bring us here.", he remarked. Chinnu was still sad. As they slowly walked back seetha was again reminded of the time, when they left Champa.
"Sahib, Sahib... I can take you to Champa", they heard a whisper as they turned a bend. It was an old haggard man, with a long pole in his hand. He looked like he had been in the forests there for centuries. "Sahib, I have a boat. I can take you to the river Champa. I take many tourists often. Please pay this old man a hundred rupees, it will do".
"A Hundred Rupees! No way. and let me tell you we`re not tourists. We are people of this soil. You cannot sell us our our home." Chinnu, came from behind and took Gopi`s hand.
"Please Dada, let us go. Just this once. Please.", begged Chinnu. "But Chinnu..", Gopi started to say. "Let us go. It`s ok", seetha exclaimed in excitement. Gopi pretended to look angry, but his eyes betrayed him. They followed the old man, as he lead them through the forest towards his boat.
The boat was shaky at first, but slowly they all sat down. It was after all a ride on Champa, their beloved river. The smell of those wild flowers and croaking of the frogs, lending the whole night, it's own natural symphony. It was still dark and so they just sat silently as their old boatman rowed and rowed towards, what they could make out was a valley, between two giant hills.
And then suddenly it happened!.
From the horizon, a pink, and magenta gleam of light suddenly illuminated the sky for a long distance. Slowly the ray of light widened, and then at the horizon, the water started turning golden, like a million lamps having been lit upon the temple pond. The light reflected from the beautiful red blossoms of the Gulmohar tree on the banks, and as the leaves slowly descended upon the water, it was almost as if tiny red fairies were descending upon earth, pure earth, pure water, pure life.
"Amma, dada.. you see that..? Isn't it so beautiful..", Chinnu exclaimed.
There was no reply. Gopi and seetha were standing on the boat, their clouded eyes fixed in a trance. No more were they father, mother and son. No more were they Gopi, seetha and Chinnu. They were just three children, three children holding hands, enjoying their beautiful Sunrise at Champa.
Conservation of our environment and spreading of awareness for the same is the buzzword everywhere and it is truly heartening to see the same. Everyone takes steps to do rain water harvesting, saving on electricity, recycling paper and plastic and so on. It definitely is the need of the hour and the fear factor induced by catastrophic visions of the future like Global warming, and Ozone holes have somewhat helped add a sense of urgency and alarm to these efforts. So today people buy environment friendly cars and builders or factories aggressively advertise how environment friendly they are. We have suddenly started to embark upon a mission of repair and restoration, in fear of the future repercussion nature could wreak upon us, which is all very good, but the truth is it would be more honourable and also spirited and powerful if the soul of our efforts were not just to save ourselves, but to save nature and mother earth that we once loved a lot and was effectively a part of our lives.
This love for nature and the soothing effect it can have needs to be rediscovered. Tomorrow`s generation today grows in concrete jungles, in complexes where they are used to travelling by elevators. Playing in the water, to them, means playing in swimming pools with all those rubber toys. It is for the benefit of this generation that they must rediscover the simple natural joys of the past, which their ancestor had the privilege to enjoy. You cannot venture out to rescue something, which one primarily has not loved or known personally.
Take the case of all temples and heritage sites. It is because we marvelled at their beauty and splendid workmanship and art, that we actually took steps to renovate and preserve. Similarly unless we are marvelled by nature`s beauty and comfortable in living a simple life in communion with nature, it is very difficult to relate to and understand the need to preserve and take care of the same.
It is time to head to the villages, to those remote places, where we all have our roots and absorb and appreciate it`s value and beauty and allow this love and warmth in us to permeate to the next generation, to show them that there`s a world and life outside your flat, without a television, without a washing machine, without a shower or a geyser, and yet, a place where you can learn to live, and thus provide an experience in all that they will treasure and aggressively and actively seek to maintain throughout the stretch of their lives.
My uncle, who has his own wonderful little blog here had recently written about the alarming decline of crows in Kerala. It is a startling observation, because it shows to what extent the change in our lifestyles is affecting the natural cycle and ecosystem at such a rapid pace. Crows are not just birds, they are cleaners and scavengers who are given the natural responsibility of cleaning up the place around you. It is our lack of love for the natural process and techniques, which is leading to this decline, the loss of this knowledge and hence putting us in the grave situation that is there today.
In our active and vibrant society we are used to a lot of colours. Colours of paints, colours of buses, new buildings, office complexes, food wrappers and what not. The secret to the panacea of our environmental problems is that today we forget to miss the crystal blue of the sky, the beautiful placid blue of the waters, the dark black of the crows, the sprightly green of the trees and plants. The secret lies in missing the green of beautiful mother earth.
Pics Courtesy : All pics taken at my native place in Kerala.
The sky is painted in reddish shades Drowsy sun, seems eager to leave Red is the sky, red is the grass and blades My blood and vermillion, together they grieve
Bells clang, small lamps lit in a fiery dance The temple stands witness. silent and calm Down, down, my forehead splits thence; They all stare, like bees, a swarm
My mind, i`ve heard, is stable not Lively, it flows, my red head, so numb Stability, thy meaning, i so forgot Desires at heart, to life i won`t succumb
When, my blood dries, cure, is to come my way The lamps take life, and light up the godly face Her merciful eyes, wont let my madness stay Or so they say, to my clouded reddish haze
Farewell, I bid, amidst their hymns of pride Smeared in colours, to walk along a peering mile At her feet, i kneel, at her lips, my eyes ride Forgive my mind, but is that a mocking smile.?
Name: Srijith Unni Home: Chennai, Tamilnadu, India About Me: I am an human being who is learning about other human beings, the world, Life and it`s intrinsic complexities.. I am a person searching for answers. A soul which needs to leave an imprint, so that i may visit my blog again in my next birth. See my complete profile
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