Angels sans wings.

I have a strong belief about the existence of angels. Don’t know how many among us can join me when I say this. Let it be anything, their presence was felt in various episodes of life. They don’t have wings. They don’t fly. They are just someone who may sometimes match with my frequencies. And I call them my FRIENDS.

In my case I’m lucky enough to get a mass collection of angels of different age, colors, and both genders. When some among them become too closer, they take the form of any format of a blood relation with respect to their age, the warmth of their affection and the monsoon of care they shower on me. The constant interactions in those different circles of angels have helped a lot to be least good among the worst human beings on earth. I love me more while with them.

Mr. Good God has always kept sending these blossoms to me at different stages until today. And I think the so-called “Formality” fails to survive in this relation. This may be because there is no middle-man between me and the sender.

As of me, I never left out contact with any person who has befriended me. At least once in a blue moon I get in touch with them. I don’t know how much they rate me as a friend. For, time always used to make it difficult for me to let them know how much I loved them. Among them there are a very little who knew why and what was between me and them.

But by God’s grace, I get ample number of friends wherever I go. Even these on-site visits added many to my friends list in facebook. Many of them don’t know English. My sincere thanks to Google Translate which helps us to do the online chats. It is helpful. Technology can brighten the horizon, widen the frontiers, kill the distance and deepen the ocean of friendship. It’s true. 

Never stay like an anchored ship in the ocean of life, when the tides of friendship hit you from all sides. Flow along with it. All you have to do is to decide the right combination of wind, wave and direction and then sail along. A good sailor is the one who identifies the right combination of wind, wave and direction until the end of his voyage. A good sailor is someone who talks to the wind, feel the warmth of the tides and embrace the directions. He won’t feel he’s all alone in the lonely ship sailing in a plain ocean..

Yes..!! Friends…, they are Angels sans wings….

A dream that none dared to dream…!!!

The stagnant smell of spirits and medicines in the hospital verandas always used to disturb me a lot. As someone opens the door of that spacious hospital room, the squeaking noise of the wheel-chairs and the operation beds as they rolled over the hospitals marble flooring made a slight peek into the room. Also some impatient footsteps of the doctors who were on their rounds followed by at least a dozen nurses and the beep of various machines which was responding to the signals given by the strings and wires glued to the patient’s body was heard in perfect clarity. Some of my very close friends and some doctors and nurses were also with us. Could not remember who else were there in that spacious hospital room. All of us were assembled in that room following the doctor’s call for the people really close to this patient.

Apart from the beep sound of the various machines and the arrhythmic breathing of the patient, grey and cold silence that prevailed in the room takes control of the atmosphere again. After few touches with the stethoscope on the hairy chest of the patient, the doctor said "Anytime".

I was that patient….

Was it an accident or any other disease that led my way to that bed..?? Don’t know. Vision was blurring and I could hardly recognize the visitors. Anyways, their voices could be recognized. One of them tried calling my name. But the oxygen mask and my overall impuissance was held up high to be a barrier for making any response to their calls or add some wit to their conversation.

Suddenly I felt myself failing to grab enough air through the mask following which I ran out of consciousness. But I'm ‘awake’...like Mr. Clayton in the Joby Harold’s movie. Feels good to know that I haven't lost my wit even then. I appreciate that. The visuals, the dialogues and the background score faded. "It’s time...it’s time to leave all my favorite people, smells, tastes, roads, bikes and Thrissur"; I told myself.  My chest is congested. I wanted to cough. But I couldn’t even dare to think of the pain. Perhaps that would be the last time I move my body myself. It could all get over by that.

I coughed...and saw thick red blood spilling into air, like big and small ruby crystals, as that cough was released with all my leftover strength which raised my body almost to a straight legged sitting position. My own blood spilling into the air – that was the last scene I saw… I was getting out of the body that I used which was called Varun by the world. As I came out, my body fell back to bed in a slow-motion. I’m dead.

I wished to be a free man while passing through those clichés. A free-man, without any strings attached to my relationship table. I wish I was…and I guess I was...

It was an unbearable freezing temperature in the new world like a new born baby.  The overnight rain has gifted a chilly morning. The weather waked me. The action packed dream last night placed my blanket somewhere far from me.

As I got up I felt as if it was my first morning in the other world...I felt a cold freshness. Loved it...my death…no one thinks of it in the race called life…its fun to… And the words that pierced first into my thought were that of Late Bharath Murali - the renowned Indian actor.

"An Iron Rod boasts that he is the ultimate being on the surface of earth. But, Fire corrects him by melting the Iron Rod the moment they meet. Then Water comes to defeat the Fire which then boasts of its victory over Fire until it is evaporated by the sun to the Clouds. The Air which then mashes and scatters the Clouds is tamed by the Man. Man - he loses himself when Sleep conquers him. But, Sleep can’t keep his victory for long. It is only until Death comes to grab him. Yes..!! Death is the real hero."

1 year @ iSmart (a diary entry)

20th July, 2010 :

Today, I completed the 1st year of employment in my life. This as a great honor. And feel so that I was able to  gather more in this one year alone than what was done in the previous 21 years of life as a student. Three hundred and sixty five days back, on this day, it was like joining a new school where there are only seniors. But now, being one among them gives me great pleasure at heart.

Thank you iSmart. Thank you to those very few people whom I consider as my teachers. And more than that thank you; my dear god, for special gems that you added into my best friends list in this span.

Thank you Softies.....Thank You.....

Indonesia

Indonesia..., a country about which i have heard only during those Tsunami tragedies in December, 2004. But the wonder that struck me was that when I was asked to travel to that land by my Project Manager, I didn’t have even the slightest jerk within my inner chest. I would always love to appreciate me for that kind of a response. Like how a philosopher told "face everything that comes to you with a slightest smile. Let the situation be anything. Let it be one that makes you laugh like the birds in the bright morning sky...or let it be one which makes you erupt like a volcano...or even let it be like one in you may drown yourself in the tears you shed..". Though I haven’t grown to the level words of that forgotten philosopher, happy to feel the change of the grown happening in me.

It was my first flight after almost fourteen years. From Cochin to Singapore and to Jakarta. Sudar, our client's driver was waiting for me at the airport. A man who was wearing a safari suit kind of dark blue uniform with a arrowed heart tattooed near to his left thumb. Apart from him one big thing what the sky of the capital city had for me was a heavy rain that poured as I stepped out of the airport. I felt a welcome rhythm being played by the rain.

I was taken to our client's office first where my colleagues Manu, Abhilash and Arun were there. Manu and Abhilash were in Jakarta since October and Pazhavoor since November. I was the last man to be on site for this project. Those, in my relatives who heard of this exclaimed this as a luck of mine and those in office advised me that it was a good team you are having. But frankly, as I said earlier, this trip was not at all capable enough to raise my excitement to at least the quantum of its degree. This was not because I will be missing many events like my Shivarathri, Vishu or my greatest Thrissur Pooram. Even though the reason was strange for me, I like the way my mind graphed the excitement curve to a straight line like a graph pertaining Perfect Elasticity.

Though the country was known for being the biggest Muslim republic, no being can have such a feel seeing the dress codes of the locales. Nor could anyone even hear the Quran being recited by the priests loud like in the Middle-East mosques. The people were free, still they are religious. They never fail in offering their prayers five times each day. Rather, I would like to say that they enjoyed it so well. I loved that.

Like any country, this land of more than 17000 islands also have so many places blessed by the omnipotent to make it  the so called "tourist attraction". Our weekends that normally start from Saturday noon were mostly utilized for the city exploration like the new malls, and some places for entertainment and so on. Apart from this our client had a deal with our firm to take us for trip once in a month which also gave a pretty good access to the places outside the city.

And Aphorisms would be in limelight in the Guinness Book of World Records for being the largest blog when I start to sketch about the friends we got there. It’s usual that we befriend with those working as our clients. Excluding this there is a big gang of friends that we got. We must really thank the traffic jams in Jakarta. One day, when there was one such block, Sudar took us to office through a different way where Pazhavoor spotted a neatly painted Badminton court. That Saturday we went and enquired about if we can play. They agreed and next move was to Pejatan Village (a mall nearest to Siaga Raya - the place where we stayed) to buy the rackets, shoes and other accessories for the game for only three of us.

Abhilash - "Mr. Body-Conscious" feared to lose the shape of his muscles if he takes his gym and badminton in tandem. So he stayed back when we used to go for playing. And out of three of us Manu bhai and Pazhavoor were excellent players. And I was the infant among the armatures in that land smashing and dashing badminton players. The court actually belonged to a person called Saffy. He’s an automobile mechanic by profession. More than the income he got from this court he was concerned about the enjoyments, comments and loud loud laughter that arouse from the daily get-togethers. Saffy's badminton court used to be alive from 8pm to at least 2am - 3am. People keep coming in play their game have chats, some may take a quite nap, and some may have their dinner. The kind of mental bond those people had among themselves often reminds me my gang of friends in Vadakkumnathan temple.

Apart for all these, I would thank Indonesia for the 3 gifts that she gave me,

1) Aphorisms

2) Five medicine-free months.

3) This would be perhaps the longest span in my life in which I haven’t lost my temper even for a single time.

Speaking about my colleagues; it was my luck to be with the three of them. More than a colleague there where several moments where I used to feel that they cared me like a younger brother both at work and outside. And also a must mention name is of our project manager Mr. Manoj Balan or Balettan (That is how Abhilash and Pazhavoor used to call him. Gradually I too followed them) who was there for almost a weeks stay. As professionally a new born, they fed me with their knowledge which shined bright in the light of their experience. Thanks a million trillion times to them.

Though Amma's loneliness used to hurt me often, I knew that she could manage it well. All together, thank you gods for the five moths of meditation-like life that you gave me when i wanted it very badly.

to de•ter•mine

It Keep your dreams alive.
It understands you to achieve anything for which requires
Faith and belief in yourself, vision and dedication.

Remember all things are possible for those who believe.
It is determination.
“I look further: To determine, its meaning… one must return to its source…”

To de·ter·mine.

To decide or settle, in a dispute, for example,
conclusively and authoritatively.

To end or decide, as by judicial action.
To establish or ascertain definitely, as after
contemplation, exploration, or computation.

To cause to come to a conclusion or resolution; to reach decision; tenacity.
To be the cause of; regulate.

To limit in scope or extent.
To put an end to; terminate.

To come to an end.
It is determination.

Determination is to determine with the persistence of will.
What is the course of one’s will that leads to such persistence?

Determination, it is when a process comes to a finish and closes down.
Why would one want to start first with determination when it is the last in a process?

Determination is an end to an intellectual and moral narrative?
The process itself prior to determination is the matter of interest and value.

One must believe in something prior to determination, be convinced of a course.
Mind is all that counts. You can be whatever you make up your mind to be.

A word it is, that explains a preparation of psyche to lay a mode of approach.
It is an ultimate strategy of the self to conquer a need.

It is determination

It is there within any being that is considered to be a living one.
But yet, at times it tends to be so tantalizing…

I don’t want it to remain so.
I don’t want it to remain so.

Writing

Writing can never be told as a passion or a habit for me. I can only call it a byproduct of my relationship with solitude. Or the relation thus formed when solitude embraces me with all his love can also be called “writing”. I have always enjoyed that. Sometimes I enjoy that with a loud laugh, sometimes with a deep sigh, sometimes with a few drops of tears, or sometimes with wonder. Whatever it may be, making a clean and white MS Word new document dirty with my words and thoughts gives me great pleasure.

More than all that I believe writing as my time machine, it takes me to the precise time and place I belong. And for that to happen I should be accompanied with my friend Mr. Solitude. He narrates me the entire script and I, like an obedient little child, captures those echoes of silence. I simply love it. Thanks a lot to Indonesia for that. Though not up to my Thrissur, she is also beautiful. And “APHORISMS” is a gift. Don’t know if it’s my gift to this land or her gift to me.

And to the subject or the writes I have posted is usually on the incidences that touched me the most or it may be of some souls who have their influence on me. But “Thrissur” and “death” are those two which can be found in watermarks in most of my posts. Some of them who have gone through my posts have criticized me by questioning what is there so much to write about death…don’t make posts so negative and so on. But, when I’m given a chance to speak, write or debate on this Mystery-Man...Death… just a post will never ever is enough to shrink the whole phenomenon into just a few lines or pages.

I recollect what Uncle Zia, my father’s friend and colleague, once wrote to me in reply to my mail in which I told him that I have somehow got struck with a new hobby. He said “This is something I tell everyone. You should have hobbies, at least one. It keeps you going all the time. When you are sad, tensed, busy or even happy. I found your writing interesting and you have future in that. Avoid using words which the average reader finds difficult...” Until he said that, I was totally ignorant of the presence of several moods under the nuances of which each scribbles are made on this sunless sky. But, unfortunately I don’t have habit of reading books.

Mein Kampf of Adolf Hitler and Mario Puzo’s “The Godfather” are the only two books that have my finger prints on all its pages. Adolf Hitler has always been a hero for me. Apart from what was taught in our 9th standard History chapters, I had a different angle to view that personality. His oratory skills and the way he came to power used to motivate me. There is a heavy lesson of determination and will strength that can be sketched out from his life and death. Though for history he was an unpopular chapter, for me he was the most popular leader. My friends often used to say I’m crazy for saying all these. But…what should I say..?? I have no materials to make them think as I do…for I know; I’m not as influential as Hitler.

Even for The Godfather it was somewhat a similar approach for me. The protagonist character of Don Vito Coreleon which was done by Marlon Brando and Al Pacino’s as Michael Coreleon also became one of my favorites when the lines in the book were made into dialogues, scenes and fights on the silver screen.

So that was all what my habit of reading is. But for writing, I have never felt that reading habit act as a backbone. Of course yes, reading is important for having a better way of presentation. Anyone can write anything. All they need for that is a thought to express what they feel. That thought can be their principles or it could be a different essence that they might discover in the world around them. And in all those what makes a piece of writing as beautiful as a level of tulip flowers on the snow covered mountains fed by the clouds is the way he describes his findings or his feelings. Malayalam film directors and script writers Padmarajan and Renjith’s and writer M.T.Vasudevan Nair’s scripts are those which I can use to exemplify what I said. Their works are like a river beautifully signed by their thoughts and imagination. Each work is born from a different gene.

“Writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia”. Those were not my words… but several times...No, I have felt it each and every time I go through my own words in this Aphorisms. I don’t know how long it may go or when does APHORISMS stop. It may impede when I reach back to my own gorgeous mother land, where I meet my comrade Mr. Solitude only rarely. But there I also demand that acquaintance rarely. I love to be accompanied by Mr. Solitude only when I’m away from them.

“The pages are still blank,

But there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there,

Written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible.

I love writing.

I love the swirl and swing of words

As they tangle with human emotions.

Words - so innocent and powerless as they are,

As standing in a dictionary, how potent for good, evil, madness and foolishness

They become in the hands of someone like me.

Writing…Writing…Writing…!!!”

May 25, 2010

She was a beautiful young lady. She wasn't our relative. But, like few others, she too was an elder sister for me and Mol.

Her death..!! That was the big news that Amma had on our daily call. Amma herself wasn't yet revealed from the cold shiver of shock on hearing this.

Few warm drops rolled down my cheeks as I closed my eyes after hearing this. It could be my love for her that would have made those drops so warm. There was a hug that I owed to her and I can feel my spirit struggling to get out of me just to give her that tight hug with all my love.

Losing your loved ones is something beyond my ability to even believe. The immature child in me often places them living a peaceful and happy life somewhere far away. For me, she’s still there in Dubai…living cheerfully...chilling out…!! (in her own words). When the red status symbol against her name in my Google Talk chat-list doesn’t glow, I feel that her blackberry might be switched off and she’ll sign in soon….and ping me once she’s back online calling me “Chottuuu….”

There are some situations that life throws at you, where you behave just like how that 11-year-old kid did when he lost his Dad no matter how big you grow. Today, I feel so trapped in this hotel room in Jakarta. All I could do is to speak to all her relatives whose contacts I have on my phone.

My love to everyone in her family….my prayers too... 

They will stay strong!! Love you, Zafars!! 

It's just a thought.

Unaccompanied is everyone in this earthly concern.

To get someone’s adore is an enormous dispensation an immense admiration.

One must always keep making an endeavor

To be deserving of such admiration –

I would want that let the Almighty be disappointed

With me but not the ones that loves me.

I have decimated myself into almost a half and a third

In my craving to realize the anticipation of those that give me warmth and care.

I have always made such endeavor, that those that need me or desire me,

I should for them, be easily accessible.

But consider them scant whom I desire and to continuously keep making,

Effort to get them, to acquire them to win them over.

To acquire, to get close to the Almighty, requires great pious effort,

But to get to and acquire an individual, a human, requires no less a pious effort.

Those that have become mine, I still consider them as those

I have yet to acquire or come close to and am in continuous endeavor to get them

- The effort to get what I have got –

Yes, this is what love is!

The "T" Factor

She is a very slender and fair girl with a heavy and profound name (only when you are hearing it for the first time). A girl of North Indian origin whose family has been hailing in Thrissur for a couple of generations to run their family business. She also speaks Malayalam like any other native of Thrissur.

“She’s my best friend...as fragile as a crystal statue.., as light hearted as an angel.., as short-tempered as me. She's a cool personality having her own dreams n ambitions and apart from being ma best friend...she's sometimes my teacher and always like my cute little sister...

She's my 666% certified BEST FRIEND....”

This was only that I could express when I wrote a testimony in her Orkut profile. She is my best friend. We never knew each other even if we studied in the same school for a couple of years. She was my junior there.

It was when I joined for ICWAI at the Thrissur Chapter that we met each other. The knowledge that we were both from the same school sprouted a friendship without a preface phase. And as days, weeks and years passed it grew deeper. And the combine studies with four of us (Shyamettan, me, Praseeda and herslef) at her house also added me as if a family member of hers. Another must say thing about her is that she also used to my Maths teacher during those days, for I used to be thoroughly unarmed in that war-field when the “Probability” chapter comes in to attack.

She’s is yet another sister that Good God gave me. For me, friendship when it grows beyond friendship it prompts a feel in me that they are someone of my blood relation. This feel has given me a lot of mothers, sisters, brothers, uncles and so on. And I too feel that I’m a better human when I’m in their orbit.

And what makes me so happy enough to script this post is that, today she's stretching out her wings to fly into another level of life...she’s getting married today. And it’s really very hard to explain how I feel when I’m not to witness her transition from Miss to Mrs…for there are some events where I in no way can even imagine of being an just an invited guest. This was one such event where I had a role more than that of just a guest.

This post is for her and her soul mate…only for them…

Let them have long, gorgeous, healthy, sanctified, considerate, peaceful, blissful, lively, rewarding married life. My Prayers…..

That is only what this distance allows me to reach out to them…my prayers and wishes to them once again…..

The Last Breath

A few months back, I happened to find a video in youtub. It was featuring the death of a young footballer on field with a song in the background that had its lyrics so strong and awakening. I must say that it literally haunted me for days. The video started with small and soft words which was capable enough to trigger the thought of why this race in life, followed by a song which as I said had a strong lyric, which I'm sure is flown from an awakened mind.

Though it was featuring a scene so unbearable, the way it was thought was simply awesome.

This is how it was…

The Last Breath

From those around, I hear a cry,
An awful, soft and a hopeless sigh.
I hear their footsteps leaving slow...
And then I know my soul must fly.

A chilly wind begins to blow
Within my sole from head to toe
And then the last breath escapes my lips,
It’s time to leave.

So it’s true but it’s too late.
They said each soul has its given date
When it must leave its body's core
And meet with its eternal fate.

Oh! Mark that I do say
Who knows tomorrow could be your day
At last it’s come to Heaven or hell
Decide which now. Do not delay.

"Oh God! Oh God!"
I cannot see
My eyes are blind
And I still me?

Or has my soul...
Been led astray
And forced to pay
A priceless fee?

Alas to dust we all return
And shall rejoice when others burn
If only I knew that before
The line grew short and came my turn.

And now as beneath the soil they lay me with
My record flawed they cried not knowing
I cried worse for they go home
And face my god.

Oh! Mark that I do say
Who knows tomorrow could be your day
At last it’s come to Heaven or hell
Decide which now. Do not delay.

>---------------------<

Hero Hotel, Palace Road, Thrissur-680020

I never even thought that I would have a blog or so. It was my feel towards Rema Teacher that prompted me to do so. I couldn’t stop writing when it was about her. But after the first two posts, it was felt as if I had nothing else to mention as a post. One day when Dineshettan (My brother in law) asked me “what your next post is on?” I said I was waiting for a subject to get hooked in mind. For that he had a very enlightening reply for me. He said “You have subject all around you. All you have to be is a bit selective”. And the result is the remaining posts in my Aphorisms…which now will keep going….

A few days back when I surfing Orkut Communities related to Thrissur, I came to see a community for Hero Hotel. The very next second I too was a member of that community. The next piece of thought that struck me was to share this with the life around me. Some may think that, what is there so much to say about this very low-profile hotel…but.., Hero Hotel deserves a post in my Aphorisms…

Hero Hotel - It’s not a star hotel, nor does it have a chain or any sister concerns. You can only find it at the Palace Road, Thrissur; as one odd figure in the row of world class textile and jewellery showrooms. It is Hero Hotel. You can find it only in Thrissur…only - in - Thrissur.

Hero Hotel is situated in the midst of the Palace Road, which is becoming the most enterprising 1.2 Kilometers of straight line in Thrissur…a place where one can find a very rare blend of Art and Commerce thriving into international fame every passing moment. Apart from that, what this thirty year old hotel has to boast about is the wide range of its customers. From veteran artists, dancers, theatre artists, business men...anyone and everyone can be found there. I have seen many of the prominent figures of Malayalam film industry like Late Bharath Murali, Shwetha Menon, Revathy, the ace directors Adoor Gopalakrishnan and Shyamaprasad here. Even longer is the list of those who can be found there, who make a short visit during the break of any function going on in the Kerala Sahithya Academy, to have a strong tea or snacks. They are all common there. They will be having no reserved tables, no one staring at them and no crowd around them for autographs or photographs. And above the reach of the act of counting will be the moments when the walls of this hotel witnessed the long chats with its masterpiece combination dish – “Porotta, Beef fry, gravy and tea” decorating the table and also being a medium for their chats regardless of its importance. Discussions can go up to any level like the latest issues in art, music, cinema, dance, fashion, banking, animation, real estate and what not.

Arun, a strong Communist and an ardent VS fan, the cool and gentle Sajeeve, -- they own this Hotel now which was started by their father. The other to-be-mentioned characters who can be found here are - the irresistible IKKA (Jamalikka), Thadiyan - a strong fan of Mohanlal, Johnson, Guruvayoorappan- the film critic, Itty, Paul Chandy , Late Santhosh Jogi – the actor, the band Overdrive, the theater activists, the Social Workers, The HDFC Executives, Arena Animators, The Cinematic Dancers…the list goes on.

This is Hero Hotel. It was when I’m in studying in my 9th standard that I came to see this Hotel for the first time. I used to have tuitions after school hours at Rajarathnam Sir’s Tuition center in Palace Road for Maths every weekday from 5:15 pm to 7:15pm. One day when I and Ashwin were returning home I came to notice a new hotel in the corner where the road to Vadakke Bus stand starts from the Palace Road. The rush and the overall atmosphere was as if a festival in there. On my further enquiry I came to know that it was not a new one and it was reopened after a renovation.

For the past 11 years dishes of Hero Hotel keeps my mouth watering. Over these years I also was lucky enough to gain a lot of friends there. And even now ArunChettan and SajeeveChettan call me “Kutty” (meaning Kid). Once, very recently, I asked ArunChettan that everyone stares at me when he call me like that. They wonder: “is Arun calling this big guy, ‘Kutty’”. His reply was something which made me love me more. It was like this which started with a loud echoing laugh… “I don’t remember exactly when you came here for the first time. But, you were a kid when I started to notice you. No matter how big you grow or where you reach…in Hero Hotel you will be called liked that only…” what made me happy was that even in the big crowd that passes through he is mind each day…I have a place in his mind…that’s where I tasted the sweetest honey of friendship for yet another time….

But some of my schoolmates used to stand with the opinion that Hero is no so clean or not so much measure is done to maintain a good ambience when compared to the other famous no-so-big hotels in Thrissur like Bharath, Pathans or Jaya and you cant go there with your family and all. Never ever have I cared about those they used to say. It may be because of a total different circle of friends that I have over there like those names mentioned somewhere above. Or, it could be the addiction to those dishes that was sprouted in me that made me not to care about these. Nor was I bedridden because of some illness from this hotel.

I never used to go there with family. This is the resort only for buying parcel of food and having it at home for the "most-lazy" evenings. But some days when Amma is away, Vivu (my cousin, my right-hand) come my house by around 10pm. And then we used to go to Hero for a very slow dinner and come back late after having chat with all those whom we see there.

If there is a place for us to buy food to make some normal lazy days a little more delicious, this is it. It is Hero Hotel. You can find it only in Thrissur…only - in - Thrissur….!!!

Commerce Batch 2001-2003 ....a tale of 605 days...

Apart from an episode that I wrote about my first day and a slight schema of my school life, there was a period that was left unsaid in that piece of script. It was the final six hundred and five days of my school life. A period that stands like a rose damp in the dew of a cold morning in my life as a student. So fresh. So nourishing. With full of energy.


There were forty of us. We were all combined in our Eleventh standard as the Commerce Batch 2001-2003 students under Jacob Sir and Geetha Teacher. Initially, the entire class was divided into two major groups. Boys and Girls. In that itself there used to be a lot of sub groups too...

But, that situation survived only for a couple of months. By then those great walls between us melted. We used to feel so homely in and outside the school campus. We used to feel it as a spirit when we boast that we are the students of Jacob Sir and Geetha Teacher. It was true that the scale of that spirit was not the same in each of us. It varied in each one of us and it could only vary. And I believe that, that spirit had an out of the ordinary worth that was in possession with no other student of that school.

Jacob Sir and Geetha Teacher. They were the head teachers of the commerce department. Both were strict and loved their students like their own children. But they way they both expressed it was entirely different. When to speak about Geetha Teacher, it is some of her masterpiece dialogues that hits my mind first. Some dialogues like “you people are notorious for your behavior”; “people who laugh for no reason are to be sent to a different place” and so on it goes. But the height of sincerity she had towards each one of her was remarkable. Though we all liked her very much, at times these words used to irritate us a lot. Sorry ma’am for being a bit frank….. But, I’m sure that what we all are today, have a share of the strain that she used to take to bring up each one of us. The sad thing is that to realize her feel for us, we had to move to the then unknown future, the present day, where those old days stands like a gorgeous tantalizing reverie…

Now comes the Macho-Man, Jacob Sir. What should I say about this man…? He is the person who moulds us into Commerce students. He was our class teacher in our eleventh standard. We all used to be his fans more than just students. His voice used to inspire us, scare us, and make us under his control with mutual admiration. He is the Magical-Teacher of Bhavans. A teacher who is the richest for the relation with his students even as the pages of years keep passing after the chapter called Bhavans is over in the book of life. His style and attitude used to fascinate us a lot. And yeah…, among all these the most important one that struck me was his 350cc Bullet Standard. The way he gets onto it, the way he starts it…MY GOD..!!! I was never able to tame my mind at all to wait for a day when I could buy a 350cc Bullet Standard of my own and use it the way he does. It would be an injustice if I didn’t admit the fact that he was the second person after Mohanlal who ignited that dream to buy a 350cc Bullet Standard into a much bigger forest fire which was only to the size of a spark within me. But he never knew that until I told him about it when I went to school for the first time, after my days as a student over there, on an Open-house day to collect my sister’s progress card. And the result…as u can guess was a loud laugh in that rough voiced and the waves of which was bounced from wall to wall several times in that classroom…

Sir used to have a minimum of three periods each in both the Eleventh and Twelfth Standards and each period used to be of forty minutes. And he also used to give us a lot of free periods allowing us to play. Let me be specific…this was never a reason why his students loved him so much. Even if he takes class for continuous hours we used to sit in the class as if we all are in a movie hall watching an action-thriller movie. Though we all were hard core fans of his, the interaction with him is still a nightmare. For him everyone was equal. Even the best student can be a victim of his caning. That whipping sound as the cane cuts the air and then that “CLAP” reverberation as it comes in contact with the buttocks of any one among us… Ooff..!!! Even now when I remember those my body makes a sudden jerk shutting my eyes tightly and stiffening my whole body for a moment. While caning someone Sir’s body language often reminds me Tigers Woods, the ace golf player…a Tiger Wood making a stroke with a single hand.

I was never ever his best student. Yet, by God’s grace….just only by God’s grace, none of my body parts have been a platform to produce that whipping sound when touched by a cane. Even for some issues which on which Geetha Teacher couldn’t make a control, Sir used to take the role of the executer. And in those situations, he may become several Tiger Woods together for just a single stroke. But still, we used to realize the reason and then correct it…both…those who have it and those who see it. But this never used to be the mode of approach when it was against girls. For them it was imposition. May be to write lengthiest problem of the Company Accounts a certain number of times. It’s not as easy as it sounds. Sometimes we may feel that caning is better than imposition. Because caning lasts for only a few minutes tension. But imposition spoils that night’s sleep and will also be caught by Geetha Teacher the next day for yawning in the class.

“Bhavans is a school were one can find the cream of teaching profession. And these two teachers are the purest part in that pot of cream. Of course there are some exceptions. After all there are exceptions in everything and everywhere. Whatever it may be, they are the best.” This was what my seniors used to say when I asked them about Sir, Geetha Teacher and their classes before entering into my eleventh standard. And we continued to say the same when our juniors asked us and it keeps going on. Commerce of Bhavans will remain the same with the energy of a teenager as long as they are there.

This was we…….

Aasish - True lover of Carnatic Music and a Die-hard fan of Mohanlal.

Akhilesh - Calm and quite outside…but a funny volcano inside. Ready for any mischieves.

Ani - Somewhat same like Akhilesh.

Anitha - The heavy-weight girl.

Artika – Brilliant and have a very good smile. She shifted from our school following her father's transfer reducing the strength of our batch to thirty nine.

Arun PA - Quite, Calm, Softspoken…the one who owns an extraordinary tale to say.

Arun R Warrier - The wit…another Die-hard fan of Mohanlal.

Betty – Ever smiling Pretty Betty.

Catherine - Quite, Cute, One among the Top 3 or 4 in the Class.

Cherian - a.k.a Chery. The chocolate guy. ‘Was’ an artist….

Dhanya - Quite from a “far” view. Miss Cheerful.

Diamol - Everywhere, every time…energy refuses comes down from the peak.

Goutham - The Ganguly fan. The silent but the subject in most of the gangs where he is present. Most popular for his gestures and actions.

Jayalakshmi – Quite (not when laughing). The listener among the 40.

Jithu - The Leftist in the making. Don’t know if the Leftist is still in the making or not.

Joji - Athlete. The Ben Johnson of Commerce. A pious guy with his own principles of values.

Krishnadas - Shortest but sharpest among all of us.

Meera – The thin and tall form of fun.

Neethu - Almost a copy of Meera. Someone who always find it hard to control laughing.

Nelson - According to him what he asks will be a sensible question. But, for those who hear may feel he's out of sense…hahaa...Sorry Nelson.

Nihas - The Athlete. The Bruce Lee. Decent guy with all kinds of jokes. Above all he’s a great singer too. He used to be my favorite music system during free hours.

Nirupama - The Judo Girl. Energy….that is what she is.

Prashanth - a.k.a Pashu. The magician. The prefect. The quickest one to get popular. I like that quality of his.

Poojitha - Miss Careless and funny.
Rakesh - Yet another athlete. Hard Worker.

Ray - Better known in another name…OMG..!! He's going to kill me for this. Ray, Aasish and me used to be seated together. He’s my first friend too.

Remya - Studious. Always first or second rank in class…..

Reshmi - A quite little girl.

Sanay - Jolly, cool and soft guy. Pashu's best friend. Everyones too.

Sangeetha - Same as Reshmi. A small quite girl.

Shalini - The slim beauty.

Shoby – “The Revolutionary” as per Geetha Teacher. A great fan of the cow boy novels authored by Louis L'Amour.

Simi - Always Fashion designing in head…also sings well…

Sithara - everywhere, every time…energy refuses comes down from the peak.

Sreejith - Record holder for making Jacob Sir pose like Tiger Woods for most number of times.

Srinath - Artist. Friend for all.

Tony - The Footballer. The Cricketer. All in one and an all-rounder.

Varun G - a.k.a Padayappa. Don’t exactly know how this name came into being. Most of the laughter in chorus during Geetha Teacher's class hours begins from our Padayappa.

Varun N - myself….I have no rights to speak about myself.

Vishal - He's the best known for the way he laughs. Ray and Padayappa are the guys to use to tease him the most.

Vivek - a.k.a Pattar….Quite from a far view…but cheerfully violent as we get closer.
 

…..and when we are together we were called the COMMERCE BATCH 2001-2003…..

Hahhaa…..now I feel as if I sat in the class for yet another time. While writing about each one of us it was felt as if I moved through those six hundred and five days of our life starting from June 21^st, 2001 to February 16^th, 2003 one by one. February 16^th: that was the day that was fixed by Sir to be the last day with the thirty nine of us together in a room called XII-E. He didn’t want anyone to be absent on that day. Will that ever happen again? I don’t think so. Even if it happens again, can we be that same students who were notorious for their behavior as Geetha Teacher used to say? Will we be the same as when we were in those two shades of blue? I don’t know.

That was the best herd for friends I have ever got in my life…and luckily I’m in touch with almost all of them. And some of them got married and now have kids with whom they can share these stories of theirs.

Thank you...dearest teachers...and my dear dearest friends…Thank you all….

My Version of Thrissur Pooram...

Thrissur Pooram is today, rightfully, called 'the Pooram of all Poorams'. Thrissur Pooram is a culture highlight that towers above all other festivals. It is a festival unique in its pageantry, magnitude and participation. Thrissur Pooram is celebrated every year, on the Pooram day, in the month of Medam (mid-April to mid-May) as per the Malayalam calendar. While all Pooram have a huge influence on surrounding neighborhoods and towns, few other festivals require their active involvement. Thrissur town plays host, for 36 hours from the wee hours of the Pooram day, to one of the prevalent compilation of people and elephants.

It was orchestrated by the then ruler of Cochin, Raja Rama Varma, better known as "Shakthan Thampuran", in 1798. The richly ornamented elephants, as seen during the Thrissur Pooram, are now globally recognized. On the Pooram day, nearly hundred elephants will pass through the very center of Thrissur town, or the Vadakkumnathan temple. The key skin of the Pooram fiesta are these festooned elephants with their Nettipattam (decorative headdress), stunning crafted the Kolam, enhancing glockenspiel and ornaments etc. Add to this the Panchavadyam, the rhythmic percussion of the drum, and what would be a cacophony otherwise is turned into an organized but spontaneous sonata. The fireworks will be put on show in the early hours of the next day, will rival shows held anywhere in the world, without even using many of the modern and newer pyrotechnics.

All these keeps the minds of the kids and elders racing at a uniform pace with each bang on the drums. We can see Pooram becoming a common feel over there. And we can feel Pooram taking the elf out of us.



Today 24th April, was the day. Today was Thrissur Pooram. Before making any further move on this post, I would like to express gratitude to my cousins, my right and left hands, Vivu and Navi and the technology that bridged us to make it possible for me to hear the Melam from the office room here in Jakarta.

The festival which has always been a matter of bombshell for me. I haven’t heard of any other festival which has gained so much of esteem irrespective of age, gender, caste, religion and even nationality. People simply enjoy the divine ambiance that Pooram creates. For the natives of Thrissur, each event of Pooram is so emotional…each event. Like the Madathil Varavu, procession in front of Paramekkavu Temple, Elanjithara Melam, Kudamaattam, the eight Cheru-Poorams and the heaven-shaking “Vedikkett” (Fire Works).

Even though the tides participating in the ocean called “Thrissur Pooram” takes its origin several miles away and around the Thrissur town, tides from all over hit the center-point of Thrissur – Vadakkumnathan temple at the same time, which then becomes the epicenter for the entire mind-quaking 36 hours. Really fascinating is the coordination and the choreography of the entire event. Thrissur Pooram has a prosperous history of more than two centuries. The timing, splitting, grouping and assembling of the eight Cheru-Poorams (small parts of Pooram from eight different regions) to form two big Poorams between the two temples, Paramekkavu and Thiruvambady, and then to stand head to head for the color showering “Kudamaattam” is inexplicable. This is why the Pooram of my Thrissur is called the “Festival of all Festivals”. The tradition and the agenda of Pooram remains intact even after two hundred and eleven years. But the festivity keeps escalating every passing year.

The city experiences a jubilant mood since the opening of the Pooram Exhibition, the tempo starts with the flag hosting. This tempo then will be geared up by the sample fireworks displayed in the Vadakkumnathan maidan on the day before the Pooram eve.. This is the curtain raiser to the real display of pyrotechnics of the Pooram. Started as a sample testing of the fire works for alternation/ modification, it has turned to an event attracting very huge crowd.

The “Chamayakazcha” (Viewing the display of decorations &ornaments) is another amazing experience of Pooram which is opened for 36 (last two nights and day).

Proudly I must say…, our family also has a role in Thrissur Pooram. Seven days before the Thrissur Pooram, there is a traditional flag hoisting ceremony in the eight temples which bring the Cheru-Poorams to the two sides, Paramekkavu and Thiruvambady. The Thrissur Pooram flag hoisting ceremony will be first conducted at the two major temples, Paramekkavu and Thiruvambady. This is a traditional way for declaring the arrival of Thrissur Pooram. And only eight families of each region have been granted the rights to hoist the flag by Shakthan Thampuran. It is our family who has the right to hoist the flag in the Choorakkattukara Bhagavathy Temple. For almost the past eight – ten years I also used to be a part of it along with my uncles as eldest of the budding generation of Appat (my mother’s family name). So staying away for all these days from all these events is not an easy task for me.

To enjoy Pooram, one needs to dilute and be a part of it. Even the sun, the heat and the sweat is a part of this heavenly episode. Even the lime juice and the butter milk provided in the road sides of Thrissur Round have the taste and elf of Pooram in it. Even the tiredness and the wandering on that day have a gratification.

And that which lays the composition for the entire event is the Pandi Melam and Panchavadyam. Melam is a classical percussion concert or Melam (ensemble) led by the ethnic Kerala instrument called the Chenda and accompanied by Ilathalam (cymbals), Kuzhal and Kombu. The most celebrated Pandi Melam is staged inside a temple compound at the Vadakkumnathan shrine's precincts in Thrissur. For the last several years, Peruvanam Kuttan Marar is the lead conductor for this symphony of drums known as Elanjithara Melam.

Panchavadyam, literally meaning an orchestra of five instruments, is basically a temple art form has evolved in Kerala. Of the five instruments, four -- Timila, Maddalam, Ilathalam and Idakka -- belong to the percussion category, while the fifth one, Kombu, is a wind instrument. However, in contrast to a Chenda Melam, Panchavadyam uses different instruments though Ilathalam and Kompu are common to both. Panchavadyam which is conducted for Thrissur Pooram will have artistes totaling around 60.

Like any other forms of orchestra, the Chenda Melam and Panchavadyam have no rehearsals or so on. And a true art requires no rehearsals to perform. It just needs to happen. The whole crowd...the entire Thrissur will be seen encouraging the artists by raising their hands in accordance to the pitch of Melam. As the pitch increases, it becomes a magical experience of sound. This is a monopoly of Thrissur Pooram. It is a true divine contribution to the World of Art.

At home too its high voltage celebration on this day with all our relatives. We go out for the Pooram in groups. Each of them has their own beloved event in Pooram. But we, the second generation have no special event. We have Pooram as one whole event. In between those events we have a peep into the C M S School where the Elephants participating on the Thiruvambady side and also the Paramekkavu Temple’s Agrashala area where the Elephants participating on the Paramekkavu side will be preparing for their turn to rock the show. Elephants have always been a craze for me right from the time I started to talk. And it’s the same for all the people of Thrissur too. I remember the renowned poet and writer Madambu Kunjukuttan saying “People of Thrissur have elephant’s black in their blood more than the crimson of hemoglobin.”

I am missing it all… But when I close my eyes I can see those vivid colors, I can hear Thrissur roaring deafening the whole world, I can feel the enthrallment, I feel the turbulence, fierceness and the beauty of Vedikkett. I can sense everything in heartbeats clarity and I can feel the spirit emitted from percussions racing wildly with the blood cells in my veins. No distance can defeat that. I am only the size of an atom’s fraction in this event. If this is the height of my spirit, I wonder how high could be the spirit of Vadakkumnathan...

Nothing is permanent. The tuskers, the artists, the people…keeps changing…everything and everyone will have to move as time rolls. But like for the past two hundred and eleven years Vadakkumnathan will remain the same…he will be there without being a part of anything but yet to witness Pooram until time stops galloping. I envy him…just for this single reason….

Pooram is not something which is or which can be suddenly made. It is a culture. It is a divine festival which once experienced becomes a feeling and remains in the core of your heart. A feeling which becomes the heartbeat for every Thrissurkaaran which has been flown through several generations to reach us. And our mission must be to brighten its color and to pass it on to the next generation.

A billion thanks to His Highness King Shakthan for gifting an event so heavy in all facets it possesses for his subjects yet to be born…. I feel proud when I take in a breath on the land of Vadakkumnathan which was ruled by King Shakthan.

A million Greetings and Salutes to my King…


“Rajaadhi Rajan, Thrishivaperoor desam vaazhum Raja Rama Varman Shakthan Thampuran…Neenaal vaazhattee….!!! …Neenaal vaazhattee….!!! …Neenaal vaazhattee…!!!”

Me @ 25.0 ....

Amma & Me...from a retrospective angle....

Today is a special day. Today is my 25th anniversary of being born to a Mother and Father so great. Today I accomplished 25 years of “not-so-meaningless” living on earth. And the first day of its kind away from Amma and unaccompanied too…childish right..?? I know it’s not all that apt for a 25 year old, “almost-a-MAN” to be so juvenile. But after three months and twelve days of being away from home, today I feel home-sick…today I feel lonely…

In the mid-night itself, soon after Amma wished me, Manu bhai, Pazhavoor and Abhilash came and banged at my door with a candle lighted on a family pack of ice cream (that was all what they could get in a last minute rush) to wish me Happy Birthday by singing the birthday song. As I was in their room even an hour before, they had to limit the cake to a family pack of ice cream. That was what they could make up in that one hour of the youngest part of night. But, for me the surprise element was at its peak. I never expected this. Thanks a lot to them.

I shall never forget this. Yet another day of birth. But this time there are lots of new faces, of which some became the best among my very best friends, to wish me, via mails, scraps, sms and so on. The number of rivers that have flown and some which are still on the way into my ocean of friendship have been consistently increasing for the past two-three years. Colors are becoming brighter these days. Hmm.., I’m growing. The wind and the tide is slowly joining me to flow together, promising me a good expedition. Happy to feel it.

I wanted to start my day by sending a mail to Amma, thanking Vadakkumnathan. I was planning to do this before she calls to wish me in the morning. But as always, Amma makes the first score. I was wished by her towards the end of yesterdays voice chat when the clock ticked mid-night. And today she is alone. Distance is sometimes a curse. I feel this as my failure sometimes. There are some special days on which I would like to be with her…or rather I would not like her to be alone on such days.

All I am, or can be, I owe to my Angel Mother. It is her prayer that makes us lives to tell the tale and thrive in our lives. Every breath she takes in clutches only the prayer for us. My safety is the result of her wait for me. I have felt that in every kiss that she gives me whenever I leave home. That is the crust that protects me.

She is the most cheerful, optimistic and courageous lady I have ever seen. Someone who can take any important decision in no time whether the circumstance turns earth into a hell or a heaven. She’s someone who proved several times to stand steady, stern and with stout even when all arrows and cannon balls of fate was aimed and fired against her. Someone who energizes and motivates anyone by her words, attitude and character. …--- that’s who my Amma is…

I don’t know how fine I’m as a son. For, to be a perfect son to her, whose wholesomeness of mind, thoughts and deeds stands so celestial, I think...I need to hold the grandeur of at least a God. The imagination of all the poets I met evaporated, the ink in all the pens I took dried, the words in all the books I referred vanished, and the mouths of all the Gods were shut...when I pleaded before them to find words that could match the mind-set of love and affection that I have to Amma. How all can I utter it…? I don’t know. Amma...is a word that means the world to me.

Today, when I stand twenty five years away from birth and twenty five years nearer to death…I have no one else to thank or love so much….

Love you so much my Dear…Dearest…Angel Mother......!!!!!

Thank you Amma…I know, that it’s an irony to try to immerse all that you have given me in just a “Thank You”. For, its just like lighting a lamp in front of the Sun…but still….I don’t have even words to express my love for you…Thanks a lot…!!!

A flashback to Bhavans

I was eleven years old, and mol was eight. It was on 2nd of September, 1996 when we first wore that uniform in sky-blue and navy-blue. This is our new school. Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan’s Vidya Mandir…in short Bhavans.

It was around 9:45am when we first stepped into that quadrangle with our Uncle (Amma’s brother). The morning assembly was just over and the classes were about to started. A fresh and fine Monday morning. If it’s just a clean body and a pair of new uniform that defines freshness, then we too were fresh. We were never in a mood to even face a change. But the extent of brutality that time can make by placing the circum stances is simply unimaginable, or sometimes…unbearable.

Asking us to sit in the visitors chair in front of the office, our Uncle went in to meet the Principal. The school has just reopened after the ten days Onam holidays. From a few meters ahead we could hear a rough echoing male voice of a teacher from the classroom at the end of the verandah where we were sitting…we could hear the students pronouncing “Namasthe Teacher” in chorus from all over…some teachers where rushing to their respective classes with the attendance registers…, some students were running to their classrooms with a handful of chalks from the staff-room… I saw those students greeting the teacher’s with their hands (the palms) joined together and saying “Namasthe Teacher” by bowing their heads… I liked that way of greeting very much… some students were still coming… These where the scenes that welcomed us to that school building that stood in maroon and cream color. We watched it all with a chilled heart and a pale face.

Our Uncle came out of the Principal’s room. He patted us and said “The divisions have been allotted to you and you can join the class today itself. All the arrangements for your transportation to home are also done…so don’t worry…they will take care of you...” Before he finished an office staff came to take us to our classes. A Tamilian named KuppuSwamy with the picture of Lord Srikrishna tattooed on his right forearms. He quickly ended the conversation, wished us Good luck and walked away. We moved with that office staff…looking each other…and a lot tensed.

First it was Mol’s turn. IV-C, that was her class. When that man whispered something very softly to the teacher in that class, she welcomed Mol stretching her left hand and introduced her to the entire class. It was my turn next. A few yards ahead I could see the sixth standard classes. I was taken to VI-A. Here too that office staff murmured something to the teacher. He then laid his hand on my left shoulder with a smile and then moved on. I was given a seat in the second bench in the middle row.

After two days of non-stopping yelling, tears and chaos, I could hardly attend what all are happening around me. The heat in my eyes was not set down…those loud cries where still echoing in my ears…my head was paining as if would erupt in no time. I don’t know how mol was feeling. For she was younger than me…but I know...that she would also be feeling the same. That afternoon I was shifted to another class as the previous class was that office staff’s mistake. This was VI-B now. Here I was seated in the last bench of the middle row. The guy sitting next to me started questioning me.

“What is your name?” he asked. I said Varun.

“Where is your father working?” that question was fired very quickly.

“He passed away” I told in a very low voice.

With a sorry feeling he asked, “I’m Sorry; .When was it?”

“Day before yesterday…” I somehow managed to whisper that after a short pause. I could see the change of expression on his face. He suddenly stopped the conversation. That was Ray. My first friend in that school. A relation that lasts even now…even after fourteen years. We hardly have any likes or dislikes in common. But still that relation is quite stable even until this day.

The day of introduction was over. The mourning dark clouds at Achan’s house were still there. It was Amma’s loud cry when she saw us broke that cold necropolis like stillness. Those scenes still haunts me. Each second of those scenes are brilliantly and indelibly imprinted on the walls of my sensitivity. Every passing split second polishes those making it increase its clarity by every passing day.

So that was how my opening day at Bhavan’s was. I don’t know if that school building reflects the love I have for it. Like all the students I too have a lot of tales to tell. Only tales, but no personal affections. After my tenure spanning almost around seven years in that school campus, the only leftover is a handful of friends other than Ray like, Hrishi, Ashwin, Lavin, Aashish, Varun(s)…and one teacher… the one who owns that rough echoing male voice… the teacher whom I saw on my first day in that school… Jacob Sir.

I was never a good student. Or either there was hardly any stuff within me that could make me remain in their hearts. Just kept moving since the weather, time and the whole world around me kept changing. Nothing else… But the change in the entire order of climate was felt only when I sat in the class of that very same person who owns that rough echoing voice… Jacob Sir. I was in my eleventh standard. He hasn’t given me any additional personal affection or care. I was no special for him. I was just the one among the forty commerce students. But, it was there from where I got lighted up with a revelation… A self revelation.

Though it hasn’t helped me during my school days, I can say that by the time I came out I had different attire. I had no attachments and no arguments with anyone in that campus. Only affection I felt was to the relevance they gave to the heritage and the great masses of “out-of-book” knowledge that was imparted to the students. Over the years in my life as a student of Bhavans, those talks and lectures have helped me immensely in laying a platform to gather more knowledge on that religious and cultural. But the factor that was to be felt pity was that, most of the dumb-heads used these only as a mean to cut classes.

Other than those limited mixture of beautiful and ugly scenes and episodes, I have nothing else to say about Bhavans like my other friends have. As the curtain falls, that school building that stood in maroon and cream remains as a backdrop of a play that began after a tragedy and that was scripted monotonously till the climax. And when it’s time to display the credits, I don’t have a too long list… I just have one person to thank. The man who gave his students the essence of education, the man who played the role of my transformer. The man who taught me to fight against circumstances when it plays the villain and to enjoy it when it travels with me in the same direction.

Thanks a lot for him for laying such a platform for me, standing on which I was able to discover and unearth myself which I felt was lost forever. Thanks a lot to that man who owns that rough echoing voice… the celebrated Teacher whom I saw on my first day in that school… Jacob Sir.

…and thanks a lot to that building too that stood in maroon and cream color… Thank you...Bhavans…!!!

"I"

I do not have a story to tell.
I do not have a day to discuss.
I do not have incidents to reminisce about.
I have nothing and nobody to reveal.
I have but just myself.
And having just myself is not such a bad thing after all.
At least I have something.

I may be in possession of the greatest riches in the world.
I may be in possession of the greatest opportunities in the world.
I may be in possession of the greatest wisdom that exists in the world.
But... if I do not have myself … I have nothing …

I may be the poorest of the poor.
I may have nothing in material gain.
I may have no knowledge.
But … if I do not have myself … I have nothing …

If I cannot put to use the material gain.
If I cannot put to use my lack of opportunity to attain opportunity,
then … I am and have nothing!!

At the end of the day it is only the ‘I’ that shall strive for betterment.
It is only the ‘I’ that shall attempt to achieve and overcome,
it is only the ‘I’ that shall face the turmoil,
take the decisions, and face the accolades and the abuse. ‘I’.
Nothing more, nothing less.

There will be support.
There will be friends and well wishers and family
and it’s extended incarnations.
But eventually it will be just the ‘I’ that shall prevail in the end.
I shall have to do,
I shall have to suffer,
I shall get the appreciation and love,
I shall prosper, I shall fail. I.

Such an important word, I.
Can we ever do without it?
I do not know…see…used ‘I’ again ha haa!!

A Royal 350cc Dream.

He was in the garage awaiting a touch of mine…a little dusty…he’s my Bullet 350…the one and only single thing that I dreamt and desired for sixteen years. And this four months gap that came two months after I earned him made me crazier about this 350cc fat boy. I walked around him, dusted him with my kerchief, gave a pat on the tank with my fingertips, and then threw my right leg across him, equaled the ampere, and slightly pushed the kicker. Slowly and steadily he responded ...DHOPP... DHOPP... DHOPP... the clamor which used to drive me crazier than the craziest being on hell, heaven, and earth. My right foot rose to shift gear to the first position. I felt a change in his roar. He was ready for the take-off. Each movement of mine seemed to be mechanical. The man and the machine were moving in tandem as if they knew each other for ages. Slowly, the four fingers of my left hand which held the clutch closely to the handle grip loosened. We started to move now.

I was enjoying each and every nanosecond of those actions. I felt prouder than Alexander the Great on Bucephalus when I’m on my heavy-metal 350cc cast iron engine. We are running on the NH-47. The cold wind carrying sprinkles of small drops is embracing me…I can hear a song in the background. I’m confused. Does it sound like my alarm? Pazhavoor is knocking at the door...Begorraaa..!!! Was that a dream..?? Oh no...

The Bullet was the only single thing that I have wished to own right from the age of nine. I still remember that afternoon when I started to notice this bike that moves with a resonance like at least ten continuous firing bazookas.

July-August was the time when we used to fly to Kerala from Dubai for spending our summer vacation. One afternoon when we were heading towards Muthuwara (Amma’s place) from Thrissur, near the Patturaikkal junction a man in a maroon shirt overtook our Ambassador cab. Just then I heard Achan and our driver talking to each other about the bike that man was riding. From the back seat, I peeped to have a glance of that guy through the windshield of our cab. I couldn’t see him again. But we could still hear that...DHOPP...DHOPP...DHOPP...

That was how I started to notice this machine. As time fled this grew so much in me that anyone who knew me was aware of the Bullet element in me too. But when will I gain it...I knew that one day I will earn it. But when…?? How far am I from that day..?? Even though these questions which I used to ask myself used to hurt me...I was pretty well aware and sure that a day is definitely there.

It was on the 18th of July, 2009 when I made my first move towards this great dream. I dashed into the showroom near Thrissur railway station. From there I got the brochure and various details along with a piece of shocking news that the Bullet Standard 350cc model was going to be discontinued in April 2010. I didn’t know if I could win the race with my only dream before that time...because I was only going to join my new office on the 20th of July, 2009. The reason why I walked into that showroom was just to set a target that within a certain period I should own my dream. But now I was totally confused thinking about whether I would be able to save INR 80,000 by April 2010..?? From here destiny takes its chance to roll the dice in the game.

Everything was almost set with February – March as the deadline. Now Vivu (my first cousin) also joins the party. The wait and savings were going smoothly until September when I was chosen as one among the four-member team to fly to Indonesia on deputation any time before January. Though this was a very good opportunity for me, all our plans were crushed. But it didn’t foment us. We believed maybe it was destined to get a little early for us. And on the 28th of November, 2009 was our day to conquer that sixteen-year dream.  I now own a bullet...!!!

Now when the tires of my Bullet rolls through the path on which the chariot wheels of king Shakthan once rolled…I’m confused again…is it the Bullet that came down from my dream world or is it that I am absorbed into that globe...

When I have a Mother waiting for me, a Father guiding me, a Teacher praying for me, and above all a Deity who is always looking for a chance to bless me...I believe...that no dream shall dare to stay away from me...but I hardly have any dreams left...