The NEWS.

North-East-West-South…The NEWS – As in Wikipedia, News is the communication of selected information on current events which is presented by print, broadcast, Internet, or word of mouth to a third party or mass audience.

Earlier it was like bringing the information of what all was happening around the globe to your living room on just the press of your TV remote. Now it’s even simpler and easily accessible. Unlike the real purposes meant to serve, the so called “NEWS” is now being the leading entertainment subject overwhelming the Cinema, Music, Sports and all other matters meant for entertainment.

Personally and frankly speaking, NEWS is one such thing that I hate the most. My colleague, who is also my roommate often speak to me in exclamation that he have never seen such a person (me) who takes less than two minutes to read the newspaper.

Though I explain my theory, he was never ever convinced. I used to argue that is it not with mind state of gathering some information they read the newspaper rather it’s like kind of reading a suspense thriller novel. Yes, it is. One will realize it when he spends a minute to just stop and think. The hot news’ are just more similar and also of less quality in subject, language and culture when compared to the stories that run through the pages of a book or a reel in the theatre.

People started accepting that they are being cheated, the way they are being cheated and also reading and enjoying that vey same way they are being cheated. The newspapers and the channels rip open all the stories, the police findings and also the various impact that follows. It’s all good, fine and healthy. But as time rolls, there emerges some strange elements like TRP, market etc...etc.

It could be this pressure, which the ‘business man’ who owns the channel or the newspaper implies on the reporters that make way for this kind of an output. For instance, one can get to understand it from a very simple example.

Cricket is a game which is almost a religion in our India. And if match is going to be played 2-3 days before the game itself, the analysis of the various experts, pitch report, players’ interview, press conference and all such stuff starts piling up in the newspapers and the channels. And if any of the players are not included, the reason behind needs to be explained; and after the match is played, then comes the match fixing scandals, misbehavior of the players, umpire’s biased decisions and all such things gains space in the breaking news scroll. One who misses to watch the match finds it really hard to plot the scorecard to know what and how the match was played from the sports area in the newspapers.

I mean, no one is even bothered about the match. Right from the beginning itself the reporters, reports, readers and viewers get into the forecast and the analysis. Let me purposefully skip a major plot, the politics and the politicians, which and who gives birth to news reports at least in every 10 seconds. We live in a sadist civilization. Here, people read the news of a gang raped girl with the ease of reading a comic book. No one cares.

I don’t have any idea of how many people can agree with me when I write this. At one or the other point of time I’m sure that all of us might have had a wave of this thought. Don’t take the news to your brains and capture your senses. It will be just justice if the news’ are given the importance they deserve.

One major benefit that I have felt that the modern day journalism has gifted the public with is a strong rock-solid heart making the public capable enough to flick a smile on his face after reading or hearing the news of any great tragedy that happened around him… unless and until it is about him…. ….

Entangled.

2011 is now a little more than a month old. Though it’s only one twelfth of its size, 2011 was capable enough to move me to Pontianak, the Equator City of Indonesia being a part of a team of two. Another two months to spare. Another two months without the wind that comes caressing the banyan leaves, without the DHUP DHUP of my bullet, without the “we are the robots” the curtain raiser song of Georgettan's Ragam movie hall, without all other happiness’s of all sizes that that 2 kilometer circled town called Thrissur releases when she opens her arms wide to welcome me.

The people here in this part of the world, were celebrating the Lunar New Year (Chinese New Year) holidays. Those three days holiday were some sort of an imprisonment. More than an irony it’s funny referring those days as imprisonment. For here, we have all the stylish kind of lifestyle; except the net…the web…the World Wide Web. It’s being delayed because of the holiday here.

It’s a complete isolation in this 21th century earth to live a day without the Internet. I was just wondering how the sapiens survived without the internet and the mobile phones even less than a score ago. And especially in this country, I think people might even survive even without food, water, air, clothes or shelter. But the case would have been entirely difficult for this most loving and caring civilization to live a day without Blackberry phones and Facebook. I have often felt that the younger generation of this country would be considering the discovery of the Blackberry mobiles as the third vital discovery ever happened in the history of mankind next after the discovery of fire and wheel.

Generations are now born into the web, entangling them right from the time of birth. Hmm, but these few days without the web have unleashed a good and perhaps a great revelation in me. But it can stand only as a revelation. It can’t rule me…for me too, like all others around me is entangled in this Web. Staying away is not a way to get rid of it.

But I too don’t feel like blaming me for this addiction. I also love this web, the place where everything that you think of is just a click away. That Enter key on your keyboard and the left button on your mouse represents everything known to man; everything beneath, within, above and around the sun…everything….simply everything… 

Christmas to New Year 2011

Another short onsite visit is over. Though it was just two months tenure this time, it was felt pretty lengthy. But still the degree of two E’s that I gained was no lesser…Experience and Exposure.

So after the approximate two months of more work and less fun period, today in around another 7-8 hours I will reach home. The Christmas day is already born. And it’s truly a different experience travelling on an auspicious day. Though I miss the fun at home, a change from a different angle, at times, feels good.

And also a chapter of yet another year is almost done. 2010 was a pretty good ride for me. So far, no major accidents, less causalities and no death cases. So far so good…it’s not over though. Few days are still alive to be shot down. But the overall trend graph indicates a happy ending for 2010 like if in a Yash Chopra film. :D

Its time for the New Year Resolutions too like,

1. Not to cross 60Kmph whenever I’m on wheels.

2. Be steady and more observant on the market fluctuations.

3. Reduce some weight. :)

4. Make a long awaited “trip” with my Bullet.

5. Fine tune myself as professional.

6. To control myself in taking leaves from office

7. And, in between all these...i resolute also to keep Aphorisms flowing…

This is how it goes. It’s actually 1+6 resolutions. The first one is a default resolution taken for Amma. I don’t say that I used to stick so much on to that. But still I used to be glued somewhere around it…almost. But I can say that I have kept my word for at least above 90% than the 50 or below range of the previous years. And the remaining 6 resolutions used to vary each year in numbers and in words.

Resolutions are good. But every year end, when I take a 365 days rewind to construct a self analysis report of my Resolution and my performance, there used to be a distance of several light years between the both of them. But anyways, I used to be quite comfortable with where I used to be. I always used to enjoy this suspense thriller called life.  But still, ironically, again this year I made yet another 6 points. Humans won’t change….

Anyways, I wish my dear world a MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEWYEAR.

And also thanks to the Suvarnabhumi Intnl Airport, Thailand which gave me this space, time and facility to schedule the publishing of this post for the very first moment of the Christmas Day….

Once again, my wishes to the dearest world and all its inhabitants….

The Crown of Thrissur.

“A very big temple in 10 acres is said to have been built by Parasurama. It is a walled complex of fifteen shrines dating from the twelfth century or earlier. Here the deity is Shiva. The famous ‘Thrissur Pooram’, fathered by His Highness ShaktanThampuran, is celebrated in the precincts of the temple. To facilitate the Pooram he cleared teak forests of 54 acres around the temple. The temple is enclosed by 15 ft massive walls. The Gopurams, four, in carved wood and stone positioned in four directions around the temple. Bali (sacrifice) stones in brass seen everywhere. The ground is dotted with stone reliefs of prostrating men. The deities of Ayyappa and Rama, as ancillaries, are in comradeship with giant old trees. The Adi Sankaracharya is also accommodated. The exquisitely carved wood beautifies the shrines and Koothambalam (Temple Theater). The idols of Shiva positioned all around the main altar.”

This is what the “www” have got to say about the one massive subject what all the 317,474(approx.) “Geddys” including me boasts when we talk about our land…the cultural capital of Kerala – THRISSUR. It is Vadakkumnadhan Temple.

But for us Vadakkumnadhan is something beyond all these historic and architectural measurements. The first feeling one gets on entering through the Gopuram of the temple is the incredible space and light. It is a temple complex that has literally very much to boast about its history, culture, customs, and devotees. But to be frank, I never used to make any prayers in a typical so called “devotee” style.

If it’s to speak about my religious views, I don’t believe the force or whatsoever it is, that which is called “THE GOD”, to be like a Genie from the magic lamp. I believe him to be a companion of my thoughts. I took the freedom that this religion grants me to pick out any form in which you want to see this force from among the 330,000,000 forms of GODS. And I chose this 14 crescent moons topped by 3 serpent hoods symbol out of the entire 330,000,000 forms.

Once, one of my aunts asked me why I am so much addicted to Thrissur. I guess that her perspective was like ‘what is there so much to get attracted in Thrissur?’ I told her that it was this centuries old temple complex that keeps my mind glued to this place. It has given me lots of loads of friends. Being the youngest among them, there were some who care me like their own grandchild, some like their own child, and some others like their own younger brother. It has given me a social existence. It helped me to make my life easier. And this all happened even before I realized that I wanted all these kinds of reliefs. The state of mind that I experience in that 9 acres compound bounded by the 15 feet tall, elephant bellied walls, is inexplicable.

The welcoming wind that rushes whistling from within the walls of the mighty state of the art temple Gopuram which caresses you as you enter it; the clattering song sung by the leaves of the adolescent Ilanji tree on the left and the Asoka tree on the right to the tune of the mild wind; and the several scores of the Banyan trees older than our grandfathers; the stone laid circumambulation path; the tasty Neyyappam offered to the Lord; the Om Namah Shivaya chanting…so on it goes. This is where I belong. How on earth can I not be addicted to this..???

Actually, this was one among the very first of all those which I wanted to blog. But when it is about this structure I can’t be spontaneous and instantaneous like I was for all the previous 30 posts in Aphorisms. But still, here I failed…I failed to scribble (the word which one of my colleague always used for mentioning Aphorisms) even a Nano percent of what’s there in my mind. Once again I feel we haven’t found out enough words to paint our thoughts.

Though not to the mark as I expected have come out, an attempt made is giving me humdrum relief.

I simply love my land….the land of Vadakkumnadhan ruled by ShakthanThampuran….

Vacuous…!!!

Blankness…it is sometimes a boon, sometimes curse, sometimes a cure and sometimes a disturbance. Yes, this blankness is a disturbance for me having nothing to scribble on Aphorisms.

A spark was enough to blow that shield away and make my dear river to flow again. Of course it’s not something called a Writer’s Block or anything like that. Writers Block happens for those frequent and veteran writers. And I’m glad to feel that I’m clever enough to have a revelation that it’s not something that affects my Aphorisms. In one sense, to be originally me, it was a forceful blankness many at times. And laziness was being that force.

But laziness is too tender to be a force. It is not strong enough to hold that spark from igniting the words to spread on this as white, as a soft and cute white cloud, word document. This used to be my only resort to shoot down the monster loneliness when I’m away from my dearest Amma and my Thrissur. As Thrissur always keeps me busy with one thing or the other, the so called “loneliness” is nothing more than a word of the English language, while I’m there.

Writing is easy when you have something in mind. But, it’s a pathetic scene when there is nothing in mind. Now, this is the next twist. Our mind sometimes behaves like a baby monkey, by switching focuses between the subjects in eyes and mind. And then from the branches of the subject to the rewind of the incidences from the past of something about the future planning and so on it goes. This becomes a naughty thing that disturbs you at times. It becomes naughty as it brings some of those beautiful moments from you past like a warm evening breeze into your mind with a smile on your face. It can be disturbing because if you feel like scribbling down something, and if this little monkey starts behaving in such a way, it is enough to set down the day for me.

To tame this monkey mind was always a tough task for me. And I believe it will be the same with the others too. But still taming has two aspects. Either to tame it the way you want it to stay or else, tame it the way it goes. And it is the later strategy that comes in to reality most of the time.

Perhaps most of our spiritual leaders survive in today’s world claiming that they have various techniques to tame our monkey minds. Hearing which the parents start pushing their school going children to attend the various courses. The flexible monkey minds of the parents as a means to canvas their ideology and various techniques of taming. Though an inflamable area, can't help saying that there are also beneficiaries of others monkey minds.

But I love this monkey a lot. I’m not stretching out to assume that I own a good mind. Being a part of the human race I’m also proud to say that I too own bad monkey at heart like the others…or rather it can be the worst of all monkeys that my fellow beings own.

But I hate the space of silence that develops in me when this monkey is asleep. That vacuous is a curse...

Voices

I would always love the voices, sounds and all those waves of energy which is meant for our ears to obtain and that makes a smooth and mild curve of smile bearing the feel of relaxation, admiration and happiness. The first voice of that kind is that of my Amma's. The voice which always fuels me with energy and courage. The first voice of any child's life.

There’s is nothing much on the face of our planet or among the stars that can bring out the elf in me when the situations and circumstances raise its hood towards me from all directions. I would rather like to call it my life more than just a voice. 

Rather than the word "sound" I would like to address those waves as "voice" whether its from the man, machine or even if its from thin air. And some of those voices are like....

The voice of Dr. K.J.Yesudas and K S. Chitra, the ace Indian playback singers, the voice that my 350cc Royal Enfield Bullet emits from his cast iron heart, the voice of my Sir are some among those voices which bears the capacity to either hold my breath or my attention at least for a second. It’s hard to just explain the kind of affection that I have for each of these voices. It can only be said that it’s a mixture of love, craze, adoration and admiration.

I feel it to be my luck to hear those voices again and again and again even if it's for the several millionth time I’m hearing it. I often used to be called a mad guy for this reason. Because while in the midst of a serious conversation where each one in the gang shares a portion of their contribution I may just simply drift from the scene mentally, when I hear the DHUP DHUP of a Bullet or the voice of Yesudas that floats with a tune in the atmosphere surrounding me. It used to be the DHUP DHUP of a Bullet that used to immerse me in most of the cases.

Similarly there was a voice. The one which I think is the most macho among all the voices I’ve heard. It was the voice of Optimus Prime in the movie Transformers. Though, just a click away I always have had an option and chance to know about the person who owns that voice. But, for an unknown reason, unbelievably I didn’t get to do that. But each time when I watch the trailers or the various flicks and scenes of this movie I used to wonder who could that be. But never did I bother to surf the internet to know who this guy was.

But today, I felt to know about this person. Peter Cullen. He is the man who speaks for Optimus Prime. And the one who owns the manliest voice which I have so far heard. It was the way he delivered the closing monologue of the film that impressed me. I’m forced to say that the film was beautifully signed in the end by Michael Bay and Steven Spielberg using his voice. It was marvelous. The beautiful words, the strong voice and the way it was delivered tantalizingly. I just loved it.

Even if I say all these voice does not mean anything and everything, Voice is a Decoration. It is a decoration only for a well pronounced language.

Here's a clip in which Peter Cullen speaks for Optimus Prime. 

Amorphous

Ordinary day, ordinary year. Period.


What’s the difference,…people. Stones, object this and object that. And then there are people. People lie around, talk, haggle, mumble, among other things. Very little point in trying to understand the ‘why’ part of it. They exist with absolutely nothing specific. Some say survival. Reminds me of Keynes who says, “In the long run we are all dead”. People seem to have a spontaneous character, history, some element of an explanation attached to their individual existence.

For the initiated, this character progressively makes itself evident in every element tangible to the senses.

The path from conscious action to the unconscious understanding.

Discarding primitive intelligence by the wayside.
Nice!

Am I a reminiscent of Nietzsche?

Have You..??

I do not know how to put it in words…Let me try...

There are these moments when I feel so far away from the people around me…It is not a matter of distance,…it is a matter of familiarity and in this space I feel so close to somebody.

My point of discussion is that I do not know who this is,…I do not know if it is one of my friends who are so far away from me. I do not know if it is somebody I have lost touch with. I do not know if it is somebody I am yet to meet.

I see the frost on my car windshield which is fleeting as the moment and I am reminded of this connection. I try hard to concentrate and find out some more…but I have never succeeded.

I do not know if this makes sense…it is almost like a wrong number…you never know who you are talking to and the chance of talking to the same person is like close to zero. There is no purpose in the conversation and the mind is so disturbed that we hardly speak any sense and end up apologising for the mistake and cut the call as soon as possible. The irony is that it is nobody’s mistake. That seals it.

But the feeling lingers and the aromas are deep in my mind.

The context when they repeat are never predictable. It might be a traffic intersection…it might be gentle breeze on the sea front…I have very little clue about the stimulus…but one thing which is common is the strong sense of disconnect that I feel when I chew on these feelings…

Even the sense of disconnect becomes ironical in that sometimes I realise that there was no coherence in my role as compared to the situation to start with. There was nothing to start with…and the shadow-boxer plays as a sort of wake-up call…

Sounds messy like noodles…just munch on it and wash it down with a cup of milk…

Refreshing…

A different view for the Memorial Day.

Let me establish this post with a SALUTE to those Heroes who have laid their life’s for their motherland.

Today is the 26^th of November, 2010. It was exactly two years ago Mumbai was struck by the terrorist attack. And the entire subcontinent today mourns the death of the Police officers and the NSG commandos. 

Right from childhood days of this kind used to inspire me a lot. Also there where war-movies of various languages used to keep my mind a lot inclined towards the souls who left earth for their motherland. But today, i was stuck upon by some quotes of Eishower. I must say that this threw a light to a different dimension of thought we can make to the angle of those war heroes.

Memorial Day honors the tragedy of those who died for their country. All over the nation, ceremonies take place at cemeteries of the fallen. Volunteers place flags on graves; taps is played; flags are furled; and stern-faced members of veterans' organizations attend in solemn rows in their caps and insignia.

It's not a time for cynicism. And yet, that's just what I feel. As a nation, our feelings are manipulated on what should be a day of sorrow and regret.

Let me be clear--we should justly honor the sacrifice of those who died in war. But the way we do it glorifies war to yet another generation. It deludes our youth into believing it's their duty to enlist in the next crusade to benefit politicians and the military-industrial complex that Eisenhower warned us about. The martial music and stirring speeches perpetuate the lie that the fallen "died for our freedom." They did not.

Did our soldiers die heroically? Often they did. But for the most part, they died uselessly.

War is a failure of diplomacy. Instead of flags and martial music, we should offer apologies to the dead for yet again failing to avert the catastrophe of war. Our vow to the dead should be to redouble our efforts to find peaceful ways of settling disputes. On this day we should mourn not just those who perished in war, but our repeated failure to move beyond the barbaric practice of officially killing strangers just because someone in power who stands to gain from war convinced us that it's in our best interest to do so.

The message of Memorial Day should be "Never again! We will not send yet another generation of youth to the killing fields."

***

Eisenhower on war:

"When people speak to you about a preventive war, you tell them to go and fight it. After my experience, I have come to hate war." (Press conference: 1953)

"I hate war as only a soldier who has lived it can, only as one who has seen its brutality, its stupidity. War settles nothing." (Speech: Ottawa, Canada, January 10, 1946)

Dwight D. Eisenhower

34th President of the United States

(1953-1961)

Once again my prayer for all those who we lost and all those who lost. A salute to a nation that refuses to stay down when knocked down.....

A Bonus for the ‘Retrospective’ Me.

Writing about the various formats of departures and separation episodes happening in with me have become a cliché in APHORISMS. Those weren’t intentional. People may find this monotonous. But when it’s a page of life you can’t just escape skipping it.

And what has been written until now is a preface for me to crash into yet another story of separation. This time it’s something beyond the “separation story”.

The story starts from the 14^th September, 2009 when I met this man. For various (silly) reasons I’m bound myself not to reveal anything more about him. He was an elder brother for me, in all ways except in the blood-relation way. My living with him have taught me many “what should be” and “what should not be”. And the most remarkable achievement that I could achieve very soon after meeting him was an extension to this friendship. For as I always used to say, when a relation infects me beyond the barriers of friendship, they nest a space in me of any format of blood relation with respect to their age. As a matter of that theory, here, I got an elder brother and to elder sisters..and extensions are still coming in..that's the magic of this relation. I'm lovin' it..!!!

I believe that I used to be the biggest nuisance in the group explaining them my own plans, plots and principles. Being the younger one in the gang I used to irritate them the most and eat up their ears (ahem..!! FYI…not the Mike Tyson way...), creating an overall mess. For, I’m very possessive when I feel a person is mine. That is my flaw. Hearing anything about them as a black or gray joke from another person used to be thing that irritates me the most. For me, it’s my mistake that I heard something about them when I’m their best friend. Its my failure. And when there happens something like that, I take all the pain to make them understand what I feel.  Some may like, while some may not.

Now this is where my eyes shut themselves at the bright light of revelation. A revelation which speaks in me in a low voice… “I hate me for loving people so much”…

So this was how it went on as of now, for a little more than a year to be a little more precise. In the meanwhile, a petal had already separated from this flower. And, separation just means the increase of the physical distance between the so called “petals”. Nothing more…perhaps I think the intensity is directly related to the distance. It’s been proven several times.

But, even though I have had several such relations, this was a special group. For, they came out from nowhere and they provided me the strategies and arms in a battlefield on which I was an unarmed kid.

That was how it went…

Now when this man (about whom I started this post) was leaving, there arouse an idea among the remaining 3 petals to give him a memento of our friendship. The idea and its execution were clinically operated without losing even the slightest quantum of the suspense element for him. Following this, there came an opinion from one of the petals; to make some space in Aphorisms for this friendship. They asked me to script it with all what I have in mind.

Being an admirer of the past, I used to have a note of each passing day. Not a regular daily diary entry. I keep an Excel sheet which used to be my private joy. When the wanted me to write on our friendship I revealed (for the first time) that there was one such thing which I used to maintain. And I mailed it to them. Surprisingly for me, it surprised them a lot. They kept reading it on and on... one of them said its great and the other said they loved me a lot for that. Hmm….

Past, Present and Future. Among this I would always say that ‘Past’ is the most beautiful. Because, to evaluate the beauty of a painting the artist needs to finish it. During the ‘Present’ he can only keep on adding final touches to the beauty. Only after the final touch he admires the beauty of his own painting. Hence, I feel, beauty is always something of the past. ‘Future’ is only anticipation, just like a suspense-thriller.

Past reminds you of your mistakes, the hardships you overcame and also at some point bring a slight tender smile onto your face which sometimes can take shape of a big laughter. It may sometimes submerge you in thoughts which may roll out as few drops or a deep sigh.

I’m also really happy for myself that I could create a joy for my friends to a cent. Perhaps I think…the most apt memento that I can give for those three petals are the notes on those days…the Past…the memmories..and each degree of curve drawn on their faces to form a silly cute smile is my bonus...

A vote of thanks from an (Ex)Bhavanite.

Today, few hours back, my school the Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan’s Vidya Mandir, Poochatty…won overall championship at the 17th Inter-Bhavans at Kannur, Kerala. I felt my adrenaline racing once again when I read the news on Usha Pisharody Teacher’s post on her Facebook.

Years passed…but still I’m a BVB product and nothing on earth can change that. Thanks a lot to FB also for which laid the platform to give a wide reach for a news of of various sorts…

And also my heartfelt CONGRATS to my dear ju-ju-juniors…you guys have done a brilliant leap indeed. Love you a lot my dears…..

EAST OR WEST BHAVANS IS THE BEST…!!!!

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…..