சிறுமியும் நிழலும்

எப்பொழுதும் போல் சனிக்கிழமைகளில் அலுவலகம் செல்லும் அவலம் எப்போது மாறும் என்ற மனநிலையோடு, அன்றைய பயணம் தொடங்கியது. சுகூட்டர் சிடாண்டில் வண்டியை நிறுத்தி விட்டு, இரயில் தண்டவாளத்தைக் கடப்பது தண்டனைக்குரிய குற்றமாகும் என்ற அறிவிப்பை நன்கு புரியும் மூன்று‌ மொழிகளில் பலமுறை கேட்டும், எனக்கில்லை என்ற ஏளனத்தோடும் சோம்பலோடும் கடந்து நடைமேடை அடைந்தேன்.

அப்போது தாம்பரம் நோக்கிச் செல்லும் ஒரு மின்சார இரயில் மெதுவாக நகரத் துவங்கியது. அந்த வண்டியிலிருந்து ஒரு நடுத்தர வயது தாயும், 12 அல்லது 13 வயது மதிக்கத்தக்கச் சிறுமியும், அவளை விட 2 அல்லது 3 வயது இளைய சிறுவன் ஒருவனும் ,ஒரு பெட்டி இரண்டு மூன்று பைகளுடன் இறங்கியிருந்தார்கள். வண்டி நகர்ந்து வேகம் பிடிக்கத் துவங்கியவுடன் அந்தச் சிறுமி குதிக்கத் துவங்கினாள். இடைவேளை விட்டு விட்டு மகிழ்ச்சியாகக் குதித்துக் கொண்டிருந்தாள். இதைக் கண்டதும் எனக்கு விளங்கவில்லை, சிறிது அருகில் சென்றதும் தான் புரிந்தது. வடக்கிலிருந்து தெற்கு நோக்கிப் போகும் இரயிலின் நிழல் நடைமேடை மீது விழும். இரயில் நகரும் போது இரு பெட்டிகளின் இடையில் இருக்கும் பகுதிகளில் சூரியஒளி நடை மேடையில் படும். அவள் அந்த ஒளி தன் காலருகே வரும்போதெல்லாம் அதை மிதிக்காத வண்ணம் குதித்துக் கொண்டிருந்தாள், வண்டி வேகம் பிடிக்கப் பிடிக்க அவள் குதித்து மகிழ்ந்ததும் வேகம் பிடித்தது.

ஒழுங்கு படுத்தப் படாத ஆடை, சீவப் படாத தலை முடி, கையிலிருந்த பெட்டி பைகள் இவற்றைப் பார்த்தாலே சீராக உறக்கம் இல்லாத நெடிய இரவு பயணம் செய்து வந்திருக்கிறார்கள் என்பது விளங்கும். மேலும் 12 பெட்டிகள் கொண்ட அந்த மின் தொடர் வண்டியில் அவர்கள் வந்தது இரண்டாவது பெட்டி. அதிலிருந்து இறங்கி, நகரும்போதே வேகம் பிடித்து விடும் இரயிலின் நிழலோடு ஒரு விளையாட்டையும் கண்டுபிடித்து அச்சிறுமி மகிழ்ச்சியாக அதை விளையாடியும் முடித்தாள்.இதைக் கண்டதும் நாம் கடந்து போகும் சிறு சிறு நிகழ்வுகளில் இருக்கும் இன்பங்களைக் காண மறுத்து வாழ்வைக் கடிந்து கொள்வதையே வாழ்க்கையாக்கிக் கொண்டுவிட்டோமோ?

"எத்தனை கோடி இன்பம் வைத்தாய் இறைவா" 

என்று ஒருவன் இதைத் தான் சுட்டிக்காட்டிச் சென்றானோ... என்பது போன்ற எண்ணங்கள் மனத்தில் எழுந்தன. 

நாம் ஏன் அந்த சிறுமியின் கண்ணோட்டத்தில் நம் சுற்றத்தைப் பார்ப்பதில்லை என்று ஏங்கிக்கொண்டே அவளைக் கடந்தேன், அவள் அந்த விளையாட்டின் மகிழ்ச்சியில் இன்னமும் திளைத்துக் கொண்டிருந்தாள்.

REAL OLD AGE

 

“ Tired with all these, for restful death I cry”

                                                                                                                    William Shakespeare.

              The man would have penned these lines for more illustrious reasons, but I conceive it in a way which has been haunting me for quite some time now. The perspective is from an urban south Indian mindset and many may not take it the same way.

              I grew up in a south Indian Joint family where my Grand Father was the decision maker, a whole family of 15 to 18 odd people revolved around him. At that young age, old age for me was authority, control and decision making. With time and economics joint families withered away and when I was in my teens, Old age for me was when you retire maybe at 60 years of age.

              It took a lot many years to understand that 60 years of age is not real old age. Parents in there 60’s are still in their active productive phase of life. Many Indian parents support their children in raising the latter’s kids. Many People in their 60’s take up all the household responsibilities, some even go to work and make their living, thanks to growth of medicine and living standards. But the real Dragon is still in hiding.

              This may not be the case in all households but majority goes this way. Even after the prescribed retirement age, ‘yet to be old’ parents do whatever possible for the family they have cherished. India with a vast growing population of Emigrants, many of these parents become unpaid baby sitters at mostly ice cold or sun burnt lands. They feel pride in helping their children who have permanently moved to new found lands of pasture, without realizing that the worst is yet to come.

              Here, only the urban Indian middle class is considered for discussion. The poor have a separate tale, and require a separate narrative.

              With Time those who were happily 60 and considered themselves to be old start growing ‘real’ old in their mid-70 and 80’s. Few skip a chance to experience this but many do make it. Things they have been doing for 10 years or more since retirement would become hard to do anymore. Grand children, whom they saw as incarnations of their own children, and gave all the pampering which they couldn’t give or afford to give to their own children, would now find more solace in a mobile phone than the company of their ‘real’ old grandparents. Things which they would have never bothered all these years will start enforcing their importance, like even flushing their bowels in the morning would feel like a mission accomplished. Medicines would have doubled in quantity, if affordability is a crisis, then acquiring them takes to hell; and if dosage skips memory every morning, then that’s an all new issue.

              Age restricts body to a certain place, but mind flutters with wings of an eagle. It glides through all the good memories of past and through all the worthy and good things they have contributed to family and society. But who cares? Life and world have travelled far ahead. But mind never heeds the body, few get into depression and the rest pass on.

              If this be the case of ‘real’ old people, their children in the age of late 40’s or early 50’s would look to have grown much older considering their life style and work culture. They have a younger generation to mentor and support, and an aging generation to care and support. Many take on to both the task efficiently. But others struggle, and at times unknowingly regress from their responsibility to care and support.

The Emigrant community helplessly tries to outsource this care and support, many senior care hubs have emerged. Advertisements showing tennis playing Grandpas, amused and loudly laughing Grandmas as models, glorify the business. But again those portrayed here are retired senior citizens and not the ‘real’ old parents who may need palliative care, whose hands shiver due to Parkinson’s or those who don’t realize where they are at that moment. Care for this kind of old age needs more study and support as it drains both the cared, and the caring, financially and emotionally.

Indian middle class since economic reforms of late 1980’s have always had an American dream. The Land of opportunities has influenced south of India more. If cultural influence of the capitalist country is to take lead, where living with parents is considered as not good for society, then caring for ‘real’ old parents may get more complicated in a couple of decades.

              It’s not that people started aging suddenly, as for many of the ‘real’ aged parents, taking care of their parents some 30 or 40 years ago would not have been so challenging. Most of them had 4 to 6 siblings, of them at least one would have retired early, and he or she will be responsible for all needs of the ailing parent. The urban siblings would visit once a while, take stock, console and come back. It’s not that way now, with one or no sibling, and reasons need not be elaborated.

              Hence in the new generation of care givers the problems faced are sensitive, complex, emotional and financial. How to negotiate this phase of life?! It cannot be articulated with few thumb rules or bullet points. Every case differs based on demographical, medical, financial and social reasons.

              Whatever be the condition it’s the duty of every children to make life less painful emotionally and physically for their ‘real’ old parents, so that they cherish their loved ones and embrace their end peacefully. It’s our turn tomorrow for the same.

“Tir’d with all these, from these would I be gone,

Save that, to die, I leave my love alone”

                                                     

Hareesh Aravindakshan

Me or Mine

Me or Mine
When I was just a little boy I never asked my father what will I be. Rather he never thought what I should be, but relieve him off the burden of finance at the earliest so that he can breath ease. Now me being a father try to explore every slightest aspiration, talent, wish of my daughter. If she scribbles I go in search of a drawing master. If she hums a song I take her to all talent hunt shows. I don’t want any stone unturned. I always keep a world map in my drawing room, maybe she become a geologist. Even if she skids over water spilt over floor I convince her explaining the physics in it. Maybe that may inspire her to be a physicist. Recently I took her to a barathanatyam concert, she enjoyed. I rather sat through the program remembering of my father taking me to a similar show.
   My Dad got a free pass from his boss. That guy being a gujrathi bohra businessman didn’t mind giving his staff the luxury of attending a barathanatyam concert( which made no sense to that gentleman). As it was free my dad took me along to a massive auditorium where we sat at a corner of the balcony and watched a lone lady( probably ) dance which made no sense to me nor to my father. But now I have learnt to enjoy a barathanatyam along with my daughter.
    Now who’s the best father. Me or mine. I may think it’s me but when I place myself in my father's shoes, I realise the hardships he had to face to make ends meet, his economic status, uncertainty of private employed workman and his fears about future. Though my father can not frame a sentence on his own he made me able to write blogs. It’s he who made me grow into a man who can plan and wish big for my child.
     A father had always been an influencer. Few do big some do small. But everyone leave their mark.
For that man who wouldn't read this blog.
                                                                                                 -A thought the other way round
                                                                                                                 Hareesh Aravindakshan

MODERATION

      "I stand astonished at my own Moderation", came across this quote by Robert Clive in an article. Have read quotes by many great personalities, but this stupid quote kept ringing in my mind as stupids get fascinated by stupid things.

       Remember reading about Robert Clive in secondary school history books. A one liner stating Clive helped the East India Company to establish their rule in India after winning the "Battle of Plassey". Credits to our historians who glorified Clive as a simple pale young man who came to Madras as a clerk and eventually established East India Company rule in the peninsula. The books never mentioned his ruthlessness and greed to appropriate huge wealth. After pondering India he went on to settle in England. There he was put under trial in the parliament for his plundering of India and being the cause for Bengal famine. During his trial, Robert Clive uttered this stupid statement, "I am astonished at my own Moderation". The trial went on and he was acquitted, that's history. Robert Clive uttered these words and went on to rest in his unmarked grave.

        But those words; don't they reverberate in every walk of our life, don't we utter these words everywhere at schools, homes, workplace and even hear from everyone in our families and friends. We all try to establish that "I am the modest one among all those I am connected with". Haven't we admired our own modesty many times.

        Modesty is not a virtue but a practice, whereas most of us end up pretending rather than practicing. Pity is that we never accept doing so, an old joke says,"I used to lack modesty, but now that I have it, I'm perfect". 

        Most of us show modest behaviours with people who are more powerful than us in the society or work place, but never practice the same with those less influential or our subordinates. Moderation should not be choosy but perennial. Modesty doesn't mean giving up, which rather is a kind of cowardice but modesty is a way to accept things the way they are and not forcing ones opinion over others. Ego is inversely proportional to modesty and most of us carry the baggage of ego in one way or the other.

         A person cannot be modest all the time, but if we wish to be we should first start at home, with our own children, spouse and our elders. Developing patience to just listen will help us understand how this world thinks about every little thing in every possible different way. If we can accept that others can be right, it helps us to get moderation as a practice. But nothing to be astonished about, as  always there will be someone else who think or see things the other way.

         The above suggestions are not done after any detailed study or research, but rather with a concern. Robert Clive's astonishment towards his own Moderation has been laughed at for centuries. Let's not make ourselves laughing stocks among our peers, friends and families.

        Let the society be astonished at our Moderation.

              -   A thought the other way round.

    

AHAM BRAHMASMI

The subject for a write-up was decided long ago, but had few questions to be answered before writing. I was amazed by the thought of a transformation on finding the answers, that I would emerge out of the tunnel guided by a ray of hope. But nothing happened so let me share these confusions with few others rather than let the topic fade away.

I have not been pious all my life. But have worshipped every God, animal, tree, and objects which others queued up to worship, thanks to my faith that gave me the liberty, not restricting to a one All Powerful. I pray to Gods when in trouble but readily forget them when things get better.

I spent half my life this way, but not for long. The unexpected happened to humankind which was at the brink of Euphoria that we have known everything. From Genetics to Robotics, Android to Humanoid. A virus took the human race for a ride. The world scrambled for solutions. People distanced from each other, covered their faces, locked themselves behind doors, clapped hands, lit candles and even prayed to their Gods. I too followed all the above.

It had always been tradition for we humans to reach out to the Gods whenever something disastrous happens. This time it was like a supernatural event that prevented us from assembling at worship places. Mankind has always felt safer when assembled in groups, but now groups are considered the most dangerous. Many of my friends isolated altogether, confining themselves to their laptops, mobiles, TV's and washrooms (frequent hand washing). But as always a few took it head on. A Surgeon friend of mine asked "how can an invisible virus stop me from doing what I have thrived all my life, when it is the most needed?"

Yes. How can a virus dictate terms and run the world by bringing the rich to their knees, poor to their verge, the powerful to shatter and all Analogies to fail. Is this the beginning of Doomsday? But one factor gave me a chance to breathe ease. All the infected did not succumb. Many came out without much suffering. What made them so lucky? Is it that the blessed made it and the cursed faded or were the Gods taking sides? A 70 year old recovered after few days of temperature, sore throat and coughs but a 30 year old succumbed showing no major symptoms in the beginning of the infection.

The world was paused and so was commerce. Big Bullies to street side vendors, everyone struggled at their levels. Then, as the saying goes, "If you decide to hang the Capitalist, a Capitalist will sell you the rope". They encashed the fear. Floor cleaners and Detergents emphasized their power over the virus (even a Great President acknowledged). Every manufacturer tried to associate their product with one catchword - "Immunity". Even Bath soaps, tea, biscuits, wash towels and most of our everyday items elaborated their contributions to improve Immunity.

Although a common word, it's significance and necessity was highlighted the most in recent times. It's meaning need not be elaborated, but how and who will acquire it needs elaboration.

Does the one who do regular workouts and physical exercises get full immunity?

Probably not, even a few fitness freaks succumbed.

Are the people with good food habits, planned diets, and no addictions Immune?

Maybe not, as statistics are not convincing.

Are the young more Immune than the elder?

Not necessarily - Indicates the Mortality rate.

Are the vaccinated Immune?

We don't know for sure. But if infected, Mortality chances are reduced.

Now isn't it confusing whether Immunity needs more study than the virus?

Can Immunity be acquired?

Yes. But when is uncertain.

Who can have Immunity?

No special ones. Anybody can.

How to know whether someone has Immunity?

Only when infected.

What determines one's Immune system?

One's Gene, Habits, Lifestyle.

When all these fuss were happening around, I heard a spiritual leader answering questions for his disciplines.

"Can spirituality be acquired?"

"Yes. But when is uncertain."

"Who can attain spirituality?"

"No special one's. Anyone can."

"How to know whether somebody is spiritually enlightened?"

"Only when attained"

"What determines one's destiny?"

"One's Karma."

The last question asked to the guru was,

"Where to find God?"

His simple answer was,

"Search within yourself".

Is not Immunity also the power which we have to find within ourselves? In other words, is Immunity the God within ourselves that we have been searching for so long. Is it not the one going to protect us? Is it not the one going to help us thrive? Is it not the power from the energy within ourselves? Will it be wrong to say, Immunity is the power within us which cannot be measured, realized, predicted, neither created, nor destroyed in a go? Don't we relate all these to the Almighty we believe in? Is Immunity the Aham Brahmasmi we have been searching for?

- A Thought the Other way Round.

Whom Do I Like The Most

         A young colleague asked me casually “Whom do you like the most?”I stared at her and gave a blatant smile as answer. When same question was repeated the next day, though irritated,my reply was the same as before. But this time, the question chose to stay with me. It kept knocking my head. “Whom do I like the most?”....”Whom do I like the most?”.... Arising another question “Whom should I like the most?”

          The “I” in me started deciphering answers of all kinds. As a kid my mother was the one whom I liked the most. I have even starved once to make her wear a new saree and look good. No matter who ever it may be if they were not kind to my mother I have hated them by all means. Even at times my dad had been on that list. But is that the same today? My mother is the same but I am not. Will I starve now to see her dressed well? I cannot skip even an hour as my gastrics won't support. It's not that my emotion towards my mother changed,but priorities did with time. Our needs and priorities even make us stay away for months and years from those, without whom we believed a single day cannot move on. “Like and Love are emotional things don't materialise it” might be the voice of many who read this. But is it not true that emotion and materialism both share the same “T” that is time.

           Time shapes everything. Your likes takes many shapes with time. The like you had for your mother takes a jolt when wife comes into your life. Wife takes a seat back when kids strole in. “How silly?” “My heart has space for everyone” may be the reader's reflux. Yes, heart keeps everyone and everything but who occupies the front seat is the question. “Whom do you like the most?” bangs.

            Parents, Siblings, Friends, Crush, Wife, Children, Grandchildren everyone take the front seat in their own time and turn. But they all get their priorities when “I” need them the most. The “I” in us decides our likes and dislikes. It's the “I” which we always try to cherish, comfort, cradle, convince, and even camouflage throughout our life.

             Many saints and philosophers preached against “I”, but it had always stayed with us covertly and dominantly. Hence I have my answer for the question “Whom do you like the most?” Those who contribute to keep me happy, safe, wealthy, healthy, secured, confident, brave, amused at different times of life, had been the most liked. In other words I have liked those who fulfilled my needs in different ways at different times.

              A fine example being me realised that my daughter replaced my mother gradually over time. It’s not that mothers can be replaced but the warmth of motherhood which I need at this age and time is found in a different person. My needs decide my likes, as “I” am the one whom I like the most.

This writeup may not go well with many as love, like and need are seen mostly as separate things and comparing first two with need is considered inhumane and even a sin. But I wish to be rationale and honest in expressing what I believe as it has always been... 

A thought the other way round

PARADISE LOST

The little boy didn’t knew then, that his maiden car journey was about to change his life forever.

On Feb 06, 1982, the Ambassador car loaded with a few more than its capacity started from a narrow street of then Madras city taking along the clueless boy wherever he is headed to. Until then the 5 year old knew only his one room rental tenantment, opposite a big temple with heavy traffic and noise all around. He liked the way his life was, his daily routines were to visit the temple with any one of his uncles or grandfather in the mornings, attend  a small nursery school and spend  the evenings at the beach or Railway station which were nearby along with his father.

The car drove him away from this routine forever. After a long drive the car halted in front of a hotel “Sri Krishna Bhavan”, though it was late in the evening and the place was new, the hotel got stamped  in the boy’s memory. After a quick dinner the journey was to resume, as everyone in the car were not so accustomed to a car journey, the on-boarding process was a little messy. In the chaos,  the boy hurt his little fingers, when someone tried to close a door. Luckily there were no injuries but the pain was immense.

By the time the boy’s pain could subside the car reached its destination. On an empty road, the car stopped in front of a small metal gate opening up to a big house with blue coloured double doors. It was dark as shutdowns were common in those parts back then too. Light from a Lantern lead the boy to his place of joy and sorrow for years to come.

The house was massive compared to his tenantment. It was built on a 5 feet high pedestal. Four steps lead to the blue doors. When entered through the doors, there was a long passage with rooms on both sides. The passage was of the length of a cricket pitch or more. It was so long that in the later days the boy used to switch on 3 lights on his way to the toilet at the end of the passage and had to run between switching them off to escape the dark at night.

Until then the boy believed a house is a place just to live securely within concrete walls of brick and cement. But this house revealed the true meaning, a real treasure a house can be. The big house had a garden double its size, around its periphery were, 14 coconut trees encompassing  Guava, Mango,Jackfruit,Papaya,Custard apple,Plantain,Pomogranite,Mulberry and many other trees and shrubs along with a huge well. The house itself was an Ecosystem on its own. The boy grew up playing in this garden  along with his cousins and friends. Also a pet dog and  few poultry joined the count later.

The boy’s big joint family moved to this house to accomodate all his uncles and their respective wives and children to come. Everything in the house happened collectively,starting from morning tea to night’s glass of milk. Everyone’s share was fixed and the dietary menus were predetermined,any diversion would disturb the logistical setup. The workshop which made all this happen was the house’s kitchen, the most happening area in the entire house, and the boy’s most loved space in the house. It was busy for most part of the day, with any two women of the house engaged. A vast 15x15 feet room with every kind of utensils and every household stuff stored in all-sized containers which he never ever tried to count.

The other most loved spot was the right corner of the steps at the rear exit doors, where he always liked to sit, whether it was to brush his teeth, sip his tea, play with the pet, involve in a family chat or witness a family quarrel “the spot” he marked for him. (His own spot)

Sundays were always fun, the day mostly began in front of the TV Box and ended the same way. Guests for Lunch was a regular phenomena. Meat or fish in fixed quantity was always sufficient. The Guests were of all kinds intellectuals, rogues,kind, rude, Godmen, conmen, politicians, smugglers, lawyers and many, but the house treated them all with same warmth and the boy grew up observing every visitor from his perspective. Every Sunday the family gathered to watch doordarshan evening movies no matter whatever the movie be, old or new, good or bad, everyone in their own fixed spots with also the boy among them, growing without knowing the word “Privacy” as even at times of melancholy there was someone to either tease or console, but never left alone.

The house played its role in the growth of the boy, both physically and mentally. With time he and his thoughts grew. Everything around changed, but the house remained challenging the changes. The boy had seen many family conflicts happen, but the house stood strong holding everyone in its bond. But when the boy grew to be a man and had to participate in one of the conflicts, the house decided to end the show. The house that stood strong in many challenges started experiencing tremors. It finally gave in to accept the changes. The house which was the bond that united the family became the bone of contention to the boy's dismay.

The Boy now a grown man, who once could not think away from the house now wished to get away from it, as it became the sorrow of the family. The house which was the identity of the family for 30years losts its own identity and stood to be sold to the best bidder who could afford .

The house was too big for families of changed times, so it was rechristened as an old building with no much value, occupying a real estate property worth more than a crore. Where huge funds are involved, sentiments take back seat. As and when a deal was set, the house was demolished to rubbles of timber and bricks. Each member of the family got their fair share, Fortune at the cost of their bond. The new owner, a business man will never realise that the piece of land he gained was a “Paradise Lost”.

The boy who could not budge the lose, came to terms when “Sri Krishna Bhavan”, where he first dined on the way to his house was also razed to rubbles, A paradise lost for some other soul, who had all love and aspirations bonded to the structure, now giving way for another spot that would inspire, may be some little boy to come.

                                               

                   -A thought the other way round.

                                Hareesh Aravindakshan.