Author: shivam

  • Friends or masters?

    With a nicker high above the knees,
    A half shirt with no buttons,
    Seeing me walking joyfully
    On the Habsiguda high roads,
    ‘Come inside!’, calls my sister
    And scolds!

    ‘The best dress for the Hyderabad summer’
    I tell her, ‘is to be with no dress’

    ‘Are you a baby, peeping from the womb?’
    She asks angrily,
    ‘Or a yogi creeping from the mount?’

    ‘Animals and birds are blessed’
    No worry how to get dressed’
    I argue
    ‘And no sister to get stressed’

    ‘Clothes are unwanted wives in summer’
    I murmur , she gets wild.
    ‘You need a wife in winter?’
    She could have asked, but she didn’t
    A Gentle lady!

    She sits by me and whispers
    ‘You are not a baby,
    You are not a yogi,
    Not a villain in a satire,
    Have good attire’

    I go home and return
    With a full sleeved shirt,
    Full pants and coat
    A stick in hand,
    Walk majestically
    Through the Habsiguda
    High road.

    ‘You’re sweating!’, alarms my sister,
    ‘That is inside’, I utter.
    ‘what happens inside you, is my concern,
    Who cares what you don?’

    Funny girls are sisters
    Are they friends or masters?

  • What a rise, yours!

     

    ‘Come out, come out!’, calls Mother Earth
    Hugging the seed and kissing his head
    ‘How long will you be in slumber?
    Mom long to see your rise, remember.

    ‘The Sky is ready for the Royal precession
    See there, the gates are wide opened,
    See there, seven green horses
    Leaping in joy, moving their heads.
    Behind them is a golden chariot,
    Carrying the Majesty, your lord and my lord,
    The lord of sky, wind and water,
    the golden coins he spreads
    Reach far and wide
    And, you, on my lap, hide?

    Get up on your own, crack your coat
    come out, break the soil, move up
    Awaits your arrival, Autumn and summer
    Rains and thunder, winds and winter.

    The seed opens up its eyes
    And then on, no reverse
    The Earth just gives a gentle push,
    The tree grows and grows.

    Come from far and near
    Men, animals, birds and insects
    The tree showers food in plenty
    Returns no hands empty,
    Shade and shelter free for all
    Rich and kind, the tree stands tall!

    The giver and taker, kind and cruel
    All have to go, that alone is real,
    Alternate beating by summer and winter
    The tree gets weak and starts to wither
    ‘Take me back, mom’, it pleads
    ‘Before I’m finished by weather and weeds’

    ‘No, my child’, says the mom;
    ‘Time not yet for you to quit.

    Lads need you for their tops
    To twist and turn you on the floor
    With a string in their hands,
    Imitating the inevitable Fate.

    Farmers need you for their plough
    Wood cutters for their axe
    And Agnidev, the Fire God needs you
    As his chariot to take souls
    To their final goal.

    What a rise yours, my child!
    From a seed, grew as a huge tree,
    Whole life served the needy
    And before your fall
    You will be Agnidev’s chariot
    Carrying souls to their final goals!

  • My memorable Rameswaram trip

     

     

    We drove from Madurai to Rameswaram in the morning of March 23, 2017 and returned the same evening, through the Pampan bridge. That one day experience will ever remain with me, especially the pitrukarmas on the sea bed.

    ‘Iyer Mani onkalai gavanitchuparu- will take care of you,’ said the influential businessman at Rameswaram, introduced by my friend Taliparambha Ganesh.

    Iyer Máni is Mani Vadhyar. When I met him and also when I left him, he appeared to be a confused man, but once on his job, he was the man for the job!

    Soon after I reached his house, in the morning,  I explained what I would like to do and wanted to know his demand. He didn’t commit. When I insisted, he said, ‘onnum vendAm, enakku ellAm irukku- I need nothing, I have enough’ . He lifted and rotated his hand and showed the house, as a proof of his prosperity. Later I knew it was not his house, but his brother’s who is no more!

    ‘Not this man for my job,’ I thought but he won’t leave me as he had clear instructions from Taliparambha Ganesh’s friend ‘to take care of me- avar periyavaru. avarai gavanitchukkunko’

    ‘Follow me’. He asked us and declared, ‘Onkaluuku onnum theriyAthu- you know nothing ( about the proceeding and practices here)’

    He kick -started his two wheeler and we drove behind him. No other way!

    And it was a sight to watch, the Vadhyar, wearing a helmet, his uthareeyam flying in air, driving in top speed, with no other vehicle in sight in the long road to Dhanushkodi.

    Dhanushkodi is 20. Km away from Rameswaram, devastated by the 1964 cyclone which decimated all structures and took away the life of nearly ten thousand people. With absolute impartiality, Nature had converted to debris a church, a temple, railway station , fishermen’s huts and every other standing structure on her path. It is difficult to believe, going by what you see now, that there existed once a small township with men, women and children, busily engaged in their activities, enjoying the sea breeze and viewing the amazing sunrise and sunset. In fact, there is nothing to see there now, but the very sight itself with scattered remains of structures and the mighty sea behind, is worth visiting.

    Vadhyar stopped his vehicle at a point beyond which a new road has been recently constructed to reach the end point of the land, but that is yet to be officially inaugurated. A big bamboo barricade managed by a few police men stops the entry. One has to hire a jeep or a mini truck and drive through the beach, virtually through the sand, prepared to push the vehicle and even to get stranded if the vehicle doesn’t move through the watery, sandy path. That was how people interested in seeing the end of the land, were going earlier and are going even now, unless they are VIPs whom the police salute and allow entry!

    We were watching, seated in our car, Mani Vadhyar arguing with the cops, calling someone and handing over the phone to the cops. Ten minutes waiting.

    Alas, goes up the bamboo barricade, the cops didn’t salute us but allowed our vehicle to pass through. That was exactly what we wanted and not their salutes.

     

     

    Chapter two.

    Elaborate rituals to satisfy the souls of the dead are performed by many but my desire and capacity was to have a simple tilatharpanan , offering sesame water on the sacred sea bed. It is not possible for me now to go to Allahabad, Kashi, Gaya etc and come back to Rameswaram again for a second round of rituals after completing the prescribed rituals on the bank of the Ganges. I had earlier, under better health and circumstances, performed shradhams in the Ganges several times and once, along with my wife at Gaya, Brahmakapalam etc earlier and now my desire was Just to remember with respect the predecessors and pray for the reunion of their souls with the Ultimate. My father believed in that, though he had no opportunity to go to Rameswaram. I am not sure whether my children will be going.

    Mani Vadhyar spread the materials he had brought with him, on the sand and asked me to take bath in the sea.
    ‘If you can’t do it, sprinkle water on your head and come’, he said. Even my sisters were hesitant about my fitness for a sea bath but once I was in the waters, I forgot my age and disability and dipped my head and body several times and returned completely fresh in body and mind and performed the rituals, seated under the scorching sun , with no head cover, unlike the Vadhyar of half my age. He had brought with him sufficient cooked rice for offering pindams and asked me again and again to recollect the names and gothrams of several relatives and I could therefore offer food with unalloyed sincerity to several souls, including my three brothers in law, my father in law and mother in law whom I wanted to visit during her last days but could not, my elder brother who died when he was just one year old, my beloved sister Raji who died young, her son Rajesh who died much younger and I performed his last rites at Chicago last year, my two siblings who died a few minutes or days after entering this world, my own uncle and aunt and many more. It was not an elaborate shradham but the mental Peace and satisfaction it gave me will last ever. Vadhyar again and again asked for the names of the second wives of elders and I said ‘no’ , as to my knowledge they were as honest as I’m , though Iyer Mani didn’t appear to believe me!
    ‘Aarukkavathu erukkaname- some would have certainly had a second wife’, he doubted . I’m not surprised. In my family, women used to outlive their husbands. The only exception was my wife.

    We went inside the great temple without the help of Vadhyar but had no problem. My brother in law Patchu helped me to pass from one theertham to the next, treading through the wet floor, without slipping and falling. We had wonderful darsanam too.
    In total, my Rameswaram trip was a ‘janmasAbhalyam’. I’m unlikely to make another trip, but no worries.

    While coming out of the temple after worship, preceded by the rites on the sea bed and bath from the water poured on head from the 22 sacred wells, my sister’s remarked with absolute happiness and satisfaction : ‘Anna, you did it!’.

    I pointed my hand to the sanctum and bowed and said, ‘He did it’

    Yes, he did it. Last year, this time, when I was struggling with the side effects of radiation and harmon treatments, I never expected that I would be able to come back to India and undergo the strain of such a long pilgrimage, but He made it.

    I’m remade now, yes, I’m

  • More rooms there in ?

    My new neighbor was staring at the balcony of the house next to his, seated on an easy chair, near his front gate.  I warned him. ‘Kounder, the owner of the house might think that you are looking at his wife. He is a man with strong muscles’

    ’How old is he?’, enquired my neighbor

    ‘May be 70, may be 75. But how does the age matters?’

    ‘The Kownder and wife fight like cat and mouse!’

    ‘How does that matter? The moment Kownder smells your eyes search for her, he will  start loving her deeply’

    ‘How many rooms are there in that house?’ He equired.
    I was relieved. His interest was limited to knowing the size of the house’

    ‘Seven,’ I replied.

    ‘My house has only six rooms’. The disappointment of having one room less, was visible in his face.

    ‘How many rooms do you use?’, I enquired.

    ‘Only one’

    ‘You haven’t given a separate room to your wife?’

    ‘No, we share one room. That is more than enough for us’
    He has one room more than my house’. My neighbor expressed his anguish again .

    Ammalu calłed from the other side of the common wall.
    ‘SP come soon. The neighbor’s cat has entered our house and delivered five cute kittens’

    ‘Let them enjoy our space. We are now only two’

    ‘Come, just to see them’

    I went inside my house, but soon come out hearing the loud and pathetic cry of my neighbor’s wife.. The Poor guy was struggling for breath. The ambulance was calłed and on the way to hospital, he passed away. He was not destined to die even in the single room he was sharing with his wife, out of the six rooms they had. He died in the ambulance bench. Has any rooms in the vast space he left for?

    His cat and kitten were happily roaming inside our house, as if the entire house belonged to them!

  • My antharvaahini inner flow

    img_7902
    This short poetry appeared in my mind during my recent train journey , while reading a post on Arjuna’s chariot catching fire soon after Lord Krishna got down from it, at the end of the Kurukshetra war.
    English meaning added in the end.
    എന്റെ തേര് തീപ്പിടിക്കാതെ, മണ്ണിൽത്തആഴാതെ കാക്കുവോൻ
    എന്റെ മർമം നോക്കിവരും അസ്ത്രങ്ങൾ ഏറ്റുവാങ്ങുവോൻ
    എവിടേക്കു തിരിഞ്ഞാലും അവിടെ ഉണ്ട് കേശവൻ
    മഴകാറിന് നിറം, മഞ്ഞപ്പട്ടുടുത്തുള്ള മാധവൻ.
    മയിൽ‌പ്പീലി ഇളംകാറ്റിൽ ഇളകുന്നുണ്ട് സർവദാ
    മണിയോടക്കുഴൽ പാട്ടുമൊഴുകുന്നുണ്ടു കൂടവേ

    അവനെൻ അന്തരാത്മാവിൽ
    ഒഴുകും ചോലയല്ലയോ?
    അവനെന്റെ അടിത്തട്ടിന്
    അസ്ഥിവാരവുമല്ലയോ?

    ഒന്നിനും ആശയില്ലെന്റെ പൊന്നെ
    പൊൻമേനി കണ്ടു ജ്ഞാൻ
    ഒഴുകി ചേരണം നിന്റെ
    അമൃതാനന്ദ ഗംഗയിൽ

    Entae ther thee pidikkathae,
    mannil thaazhathae kaakuvon
    EntE marmam nooki varum
    Asthrangal eattu vaanguvon
    Evidaekku thirinjaalum
    Avidai undu Kesavan
    Mazhakkarin niram, manja-
    pattuduthulla MAdhavan

    Mayilpeeli ilam kaattil
    Ilankunnudu sarvadaa
    Maniyodakuzhal paatum-
    mozhukunnundu koodavae.

    Avanen antharaatmaavi-
    lozhukum cholayallao?
    Avanentae adithatti
    nnasthivaaravu mallayo?

    Onninnum Asayill ente ponnae
    Nin poomeni kandujAn
    Ozhuki cheranam nintae
    Amrithaananda Gangayil
    No  poetry is transferable into another language without losing its essence, charm. I’m therefore, giving a gist of what I wrote for the information of my friends unfamiliar with Malayalam.:
    “He guards my chariot ensuring that it doesn’t catch fire or sinks into the ground.
    He faces the arrows aimed at my vital parts;

    Wherever my eyes turn to, Kesavan is there,
    Madhavan, in the colour of clouds, wearing the yellow silk clothes, is there.

    The peacock feather (on his head) is always moving in breeze.
    The sweet melody from his flute accompanies it.

    Isn’t He the streamlet flowing in my ‘Antharaathma!’
    Isn’t He my very foundation?

    I have no desire for anything else, my dear,
    other than amalgamating with the your flow of the Ganges of Eternal bliss, watching your charm.

  • That is how He wants us to be

    ‘You touch, hug, kiss and rush back
    Can’t you be with me for ever?’,
    Complained the shore to the ocean,
    ‘Can’t you be with me, my lover?’

    ‘How?’, asked the sea, ‘is there a sea with no shore
    And a shore with no sea?
    Won’t your serene smile cease for ever?
    Won’t your sand stop flying in air?
    Where will the conch shells glitter?
    Where will the baby frogs and turtles
    Learn letters?

    And for me, it is a fun to touch you and run
    And watch your exasperation
    And then your exhilaration !
    You be always a shore and me a sea;
    That is how He wants us to be.

  • ‘E’ for eating


     

    img_8582

    Ammalu, when I turn back, fail to understand how me, a man of intelligence, wisdom, money and influence did agree to marry you, an Appiyer school third class- fail, ordinary, village girl?’

    ‘I don’t know all those. I remember your mother handing you over to me and telling me, ‘Konthai, child! Make him a man. Start from alphabets. He knows only ‘E’ for eating’

     

  • Research, really?

     

    img_8581

    ‘Ammalu, wonder where you would have been now, had you inherited my mother’s charm and my father’s intelligence’

    ‘I would have been your sister and not wife. Do you need the help of  Einstein or Edison to guide you in your research project to discover this obvious, simple answer?’

    Tips. Ammalu working in the kitchen, he behind . In his imagination his father before his bookshelf and mother watching him or doing any work


     

     

  • Money is not my problem; women are

    I should never be so blunt in my talk, I realized. Late realization, though.
    I was meeting her after four years. She was standing on the road side waiting for me when I was returning from the Friday vegetable market, holding bags in both hands.

    ‘Hi, ChintAmani, why do you look so sad?’, I enquired.

    ‘My mAmanAr passed away. And my name is not ChintAmani, mAma!’

    ‘I’m sorry that I didn’t remember your name. But not sorry for your father in law’s death. He was after all, eighty plus’

    ‘How could you talk so heartless? He was your friend. He was a nice man, very kind’

    ‘MAsilAmani, good or bad, friend or foe, one has to die. What is there to still worry over the death of an eighty plus man? Discard that dull look from your face and smile,’ I encouraged her.

    ‘MAma, my name is not MAsilAmani. My name is not Mani at all.
    You are seeing only money everywhere not manushan- man. Your long stay in USA has made you money-minded’

    Che, unnecessarily, I earned her wrath. I should talk nicely now on, I decided.

    The next lady I met was, Marakathavalłi (and I’m sure about the correctness of her name) . I knew that she lost her mother in law three years before. The moment I saw her, keeping the bags on the ground, I hugged her and wiped off my eyes.

    ‘MAma, what happened? Why are you weeping?’, she enquired.

    ‘I’m weeping for your mother in law’

    ‘MAma, she passed away three years ago and in fact , it was good for her and also for us that she died without much suffering. She was eighty plus and how long you expect people to live? Every one has to go one day or other. You should have known this simple truth!’

    I turned back to change my facial expression, when the lady whom I met before, was standing behind me smiling.

    ‘MAma, are you OK?’ She enquired.

    ‘Radhamani. I want to go back to USA. There, I don’t have to worry whether to laugh or smile if an old mother -in -law or father- in-law passes away’

    ‘MAma, my name is not Radhamani?’ She was quick to point out.

    Who bothers what ‘mani’ you are? Money is not my problem; women are.

  • All originals inside

     

    img_4941

    ‘You are arrogant. What is there for you to be so proud of? Your eyes are duplicate, your ears are duplicate, your —–‘, chided a friend.

    ‘Wait, wait,’ I said, ‘my heart is original, my kidneys are original, my lungs are original, my wife is original!’

    ‘Ha, ha! where is your wife?’ He questioned.

    I told him- ‘all my originals are inside me’