Shivam Diaries

Category: A12– Everything under the Sun

  • "You are not a satellite and I am not a sun"

    “I will be going out of your orbit, in another few minutes, Ammalu”
    ”Means?”
    “I will be out of your influence, shortly.”
    ”Your Astrologer friend Goplan Nair said so, right?”
    “Yes. Another accurate prediction of the day!  He said that I will be out of Rahu, Kethu and Ammalu’s apaharams shortly for my good.”
    ” It is high time that he refurbishes his astrology specifically and his brain in general. Did he say, when you came into my orbit?”
    “From the day of our marriage, I have been spinning around you, he says.”
    ”And you believe?”
    ”Astrology never goes wrong.”
    ”But astrologers do. Hear me, please. I came out of Ammini’s ‘apaharam’, the old- ladies’ club, which serves only her needs and not of any woman old or young. She has immediately scribbled in a paper what her husband should tell you. Like you, Gopalan Nair too hardly think or say anything on his own. It is OK. The truth is that  you have never been spinning around me, because you are not a satellite and I am not a sun. You have been only moving parallel to me”.
    ”Aren’t you worried about that?”
    “Not at all. You can tell this directly to Ammini if that will make her blood pressure  raise by a few mm . And also tell her that as long as you are there, anywhere near me, need not be on the same line or in an orbit, my breath is safe.”

  • What a difference !

     

    • Looking down can be rewarding, at times, as I’m now endowed with. From the balcony of the eighth floor apartment of my nephew Suresh, I have a panoramic view of the crown of a banyan tree, in the campus and I am amazed at its vastness! What a display of abundance, artistically, evenly and elegantly spread greenery, covering a wide area, moving the head in rhythm, dancing to the tune of the wind, providing shelter to hundreds of birds and cool breeze to those below!
      ‘Moolatho Brahma roopaaya,
      Madhyatho Vishnu roopinae,
      Agrahta Shivaroopaaya,
      Vriksharajaaya thae namha”
      ” മൂലതോ ബ്രഹ്മ രൂപായ,
      മധ്യതോ വിഷ്ണു രൂപിണെ ,
      അഗ്രത ശിവ രൂപായ.
      വൃക്ഷ രാജായ തെ നമ ”
      I pray, closing my eyes, recollecting the hymn displayed near a similar huge tree in the Sreekanteswaram Temple premises, which I visited earlier.
      Now we talk about the necessity of saving the Nature; our elders worshiped her!. Circumambulated them, in reverence, performed their wedding by tying yellow and saffron threads. ” What a crazy folks!” . But how thoughtful!.
      And there are also, mosquitoes, intentionally flying so high, humming to annoy me, when I am about to slide into sleep, poking my blood vessels and stealthily sucking my blood.. Not even the blood banks are after my blood but these so called insignificant insects are! And they take so much trouble to reach my apartment in the high altitude, to quench their thirst for the blood of an old man!
      The other day, I had been to a similar high-apartment and was pleased to see a harsh-voiced, dark skinned crow, approaching the widow- sill to collect the snacks served affectionately by the house lady, The moment she was sure of the feed, the bird invited her friends and relatives and in group, enjoyed every piece of the food made available.
      I remembered my father anxiously awaiting, on the terrace of our house, holding a ball of rice, sanctified by Vedic hymns, inviting the crows, shouting, ‘ka,ka’ and we, children, behind him, clapping hands and shouting, ‘ka ka’ still louder. The contentment on my father’s face, the moment a crow responds to his shout and pricks with its beak, the white ball of rice, placed on the parapet of the wall, after cleaning the area with water meticulously. If the crow had faced the side where the Sun rises, while collecting the food, my father’s eyes opens up, face brightens with a benign smile. Our father believed that the crow was none other than his forebears in disguise, from another world. What a crazy man, we didn’t say then.
      Even now I don’t say so.The crows do not stealthily suck my blood, when I am about to slide into sleep, after piercing my blood vessel with a sharp needle in its body.The ancestors never suck the blood of their lineage!.
      What a difference between crows and a mosquitoes!

  • Charm of the Nature; charm of Upanishads

    I am not a spiritualist. not even a ritualist doing my nithyakramas regularloy or visiting temples frequently.  Just an ordinary story writer, I am, living a normal family life with my children, grand children, roaming the world if they finance me and if my health permits or sit below a tree or walk through the woods and rice fields of my native land,  that rich Kerala, again if my  legs cooperate, humming  a Thyagaraja or a  Swathy Thirunaal  or Deedkshithar, for my and my self  satisfaction and not for others’ certificate.. In fact,  my own people have said ,that I am more tolerable when I keep quite..
     
    But the problem is I can’t keep quite; I can’t shut my eyes and say,’ Rama, Rama’ or ‘ Krishna, Krishna’ though that was what I have been advised to do, for my age.  I  can’t   keep  my eyes  shut   and sit  in a corner. I look at the trees, the hills and meadows, the squirrels and monkeys roaming over there, the deer looking at me from its bush, wondering who this fellow is, when I go for a walk in the evening through the highways of Baltimore or Florida or at the innocent cows through the lanes of Kasi or Kalpathy. I run along with the river in Ottappalam or stare at the Ganges with awe at Utharakasi or Gangotri . I talk to the guys sitting near or far to me in a sleeper class, force him to talk to me, may be a panda from Benares or a chettiar from Madurai, or an young girl bubbling with enthusiasm or a depressed soul sitting alone in a corner worrying how to feed her children, the next day. That   has helped me to live so long.   That  has helped me to live happily. And I have lived long enough and damn care if I am showed the gate tomorrow.
     
    And, and—  I   read our Upanishads, that invaluable record of our ancestors, who roamed in the forest , alone, wearing practically nothing, in the hot , in the cold, among the animals, enjoying the raising and falling sun, enjoying the waxing and waning moon, enjoying the twinkling stars and silent or roaring clouds.
     
    If all the books are lost tomorrow, pray that doesn’t happen and if we are left with a single upanishad , we are safe, our culture is safe.. 
     
    I am not a preacher or a councellor but sugggest that you read our upansihads and understand their meaning. You won’t regret.
    Ocala, Florida
    Nov 1, 2012

  • Bye, Nair. 'kaanam' we'll meet – an obituary

    E.P. Balakrishnan Nair, my bachelor room -mate and an ex-colleague passed away yesterday , I was sad to learn. We lived under the same roof , for ten years, along with a few  more  boys, all from Kerala and worked in the same  Research Institute, at Hyderabad. I named the house as ‘ Panchavady’, not because it was a hermitage or any such sort,  but we, the inmates were five in numbers. ‘ Vady’  is a stick, you know.  
     
    Head to toe,  Balkrishnan was a typical Nair, in appearance, habits, belief, behavior everything . Hence, we called him ‘ Nair’ and not Balakrishnan or EP .  His standard attire, except while  on duty, was mudu or dothy with half- shirt, starched, snow-white.  His standard language, wherever he could manage, was his mother tongue.  I blinked for a minute when he asked once,’ Swamy, aa sippayi evadae? ‘ Read sippayi for peon . We had only Lab attendants, not peons, but Nair preferred to use the word ‘ sippayi’.
     
    Nair was a ‘ sudhatma’ – you know what I mean ?’. a simple soul, plain-talking,  non interfering, straight forward in his dealing, unassuming etc.. 
     
    He was very traditional, especially in maintaining the family discipline and upholding the family prestige. He was proud of his Keralam and in fact never bothered to know about other places in the world. I have several pleasant memories about my friend but let me narrate only one or two here:
     
    One fine evening soon after returning from the Lab, he made a shocking  announcement: “My ammaman is coming next week and I want all of you to behave like respectful Malayalees, not your routine stuff, playing cards and exposing your ugly part . He is my tharavattu karnavar, head of my family, a strict disciplinarian and I revere him “.  Generally ammamans are arrogant autocrats as they have unbridled authority over the family property, men and cattle. We are not nasty, but could become naughty at times, like any other bachelors away from home. Nair’s warning was necessary and was  taken in good spirit.
    .
    Nair started cleaning the house, which was long due, arranging things in their place which was over due, the servant maid, cook, paper walla, trash collector every service man and woman was instructed to be in attention, during the sojourn of the senior Nair.
     
     ” No misbehaving till ‘avar’ returns”, Nair warned us again. ‘Avar’ was a super respective pronoun for ‘he, though  ‘Adheham’ would have been enough. 
     
    “Sure, nair, you can take our word for that ” We all assured him individually and collectively.
     
    The count down started; 5,4,3,2 and  1, ah, the Karnavar, arrived !
     
    When Nair got down from the taxi and moved to a side, as a mark of respect, we were surprised and delighted to see an young man, smart and smiling, alighting from the vehicle and we could not believe our eyes and ears too, when Nair introduced his as ‘ ente ammaman, my uncle”.
     
    The senior EP, elder to us by only a  few summers, was  a military man, full of life and mixed with us freely though when it came to his nephew, he kept his distance. We were relieved of tension. Everything would go well, we were confident. but that was not to be.
     
    Our house was a zoo and  play ground for the children of the neighborhoods, as they had free entry . The front gate was always kept opened and  they used to collect  jasmine and rose flowers in the garden, obeying the orders of their mother or sister,  Seethafal and papaya fruits without any permission. On the previous day of ammaman’s vist , when a boy  created nuisance by climbing the trees, one among us,  Manual ( may his soul rest with Jesus though I had never heard him saying, ‘entae yeasovae ),  shouted, ‘poda nayintae monae’. That rascal  learned those two little filthy words  and the next day, when the respected guest was getting  out of our house along with his nephew, for a stroll, repeated  exactly the same  words without any phonetical error, standing at a distance and greeting them raising his hands. Obviously the little guy didn’t know the meaning of the words he uttered or realised the injury he inflicted on Nair’s prestige.
     
    Nair became furious. We had never seen his so agitated and angry before. He gazed at the urchin, still standing at a distance and eyeballs fixed on him, shouted back, “nee poda nayintae monae=  you get lost,  the son of a bitch”.
     
    The soldier was immensely happy and really proud of his nephew who could fight back with the same force and using the same brand  bullet. “Avanu athu venum- he deserves it”‘ the proud uncle praised Nair, patting his  back.
     
     Nair was fortunate to have Bharathi as his life partner, a woman of almost identical nature and qualities. I spent an hour with that family when I visited them in July this year, to invite for my sons’ wedding and later, another hour or so when they attneded the wedding reception, in pouring rains. I have ony those pleasant memories left with me now, when I bid my friend and room mate, adieu.
     
    Bye Nair,  kanam- we’ll meet .  
     
    Ocala, Florida,
    Oct 30, 2012

  • I can afford to lose anything, but myself.

    • Forgetfulness is God’s gift . It is a boon, I admit. Had I not forgotten the quarrels with my mother in law and her daughter, I would have vaporized long ago. The problem is that forgetfulness forgets that our top floor area shrinks with aging and it is already over- crowded with unwanted thoughts and avoidable attachments to almost every thing in the world. Not a thing to forget.
      It will, therefore, be good for the elderly, to fix a place for keeping their eye glasses, mobile phones, wallet, wrist watch and such accessories of regular use and keep those only there, when not in use. It is easily said than put into practice. I get up at night and pushed by an urge to write, search for my eye glasses. But for searching my eyeglasses, I need them! To believe in God you have to have God within. To love a child, there should be a child within you.
      I lost two expensive watches in the toilets of AC compartments in trains and in both the cases, almost caught the culprits, but they first smiled and then stared at me as if it was I who stole their watches. Both were wearing neatly pressed white dothies and white shirts, one, his prominent forehead adorned with viboothi and kumkum and the other, his not-that prominent neck wrapped in a tri-colour angavastram . So both were honorable men and it was my mistake to have doubted their honesty.
      God was kind enough to provide us with irremovable eyes, ears and nose. Otherwise we would have missed or misplaced them in toilets and honorable men would have stolen them!
      While with my children in US, I need to carry while going out with them, neither the wallet, mobile or watch or any other personal appendages, other than my hearing aids. Lovingly, I call them my ‘karnaabharanams’, though I have a permanent set of ornament decorating my earlobes . My hearing aids are expensive, gifted by my son in law; I would have never bought them with my money and you know that!. I cannot, therefore afford to lose them. My alludu, SIL, is a clever boy. Wants to ensure that l don’t say, ‘vinnalethura Babu-didn’t hear, when he complains about my daughter.
      My mother in law is elder than me; obviously!. Her hearing capacity is not less than that of my aged boss, who used to repeat verbatim every unprintable word I used to utter about him in the car shed or canteen. Though she is much older to my retired and re-employed boss, she has enough material to write a novel about her daughter in law, raw materials collected from temple-gossips. But about her daughter, I will be pouring baskets and buckets full of complaints, ‘kaathilai onnum vizarathaillai- nothing is audible to me’ – Simple lady, she can’t hear, ‘paavam’.
      Coming back to hearing aids, I did lose one piece, sometime ago, nowhere else but in my own house, ‘Anantha jyothi’ in Hyderabad, where, other than me, only one more honorable man lives-my younger brother. Undoubtedly, he too needs an aid , but refuses to go in for that, as like me, he is a Katahakali lover. Moving eyes and fingers, we communicate happily, no noise pollution, no skirmish, no theft-fear. Thank God, we didn’t learn that dance or any other dance. Risky, highly risky at our age!
      Old age is golden age- preserve it well ; gold price is going up. When I lost my wrist watch, my son replaced it . When I lost a hearing aid, my son in law replaced it. If I lose myself, none can replace me.
      I can afford to lose anything, but  but  myself.
      Comments:
      Dear Sir

      NAMASKARAMS.  VERY INTERESTING – REFRESHING – IS REALLY GREAT , SIR

            ” THEY GAZED AND GAZED AND THE WONDER GREW THAT ONE SMALL HEAD COULD  CARRY ALL HE KNEW “
       
            With regards
       
              Raman
      ——————————————

  • Everything is NEVER lost; something always remains.

    If you are of my age but unlike me, exasperate everyone, every time you lose a shaky tooth or a shaving stick or any such silly things and moan, ” I have lost everything”, I feel sorry not for you but for me!Reason- you have ‘lost everything’, leaving nothing for me to grab.
    If you are an youngster unlike me but still lament, “I have lost everything’, when, actually what you have lost is of no consequence, I will tell you: “My dear young man, everything is never lost. something always remains at the bottom of the vessel which can feed a hundred mouths. if God’s grace is on you, you will be able to locate that left over tiny part and build a castle out of it”
    If you still continue with your, “I have lost everything” slogan, I will hand over a free ticket to Tirupathy along with a hundred rupee note and advice you to go to the abode of the Lord of seven hills, have a nice tonsure, mount the hills and cry, “Govinda, Govinda!”
    If you retort, “going all the way that far to lose my hair ?”, I will grab that free ticket and currency note from your hand, raise my head and hands towards the sky and cry, “Govinda, Govinda!”.
    You cannot change some people. The feeling of failure will be always remain with them. You may say , ‘something remains with them!’
    And had you expected that I would have deposited the currency in God’s hundi, you have not understood me. I place only my heart at the feet of my Lord and not money, which he has in plenty!
    Success of the ‘ Something is left ‘ story, again !

  • A valid reason indeed!

    Shabari Express from Hyderabad to Thiruvananthapuram. B1 coach. Along with the wedding group of about 25 close relatives, I was proceeding to Ernakulam to perform the wedding of my second son Atchuth with Anjana. Seated next to me is a senior citizen, scratching his head as if to get rid of the illegal immigrants invaded into his vacant place on the top.
    ” I am fed up with my life,” he grumbles, gesticulating at me as if I am the cause for his agony.
    “You mean sir, that you have more than one wife?” I enquirers,  sympathy dripping from every word at the suffering of a fellow human being.
    “More than one wife ? ” he fumes looking at the lady sitting peacefully opposite to him, as if he wants to throttle her for extending her neck towards him long back, to receive the garland.
    ” How divine she looks ?” I complement his wife, sitting silently enjoying the fun of her grand children’s play”  and add unnecessarily, “what a perfect match ? ”
    ” Perfect match ?” my neighbor folds his fingers preparing to punch his wife’s nose or mine . She now opens her coffee flask, pours coffee into a brass tumbler and passes it on to him.
    Enjoying the hot coffee, the old man looks at her affectionately and then, turning towards me, comments, ” I told you that I am fed up with my life.”
    That surprises me. I  ask, ” you did say so sir, but that was before you had your coffee. And if I’m not intruding into your personal life, may I know the reason for your discontentment?  ”
    ” Look at my head, ” he makes a quick circle over that shining space  and moans, ” not a single white hair and if I may share a secret, there is, in fact,  no hair at all”
    ” There is no secret in it, if I can trust my eyes” I add, “but that is part of your aging process in which you have no say, I guess ”
    “And this wife of forty years – she sits there like a dummy without saying a word ” That was his second complaint.
    His son quietly nears and gives his dad a shot of insulin and moves away gently patting the old man’s back.
    ” And see this son of mine moving around shamelessly exposing his  legs and see there, his wife laughing and playing with kids unmindful of the co-passengers’ piercing eyes , at her. ” The father complains again.
    His daughter in law approaches him smiling and serves  food. “Amma should not have given you coffee. I’m worried that might dampen your appetite.”  She comments, waits there patiently till he finishes eating, enjoying every handful , and then leading him to the washbasin, brings him back to his seat, holding his hand and wipes it with a napkin. She then, rushes back towards the children to play and laugh loudly.
    ” Are you cool now sir, can we talk ? ” I inquire politely.
    ” What else were you doing all along?”  He retorts with a harsh look and continues, ” go ahead. I love talking to less intelligent fellow beings”
    “That reveals the depth of your scholarship and breadth of your humbleness ” I compliment him. ” I am sure that you are no more fed up with your life now.”
    “Why do you say that ?” He is anxious to know.
    “Because, you are able to fold your fingers to form a fist, bend your hip, squat on the floor, push your head below the seat to pull out your sandals, climb the narrow horizontal rods to reach the top birth and pull out a bag and pick up the newspaper, enjoy a sumptuous meal, admire your wife’s affection by glancing at her at times and sit in the same place for more than an hour without taking a nap. If a septuagenarian can perform all these tasks, what is there for him to complain in life? Your body is under your control, your brain is under your control, your wife, son and above all your daughter in law are all under your control at an age when generally people lose all controls and get controlled by outside agencies. What then, is there for you to complain and why should you get fed up with your life? ”
    ” What other reason do I need to have to complain when a nagger like you is occupying the seat next to mine ?” He questions with all the seriousness of a truth-seeker.
    A valid reason indeed!.
    Comments:

    I read this article which is absorbing. God bless you.
    with best wishes
    r ramabadran

     
     

  • Never get scared of plastic dolls

     

    When I came out of the college with a poor third class, partially due to a viral attack( which temporarily immobilized me ) and partially due to my poor preparation, I thought that was the end of the world. Believe me, the world didn’t end. I secured a good job and reached the top of the ladder.
    When a personal calamity struck me     and shook my roots, trunk and branches, I had no doubt that everything was over for me.
    Believe me, I did survive the tsunami and continue to row my boat.
    While looking back, the monsters of the past ,who were about to swallow me then, looks like plastic dolls now.
    Your son has missed the IIT exam. Relax. It is just the beginning of several such chances he is likely to miss and IIT or any other degrees alone do not assure success in life.
    Some one close to you has passed away. Gain courage. Death is not a stranger to those who are born. As long as you are alive nothing else matters.
    You have lost a vital part of your body but you are able to read this message. Smile. The sky, the sun, the clouds, the moon, the stars, the forest and your own body and your own family are visible to you and what else do you need?
    Never get afraid of plastic dolls

  • "Upadesam oorukkuthan"-Advice is for others.


    In response to KVA’s note, sharing his health problems with his beloved readers, I shot a mail advocating how he should face his problems boldly, in an admonishing style which only friends are empowered of doing. This was early morning yesterday.

    I developed suddenly severe muscle pain, last night and screamed at Srikanth, my last son available with me here now and asked him to press my back, push a warm-pack at my joints, apply balm all over the body and ordered, ‘ get my book, you rascal!’ 

    “Vishnu sahasrnamam thaane, appa?” he mocked,controlling his laugh which overflew as a smile, watching my ‘paraakramam’  for a simple back pain.

    ‘Vishuvum vendam, Sivanum vendam; Will ezhthanum. Antha calico bound book edu”

    Massaging my muscles,evenly and gently, Sri. who has selected a girl for him as a life partner and asked me to perform his wedding and asked her parents to meet me which they did falling at my feet with ‘ abivadadyae’ on the American-citizen mama’s lips and reverence on mami’s eyes, Cooley said: 

    “Appa, you are overdoing things, inviting such problems. You have a simple muscle -catch, managed to get from the swimming pool, in the evening. What you need now is not a calico-bound note book but just a pain-killer” 

    I am alright this morning and ready to continue with the arrangement for the wedding of Sri and his elder brother Atchu, in America, for whom we selected a girl last year..

    Moral of the story: ‘Upadesam oorukkuthan’-advice is for others !

    My beloved friend KVA can now pen a story in his inimitable style, quoting from the treasure houses in his brain which hasn’t got a muscle-catch or any other problem as his other limbs have”
    Comments:
    Dear Sri Sivasubramanian
    enjoyed redaing your oorukku upadesam;
    R. Suryanarayanan
    http://sites.google.com/site/parissury/
    (home) +33 1 69 28 34 32

  • Greeting a classmate on his wedding anniversary

    Venu is one of the handful of  classmates, I am in contact with. He lives in Palakkad. For the past seven months, while I was away from the country, I didn’t speak to him.
    Yesterday, I casually called him and there was no response. After sometime, he called back and informed that along with his wife, he was just returning after darsanam in Guruvayoor.
    “Today is our wedding anniversary.” His happiness was overflowing through the cell phone. ” Bagavaante nadayil aanu thanvilichathu- you called me while we were  before the sanctum”
    Oh! how happy I was, to greet my classmate on his wedding anniversary, that too in the abode of Guruvayoorappan!
    Venu and me were the toppers in the Aksharasloka competition held during the last days of our high school studies. The first prize I got was ‘Kumarasambhavam’ with a short and meaningful  commentary by Kuttikrishna Marar, the great Malayalam critic and Samskritham scholar. The influence of that book was so deep that after several years, when a daughter was born to me, I named her ‘Aparna’
    Along with Venu I have spent several evenings on the bank of the Kalpathy river, enjoying the beauty of the masterpiece of Kalidasa.
    Venu, like me is a kathakali lover and unlike me is active in social and spiritual activities. Some two years ago, when I met him, he was engaged in renovating an old temple in his village. I spent a night in his house and his wife will never forgive me for the nuisance I created along with my old friend whom I was meeting after many years. We, recollecting our college days, sang Kathakali songs together, the full night!
    On her wedding anniversary, when she received surprisingly my call, she  remembered that kathakali night in her house. No wonder!
    “You are fortunate, that we didn’t dance that night” I commented .
    She laughed.
    And Unnikrishnan smiled!.
    COMMENTS:

    Dear Friend[I am 75, don’t mind my addressing u as ‘Friend’


    I liked, loved and enjoyed ur mail.  These experiences when retold have added sweetness.
    V V good. Thanx. Luv
    R Sahasranaman [Naman][Chembur, Mumbai]