“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.”
Category: A12– Everything under the Sun
What a difference !
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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
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..
I can afford to lose anything, but myself.
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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 SirNAMASKARAMS. 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 regardsRaman——————————————
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:
Never get scared of plastic dolls
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.
http://sites.google.com/site/parissury/
Greeting a classmate on his wedding anniversary
Dear Friend[I am 75, don’t mind my addressing u as ‘Friend’