Shivam Diaries

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  • On forgetfulness

    imageI forgot what this is about. Oh, it is about forgetfulness!
    ‘Forgetfulness is one of the ‘curses’ of old age’
    Do you agree? No, I don’t . It is in fact, a gift from the God. Many times, it is a boon to forget some past happenings in life, which otherwise will be tormenting us.
    The wounds on our body often heals but not the ones acquired by or inflicted on our heart. Imagine the agony of all those wounds, acquired throughout the past remaing unhealed! It is boon that we are able to dump such wounds, at least some of them into the depth of forgetfulness.
    At times, I wish, that my memory sleeps even on some recent unpleasant events.
    Now I don’t say, ‘Che, maranthu potchu- sorry, I forgot!’ Nothing to be sorry about it- ( in some cases at least)
    The fun is while young, we forget to eat in time, due to busy work, but in old age, we don’t forget to eat or sleep. Thank God for that. But we do forget many past events in our life. Thank God for that too.
    Here is a poem on Forgetfulness by BILLY COLLINS from the web.
    ‘The name of the author is the first to go
    followed obediently by the title, the plot,
    the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
    which suddenly becomes one you have never read,
    never even heard of,
    as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
    decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
    to a little fishing village where there are no phones.
    Long ago you kissed the names of the nine Muses goodbye
    and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag,
    and even now as you memorize the order of the planets,
    something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps,
    the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay.
    Whatever it is you are struggling to remember,
    it is not poised on the tip of your tongue,
    not even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.
    It has floated away down a dark mythological river
    whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall,
    well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those
    who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle.
    No wonder you rise in the middle of the night
    to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.
    No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted
    out of a love poem that you used to know by heart’
    Billy Collins
    ‘

  • Ammalu is always right

    Just for fun, Ammalu, can I call your mom by her pet name and bolt through the back door?’
    ‘Front door is better. She keeps her walking stick near the back door’
    ——————————–
    Do you have any objection to my wearing ripped or truncated jeans, Ammalu?’
    ‘Not at all. When shall we go to shop?’
    ”Why we’? I can go alone and buy’
    ‘I know. But, I would like to choose mine, fit to my size, to my liking, count the hole size’
    ‘Are you mad, old woman? You are going to wear jeans and that too ripped or truncated?’
    ”Share him whole and hole’ – was my mom’ s advice, when she sent me along with you, a century ago’
    ————————–
    Ammalu, I’m tender-hearted, unlike you. So treat me kindly’
    ‘Who said I’m not tender -hearted? You keep away from my friends, I will treat you kindly’
    ‘Suggest some other practical solutions, please’
    ‘Sure. Climb the coconut tree in our back yard, pluck some tender coconuts ‘
    ‘Wah, what a tender -heart, yours!’
    ————————-
    Slip of the tongue, not memory loss!
    I told Ammalu that I had been to Ammini’s home on the way back from the Chettiar shop, last evening.
    ‘No, you went to Paru’s house,’ she corrected.
    ‘How do you know?’ I enquired.
    ‘Whole evening yesterday, I was in Ammini’s house’.
    Now, I was confused. To which house did I really go. I called Ammini. ‘Didn’t I come to your house, last evening?’
    ‘No uncle’, she replied.
    ‘Uncle? Suddenly I have become old for you?’
    ‘Yes, uncle. You have become suddenly old. Ammalu told me for the past three days you both didn’t move out of the house’
    ‘Ammini, forget the uncle business. I’m now more worried about Ammalu’s memory loss. She told me that whole evening yesterday, she was in your house and she never lies’
    ‘Ammalu told you?’
    ‘Yes’
    ‘Then, she too has memory loss. I will call her aunty, not Alamelu’
    ‘Hei, wait a minute. Now, I’m worried about your memory loss. You forgot my wife’s name. I will call you auntie’
    ‘Slip of the tongue, not memory loss. Your wife is Ammalu and you are SP’

  • Random thought waves

    ‘A rich person is really not the one who has the most
    but is the one who needs the least’ —
    It takes time to understand this truth but earlier we learn, good for us.
    ———————————-
    Under great distress she said, ‘I want to join Buddhism, as our gods have failed me’
    ‘Do you think Budha or Mahavira can do what thirty thousand and odd gods could not do?’ I asked and suggested, ‘believe in you, rather than in this god or that god and as then, you will be the one to be blamed, if you fail’
    ‘I erred in believing in God?,’ She asked.
    ‘No, you erred in expecting help from gods?’
    ‘If not for timely help, what are gods for ?’
    ‘There is a joy in believing in God. Only for that and nothing more, nothing less’
    Some of you may disagree with me. But my firm belief is that if you believe in God expecting a reward, you are for great disappointment.
    Like karma for the sake of karma, bakhthi for the sake of bakhthi, is what gives us peace.
    I can write volumes on this topic, nut not now as I’m in the same state as my friend is, as we both have suffered the same loss.
    —————————-
    Regretting the past and worrying for the future leads only in neglecting the present –
    Then, when do we live?
    —————————
    Satamanam bhavati
    Satayuh(f) purushas’
    satendriya Ayush
    yevendriye’ pratitishthati.
    Live for a hundred years!
    Is it really necessary ? I doubt when I see the agony, both mental and physical of a few with long life, known to me.
    If one lives long, his health, both mental and physical, has to be reasonably good. He should not be subjected to putrasokam and other miseries . He should be able to attend to his own needs, at least to some extend.
    But, only in rare cases, this happens. And they are blessed.
    Otherwise, it is better to die, much earlier, while in good health.
    But, the end is not in our hands.
    My father never prayed for long life. He prayed,
    Anayasena Maranam Vina dainyena Jeevanam; Dehi me Krupaya Sambho Raksha Raksha Maheshwara.’
    He knew the world.
    ———————————–
    At times, when I wonder whether God created man or man created God, my conscious tells me, ‘why worry ? Both ways, it was a good job’
    ——————-
    Our body doesn’t suddenly succumb to the subjugation of diseases; it send some alarm bells. It is for us to watch for them and act.
    ——————–
    Have a willing to change; you w’ll change.
    ————————
    It is good to have belief in God, but before that, you should have belief in you.
    ———————–
     
     
     

  • On pain and old age

    We outsource almost everything almost everything, including God-worship a purely personal affair between man and his creator.
    The Chettiar in my corner shop does pooja on Saturday evenings through an ‘Iyer’, on payment. A couple in the neighborhood, extremely busy with their medical career, gets the pooja in their home, done through a Pandit, just as they entrust the care of their baby, while in their work, with a baby sitter.
    Dasharath Maharaja and several other Rajas, performed Yagams through learned scholars and Rishies and the gods were satisfied.
    You can outsource, almost everything but not your pains, mental and physical. In old age, the possibilities are the pain level increases and the tolerance level decreases.
    So, everyone should get trained from the young days to face pain.
    Richness, affluence, scholarship, merits, rewards
    – all those attributes stand helpless before pain.
    Do not curse pain; get habituated if you can’t get over it.
     

  • Yesunaathar pesinaal

    “Welcome, hearty welcome. come in please. There, on the wall is Yesu, our Kartha ; here on the table is your rosary. There on the left is your bed room and here on the right is your wash basin.–bye the by when are you returning ?”
    “Damn with your ‘here’ and there’. Tell me where is my son.
    Tell me who you are. Tell me, before I enter my son’s house, who are you to ask when I would be returning ?”
    “Will tell you, Sir.
    I’m Ramu’s mom and–”
    “Hei, stop there. No more telling business. I will tell now. I’m Ramu’s dad and how dare you to tell me that you are my wife?”
    “You, my hubby? No, Sir. I never said so. But I’m Ramu’s mom”
    “But how, how, how, without you being my wife?”
    “Ramu calls me ‘mom”
    “Many boys and girls call me ‘dad’. You mean to say that I am their dad ?”
    “How do I know? That is your problem”
    “Tell me at least, where is my daughter in law Rohini ?”
    “Rosi is your daughter in law now and not Rohini. I am Rosi’s mother”
    “I refuse to accept; tell me where is Rohini?”
    “If you refuse to accept, it is your problem and if Rohini is not here it is her problem”
    “Tell me honestly why did Ramu marry Rosi, when she was already married to Rohini?”
    “How do I know ? That is his problem”
    “Every one has a problem here except you, I guess”
    “Wrong, Sir. I too have a problem-You here when Ramu, there— where, I don’t know”
    “God, my God, where are you?”
    “There Sir, on the wall and your rosary -”
    “Yesunathar pesinaal avar enna pesuvaar?” She sings.
    “Yesunathar pesinaal avar enna pesuvaar ?” He too sings!

  • Ammalu is always right

     
    ‘Last evening, Ammini told me that my face, instead of shrinking and fading due to aging, is glistening and whistling’
    ‘She said so, really?’
    ‘Yes, if you don’t believe my words, you can call her and confirm’
    ‘But, she told me that she flattered you just to buy a pumpkin piece on your way back from the temple and you obliged’
    ‘Liar! I cooked for her, Avial and Rasam, as she had intolerable head ache and chest beats, pud, pud’
    ‘You did that SP, Really?
    ‘Yes, I did. You can call her and confirm’
    ‘No need. I will call my mom and tell her that I’m joining the Tour Group organized by her friends. Earlier, I sad, ‘no’, worrying about your food. Now, I can go happily, glistening and whistling’
    ‘Ammalu, now my heart beats pud, pud!
    ————————————–
    ‘How is your head ache, SP?’
    ‘Other than you, I have no other headache, Ammalu’
    ‘ KAmu saw you waiting in the bus stand, turning your head to right and left, a dozen times’
    ‘That was kanda sakthi, a yoga practice. I keep on doing one kriya or the other instead of wasting time looking at women as other men of my age do’
    ‘KalyAni did see you staring at a woman, while waiting for your coffee in a restaurant!’
    ‘That was Nethra sakthi. I stare at a particular point for three minutes. Wonder how your friends manage to observe me at different locations and report my movements so accurately to you, within minutes. Nowhere did I see them!’
    ‘That is Stree sakthi’
    —————————-
    “Ammalu, somehow I want to be your mom’s chum. Tell me one way to achieve my goal. Help me, please”
    “A ripe jackfruit is there in her back yard. Cut it into pieces, remove the sticky glue, separate the fruits and hand over to mom”
    “Any job other than that sticky business?”
    “I’m afraid, no.”
    “Then, let the fruit be there on the tree, the old lady in her home and me where I’m ”
    “Then, what about mom’s chum?”
    “Let the mom’s ever chum remove the gum from the fruits and not wait for her hubby to do such shabby jobs”
    “Oh, SP, I’m proud of you. You are not going to borrow money from my mom”
     
    —————————-
     
     
     

  • Original dialect comes out in crisis.

    One of the problems created by my long overseas stay is my memory loss of my original dialect. Otherwise why did I forget the customary way of talk when I entered uninvited into the house of my childhood friend and neighbour, Muthappa, during my last visit to Olavakkode, where I grew?
    ‘Hei, Ayishaa!,’ I entered greeting his wife, sweeping the floor with a long broomstick. She had seen me earlier only in my lungi or veshti and that too several years ago and hence could not recognize me.
    ‘Ente Alla! , Ivadae vannae!, ‘ She called her husband, ‘oru ChaithAn entae Peru vilitchu akathu kaeririkkunu. Hei, chaey, nnu vilitchondu- a devil has entered calling my name and saying, ‘hei, chaey”. How dare he is !
    ‘How do you do?’ I enquired, ignoring her abuse. ChaithAn or Satan is a moderate appellation compared to several others a Muslim woman would have used against an intruder into her home, uttering her name!
    ‘I do, this,’ she said continuing her sweeping and by that time, probably, she could recall some familiarity with my face. Freed from fear, she handed over the broomstick to me and said, ‘now, you do!’
    Kerala is known for universal education and I was not surprised when she replied, ‘I do this’, when I asked ,’how do you do?’
    And her ‘now you do’ offer to clean her house showed her liberal mind and also how accurately she understood my, ‘how do you do?’
    While I stood hesitating whether to sweep or not, her husband’s course voice came from inside, ‘Pahaya, Ingu vaa- come inside, you, the cursed one ‘
    I entered the kitchen, led by the lady of the house, still holding the broomstick in hand. I could not see my friend but his son who was there cleaning a fish.
    ‘What’s up ?’ I asked him.
    ‘He is up!’ He replied and showed me the attic, where Muthappa was cleaning a big brass vessel, what we call ‘kuttakam’. It is a solid stuff, heavy weight, with a big belly, used for storage of rice or grains or coking in large quantity.
    ‘Ontae oru Ingreesu!’ Making fun of my language, he lifted the kuttakam and was about to throw it down, saying, ‘Ithu piditcho, Hyderabad NavAabae!’ – ‘catch this, you, Nawab of Hyderabad!’
    Had it fallen on my head, it would have been pulverized. At that critical moment, I screamed, ‘Hamukkae, nirthadaa!’ In the local colloquial. ‘You the cursed one, stop it!’
    Original  dialect comes out in crisis. .

  • Hug is costly in my country

    Hugging is common here in America, among friends, relatives, when they meet. It is not an accepted practice in India, but when I met an old friend and neighbor in a shopping center, I hugged her spontaneously. She laughed like a thunder and pressed me to her big belly so hard that my breath stopped for a second. I was almost crushed but happy. Hugging creates happiness. Otherwise, who will hug?
    But I was for a shock treatment. She picked up a few items from the shelves, dumped those into the push cart, turned towards me and showered abuses :’ you, shameless, tasteless, mannerless oldie from Olavakkode! You think that you are in America to hug me in a public place?’
    My body was already shaking a bit by her iron grip and adamant hugging and added to that the verbal assault! I managed to mumble : ‘But Parvatha vardhini, I thought you enjoyed my hugging. In fact, you laughed so loud that I feared that shelves would shiver and the materials would fall down and roll all over”
    ‘Oh, poor Shivudu, I laughed watching you struggling to cover my fat body with your puny hands,’ she replied and picked some more stuff and dumped into the push cart.
    ‘It is ok, my husband is not here for your luck,’ she pampered me top to toe by a kind glance and ordered: ”push the cart to the Cash counter and pay the bill. I will wait outside, near the car!’
    I’m wiser now. I don’t attempt to hug anyone anymore, whether man or woman, friend or foe!
    Hug in my country is costly.
    Sent from my iPad

  • 'Intha Ayyaru ( that is me ) poi solla mATARu – never lies '

    35 years of hard work, in Govt. department is not a joke. He retired.
    ‘Complete rest, SP’.  He said. ‘Yes,’ I endorsed, ‘don’t move out of your house during the first three months’
    ‘But, how to spend time?’ He had a genuine doubt.
    ‘Spend time chatting, playing, quarreling with your wife. She deserves your company, which was deprived during your office time. 35 years!’
    I reminded.
    On the second day of retirement, he got bored. ‘Life is boring, SP,’ He complained..
    I suggested Facebook and made him my friend.
    Initially, he was excited. New to the exclamations like, ‘awesome’, ‘great’, ‘super’ etc, his ego shot up .
    Husbands have a weakness, almost every husband, except one or two like me. They share their achievements with their wives and in that process they add a dose of exaggeration, to exhibit their greatness.
    He told her, ‘ KAmAtchi, you lived with me for three decades but never realized my importance. See here, three unknown ladies have said, ‘awesome’ for my picture’
    ‘Are they really ‘unknown ladies, as he claims?’ The wife started suspecting him.
    She started spying on him. She spotted the picture. – a water buffalo carrying a crow on its back! Some of the male friends too had acclaimed the picture, but women always look at the right spots.
    ‘Enough, close your face book account,’ she ordered. He obeyed.
    ‘Leave the mobile with me when you go out,’ was her next command. He did so.
    Wondering why he was not to be seen in the Facebook, I went to his house. With swollen eyes, he explained to me what had happened.
    A friend in need is a friend indeed.
    I turned to his wife and first acclaimed the food she had served. ‘PAyasam pramadam’
    ‘PAyasamaa? PAyasam pannavae illayae, ayyare!
    I didn’t make pAyasam at all !’
    ‘I’m sorry, Amma. The facebook habit never leaves me ‘ I explained.
    ‘What is that habit?’ she enquired.
    ‘In the face book, we simply praise for nothing and use liberally words like ‘great’, ‘awesome’ etc’.
    ‘How am to believe your words, Ayyarae? Three ladies have praised my husband’s picture’
    ‘Ha, ha, Amma, all the three ladies were me in different names and the buffalo picture he copied was too from my page !
    I did that to encourage him in continuing in the Facebook- only to help you. I don’t want him to nag you day and night, seven days a week, thirty or thirty one days, a month’
    Women are shrewd. ‘But tell me Ayyare, why did you wear the veils of women, to encourage your friend?’
    I was caught red handed. But, God always comes to my rescue in such difficult times.
    ‘Aachi, the facebook habit is nobody bothers to read the comments of male members’
    ‘Enna habits, ennavo!’ She was convinced to some extend and cleared the block.
    ‘Po, Ayya, po’ she gave him permission and looking at me, continued, ‘Intha Ayyaru poi solla mAttAru- this Brahmin ( that is me ) never lies.’
    Sent from my iPad

  • Sea and Fire absorb all

    image
    From my archives
    A view through the car window on a journey from New Jersey to Baltimore
    Whatever be the skin colour, every body, ultimately has to go back to the Elements. So, like cafeterias, cloth shops or churches or temples, the burial ground too have demand in any country, any city, any village. Our ancestors were wise enough to foresee that one day or other, there would be utter space shortage and hence they recommended the method of cremation to dispose off the bodies which become useless, by charring it to ashes and dropping the burnt materials into flowing waters which will carry the waste to the sea.
    And the Sea, like Fire, absorbs all, live or dead, good or bad!
    Love and regards,
    Sp