A police story



Look, this is also a part of IPL!!

Another scandal... People, police and the media are celebrating it as usual. IPL, I mean, Indian Paisa League, was always like this. Right from the begining, this tournament was meant only for the purpose of making paisa. Who makes and how does not matter much. Why police is poking their nose into it? Whereever there is money and women are involved, there we see police. Leave the Paisa League alone. If the general public do not mind spending their time and money to watch these entertainments, why can't the police let them choose what they need? Match fixing in cricket is not a new thing and any kind of crackdown or life time bans will never prevent this. If anyone wants to watch criket, they are free to do so, but always expect that a match or two can be fixed anytime anywhere. Ignore that, lay back and enjoy.

Who is this Sreesanth? I didn't know anything about this man till the other day. But as the media was full of stories about this young man, I too paid a little attention to him. To me, he looked like any other normal Indian citizen. An Indian citizen who believes that a little bit of corruption is present in every one's charecter. The other day, a man who always stands on  moral high ground has purchased a small piece of land in the outskirts of a fledging city for a big consideration. The cost of the land that was shown in the registration document was just thirty percent of the original value.

The seller took the major part of the cost in cash. This is taken as black mnoney, in a way. The buyer, on his part, showed a much low value, that is the real government value and this way, he saved around forty thousand rupees towards stamp value. The total loss to the government in this transaction could be a lac or two. This is not an imaginary incident. This is happening all over the country and every citizen of our country does it to evade government taxes. Interestingly, none of us consider this illegal, cheating or immoral - perhaps, not even the commissioner who tells all those colourful stories about betting to media.

 

Sreesanth, like many other fellow crickets would have done something like this. Now, police bring proof like a tucked in towel, spending two lacs on jeans, gifting his girl friend a smart phone...all this are proof!! They call press conferences and feed the media for their trial. Let the media try the accused and pronounce the punishment first. If these are the proof our police are planning to produce in a court of law, hold your breath. Any time, they will knock our door, bundle us up into a "truck" and take us to a mideaval lock up without even telling the reason for this outrageous act. I am worried, I am concerend. As the proverb goes, "neerkoli kadichalum athazham mudangum...."

Anxiety to conquer the world or was it all a gimmick?

Contrary to the popular perception, the muck is not only on the politicians, the "young and restless" section of the society also equally wallowing in it and enjoying. Greed leads them to abyss, sadly

 

Sreesanth's experience is an eye-opener to one and all those who take excessive pride in their abilities and successes. All that is earned can only sustain if there is a little bit of politeness and a large heart to understand that nothing is permenant in this world. Let there be success after success in everyone's life but the feet be firmly on ground....

Visakhapatnam -3: Some feeble memories

Just opposite the restaurant, there was an oil mill. Two bulls blind folded and tied to a pole used to walked round and round for hours. We used to sit in front of the restaurant looking at those bulls. Those bulls would have walked hundreds of kilometers in their life time. At last, when they were no longer able to work, they would have been unceremoniously bundled up into a truck that would have transported the bulls to Keralam!!

Ramesh Cafe, that was the name of the restaurant. It was named after our eldest brother. Our grandma used to describe as "Vadakku" that means North when she referred to Visakhapatnam. For her, Visakhapatnam was somewhere in the North and perhaps her imagination about north had extended only upto Visakhapatnam!

When our parents return from Kerala, they sent telegram to home informing their safe arrival in Vizag. That brought a big relief to everyone at home. The news would have come after four days of their setting out from home. As our mom and dad board the wooden boat to Kuthiathode, from where they took bus to Ernakulam, the flood gates of sadness opened up and we were left unconsoled. Still, people like our grandparents and of course, our Babuchettan (the eldest brother) made everything feel at ease.

For the next few months, there followed letters and money orders. The postman, the brisk walking old man from Poochakkal, was a usual visitor to our home like to many other houses. In one of the letters, amma informed that a bicycle was being sent as a parcel through the railways. It was certainly not a BMW car to be so excited about the parcel, but our anxiety had no limit.

We spent sleepless nights to see the cycle in front of our home. By that time, we learnt cycling by hiring small bicycles on rent. That was called "half cycle." Learning bicycle was so entertaining. At least once, everyone fell from the two wheeler and made extensive bruises. We took this as the license to ride a bicycle. Guys took turns to ride as the others run after the cycle to prevent the rider from falling down. After several hours of rides, everyone became expert in cycle riding

The wait for the coveted prize was too long. It had to be transported by the coal locomotive those days. Those were the days, like the government departments in our country, the Railways put the public in the last of their priority. A consignment booked in railways might take days or weeks together to reach the destination. The letters posted in Visakhapatnam reached home after a minimum of ten days. The contents of the letters usually were all about well being there and enquiring after the well being here. Each one in the family was asked about in the letters. Reply too will be filled with well being here and equiring well being there.

The news about a birth or a death in the village, rain on the previous day, number of coconuts harvested for the month, start of cultivation in the paddy field... the letter turned out to be a treasure trove of information. The funny thing was that our grandma and grandpa wrote separate letters to Visakhapatnam as they were at loggerheads for years together due to the reasons best known them. Grandpa could read and write and he wrote his own letters. For the illiterate grandma, her younger daughter wrote and many other times, we did it.

" Priyapetta Radha ariyuvaan...." grandma dictated the words. Radha was the name of my mom whom my grandma affectionately called thus. A well written letter those days was like a poem. That was the power of mother tongue. We could flawlessly express our feelings as our thinking was in our own mother tongue. In the age of emails, the art of letter writing in mother tongue is dead. Even if we venture into writing a letter, more than half the words in it will be English.

At last, the cycle has come but it did not come to our house. To our utter shock we heard that this cycle was meant for another person who was also a member of our team in Vizag. It was heart breaking. We all felt so angry with our parents. Money orders from the "north" would have kept usin good humour always. We could meet our reasonable demands with ease everythime. But still, the Bicycle episode left us sulking for a long time.

It took an year or two more to get our own bicycle. That was a modern looking one with a stylish handle, and wheels. By the time it had come, we were good riders. The owner of this luxury vehicle was our eldest brother. He used it to reach the nearest bus stop, around three kilometers away on this cycle. The first cycle was not so good looking. It was good that we did not get the first cycle as it was not so fashionable too. But, still the happiness those "half cycles" gifted us on several occasions including on Onam eves could never be repeated by any substitues.

The villages were less polluted and the life was still in harmony with the nature. Slowly but steadily, the cycles gave way to luxury cars and motor bikes. Now, on the single narrow road in our village, many bikes and cars are running at high speeds. The road has become unsafe for children and old people to venture out. In this insecure world, kids are confined to the four walls around our homes. There, these kids happily spend their blissful time in front of the internet, video games and television. The worried parents look out for their children straying into forbidden pastures....

 

 

Omana chechi

Some smiles make indelible mark in our minds. There is a smile of its kind etched in my heart long time back. I got a glimpse of the same smile an year back on the occasion of a wedding in our family. The smile was always mixed with a little shyness. That was so pleasing. That was so relaxing. Events and individuals come and go. Some events are pleasant and some others, sad. Many people fade from our memory as time passes. They can be our close friends in the past or even our own relatives. As the life moves on, new men and women replaces the old ones. That can be called the dynamism of life. Whatever be the philosophy behind this, that is how it happens.
 

Omana chechi, the proud owner of this disarming smile was our neighbour. Not only our neighbour, but also was the eldest of the three daughters and a son our maternal uncle had. He was not exactly our uncle but our mother's. He was the only brother of our grandmother. He was the first one among the people who came to Visakhapatnam along with my father. He lived with his family on the southern side of our house. We called him ammavan, the Malayalam of maternal uncle. Narayanankutty, popularly known as Nanu is his son. All through the years upto I left for my studies in Kollam, we were very close friends. The simplest term to discribe him is, Nanu was our bosom friend.

Nanu was just an year younger to me. My elder brother is one year older to me and the youger sister two years younger. So, the school text books that were bought for the elder brother was handed down to me after he finished the year. The books still remained as if they were bought anew. I too kept them in reasonably good shape. As in a relay, the baton is handed over to Nanu and finally it reaches the youngest one. But, by the time, Nau finished his year, the books would have become a mutilated lot. So, most of the time, my sister had to be given new books 

Omana chechi was his eldest sister. After completing her SSLC, she went on to learn stitching clothes. As expected, she just completed 10th but not passed the exam. Most of our villagers, those days went upto 10th, only as a ritual. They were too afraid of the public exam to even give a try. Sadly, they meekly surrendered to the inevitable. Those who could manage to get through, opted learning type- writing and short hand writing. There were so many type writing institutes all across the country. Everyone was tuned to become servants! Omana chechi walked everyday to the nearby village, learnt stitching and started earning petty amounts. It was essential for a poor family to sustain. The only earning they had so far was the money ammavan was earning from Vizag. That was obviously not enough for a family of six to survive comfortably

Nanu had his lunch with us every day. Our grandma had very special love for ammavan's family. It was a kind of compassion towards a disadvantaged family that was happened to be her own brother's. Almost everyone from his family spent major part of his/her time with us. Omanachechi had reached the wedding age by that time. Our grandma was a worried lot then. Perhaps she was more worried about her marriage than her parents. It was our grandma who prompted Omanachechi to observe the " Thingalazhcha vratam" the penance young ladies take to please Lord Shiva on Mondays. The pleased Shiva in turn blesses them with a suitable man in their life. Grandma followed up with Omanachechi to observe the vratham every Monday.

On Monday morning Omanachechi took bath and went to our village's presiding deity, the Lord Shiva to pray to Him for a suitable husband at the earliest. She remained hungry for the day as a part of this ritual. But still, like any human being, our grandma too knew that, a husband will come only if enough money and gold were offered. Nothing else could substitute money, even the divinity that is attached to a wedding. Lord Shiva could certainly not influence anyone's mind when it comes to marriage bargains.

Read more about the vrat : Somvar vrat Monday-fasting

Marriage broker came and went. Interestingly, he came to our house with proposals. There, he showed the photograph of the prospective bride groom, narrated the "virtues" of the man as much exaggerated as he could. He also waxed eloquent about the boy's relatives who were in high positions. He never forgot to promise that the boy had enough property and a house of his own to live in. The impressed grandma served him with tea, snacks and meals with specially made dishes. I still remember how she used to sit nearby this man and encourage him to consume whatever he was offered. It was a passionate appeal to the tricky village marriage broker who was interested in nothing but money. We the children really felt angry with our grandma for the care she showed to a man who apparently looked a fraud, but the old lady was too naive to see through such dubious behaviours

The Olavaipe Mahadev temple in the heart of the village

At last, Omanachechi's man came. The broker did it. Though the credit went to the "Thingalazhcha vratham", it were the money and gold that did the trick. Somehow, her parents augmented that amount and sent her to a new home to open a new chapter in her life. The saga continues. She lives the same way she had been living. There was no much improvement in her living standard. Instead of stitching clothes, now she looks after cattle to earn an additional income to her family. Her parents died with nothing in their possession. They had to sell off a big part of the piece of land our grandma gifted them to live in, to meet their expenses in their last days. Some people are destained to live in perpetual misery. On the other side of the coin, some others live without knowing what deficiency means. The pleasing smile is still not lost in her face. It unveils once in a while, though laced with a tinge of sadness. Har Har Mahadev, how many more 'vrathams' should she observe before You wipe away her little discomforts in life?

 

Forty Plus

A pigeon sits close to my office room and coos everyday for a long time. That sound has a special soothing effect. This species of doves seen on Das Island is something different from what we see in our place. The coo also sounds more pleasant than the native ones. I enjoy its sound while working. The dove is so happy. It need not review the earthing layout of the plant nor should it worry about the schematic diagram of the emergency shutdown system. It gets its food in time. There are ample facilities in this earth for it to live comfortably and they live perfectly in tune with the nature. That was what the God kept in His mind when he sat down to create life in earth. Unfortunately one of His products went miserably wrong. Now He pays the price for that mistake..

I have been overwhelmed by the birthday greetings. So many insurance companies, banks, mutual fund managers and property developers sent me greetings beside a few of my friends. Look, how affectionate these money spinners are! They sincerely remember my birthday. For me, every birthday is a harsh reminder of the fact that I am older by one year. Yes, I am getting old. How difficult it is to hide the age! Dhatri Herbal Hair Care oil or Indulekha Hair Care oil- which oil to choose to control greying? Options are a lot in the market, but a small bottle of this magic medicine makes a big hole in the pocket. It keeps the hope but the greying goes on unchecked. Painful to see the ageing process. Oh no, I don't want to see this. I stopped looking at the mirror of late. There are so many middle aged men roaming about here with pitch dark hair. How they struggle to blacken it with various dyes is not a secret. Their looks tell everything at the first sight itself. The very thought of that scenario to be faced by me a few years later makes me a bundle of nerves. It reminds me another fact of life, this enthusiasm, one-upmanship or the pride in one's self just can't sustain forever. I have to bite the bullet one day, and I may better be ready for it...

Incidentally I must cite a story here, though not much related to the context of this essay. During the life in exile, one day the Pandava brothers went about searching water. One after the other went in search none of them returned with water. At last Yudhishtir went and to his shock, he found all the four younger brothers lying dead. The Yaksha, who tried to stop them  from drinking the water, failed to do so. Yudhishtir agreed to answer his questions before drinking water from the pool. The last question by Yaksha was : Who is truly happy? What is the greatest wonder? What is the path? And what is the news? One part of the question is "what is the greatest wonder?" To this question, Yudhishtir answers : "Day after day countless people die. Yet the living wishes to live forever. O Lord, what can be a greater wonder?" That is life...

Pangs of greying is disturbing but the reading correction glass that has lately perched on the nose gives a serious look to my easy go lucky image. With the spectacles lowered, throwing a look at the junior guys from just a little above the frame may give a feeling in their minds that this guy is a serious and knowledgeable stuff! A few grey lines in the moustache and many more in the head attract some kind of respect from others. But I do not enjoy the idea of becoming old. Let there be some magic potion on sale that can defy aging, I will be the first to buy it. It may not help me retreat to my mother's womb, but I can be seen young

By forty, the tummy makes it presence felt much more conspicuously than ever before. The symbol of laziness hereinafter becomes a companion and no one tries to put any serious efforts to get rid of it. So many men run, walk and go to gym to keep their tummies under check. But that is just a small per cent. The majority is so lethargic. Tummy, alas, does not come alone. Blood sugar, blood pressure, cholesterol and what not? Slowly but steadily, the lazy bodies offer a place to live for everyone that comes calling. The receding hairline compounds the pain. Still the silly oldies think, dyeing is enough to hide their age...I only hope, as the shadow grows longer, the much essential virtues like maturity, tolerance and compassion grow along and start spreading smiles and happiness to the society

I had spent 10 months inside my mother's womb. Then, for 10 to 12 years, I lived as a child that knew nothing. Remaining time, I lived thinking myself so high. The prospects of the remaining life is unknown. But, I am not perturbed about it. In reality, the life was truly a struggle. Many of the comforts I could enjoy now were  like a dream when I was younger. That time, I had the drive, fire in the belly and the urge to conquer everything. But somehow, fell short of the requirement at every war fronts. Still, the wonder that Yudhistir talked about made me say, never say die.

Now, I earn enough to lay my hands on the things that were so distant once upon a time. I can eat four square meals every day, without worrying about tomorrow's livelihood. The plastic cards in my wallet can buy anything I like, except love, respect and peace of mind! But, still, I am on diet. I cannot eat many things I like to eat. I must control food. A spoon of rice or an odd chapatti makes my meal presently. I am afraid of food. I suspect, anything that I eat can boost my blood sugar, cholesterol or pressure.  Sugar is dangerous, salt is dangerous, rice is dangerous and coconut oil is dangerous.  More than food, I rely on tablets for survival. Have I been living for this all these ages?

After forty, a man enters the stage Vanaprastha. According to the religious texts, the description of vanaprastha ashram is like this: "After the completion of one's household duties, one gradually withdraws from the world, freely shares wisdom with others, and prepares for the complete renunciation of the final stage". Writing on the wall is clear but my mind is still deeply ensconced in the grihasthashram!!