Just Jottings -2

There are something like ten percent of the people in the society harboring extremist ideologies. They kill people in the society. Most of the victims of this mindless act of terror are not even remotely connected to the reason these terrorists attribute to their acts. Interestingly, every terrorist has 'genuine' reasons to put forth for killing others. Reason for killing people? Strange, but there is a section in the society that always supports these terrorists. Some people even cry for them. Terrorists are only a small number in any community. But, with their brute muzzle and fire power, they dominate the society. They take control of the thinking process of the society. The voiceless majority is then subjugated to follow the diktats of a handful of extremists. A bunch of sick minded morons, thinking that guns and bombs can bring about the changes they want to see, go about their business rather mindless of the consequences. People could be turned to extremist ideologies due to disturbed childhood, frustration on being a failure in life, hatred to the society due to metal disorder or even due to indoctrination by criminal minds. What could be going through their minds, when the extremists demolish with bombs a Primary Health Cebtre in a god forsaken village in Chattisgargh in the name of their beliefs? Innocent people are targeted mercilessly and in turn this causes division between different communities although they prefer to live in a harmonious and peaceful environment. They are always affected the most, irrespective of their religious, caste or ideological leanings.
 

That was what happened in Sri Lanka too. Extremists hijacked a community's control. Attacked the government machinery, killed their own people who opposed them and fought bitter wars with the army. They killed so many political leaders and military officials. Their brand of extremism was one of the fiercest in the world history. Blood bath was a daily routine in the Island Nation. Those extremists, as usual had very 'genuine' reasons for their killings. Strange, but that is how the terrorist mind-set works. In India some people sympathetic to these extremist outfit rever their leader as a hero. His life size pictures can be seen pasted on the walls all over in some parts of our country. This is inspite of the fact that he was the leader of a banned organisation.  India considers him as a terrorist. Imagine the reactions from people if anyone displays the images of Osama Laden in public!
 

All the blood bath was for Tamizh Ezham

The people who wanted justice against discrimination by the majority community of the country came under the heavy boots of a well trained army of extremists. At last, the Government's army moved in. Crushed the extremists ruthlessly. As the proverb goes, when the elephants make love or fight each other, the grass gets trampled upon. The helpless Tamizh population had come in direct firing line. The government army mercilessly killed the fleeing public. They raped. They stripped men and women alike. Brutally shot them dead in cold blood. Children were never shown any mercy. Blood flew like springs of water. The reckless extremists too killed people. with the same cruelty the army showed 
 

The Government army, as reported by various agencies, went berserk. YouTube is galore with blood chilling scenes of violance, although the veracity of the claims are debatable. One among such scenes is that of Isai Priya.

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N91mOD_drVg 

 

 Who did it on her? No idea, but the postings on you tube claims, it has been done by the Government Army. That, by any standard is inhuman. Isai Priya was an extremist ideologue and was a news reader in their television channel. Whatever be her political leanings, killing cannot be accepted. The needle of suspicion clearly points to the government.

The Elem war ended around four years back. That was the 4th major war fought between the rebels and the government forces. The latest war killed thousands of civilians and rendered many more thousands homeless. They are still suffereing even after four years. The Government does not care for them. The recent BBC video suggests that harassment of Tamizh population is still continuing. Devolution of power to the minority community is still a remote possibility although election took place in the Northern Lanka and a chief minister of Tamizh origin has taken charge of the affairs of the northern territory. What about the war crimes?  (This phrase 'war crimes' sounds so funny! War itself is a crime. What more crimes than this can be committed by human beings?)  The government has not yet put any serious efforts to come clean of the allegations.

 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eelam_War_IV

 

Against the backdrop of these war crime strories and post war human rights violations, CHOGM meeting is about to happen in Sri Lanka. The Prime Minister of our country wanted to attend the meeting but could not do so due to pressure against this from certain quarters. The opposition  to PM's attendance is merely political. There could not be an iota of sincerity in this demand. They cry an ocean for the people of Lanka, but shockingly none of them were  seen shedding even a drop of tear when Ilavarasan died a disgraceful death at Dharmapuri!

http://www.ndtv.com/article/south/ilavarasan-s-death-a-case-of-suicide-not-murder-says-police-in-status-report-402295

That could be due to their political exigencies. But still, PM should not go. Even India shall not be represented. That is the strongest message we can give to the remorseless government to mend their ways first. But still, let us keep our conscience very clear. Our human rights record is one among the worst in the world. We ought to remove the stains on our window panes before finding dirt in the neighbor's walls...

 

Manali -2

Rafting in the Beas river was so thrilling. Though it was nice to have a very adventurous journey, given a chance now, I may say a firm no to it. How dangerous it could become! Most of the tour operators in our country are unprofessional. Their only aim is to extract maximum money from the tourists. Customer comes last in their scheme of things. If anything unfortunate happens in the middle of a turbulence, no one could save us. Those professional rowers on board would have simply swam to safety, leaving their customers to their luck. We have seen so many accidents in Keralam involving water tourism in the recent past. So many tourists lost their lives in them.

We dried our clothes on the bank of the Beas River after the ride. It was only partly dried. We did not bring any extra clothes for the event,  since river rafting was not there in the itinerary. The car then moved to the famous Vasisht hot water spring. That is in Kullu. Kullu is a place around  50Km away from Manali. From the ice cold water to hot boiling water. That was the change over Daler had in his mind when he showed up at the hotel lobby to pick us in the morning. He has not disappointed. On our way, he showed a lot of tents on the banks of the river. He said, these tents are of the tourists. There are so many groups of excurions taking place based on tents. School children are brought to Manali is large groups and accommodated in tents. It could be really interesting. He suggested us to arrange such tours for the school children from South.

There we were now. At Manikaran in Kullu. To witness an amazing thing. The water is boiling. A steady stream of boiled water is filled in a pond and then flows away to the river. There is a temple and a gurdwara adjacent to this spring. Rice and cearials that are offered as prasadam in this temple and gurdwara are cooked in this boiling pool of water. There is no external agent to boil the water but it comes out of earth in boiled condition. Of course there is scientific reasons for this phenomenon. certainly it is not God's handiwork.

Exotic breathtaking locales need not necessarily be appealing to a child. Children's tastes are different. They may not enjoy a beautiful sun set or a charming land scape as the elders do. Instead, a cycle ride or some adventures like river rafting may make the day for the little ones. Of course, care must be taken when we choose our tourist destination. It shall be enjoyable to the kids too. Para gliding was one such thing my kid enjoyed in the tour. There are a few agencies that conduct para gliding for the visitors. On the first day of our arrival at Manali, he made his demand firmly. We planned it for the next day but suddenly the waether turned hostile. There were thunder and rain for a brief period in the late afternoon and this forced the para gliding people to abandon that day's programme. The first thing we did on the third day was to go to the para gliding spot. The kid was so excited. The happiness that blooms in the kid's face is what makes every tour a memorable one. The aborted cruise to Havelok island in Andaman is still haunting our minds. There too rain was the villain. My kid cried inconsolably when he came to know that the much fancied ship journey had been cancelled.

He has been taken to the hill top. We the parents of the single kid waited downhill with baited breath. As the child was being taken away, I made a request to the guy who would glide down with my kid- be extremely careful. We have only one child...As we watched with all anxiousness, there came the parachute carrying my son. He looked like an astronaut with happiness writ large in the face. There were a few photographeres, besides we with our own camera to capture that "world conquering" scenes. Those cameramen do their job for money. We can get soft copies of the images in a CD if we wish by paying a small amount.

That was a wonderful trip to Manali but missed out Shimla. There are bus services to Shima from Manali that takes a night's time to reach, but we decided against it due to lack of time. The driver of our taxi too told there is nothing much to see. To say it authetically, I should have visited there...

Manali -1

Daler Singh was a bit annoying. None of us were comfortable. On the previous days, we were enjoying his company. He took us to the Hadimba temple, Jogini waterfalls, snow point and so many other places of interest. We enjoyed every bit if it. Daler took personal interest to arrange the much liked paragliding by my kid. He took us to good restaurants to have lunch. He insisted us to wake up early in the morning us get ready for the go around. He emphasised if you want to sleep longer in the morning, then why came to this place spending so much of money? Pertinent question indeed. With great difficult, almost cursing Daler, everyone dared the morning chillness, got bath and was out of the hotel rooms to go with him.
 

Like in the previous days, he was present at the hotel lobby sharp at seven. It was too cold outside. In a hill station, naturally the mornings are cold. I do not like to wake up early in the morning while going on a pleasure trip. Still, some times it is like that. Today the destination was Visisht hot water spring and then back to the bus stand to return to Delhi. We traveled from Delhi to Manali by bus. There are a number of buses running between these two places. These private luxury buses are more or less highly unprofessional and customer unfriendly. The best example was the stopover at the restaurant for dinner on our way. The toilet was so dirty that, the appetite was killed. These bus operators do not care how their customers put up with such discomforts. Especially for the ladies, using the public toilets are a nightmare. The bill at the end of the mediocre dinner was something like 700 rupees. Exorbitant but the passengers had no other option.
 

Daler was the owner of that car. It was a new Eeco car he purchased very recently to take around the tourists. The hotel receptionist arranged the vehicle. We did not arrange any vehicle in advance. There was no necessity to do that because, in every tourist centre, there are so many local tour operators. It is very easy to find one of our choice. Eeco ran like a air plane at times. He was a bit rash at the wheel. On the way, Daler suddenly mooted the idea of going for a river rafting. We were not interested. None of us wanted to take that risk. The Beas River, looking from a distance itself gives a frightening view. Water flows so violently through a rocky course. We resisted with all the force in our command, but he was unrelenting. He said the fee for a person was just 700 rupees. At last he told us if we do not spend that money, he would spend it from his pocket. He was unwilling to go further without going for the rafting. It virtually angered everyone. But finally, he prevailed upon us
 

Hesitatingly, all of us got down from the Eeco. He then took us to the guys who operate the raft. There are so many all along the road that runs by the banks of the Beas River. Daler bargained and got it at a lesser price that was Rs 700 per head. We got the safety gears and readied ourselves for the adventure. The rowers of the raft guided us to sit appropriately and advised us to hold the rope tightly. The raft got into the water...The first turbulence followed immediately, drenching all of us. The water was ice cold. It almost stopped my breath for a few seconds. All others like me gasped for breath for a while. From then, the adventure started. The raft travelled through the turbulence, immersing us in water several times. Every time when we emerged from water, I threw a very anxious look to my son who was sitting behind me. With a great relief, I saw him enjoying the action. We all enjoyed every moment of it. The raft moved a little distance steadily and then fell into a turbulence and then again moved on calmly. That was really thrilling. That thrill gave way to the initial fear and we all enjoyed the journey till the end. In fact, all of us felt sad when we reached the other point.

 

 

Perhaps this river rafting was the high light of our Manali visit. We felt sorry for thinking bad about Daler. If we missed this journey, that would have remained like a lost chance to embark on an exciting adventure of  a life time...just like that missed opportunity to travel on board a ship to Havelock from Port Blair.....

 

The Grains of Nostalgia...

It was all looking blank. The new window was opened long back. Like a love struck boy or a girl, sitting in front of his/her study table switches on and off the table lamp out of boredom or anxiety to meet each other, I have been switching from one widow to the other for long without any purpose. I wanted to jot something but was gasping for words. It happens so often. The main culprit is the television. It takes away all the concentration and dedication. In the background, the song "akasa roopini annapoorneswari..." sung by the Gana Gandharvan is emanating out of the laptop like a nice breeze. Wondering, what do I exactly engage in right now? Trying to write some thing? Listening music? Watching TV? No idea but the song took me to those cycle yagnam days. Nostalgia, that is an experience. An experience that comforts the heart so effectively. Good old days when the life was spent like a butterfly, have gone long time back, but of course, memories linger for ever.

In the present situation, in a cell, surrounded by all the trappings of a modern life, there is no life. Everything happens as it has to happen. All the creatures walking on two legs are used as pawns to achieve something great. What is that great thing? No one knows but all are present at the work place sharp at seven in the morning. Sun is yet to make its presence. Still, no one gets a chance to pull the lungi from the hip and cover it over the body and curl like a millipede land enjoy these pleasant winter mornings.

I never liked to wake up in the early morning. That has never been in my daily time table. Sleeping till nine in the morning was a habit  since we reached adolescence. With great dismay, I had seen helplessly how my innocence gave way to vices like hypocrisy, selfishness and deceit as I grew older. My father had returned from Visakhapatnam by that time to lead a peaceful rustic life away from the hustles and bustles of a city life. He had a hard time waking me up in the morning those days. Not only me, but my elder brother also. We, along with the eldest brother used to sit till late in the night. U pto 11pm there was All India Radio. We sat nearby the radio to listen Ranjini one day, a radio drama on the other day and a kathaprasangam another day. How many beautiful songs Ranjini presented! Gems indeed.



Thoomba

Next day morning we slept for longer hours. My father while holding a Kerala model spade called "thoomba" goes around our compound and does a lot of physical jobs. Makes tiny bunds around the coconut trees before the monsoon starts, tiny heaps of sand (koombal) all over the compound during summer and then levels it a few months later. The entire compound looked so neat and tidy after the sand heaps were made. It was all about clearing the compound of unwanted plants and bushes once in a year. These were the simple processes an ordinary villager used to engage in, in his daily routine. In between doing so, my father comes nearby us and calls out - please wake up dears! We gave short shrift to his calls and went on remaining in the bed till we liked.

Most of the time, we did lend our helping hands to him. Working with spades were entertaining. Father stood by our side whenever we were in action. In one season, we have even ventured into the paddy field adjacent to our home. It was tough but my father wanted to do the cultivation without taking the services of the workers this time. The paddy field was full of water that time. Undeterred, we got into that. The thoomba went down and up the muddy bottom several times. Our not so strong hands struggled to lift the mud to make it a heap. Slowly the heap was seen outside the water surface. It was an exciting moment. The end result of hard work! Like that we three worked for days together. We could complete making mud heaps around an acre of the field within a few days. Before the monsoon started, father took out the seeds from our storage vessel called "pathayam". That was a wooden one kept inside a poorly lit room. The wooden pathayam had full of rice grains that we used as seed as well as food.

We three brothers at random were assigned the job of entering into this pathayam to collect the seeds. I did not like to go in, because there were a lot of cockroaches inside. Father, then deposited these rice grains in a large metallic vessel with water in it. The grains were allowed to soak for a day or two. Then they were removed and collected in large baskets. These baskets were covered with dry plantain leaves and left like this for a few days. Eventually, life sprouts out of these seeds and they are ready for a stint in this world. The smell of the new born lives is still in my nose. That was something special.

The next step was to flatten those mud heaps just above the water level and then the sprouted grains were sowed on them. We ourselves stood guard to them against the flocks of pigeons and the neighborhood chickens. These birds were a constant threat to the seeds. A few days later, there appears a green canopy in the field we toiled. Beautiful. It fills the heart with a lot of happiness. It was like so many thick green islets in the middle of a lake. There were seeds for "Virippu" and "Mundakan". WE never understood what these terms stood for, but after reaping the first cultivation, the paddy grew again and after a few months, it again yielded. The first one was called virippu and the second one mundakan.

From the islets, they descended on the bottom of the field as they grew up. Workers, using thoomba, remove the seedlings from the mud heap and place them in the field. Another group stand in a row and spread these plants all over the field. The entire stretch of the paddy fields would have reached this stage by now. Monsoon at its peak pours enough water to these tiny plants. Wherever we looked, we could see only greenery. The harbinger of prosperity was through these paddy fields for the villagers.

At last, the paddy is ready to be harvested. Several men and women cut the paddy and stack them in bundles in the compound of every house. Scores of men and women, carrying bundles of paddy walk on the bunds between the paddy fields in a line is a common scene during the harvest time. Later, they extract the rice grains from the plant by trampling upon the bundles. Once this was over, the rice grains were measured and a part of it was given to the workers as wages. Everyone disperses happily. Nothing new in it. That was how the life was throbbing in the villages like a well oiled machine. Luckily, the society never allowed the oil to be contaminated by vested interests

 

It was not about big bank balances, villas and sedans. There was simplicity in everything. None of them perhaps aimed at becoming a VP or a country manager. Five to six siblings along with their parents and grand parents lived a happy and contented life for years. The children has enough play grounds and enough time to spend with other children. Those kerosene lanterns gave more light than the hi-tech lamps of the modern era, literally.

Now, those paddy fields in my Olavaipe wears a deserted look. It is a pool of saline water from the adjacent back waters. Weeds filled all over. From all the sides, people reclaim the paddy field and convert into land. There come up big houses. That was what we love to call the development of our village. None of us are no longer interested in cultivation nor in wielding a spade, go around and make bunds around the coconut trees. Rice is available in the ration shop for Re.1 and coconut oil is cheaply available in the market. Vegetables are available in kits in the market, price of which we never ask. We too are living in an urbanised village where agriculture is considered a low class activity....