Just Jottings -5

Everything is blank. I have no idea if my house is still existing there. I lost everything. Now my job is at stake. Once i am asked to go, my visa gets cancelled and I have to leave this country. Where shall I go? This is one of the soul stirring account of one ageing man's present situation. His country is burning. Houses are bombarded. Communication channels are totally destroyed. 

He has no contact with his own people residing in his country. We hear news about suicide bombing, killing of people using AK47s, mortars and knifes on a daily news. No single day passes without a news about death of at least 50 people in terrorist attacks -all in the name of religion and god  

No wonder this man's plight is just an outcome of religious intolerance the civic society is staring at in the modern days. All disputes, diversity in opinions, dissent and non following of religion are all set right with guns. The terms like Satyagraha, Non violence or tolerance are not included in their dictionaries. We are lucky. We can come back home and enjoy the ultimate freedom whenever we face trouble in any corner of this world. We keep the slogans like "loka samstho sukhino bhavanthu"  and "live and let live" very close to our hearts

On last two occasions, I vacated my porto-cabins with great relief and happiness but this time I felt so sad about it. This time it was a different situation. As the projects got finished, all the curry leaves were to be thrown out. One among those leaves was me! Every project site has such similar stories to tell. So many people, that may run to thousands sometimes, work from dawn to dusk to complete the project. Big bosses to the labourers sweat it out in the arena. Himalayan egos shout at each other. Frayed tempers raise blood pressure and adrenaline flow to unhealthy levels. Behind the back of everyone, people murmur "that fellow does not know anything". I put it in a very refined way, but every word in this sentence is punctuated by very bad and filthy words.   In the end of those nerve wracking process of project execution, some people gain hugely in terms of money and positions and many others lose out. Then, there will be desperate moves and counter moves by a few people to hang on to the project till the last man is demobilised. For that, these guys go to any length.

From the crescendo to the lull, there is a wild rhythm in the project execution. As the project reaches its peak and the commissioning and hand over stage reaches, the commonly heard word in the corridors of power is 'demob'. The powerfulls and their "chamchas" make the list for demobilising the people associated with the project. At last, the "demobed" write a heavily cliched goodbye message marked to one and all associated with the project and wait for replies from the recipients, especially some words of appreciation from the bosses 

I am 'demobed' and I am heading to my country. So, this time my exit from the porto cabin was on a  sad note. I liked to work at Das Island. Though it was like an open jail, the stay there was enjoyable. Distance from my dweling cubicle to the office and the mess was just 100 meters. Food provided in the mess was fairly good including the avial in the menu. Above all, after every 29 days of work, there was guaranteed departure to home. Almost three years passed just like waking up after an owvernight's sleep. 

After typing this much, I took a break to watch Premam, a quintessential Malayalam movie. In Abu Dhabi city, there are three cinema theatres in the radius of around 100 meters. In all these theatres, Premam is screened at present. One thing we all need to know, it is worthless to download movies from the web sites and watch at home. Go to the theatres and feel the movie. In this movie, when the rain scenes were shown, I really felt, it was raining outside the thearte. For a moment, I thought I was sitting in my Olavaipe home in a monsoon night. The sound of rain drops falling on the tiled roof and the water falling off the roof like a water fall are to be experienced in a good cine theatre. Heavy rains along with gusty winds and frightening lightnings mark monsoon in Kerala. As a child, heavy winds and lightnings used to send chill in my spine. Till fury of a session of rain ends, I hardly breathed properly. So, do watch movies in theatres, they have potential to take us to some nostalgic trips.

"Malar" steals the heart. The only image one will carry home will be hers. Like a fully blossomed rose, she spreads fragrance in our minds and her matured mannerisms make a riveting impression in the audience. Finally, Premam gives a message too. Love failures need to be taken in our stride. No stalking, no acid attacks, no self killings...only look out for another one, just look out and move on

Road users in Abu Dhabi are a disciplined lot. They stop their cars at least 2 meters away from the "stop" line. No force on this universe can move their vehicle even an inch till the green signal turns on. Meanwhile, the pedestrians wait patiently on both ends of the zebra line for their signal to turn on. Everything is systematic. On unmarked crossings, cars are stopped for the pedestrians to move on first. The surprising thing about all this is that almost eight out of the ten road users are Indians, Pakistanis or Bangladeshis. There are hardly seen a policeman on the road, still the people from the Indian subcontinent fear this unseen  super power more than the God they swear by. Punishment for traffic violation is of course severe but it is the certainty that makes the people fall in line. Will there be such endearing behaviour on their home turf too? Hope has no place in this line of thinking...sadly sure

The Kerosene motor

Start in petrol and then turn to kerosene. That was a famous dialogue by Radha. Till the last breath, these words can never to deleted from mind's memory space. Karthikeyan was his name but no one in our village would identify him by that name. For all of us, he was Radha. Radha lived very close to us- literally. His family consisted of seven members. Our family had a very good relation with his family. His grandfather was the one who removed the husk from the coconuts. He stood with the husk removing tool all through the day and like a machine went about his job tirelessly. Like many other jobs that needed high physical efforts, this too was a hard one and the income it fetched was pathetically low. 

Radha missed the school after he completed LP School. He was one among several kids who regularly scored a zero out of fifty marks. That was all normal. Perhaps his parents did not expect anything more than that. Teachers never looked at him. Weak students were always pushed to the back benches but they were never spared of the cane. These condemned kids bore the brunt of the teacher's anger but the same teacher never had a heart to lift the kid's morale with a healing touch.  It all evolved as if some guys and gals are destined to fail. Unfortunately, Radha was one among them. He was detained in 4th standard. All the younger siblings followed his footpath. Forced out of the stream of the education system, they took to physical jobs at an early age itself. Like that, Radha joined as a childhood friend as well as a domestic help. His main job was to assist in maintaining a kerosene operated water pump. 

This pump was commonly called kerosene motor and it was used for irrigating the coconut trees. In the summer seasons, the temperature goes up to an unbearable level and the water table goes down drastically. There was a necessity to keep the coconut tree healthy since they were the main source of income once upon a time. The paddy fields on the east side of our house go dry. This was the time we removed the remaining parts of the paddy after harvesting. People patiently pulled the stubbling one by one. They were to be pulled out along with the root itself. All the pulled out parts were put into a heap and then burnt. Come summer, there will be a number of small simmering heaps dotting all along the vast paddy fields. We too joined the process. Once the fields are cleared, children could use them to play. Acres of land for children to play while the eldres were busy thinking about mopping up the field for the next round of cultivation. By the way, how many of us would not have experienced the smell of the freshly sprouted paddy seeds? The seeds were  soaked in water for two days and then transferred to big baskets lined with cotton or jute clothes. It remained there for three to four days. After that, when the baskets were opened, the sprouted seeds set together and emit a peculiar smell. 

Of late, in the summer time, vested interest groups started letting in salt water to the fields from the back waters. This made preparing the paddy fields for farming very difficult. Still, we tried to do it in by the start if monsoon. Slowly, everyone lost the drive. Favorite occupation of a village had been mercilessly drowned in salt water. With that, our "ptthayam" the wooden container fell empty for ever and ever after that we could never enjoy the fruits of our own hard work. Presenly, the paddy fields in Olavaipe like in any other part of kerala lie barren and gradually being turned into land. The new generation would be wondering where exactly do the grains originate!!  In a way, this salt water helped the coconut trees. The kerosene motor started pumping this water to the trees. 

Back to the motor. Radha was assistant to the main man Gopalan. They took the motor all over Olavaipe to pump water to coconut trees charging a fee. Water from the nearby ponds were pumped to the trees. The suction pipe was dropped in to the pond and then the pump was primed. After that, the initial ignition was provided by cranking the engine. A rope wound around the shaft of the engine, while pulling out suddenly gave the required spark inside the engine. There is a a fuel tank with a separation. In one part petrol was filled and kerosene in the other. While starting, the valve was turned to petrol and once the engine started and pumping water, the valve was turned to kerosene. 

This motor was extremely unreliable. Most of the times, one needed to wind the rope and pull it so hard several times to start the engine. In the middle, we had to open the spark plug, clean it and refit. Every alternate day there was a new problem and at times it needed opening of the internal parts and repair. Many times, the foot valve did not work. Water taken from the pond in vessels went into the suction pipe non stopping, still it never got filled. Then we realise that the foot valve was defective. The next step was to replace the foot valve. 

When the motor is on job, its noise could be heard in the entire neighbourhood. The outlet of the pump was extended using hoses and at the end of the hose, kids fought with each other to get hold of it and point the water jet towards the tree. Wherever the motor was taken to places, rolls of hoses followed. Sometime down the line, we got rid of this motor as it was only giving more trouble than benefit.  The machine that entertained us for long and got Radha some monetary benefits went into oblivion. Still the memories refuse to go and so do those words.."petrolil start cheythu mannennayil idanam (start in petrol and run into kerosene)"

Just Jottings-4

Doves, Mynahs and tiny Sparrows were still picking their preys. Sun has already sunk in the sea.It's for real. I saw it with my two eyes while running along the coast.  Darkness has slowly set in.The birds were busy with their last pick of the day. In this open jail, they are the only ones, without any worry, live their life. As usual I ran for 6 kilometers. In a humid evening, sweat flew out from every pore. By the time I reached back in the room, the entire dress was drenched in sweat and it was dripping. The peak summer has just arrived. The months of June, July, August and the first half of September will be very hot and humid in Gulf. In my experience, rest of the time, it is pleasant to work here. 

One day, in a fine morning in Chennai, I was walking out to buy milk from the near by shop. I saw two crows pulling a twig to opposite directions. That twig is evidently meant for constructing a house. In the duel, the one that had better strength flew away with the twig. I expected a fight later on. The vanquished crow fetches a gang belonging to his community and attack the crows belonging to the victor crow. Nothing of that sort happened. It looks they took it in their stride. It is just a matter of ego. They learned how to get better of egos despite not reading hundreds of religious books like we human beings do. Amazing indeed. 

This time on my leave cycle, we went to Pazhani temple. From Chennai we boarded the Pazhani express at 1030 in the night and reached the destination at 0730 in the morning next day. Three kilometer journey to the hotel, The hotel was located very close to the steps to the hill temple. We climbed the steps to the hill with frequent breaks. There was unprecedented rush in the temple on Sunday. Somehow we could manage the darshan and return to room by evening. While returning we walked along the ramp. This is an alternative to the steps in Pazhani. 

the Ganesh temple at the foothill

There were a number of processions in the temple. Accompanied by a lot of percussion instruments, devotees carry the "kavadi" and take a round of the temple. This is one of the most important offerings to Lord Murugan. Nice to watch these processions. But, it was not nice on the temple authorities part to charge a fee to see the Lord. There are three types of queues. One for who can pay hundred rupees, another for the ones who pay ten rupees and then another one for free. Rush was more in the hudred rupees queue than that in the free darshan queue. Why should there be a fee to see the God? It is all happening because the temples are ruled by corrupt, greedy and atheist babus and politicians, I suspect. We can see similar scenes in famous temples like Tirupathi too. I only hope, temple authorities one day will make God's and Goddess's darshan purely a private affair between the devotee and the Almighty. May there be no middlemen involved in between

Nowadays, visiting a temple became increasingly expensive. At least ten rupees need to be deposited in the hundi. Ten to anything upwards needed to buy offerings. Then the middle man. Unless we please the poojari, God's blessings will never be transferred. So, in total, by the time we come out of the temple, we will be poorer at least by thirty rupees. Still, many temples offer "annadaanam", the free food during lunch time. When I visited Mangalore, I saw every temple there offering lunch. Lunch, otherwise called "prathal" is one of the most important offerings in the famous Vaikom temple. To sponsor this offering, one has to reserve a day at least a dew years in advance.

We took a bus from Pazhani to Polachi and from there to Thrissur on the next day. On the way a group of 3 young men joined the journey from somewhere inside Keralam. One of the men, aged around 23 has been taking two others of around the same age bracket. The bus was very crowded because it was running like a town bus. Somewhere on the way, the young man got the seat nearby me to sit. He started a conversation. He has been going to Thrissur to attend his hospitalised father. His father was a government employee tasked to catch fish from the Dam nearby their home. He earned decently good remuneration. His wife, took good care of the husband. She cooked tasty food for her husband except the fish that he brought. He cooked fish to make it more delicious. Along with fresh water fish, he started consuming liquor too. The loyal wife never objected to this. The habit grew into addiction and as the time passed, he fell sick. Liver failed. Now, his stomach often gets filled with puss and it bulges out like a balcony. After every three months, he has to be taken to hospital to remove the puss and then do dialysis. The young man said, the total cost of the treatment every time he is taken to hospital is nearly twenty thousand rupees. In addition to this, he has to find people who can donate blood. 

This young man is dedicated to the aging parents. He works as a tile laying worker in buildings and earns around eight hundred rupees everyday. He has to sacrifice his one day wage and also  that of the accomplices. He pays the price for one reckless man who enjoyed his life with a high all the time. The high spirit he embraced everyday would have made his life so exciting. As he enjoyed his life the way he wanted, the hapless or ignorant wife just looked on. All the addicts are like this. They enjoy their life alone and at last they need everyone to share the resulting   miseries. 

താൻ താൻ നിരന്തരം ചെയ്യുന്ന കർമങ്ങൾ 
താൻ താൻ തന്നെ അനുഭവിചീടുകെന്നേ വരൂ 

That is what Ramayanam espouses. Whatever you do, the consequences are also to be faced by you. That is in Ramayanam. In the real life, we all expect others to share all that bad is happening to us because of our own misdeeds...

Monsoon Memories -2

June 1. Sun may not rise in the east. The siren at 8 am may not go off to alert the workers in my village, but monsoon rains would never miss the date. As we get ready to go the school, thick dark clouds in the south west corner greeted us on the first day to school. Umbrella was a must. But umbrella was just not adequate to prevent us from drenching every part of the body except head. Protecting the books from rain water was a task. Most of us kept it intact by covering them in polythene sheets. Still, there were children without umbrellas. Many parents could not really afford to buy an umbrella and many others were just indifferent. They knew children would still walk all the way to school with the help of a plantain leaf, take shelter in a wayside shop or take help from the ones who had an umbrella. 

Somehow every kid tried to go to school everyday irrespective of the end results. Result was not a concern for anyone, be it the student or the parents. My slate always showed 50/50. These

figures filled the entire space of the slate in every exam till the 4th class. As I walked back from the LP school to home, I proudly held the slate aloft for everyone to see. I do not remember if anyone was appreciative of this big achievement. Perhaps grandpa felt happy though he never showed it outside Grandma never knew how big the 'laurels' her grandson brought home. She would have felt very happy and recorded in mind that I would become a big man in future. She did not live long enough to see her dreams come true and I am still waiting to fulfill her presumed dream!  That was how the villagers treated education. Nothing great has been lost, anyway. Everyone is living happily and the bottom line of all achievements in life is living happily. Visibly, it is happening, going by the good houses and the happy faces I could see when I visit my village occasionally. 

All ponds overflew in the monsoon. So did the 'sarpakulam' the sacred pond dedicated to the snake gods. A small canal was cut open to make the excess water to flow out to the nearby paddy field. A small stream of water flows from the revered 'sarpakulam' to the paddy field carrying a number of small fish along. We made paper boats and put in the stream. The boat moved hitting so many hurdles till it sinks as it absorbed water. Sometimes, even big fish came out of the pond which directly went to the kitchen. There were such small incidents of pleasure in the monsoon days though hardships got better of everything else. 

All over the land, there were water loggings. Gutters in road were filled with dirty water. The precincts of our temple has big water logging. Ankle deep water was so pleasant to walk through. The plus point was that since it was a temple, no one spitted or threw rubbish into it. We ran through the shallow water splashing it all over. Water when stamped with one foot and then kick the splashing water with the other like a football, a loud noise is created. That was a favourite pastime for the children. Run and kick water several times was a thrilling game. Some guys were amazingly fast in kicking more number of times with louder noise

Rain or shine, thunder or storm, we never missed the visit to the temple. Once on his stay at home, our father gave a task to lit a few lanterns in the Sri Krishna temple. The temple has been our family property for long but there was no pooja conducted in the evening time. From the day he advised us to do so, we never skipped even a single day. Every evening, we two brothers along with other children walked to the temple. We carried oil in a small bottle, cotton wicks and a match box. Even in torrential rains, that was a regular feature on monsoon days, we did make it to temple. Many days, during the evening pooja in the Mahadevar temple, we two brothers and the old lady from the neighboring house were the only attendees. In the clear weather days we had another companion. The cute little boy, our eldest nephew. That was the time our eldest sister gave birth to a baby boy. We were crazy about the child and vied with each other to carry him and entertain him. We took him to temple many days. On the way back, he always slept and my brother used to carry him on his shoulder. That was interesting because we were playing uncles for the first time. 

A metallic tin with four ropes tied to it, two on top and two on bottom acted as a device to transfer water from one place to another. In the water logged landscape, our device worked as a water transferring mechanism. Four boys holding each end of the rope dipped the can in the water and then simultaneously pulled it to throw the water to another place. It was a very thrilling game indeed. Elders used much improvised device to remove water and mud from our ponds during renovation and maintenance work in the ponds. Four muscular men do this and as the metallic vessel go up and down the pond carrying mud and water, it was like watching a JCB in action in the modern days. The only difference might be the former was very eco friendly and always done with a view to help nature whereas the JCBs are meant mainly for destruction. 

At the end of all the entertainments we found in the incessant rains we were left with itchy feet. Come night, the feet start irritatingly itchy. Two hands were too less to tackle the problem. Elders lent their hands quiet often. Crying in helplessness was the only thing we could do in the night. They apply medicine all over the feet that brought much needed relief. The tender feet turned violet after the healer medicine is applied. Somehow we hit the bed and slept only to wake up in the morning to go to school. On the background the siren goes off alerting the children to come to the road to start the long march...

My sweet Grandma

Three "kathina vedi" go off exactly at 3 O'clock at the Thuravoor Mahadevar temple everyday morning. Grandma along with Mahadevan wakes up hearing this. A hectic day starts there. Thuravoor temple is located probably 5 kilometers crow's distance. The thunderous kathina vedi sound could easily travel up to grandma's ears in the small hours of the day. Kathina vedi is a special type of fire crackers extensively used in Kerala temples. On most of the special occasions, Kathina was the only fire cracker went off in our village temple. Even on the festival days, kathina found its prominent place always. No temple festival could be complete without elephants, police and kathina vedi.

Grandma believed that the sound of the fire crackers from the Mahadevar Temple ends the free for all of the ghosts, yakshis and umpteen other extra-natural evil entities that roams about in the night to suck blood of the people who were caught in the darkness.  She strongly believed in Ghosts. There was always an iron sickle under her bed. She slept in an unassuming cot in the room adjacent to the kitchen. There was no electric fan in the room. Hand fan was the only way to give some relief from the hot nights of summer. There was another enemy to fight with. Mosquitoes. She used the term "chakka kothuku" for the giant sized mosquitoes with great exaggeration. All of us used hand fans to fight the heat and the nocturnal predators that sucked our blood. Thank god, had a yakshi or a ghosts sucked my blood, I would not have lived to tell this story!!

Everyone feared mosquitoes, because, Cherthala had the largest number of cases of elephantiasis. There were so many beleaguered men and women in Olavaipe with swelled legs. It was a pathetic scene to look at our boatman Thevi rowing the boat with both his legs affected by the obnoxious disease.  There was a time people of Cherthala found it hard to get a spouse because no one wanted be a partner to a prospective patient or carry the burden of a horrible malady by himself/herself.

The first thing grandma does, erect in the cot, was to call out her loyal assistant. "Edi Meenaskhi", Dee Meenakshee"...like a chant, this went on for a while. Meenaskiyamma who slept in the kitchen found it hard to wake up in the wee hours of the day. Grandma would never let her sleep more than that. Somehow, cursing all gods, Meenakshiyamma stands on her feet, roll the mat and dumps in grandma's room. Smoky stove lit up and the breakfast and lunch for her beloved grand children get ready there. Idly coconut chutney, puttu-channa masala, Dosa with chutney...so many mouth watering items took shape in the caring efforts of the duo. 

Appam was made in a different way. Soaked rice along with small onions, green chilly and jeera were ground in the stone grinder and the paste is poured in a shallow steel plate.  This then cooked in steam. Appam's combination was dry coconut chutney. It was so delicious. I do not remember to have eaten this appam after grandma left us.  Making sambar was a big task as boiling toor dal consumed too much of wood and time. Even after boiling dal for several minutes, it  still remained half boiled. But before cooking anything else, Meenakshiyamma made "kappippodi vellam", the traditional black coffee. It was a sour tasting coffee made using the coffee powder bought from the village's soul provision store. In the absence of multi branded coffee powders that flood the market now, there were not many things to choose  from in those days. The coffee itself was called "vellam" that sounded the coffee like water. Tea was always called "theyila vellam".  However, it kept their sleep at bay effectively

By the time we got ready for school,everything was ready. The cylindrical steel container was packed with rice and coconut chutney. Almost all children carried rice and chutney to school everyday. The brown coloured kerala rice, fondly called "kutthari" takes excruciatingly long time to cook. The low efficient stoves compounded the misery. I do not think the villagers of those days thought of any other rice to cook. That was a way of life. We had storage containers to keep rice that was harvested from our own paddy fields. The wooden storage container is still existing in our house. Perhaps, it houses only cockroaches now. So many times we boys were asked to enter this container to take out the grains. Inside the container, it was pitch darkness that greeted us. The only thing I did not like inside the container was the cockroaches that used to run on to my body often. 

Grandma and her assistants including our neighbourhood aunt boiled the grains in big bronze vessels, dried under sun.Drying the boiled rice grains itself was a big task. The wet grains were dumped in a mat and spread evenly. One had to stand by all through the day to keep away the crows, pigeons and chickens from picking away the grains. Many times the position of the mat had to be shifted so that it comes under the direct sun light. Suddenly, there may appear dark clouds. Commosion follows to pick the grains and move to safe place. This process continues for at least three days.  The grains were then taken to the village flour mill to remove the husk. I carried on my head the grains in bags to the mill many times although with much reluctance.  I could not say no to grandma's repeated requests to do this. 

There comes the bran as a byproduct of the process. Barn is brought back along with rice.The fine powdered barn is sifted and separated. It is very tasty to eat with sugar or jaggery. The water separated after boiling the rice too was considered healthy. Most of the time barn was used as fodder for the cow grandma maintained at home. Many times ladies removed husk of the unboiled grains manually using "ural" and "ulakka" The rice then soaked in water and then ground in the manual ginding stone along with other ingredients and then poured in plates and steam cooked. These rice appams were the food grandma offered us while we returned from school. We desrved the best in the evening because we braved the weather everyday as a routine. Severe monsoon rains, crossing fear instilling backwaters, walking a few kilometers in hot sun or heavy rains along the narrow bunds of paddy fields...the expeditions was never ending in the process of schooling.  

Days were always hectic in grandma's life. She always kept her right hand Meenakshiyamma on her toes. After the morning chorus, it is preparation for the lunch,then the evening tea and then the dinner. In the middle, Meenakshiyamma rushes to the paddy fields to cut grass for the cow. Coconut husks were taken to the nearby water body to soak. These husks were soaked in water for several days and later they were pounded with wooden logs to make fibre. These fibres were then woven to coir. Dry coconut leaves were soaked in the water body for days and then woven to make plaited leaves. These leaves were in great demand for thatching houses and fencing. How fast meenaksiyamma's and aunt's hands moved while weaving the leaves. All these activities were reserved for the time slot after the "Sadhyadeepam" the holy lantern was lit and before grandpa walks in after his temple visit. The ladies dealt so many subjects as the work was in progress. Subjects obviously purely gossips about men and women around us. Discussions were often laced with jealousy and a little bit of derision.Probably, admiration was very hard to come out in the discussions. We children sat for homework with eyes glued to the book and ears to the discussions. Everything comes to an end when grandpa retuns from temple at around 9 in the night. 

It is dinner time. Grandma deposits rice and other dishes in a plate and calls us out. "Take it to grandpa" she instructs. We were a little scared of him because he was always serious. We gently put the plate on the floor in the hall and then call him for the dinner "Muthacha, choru". He never came nearby the kitchen or the usual place all other dined because he did not like fish. No one stood nearby him when he took food as all were afraid of him. Grandma never served food to him as far as my memory goes. He finishes food quietly and sometimes not so quietly. At times he got angry and there ensued an interesting duel between the old couple. 

That was the routine. She was an illiterate woman. She hardly knew about the world outside Olavaipe. Though we children could read Malayalam, we too like grandma never even touched the Malayalam daily we subscribed at home. When the Emergency was over and the horrific stories of police atrocities were occupying the newspaper pages, we along with grandma and Meenakshiyamma listened to the news read out by our mother's younger sister. She had a rhythm in reading. It reverberates still in my ears. The other source of information was the All India Radio controlled by the government. More than the content, the way the news was read out in the "akashavani" was very endearing. Though, grandma did not know the worldly things, she was very sure about her democratic right of casting vote in the elections. On every election day, she walked up to our LP school and marked her vote on  the Cow and the Calf symbol.

I challenge the God, the all powerful Almighty. If He really wields the power his blind bhakthas bestowed on him, let Him bring back my sweet grandma. Give me back my sweet childhood. In retun, take away all that He claims to have given me all through my life...

Just Jottings -3

Sunny side up. Till the other day I did not know about the auto-up gradation of class of journey on trains. This time, when I booked the ticket, I clicked on the option 'consider auto upgrade'. Ticket booking on railways is just like sipping a tea now, but still it is impossible  to get confirmed tickets if do not plan the journeys much in advance. We can never get tickets on routs like Chennai-Bangalore, Chennai-Trichy and so on even if we try to book weeks ahead. Of course it is also a game played by the all pervasive corrupt elements in the railways and its parasites to make some quick money. Even the black overcoat was once used as a convenient device to keep ill gotten money extracted from the passengers. 

This time, on board the train a little girl was traveling with her parents. She was talking non stopping in her not yet clear accent. The little cute baby was a nice thing to look at. Innocence was in full flow and what is more beautiful on earth than innocence of a child? This girl, to my surprise, when asked to sing a song, sung it in praise of Jesus. That toddler could recite a prayer, but even at this age, I can't. As I have been enjoying that innocence, the black coat sporting ticket examiner came and while checking the ticket informed that my ticket has been upgraded to the next upper class. I walked away to the new location and slept like a baby till the next morning. Learning never ends. Let it continue and may such journeys help collecting new bits of knowledge

I only pray, that cute little girl grow up in a peaceful atmosphere where no one casts evil eyes on her. Being a female is becoming increasingly difficult in this world. Around half of the population. Fear of being attacked sexually, physically or mentally from any quarter including her own family. Pedophiles, voyeurs, rapists, acid attackers, social media hawks...there is a long list of dangerous people around the women. In the war zones, women are being kidnapped and used as sex slaves. These spine chilling acts by perverted minds are happening even as we boast of becoming technologically far advanced. The 21st century is called the digital age where the unimaginable things will be made to happen. Of course, killing and dying in the name of religion is an unimaginable thing. Modern day gadgets are used only to drag our society to the stone age. The shell shocked civil society is just watching the horror unfolding, rather helplessly...

http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/world/middle-east/Yazidi-women-gang-raped-in-public-by-Isis-fighters-harrowing-accounts-reveal/articleshow/46876768.cms

There occurred  a shocking incident a few days back. A young Indian woman was brutally murdered in Australia while she had been walking out of a railway station and talking to her husband in India over phone. Husband heard her begging the killer for mercy and then her screams. Just imagine she knew a few tricks of self defense. If she could take out a few steps of marshaling arts at the time of those disparate moments, perhaps she could have saved herself. Parents must take a lesson from this incident. Instead of pushing the children towards singing and dancing,  we must consider imparting some self defense tactics to the children. IITs and IIMS can wait. First, we must ensure that our children are alive and kicking. 

Last month, after I checked out of the Abu Dhabi hotel for the return journey to India, I had to wait for the taxi at the hotel lounge for a while to go to the airport. As I have been cooling my heels at the lounge, a young man came out of the lift and approached me. He wore an endearing smile. He first wished me and then shook my hand. Then moved to the man sitting nearby. That man looked to be of African origin. The young man introduced himself as a stranger and wanted to just say a hello. The man obliged, smiled and shook the young man's hand. Then, that young guy walked away with unsteady steps. Of course, he was drunk, but his gesture towards the strangers was very good. It certainly lightened my heart. I am sure it did the same to the other one too. I too wish to do the same, I mean, wishing everyone, even the strangers. Smile at them. Exchange pleasantries. That makes a difference. But, I am afraid to do so because, in our country, strangers are considered hostile all the time. If we smile at a stranger, he/she may think that something has gone wrong. Let us hope, people's attitude will undergo changes slowly but surely

The television in front of me is incessantly beaming advertisements on Akshaya Thritheeya. The Malayalam channels too are busy promoting akshaya thritheeya even as Vishu is round the corner. I wonder what is this fuss all about. The jewelry shops are constantly brainwashing the people to buy gold in the name of a superstition. Gold is sold with 916 hallmark. That means the gold sold in any shop has the same quality. Then why do these big sharks spend crores on advertisements? Big superstars are lined up to say lies to the people whom they are depending on for their livelihood. Superstition like this must be strongly discouraged by the forward looking people. Recently, a Karnataka minister went to a graveyard and ate food during the lunar eclipse. Symbolism, indeed.  There are very dangerous superstitions existing in the world- the concept of Heaven, Hell and Rebirth. These are just nonsense. How can even well informed young minds be corrupted with such beliefs? Can killing and dying for a cause like religion and god take people to Heaven? 

Instead of harping on symbolism, learned, refined, wise and informed people must work hard to alleviate such mindset. People with scientific temper shall not believe this. Hell and heaven do exist on this earth itself and we are responsible to make either of this. Blowing up people into pieces or slitting the throats can only usher in hell. Peaceful coexistence of all faiths and beliefs naturally bring about heaven. 

Meenakshi Amma

Meenakshi Amma passed away. Curtains to 92 years of very ordinary existence. The world has not stood still. People did not mourn. She was no Indira Gandhi. On the day of Indira's death, we were around 15 kilometers away from home. We had to walk all the way back to reach home as there was a total shut down in the country. What had followed that death was the most harrowing incidents. People of a particular community had been hunted down. Burnt alive.  Garlanded with burning tyres. Stabbed and beaten to death. It is simply explained as the reverberation when a big tree falls. I only pray such trees would not fall once again in our country.

Meenakshi amma's departure only brought relief to the world around her. She had been bed- ridden for the past few months. Last time when I met her, she was out of her senses. There was no response from her to the repeated calls. Bed sours were visible from different parts of the frail body. For a moment, I wished she had been called back at the earliest. That is the sad part of this life. The mortal part undergoes continuous change. Like Yudhishtir told to the Yaksha, everyone knows one day he/she has to die, but still the run to achieve something in life continues. "Day after day countless creatures are going to the abode of Yama, yet those that remain behind believe themselves to be immortal. What can be more wonderful than this?" At the last leg of all these rush, this is how a human being becomes. Incapacitated and virtually turn out to be a burden to the near and dear ones. That is a stage in our life. Everyone around us impatiently waiting to see the last breath. This woman was very lucky. Her "uneducated" children never dumped her in an old age home or left her to the mercy of a home nurse. She would have enjoyed the care of the children and especially the daughter-in-law who lived with her.

She was the right hand of our beloved grandma. Meenakshi Amma claims that she entered our home when I was born. Since then, for around 40 years, she served all of us. She stayed in our house though her house was just a few meters away. Hers was a very poor family. Her husband passed away long time back leaving behind two children to be taken care by this poor woman. This might have forced her to go to work. The elder boy at a young age went to Vizag to assist my papa and the younger one stayed back as mamma's boy. Both of them did not do any formal education, but Meenakshiyamma could read newspapers.

The most vivid thing in my memory about this woman is her preparation of fish curry. She had a stoop. She could bend fully down while still on her feet. She cleaned fish in that posture, standing in the open space just north side of the kitchen accompanied by a number of crows and a dog and a cat. The unwanted parts of the fish were thrown to these creatures. While throwing them, she used to say, she would feed only the dogs, because they are very loyal. When we reach heaven, dog will talk in favour of us, while the cat, even if we feed them, would talk only bad about us. For her, the crows were the souls of the ones who departed us. I stood by her all through the process of cleaning to pour water to the earthen pot. Several times, I lifted water from the well as she cleaned the fish thoroughly. By the time she finished it the fish would look silver. The dogs' eyes look shinier and the happy crows fly away with a sumptuous dinner...

She then takes a coconut, removes the husk using the tool, breaks and grates. The grated coconut is then places on the grinding stone along with all ingredients and she starts crushing the mix. It is a long process. In every one's house, by the side of the kitchen, there located a grinding stone. Our beloved ladies worked on it to churn out delicious food to us. The efforts went into each item deserves a salute. The finely crushed paste along with the pieces of fish is then put on the stove in an earthen vassel. The stove is powered by wooden logs. Our kitchens were once a place were smoke ruled the roost. Our moms and grandmas spent a major part of their life in the middle of smoke. The rest of their life could be spent to rear her children. The fish curry is the best dish Meenakshiyamma made under the supervision of grandma. It ought to be the testiest, because it is made with love, affection and commitment. 

We devoured. On holidays it was with the lunch and on weekdays, we had it with the dinner. We had a bench and a desk to eat food. Grandma served food and we three brothers sat together to eat the dinner. We talked a lot while enjoying the fish curry. Our eldest brother used to perform a "Ottanthullal" on the silly things happening in our village Olavaipe. It was all about the first bus service started from Olavaipe. People  have celebrated the first step towards development. Sadly, our village has not put another step forward yet. Still one bus comes and goes as a routine. Ottanthullal and the spicy fish curry made an exhilarating combo for entertainment. 

The verses of Ottanthullal were impromptu but sounded very funny. My elder brother acted as the second man, like in the traditional enactment of the great art, and repeated the verses sung by the main performer. That peppered up the fragrance of the spicy fish curry. At the end of the dinner we could have become just like a snake that gulped a prey. At the end of the dinner, the lukewarm jeera water. As the warm water goes down the neck, the happiness touches the crescendo. Grandma and Meenakshiyamma sat on the floor and took food after we vacated the scene. Then, Mennakshiyamma takes all the utensils and plates to the well. She cleans them using ash. I always walked down up to the well to lift water. By the time the entire process was completed, it could be 10 in the night. She slept in the kitchen itself in a mat only to be woken up by grandma by 4 in the morning. Grandma always had anxiety. She wanted the breakfast and the lunch to be ready by the time we were ready to go to school. 

Meenakshiyamma lived a very simple life till the end. In fact she was forced to do that since there was no big income to her family. By the time the younger son married, she shifted her stay to the little house our papa constructed for her in her land. Still she visited our house everyday and joined in all activities in the kitchen. Her connection with our family was like an umbilical chord.

Meenakshiyamma, in my view, is another example for living happily even though not being rich. She used to handover a small part of money to my mom from the paltry amount of the old age pension she received from the government. That is what richness means - the willingness to share. She could see her hut like house turn into a good looking  and more comfortable dwelling place in the sun-set period. She died in the revamped house, perhaps with a sense of satisfaction. Her soul would have gone to the heavens, no doubt. 

Everyone came to bid adieu to the mortal remains looked very pleasant. In villages this is still happening- cutting across caste,creed and economic divides, all assemble on such occasions. Whoever came there gave their last respect to the body and then hung around outside the house. In small groups they were discussing various subjects, from politics to children's education to their jobs while impatiently waiting for the cremation to start. No point of time the name of the departed soul came in the discussions. Once the smoke started emanating from the pyre, one after the other everyone dispersed. Perhaps, that also could be the society's dynamism. Agony or ecstasy, to share or not, villagers are readily available on the spot. To that extent, our villages are blessed...

O God, He's Grown up!!

There was a screaming passenger in the flight. For me, every journey is a chance to snooze away, forgetting everything happening in the universe. It could be the dirty old and crammed bus running between Chennai and Pondicherry or the economically designed seats of a budget an airliner. I never find it difficult to take a good nap all along the journeys. As an extensive traveler, this was just a part of the job. Many times night journeys were a way to reach the destinations. Chennai to Bangalore, and back, Chennai to Coimbatore and back..Thanks to the Golden quadrilateral that brought about a spurt in road development in our country, such journeys are increasingly comfortable now-a-days. A jerkless night is ensured by the hi-tech busses running on these roads.

The flight from Chennai to Abu Dhabi took off at 10 in the night. There was nothing unusual as the plane took to air. As usual, I just leaned to the seat and closed my eyes. Suddenly, the entire surrounding has started reverberating with the high pitch screams of a little kid. He, accompanied by his father and grandma was occupying the seat just behind me. He could utter only a word. In between the breaks from the nonstop cries, he uttered that word "Thatha" "thatha"..... he is asking after his grandfather. In the absence of his mom, it was the old woman, his grandmother, taking care of the child. As the scream continued relentlessly, the "paatti" tried her best to console him. Surprisingly, not even once he uttered the word "amma".  He went on repeating "thatha" The grandmother tried all the tricks up her sleeve to divert his attention but the kid would never relent. Each word of the grandmas was greeted with louder screams.  What could have prompted the boy to insist thatha's presence instead of his mother? I could not yet figure out the child's mind

At home, these days we are not hearing the loud calls from the bathroom for help. The boy started doing the things by himself. No more assistance in cleaning him after he attended the nature's call. No need to bathe him and then dress him up. Feeding the breakfast or tying the shoe lace have faded into history. He is independent now.Then what do his parents do? We enjoyed doing all his needs. As a little kid, he wetted the bed quiet often. woke up in the mid night and screamed at his throat's capacity. Made our life miserable in several nights.

We took every care to give him the best. Best food, best clothes, best toys and best entertainment. Our own needs and necessities were of secondary priority. In addition to this, his grandparents were always on standby. In fact, more than us, they took care of him all the time. We sacrificed everything for his comfort. All outings, good sleep in the night and even watching the TV were on hold. But still, spending time with the little kid could fetch much more happiness than all other material comforts. We enjoyed bathing him, cleaning his excreta and urine from the bed and floor, feeding him and tying the shoe laces. We did it all for our own pleasure rather than doing a great favour to the kid

But now he does not need that extra care. Parents were knocked out of their job!! But is it really so?No way. Now the parents have a bigger role to play. Pry on all his activities. Watch him while he spends his time with the modern gizmos like smart phone and Tab. Restrict him from playing. Confine him to the four walls of the study room and press him hard to byheart whatever is told by the teacher. A++. Nothing less than this would satiate our quest for making his future secure. 

I don't own a car, a smart phone nor an  i phone. I do not embark on any expensive foreign tours with family. The worst thing is I do not work in United States of America. I could not even visit that place once. Moksha is not possible in this birth. I do not want this fate befall on my kid. Sadly, he was not born in the USA. He speaks Malayalam, not the American accented English 

We will force him burn the mid night oil. When my colleagues or friends or my neighbours and relatives ask what do my kid do, I must be able to proudly list out my kid's achievements. I must proudly proclaim through the social media that my kid achieved A+ in the 10th exam and then in the 12th, the performance was astounding. What if we spoiled his childhood? What could he have achieved if he ran after the butterflies and dragonflies?  It could probably cost him a seat in the IIT or a top Medical college. The choice is between the dragonfly and a flashy life in the future. We made the choice for him. 

All that we did and are doing are for our own satisfaction. Like in a pet show, whatever the pet accomplishes, the credit goes to the master. He/she flaunts the trophy to the public. The child sacrifices a golden opportunity to enjoy a  carefree and innocent childhood for the benefit of the parents. Still, at the end of the game, the parents claim they did a lot of sacrifices to bring him up and make him a big man- well, I mean a rich man. 

Sitting in the empty nest, the old couple shall make no bones about the young one that just flew away. Take heart. He has been lightening up our life. Imagine a life without that young bird. It could have been nothing but a big zero. Never count on the sacrifices made but just sit back and relish the blissful time spent with the kid. Simply sink in to the reality that the wheel has taken a full circle...

Kochuvelu, the climber

There is a place called Salalah in Oman. I heard of this place but have never visited there. People holding UAE visa can visit Oman without visa. So, many people from UAE visit Oman whenever there are long vacations. The countries included in the Gulf Cooperation Council can travel anywhere with their passports.



Salalh

Tonight, as I have been surfing through the television channels, I saw a man climbing a coconut tree. The entire area around him was green. So many high rise coconut tress. I thought it was a documentary about Keralam. That is natural. Whenever a malayalee sees coconut trees, he/she thinks that it is in Keralam, though there are so many places in Tamizhnadu and Andhra Pradesh that has much healthier coconut trees than Keralam.  Coconut chutney, coconut oil, avail...these are Malayalees' own pride. The documentary on television was on one such coconut farm in Salalah. So many tall coconut trees and they are all bearing full of nuts. It was an amazing scene.

My village like any other villages in Keralam was also like Salala. "Was"  is apt, for, things on ground has changed a lot now. Most of the families in the villages depended on coconuts as a source of income once upon a time. Every piece of land had so many coconut trees. People cared them. Gave them right mixture of manures and watered them well in the summer seasons. A boat journey along the backwaters could spot a number of people engaged in mining the fertile silt from the bottom of the water. People dive and come up with blocks of black colured sediment and dumping into the wooden boats tied near them. These blocks were sold to people who owned coconut trees. Now, it is hard to see people doing this business. Customers prefer easier and more effective fertilisers now. I do not remember when we last supplied some fertilisers to our coconut trees When there were some insects attacked the trees, prompt action was taken. The trees were happy and the people were happier. When people were in urgent need of money, they sold a tree or two. It temporarily solved their immediate cash crunch, but it was so saddening to see the axe falling so hard on the "Kalpa Vrikhsam"

The Land of Kera, that is Karalam, is still not devoid of coconut trees. There are still a good number of the trees surviving, holding their majestic head above all other trees. A boat journey through the back waters of Keralam leaves a breathtaking feeling even now. It soothes our feelings about large scale deforestation to a little extent. The Kalpavriksham with all its seducing beauty is still entertaining the eyes that behold them.

Houses were located right in the middle of thick vegetation. Besides coconut trees, there were mango trees, cashewnut trees, jack fruit trees, to name a few. Around my house, there were at least 3 huge mango trees. They bore sweet mangoes every year. The tree that stood right on the north side gave very tasty mangoes. We called them country mangoes. It tasted very sour when raw but turned so sweet laced with a peasant sourness as it riped. That taste can never vanish from the tongue. One day, as the head of the family found empty exchequer, he sold the tree off. There fell a friend. Imagine about biting a raw mango along with crystals of salt. That taste can just beat the taste of an ice cream or a milkshake-hands down.

Coconut trees from the sapling stage to the tall ones dot the entire landscape. There is a common belief that the tree never lets us down. In my memory, there was not even a single incident where a coconut fell on anyone. It is like that, the Kalpavriksham never harms.

In every two months' interval, the festival revisits. Thengukayattam, to harvest the Kalpavriksham. It was a process of climbing the coconut trees to extract the ripe nuts, the dried parts and the leaves. Every part of the tree was useful. What to say, even the ones that fell down before growing up to become a coconut were used by the children to play with. The coconut climbing was a family occupation. In fact it was the job of a caste. Kochuvelu was the one who headed the team of climbers in my village. He was a black complexioned stout, shirtless man. His team of three or four men of various ages were all from his own family. The team did not consist of his younger brother Kochootty or Kochukutty. Sadly, he was out of his mental balance. He roamed around in the village till he died. Though he was not harmful, we children while walking to school dreaded a lot. Spotting him on the way always made the heart skip a beat. He was a living example of how a man with mental illness was treated by the society once upon a time. Probably, things have not changed much even in Century-21

The team went up and down several times. The climbing device was a simple ring made of rope. A few meters, they climb using a ladder and then use the ring around their ankles to reach the top. It was really frightening to watch Kochuvelu climbing the trees that are as tall as 30 meters. He reminded of the Spiderman. We knew little about the superhuman character those days, otherwise we would have called him Spiderman.  Tall trees swing in the wind like pendulum in the wind.. During the monsoon seasons, the trees become slippery. Unfazed by all adversities, he accomplishes the task. A sharp edged chopper was hung on the shoulder as the climber makes his way up. No special clamp or a hanger is used for this but it is the skill of the climber that keeps the chopper in its place

They start climbing from one direction and cover the entire compound in a pattern. As they approach the north part of the house, where the Kitchen is located, grandma stood by. There ensues a funny tussle. Grandma picks a few coconuts and dumps them into the kitchen. Grandpa,the manager of the entire event, dislikes this act the most. He shouts, frets and fumes, but unable to do anything more than that! For the reasons best known to them, both were at loggerheads since we started remembering things. Most of the fights were on silly things. We enjoyed their quarrel a lot. Grandpa was a serious man while grandma was a simple rustic down to earth woman.



Crying for a fresh lease of life- Anyone cares?

Within a few hours, a heap of coconuts was formed on the forecourt. Kochuvelu and team separates the coconut from the bunch. The counting starts. Their wage was also coconuts. With the chopper, Kochuvelu lifts the nuts, open a small part of the husk and ties together all that he got. These coconuts were hung on the ladder and the team walks away.

After a day's hard work, Kochuvelu heads to the toddy shop, . A drunk man walking back home with unsteady steps uttering something always was a regular scene in our village. It was not like this in any village. down the line, people lost interest in coconut trees. No ones cared for a good friend. The money flew from outside the state ensured everything was available in the shops. Coconut trees, one after the other fell to various maladies. The tribe of Kochuvelu gradually started dwindling. There were more luring jobs that fetch more money and social status. The forsaken friend braved all weathers and all kinds of attacks by predators. Many fell already and the surviving ones find it very hard to stay alive. Hope the land of kera will again breathe  a new life into the Kalpaviksham in the near future

The Bubble - A short story

That was a prized possession. Like a very old dream coming true. This silk mattress is marvelous. Just sink into the bed and forget about everything,or just relax and pass comments about the happenings around us or shed a few drops of tears for the ones who endure miseries elsewhere in the world though the flashy i -pad. I can now do everything as I please wallowing in the comfort of a silk mattress. When I visited Beijing, the tour operator took us to a place where we were shown how silk is produced from the silk worms. The coocons were stretched dexterously to make a thin layer of silk. A number of such layers were stacked together to make mattress. I wanted to buy one but my purse was not supportive then

Once upon a time, I was poorer than this. Everything was not even at a hand's distance. My papa did not have the famous plastic cards. There was no concept of kids playing with toys. Father earns to fill at least 6 stomachs. Besides roti, kapda and makan, there was another not so necessary need- schooling. Everyone was sent to school. To government run or government aided schools. Some passed out, some fell on the way. Nothing unnatural in these incidents however. 

No one seemed to have dreamt big, but somehow everyone sailed though. So did I too. Much later, I saw a carpet on the floor of one of my colleagues' house. I felt so sad about not owning one of its kind. Forget about the carpet, I was not living in a decent rented house then. Wish list was long but the purse was not strong enough to support the wishes. 

Time progressed. Slowly but surely I grew up to meet some old wishes but new wishes found their places on the list, knowingly or unknowingly. That large floor carpet still remained elusive. I could never bring home a carpet yet. Somehow, it is so near but still so far. I can afford to go to good hotels and eat big meals now. Could own a house in the metro city. Everything started looking achievable, if not easy

By then, the shadow started growing. Blood sugar on the border...Anytime it may cross the "rekha" and then I will be declared diabetic! Diabetics is a bad disease. I wanted to avoid it at any cost. Started controlling my diet, started doing some physical exercises. Desparately wanted to get rid of the little tummy. Everyone said, it is a symbol of richness!! A malayalam couplet assures, tummy is a symbol of masculinity. I don't believe this anyway. I could not spend more than five hours on my silk mattress. The back started aching severely by then. I feared to eat food,lest it may build up the cholesterol level. Fear almost got better of me.

Jogging everyday evening became a part of the routine. All though the day I ran after Gandhi. At the end of the day, in a track suit I hit the roads to burn away a part of the fat earned. I forgot the taste of a good sweet made in ghee. Tea is without sugar. Dishes are so monotonous and showing no emotions like salt or chilly. Still, the taste of dollars that got accumulated in the NRI account was so sweet. My eyes twinkled like stars while looking at the account summary online every month end!! Dreams started become reality faster than expected. "Aasayalulla paasam" ( the rope of wishes)  grew longer and longer. 

I ran six kilometers non stop everyday. Observed strict regimen of dieting. Perched on a weighing scale, i gave a long sigh. Weight was gradually reducing. My tummy has beaten a graceful retreat. Well, almost. One day, halfway through the long run, I fell. Could not take anything that I accumulated though my hard work. Could not even enjoy the fruits that I meticulously cultivated. Could not say a good bye to anyone. They laid me on a plantain leaf. Hey, where was my silk mattress? They just described me as "body", giving scant respect to my social and economic status. They never cared if I was a top executive of a big corporate. There were a lot of obituary on the social media. Most striking among them was "life is just a bubble on water. It can burst anytime without a warning. How long you lived is not important but how you lived is." I am sure, I am sure, this person has sent this message from his arm chair....!!

ഭോഗങ്ങൾ എല്ലാം ക്ഷണപ്രഭാചഞ്ചലം 
വേഗേന  നഷ്ടമാമായുസ്സുമോർക്ക   നീ 
വഹ്നിസന്തപ്ത ലോകസ്താംബു ബിന്ദുനാ 
സന്നിഭം മർത്യ ജന്മം ക്ഷണഭംഗുരം ....

(ലക്ഷമാണോപദേശം, അദ്ധ്യാത്മരാമായണം )