Like the morning dew

Like the morning dew

Mornings are the same, the sun rises in the east, and the skies unfurl its various hues while the colors creep into our beings as we set out on our routine. The days are spent in relative peace or turbulence depending on where we are and what is the state of our mind. The birds chirp in their usual frenzy and the world wakes up to another beautiful day.

The emotions run high and low, the clumsiness, the fatigue; the wear and tear of everyday life takes the sheen off another dutiful day. Relationships stand isolated or tossed about amidst the tempest sea of life. The equations spread out in an even way to afford us a living.

Our neighbors peep in as usual even as they go about their daily life; the helpers at home go about their daily chores. Relatives renew their closeness and affirm their proximity. Acquaintances drop by remembering fonder days.

Events in the news, keep us engrossed in the mind. Schools and colleges churn out their daily dose. The studious lap it up like a cat with her milk, while the wanderers sniff and turn away like a dog served unwanted food on its platter.

The weather god turns on the controls, the rains stream down as if in mourning, the thunder resounds above as if in applause. The storms wage a lonely battle against the almighty. The smell of rain provokes the richness and bountiful nature in us.

The green shoots dance about as if in thankfulness. The creepy animals that lies obscured amidst the high grass wriggle out as a child attending school after a long break.

Even as life rolls about in a roller coaster fashion, the stillness of the furniture in the drawing room sends an eerie feeling as if it has been robbed of its soul mate, a trusted friend whom it could trust on a daily basis.

The rose plant in the garden wrinkles in sadness even as it has lost a friendly touch. The field hand no more comes for a chat before he sets out to the fields. The shopkeeper forgets to nod his head in mild acknowledgment. Friends hesitate to pass on an infectious high fives.

The lady of the house can’t keep away from staring at the wall, the emptiness inside her, cringing at the loneliness that has engulfed her days. The bystander in the household fills in without knowing the essence of the chore.

The merrymaking within the walls remains subdued for want of its celebrated guest. The critical one liner that used to come at parried intervals, all seemed to have merged with the softening of the earth, the pitter patter of the rain drops.

Not that the guest was accustomed to tapping his feet to music, not that the guest was overtly talkative, not that the guest was zealous about the event. But the calm face that sometimes spelled ominous, the fullness of the room in spite of his short stature, the presence that fuelled and filled compassion was missing.

In another part of the earth, another home deep in the basement another piece of land which is engulfed with peace and the tranquility around it seems to shout with joy, at having received a humorous guest, a celebrated life that brought tears of sorrow to many.

A year seems long when traced in the calendar. A long twelve months, and a painstaking journey in time, but when one looks at it from the perspective of a loving dad who departed on this day one year ago, time seems to have flown by; it seems like yesterday.

But time cannot take away the freshness of the person, his words, his advice, his hints, fond remembrances. The warm hug brimming with love and laced with a deep commitment, a high level of steadfastness, the embrace of a father, the very fullness of his persona lingers like the fragrance of the morning and his uplifting presence like the morning dew.

Robin Varghese

21^nd December 2017 

** on the eve of the first death anniversary of my daddy

I want to break free

I want to break free

I hear a call every morning after I get up from my overnight slumber and I hear the same call every night when I reflect on the day gone by. It is a call that has increasingly tugged at my conscience especially in the last few years.

Today I stopped to ponder on why that call keeps echoing in my mind and why I am increasingly being pulled to answer that call. In the journey between the time I was born and the time I near retirement, I have educated myself through books and observing people. I have become more informed on worldly affairs, on the mysteries of space, and the woes of the displaced.

On human relationships, on conflict in our spaces, on the intentions of people both the intended and the unintended. I wallow in self pity at the times gone by, on the lost time where I tried to settle between the two poles. On assuming a confident role even while walking on assumptions and presumptions, on my indulgence and overindulgence with people and belief systems, ideas which at times I try to outgrow.

How I wish I could go back to when as a toddler I didn’t have to spell out my beliefs, my ideas about people, communities; when I did not have to encounter trouble for speaking against a particular belief system.

It did not matter which religion I intended to follow, which community I belonged to, which linguistic preferences I held, which region or federal state I hailed from. I didn’t give a damn to voices of dissent, to the ones who swear at each other; go for the jugglery or at each other’s neck. I need not pay heed to the upright during worship sessions nor did I have to look away at the bottlenecks of dissent.

I was at peace not having to justify myself, not torn between two latitudes, not having to side with one at the expense of antagonizing the other. No nothing, just enjoying life, smiling when I wanted to, crying my heart out when it suited me most and enjoying the pampered response of my own.

After so many summers things have now changed. I no longer am a toddler, a baby that was not questioned on its preferences. I today have to state the purpose of my very existence. It is precisely for this reason that I fall foul of people and communities and feel restrained as an elephant to chains.

For they will not let me go unless, I am attuned to their preferences, unless I hold no opinion on their preferences, until I prove to them that I am still a baby.

But alas, I have outgrown myself, now I think differently, I think because I am trying to discover myself. I will not stick to the laid down rules, I create my own commandments, and I venture to territories that are marked out of bounds. I am free to think the way I am, I have received enough formal education to untangle the mangle in my head to chart my own course.

Therefore the clash, for I have to follow the views of the family, religion, society, region, state, country and the enforcers of the law. I cannot argue, walk out of line, nor cry foul. My education is not recognized, my views cannot be fermented, my preferences cannot be changed, and my halleluiahs will have to sound louder.

I will have to stand up wherever and whenever the national anthem is played, I will have to abstain from eating certain types of food, and I will have to praise my community. I will have to support my state, my region and my friends. I shall have no quarrel with your ideas. If I differ I am lynched down in a manner that I feel unwanted, an outcast, and a pariah.

How am I free?, To think, to feel free, to pander to my tastes, to do things the way I want to do, to support views irrespective of the origin. To ensure justice is emphasized in a manner where each is allowed to express themselves freely. Will they allow me, I want to break free.

Robin Varghese

Feel the elation

Feel the elation

Did you know that, there exists an alternative way to doing charity? There are various ways in which we do charity, cash, and kind or man hours. Most of us have seen our elders and peers contributing to charity in a prescribed manner.  An appeal in a newspaper or magazine is heeded or a neighbor’s philanthropic cause is seconded. We are also quick to donate our lot to various religious organizations and NGO’s doing charity work.

Be it in kind or cash we empathize with the hapless and trust that our offerings reach the intended while burying the guilt of our relative prosperity in such acts of charity that lead to some succor. In all the above cases we are rarely face to face with the intended receiver. It is only in our inner being that we relish the work that we have done. Not even for a moment do we stop and think of the alternative mode of giving as charity.

Look at these alternative ways of giving besides the oft repeated mode described above. Try not bargaining with the rickshaw puller, the old tailor who does repair work, the authorickshaw driver who is reluctant to part with the change, the cab driver who does not have change, the maid who would love to receive her wages rounded off to the next hundred.

The delivery boy when he delivers at your doorstep. The dhobi when he comes up with a bill at the end of it all. The roadside fruit seller with whom you bargain for every gram of produce. Or the vegetable seller who pushes his cart throughout the day, the lad below the age for legal employment who cleans the car and the dazed looking sanitation worker who clears our clogged smelly sewers.

The old man with a thin yellowing white linen covering his body who sells precious nothing but can be found at his perch every day. The various manual labourers who go about their routine amidst the fury of the Sun God, the traffic cop who is standing in the hot sun merrily oblivious to his perspiration having drawn funny contours on his uniform, the one who has just been fired walking back with a dazed look, the unseen expression of every emotion portrayed on the face of mankind.

Consider letting go of that little change that is due to you, try offering money rounded off to the nearest fifty or hundred. Stop bargaining with the vegetable seller even when fully aware that his prices are loaded. Try noticing the glow of appreciation on the face of the maid when you absently round off her wages to the next hundred. Smile when the tailor who just repaired your clothes tries to extract a little more. Try putting a Rupee 100 currency in the begging bowl of a deserving beggar and step back to receive his blessings. Help folks who are out and lost with your knowledge, network and connection.

All these acts of knowingly letting be, of being fleeced or taken for a ride are small acts of charity but the difference is that you can see instantly the acknowledgment of faith, trust, sincerity, reciprocity, tears, joy, elation, gladness, sheer bliss all transfixed on the face of mankind. This will give us far better joy that the acts of magnanimity that we often profess while indulging in charity to the unknown.

5^th September 2017 

An albatross around our neck

An albatross around our neck

For those of you who have not read the rather long poem “The Rime of the ancient Mariner” by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, or to those who have, but do not remember the jest I shall try to recreate the soul of the poem through my reading of the recent happenings around us.

Remember the Mariner who shot the albatross in spite of the crew thinking that the albatross brought about the south wind that helped the ship steer clear from the ice jam they were stuck in?  All the Babas are being slowly but surely shot out of their perches to be stolid ordinary beings in prison. Never mind they had brought succor to the stupidest amongst us like the crew of the ship who thought the albatross was their lucky charm.

However as the weather clears and the mist disappears the crew of the ship think that the mariner did right by shooting the albatross. Similarly now, when the mist around our babas slowly dissipate we are thankful to the judiciary and the judge for having stowed away the babas for long.

But as soon as they see that the ship has slowly entered unchartered waters near the equator and nothing seems to be moving with their ship seemingly ‘As idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean’, they start blaming the mariner for they think it is the wrath of the dead albatross that has brought this upon them.  Likewise those of us who do not believe in babas are rudely jolted back to our senses when things go wrong accepting the wrath of the saints is our undoing.

How often have we argued against the babas and their lot, against the saintly beings on earth who preach to the gullible? How often have we thought out of our rationale streams and decided to ditch these saints for the logical drift. How often have we been driven back thereafter when things don’t add up? Haven’t we been told that what we face is the wrath of our disbelief, of having shunned the holy and unquestionable path? In our plight we realize that there is no succor, but deliverance by the holy and like the crew of the ship we go back to blaming the mariner for having shot the albatross.

Having failed to stay adrift in our new found belief we go back to the path less cumbersome and start swaying to the music of the babas. Like the crew of the ship who cursed all small and slimy creatures at sea we atone for our sins and ask for forgiveness for having taken on the holy with words less pronounced.  We ask for pardon every day when we come face to face with the babas. In the euphoria that builds up we feel like midgets. The crescendo that builds up drowns our words of repentance and we feel fresh and new as an elephant out of the pond.

Failing expectations ordinarily, we are forced to hang the albatross around our neck, for lest we forget its wrath and pile up a heap of misfortune upon ourselves.

Why do we keep going back into the sinkhole, into the whirlpool of disaster when our logical mind tells us that the power to resurrect lies within? Is it simply because we are not tuned to accept disaster as a part of life? Is it because we are not tuned to face failures? Is it because all of us want to live a flawless life? Are we nervous, fidgety or even insecure?

Will we, like the mariner continue telling our stories of woe to generations to come and turn the young ones into believers of our sort? Will the young ones ever learn to disassociate their worries from the monster of tomorrow or will they churn these stories in their little heads and get up in the morning like the wedding guest who listened to the rime of the ancient mariner and wakes up the next morning “a sadder and a wiser man”.

30^th August 2017

Life at the crossroads

Life at the crossroads

It was around 4 pm on a Monday when this mid aged Lady was called into the HR Manager’s cabin and calmly told her services were no more needed from tomorrow. She stood there in stiff silence, without any reaction. The HR formalities of counseling done she went to her table and started to cry loudly. This was when her colleagues came to know about her fate.

But what actually got the goat were her intermittent woes amidst the wailing. What about those loans that she has taken, what about her child’s education? How would she explain this to her family and friends? If she kept it a secret surely neighbors would come to know sooner than later considering that her daily routine gave her away.

The wailing of this lady put a scare into the minds of her colleagues, would they be next? The very thought sent a creepy feeling through their bodies. In a flash second all of them played the scene out in their minds. What would happen if this truly materializes. They shuddered to even think of this scenario.

This is a general trend now in companies big and small, they cut down staff citing reasons that were in existence decades ago but which was not the focal point in those days. What is even appalling is the manner in which it is done giving no time to the aggrieved employee to even say a final goodbye to their colleagues with whom they have worked for years.

In my time the office was a second home, the elders, seniors, juniors and peers would gather around the lunch table in groups and discuss family matters. Even while work was in full swing, incidents that affect daily routine and matters for advice were sounded out across the work floor. This bonhomie became the impetus for career growth; inter and intra personal relationships, care love and respect for fellow human beings and exultation in being a participant in family functions.

Religion was never frowned upon nor did it dictate terms for friendship. Uncle Rehman used to bring mutton aplenty during one of those Eid celebrations that I remember. I still remember wading through the maze of little soft streams of effluent thrash in the middle of nowhere to get to uncle Rehman’s home on his invitation for Eid.

But that was because my Dad was his good friend, someone with whom he shared his thoughts, his dreams, his family problems, children going astray or even loaning a little money when either of them needed it. They could count on their friendship and bonhomie through working long years in the Steel plant.

Both of them had joined when they were strapping young lads and had grown together in life. There was no divide. Uncle Rehman could even reprimand me if I did something wrong. Uncle Rehman was only one of them; there was an Uncle Majhi, an Uncle Singh, an Uncle Patel, and uncle Ghosh et al. But all this was possible because they were working long years in an institution that had promised them a livelihood if they followed the norms for workers.

Once you entered an institution you belonged to them and you brought along a joyful group of family members who took pride in associating themselves with this institution. The only time they parted ways was when either of them retired. Fond eyes would swell with emotions and each would wish the other long life and wonderful years ahead.

Though some of them faded into the morrow, my dad still had a once in a while relationship with some of them. When he passed away a few of them called and reminisced those old days.

Where the friendship is now, where is the bonhomie, of time spent shouting above the din of the machine to be heard? Where have all of them vanished? the workers, the factory owners, and the heads of institutions? When Ratan Tata visited Jamshedpur the workers complained that their toilets were not as kept as those of their officers. Ratan Tata at once called the utility staff and instructed that the board above the toilet which read ‘workers’ and ‘officers’ be interchanged once a week.

Well all these are fond remembrances, of an era gone by, of a crop of people who had contributed to this nation’s existence and its soul, who have participated in nation building. When someone asks what have we achieved in the last 70 years? He or she is doubting the contributions made by their own fathers and forefathers.

Today the HR manager calls you and gives you the pink slip without even a show of emotion. If you challenge the manner you are castigated from all future jobs within that industry. Exit clauses will not allow you to find another job at which you are adept. Survival of the fittest has become survival of the finishers. We are all placed in a pond with crocodiles and are goaded to come out after a fight.

While some of us come out victors, there is no joy on our faces; the struggle that one undergoes does not justify a beaming face. Bonhomie, care and loyalty are words etched in the past. Today what is required is to send your emotions on a vacation the moment you enter a workplace. Work without being able to tell yourself that this will last. The sword of termination hangs over you all the time and all this at the cost of economics, of profitability, of maximization, of liberalization.

 Hr Managers, Organizational representatives, industry leaders, owners, politicians, writers, bloggers, social media users all have to come together to get that sting back in relationships. If we are able to do that, then this country and your institution will have grown not only in business but also in love.

For profit should not be the only criteria for establishing business. Fostering love among and within communities should equally be important. Business should be able to grow communities. Bring back your emotions Oh! All you leaders and guide our sons and daughters to be able to tell their grandchildren stories of yore.

Seasonal Flavor

Seasonal flavors

Has anyone noticed how we unknowingly or unwittingly tend to flow with the tide? Even though we consciously restrain ourselves, yet the sheer enormity of happenings around us build up a tendency to follow suit. Peep into your younger days when certain ‘in use’ words were originally treated as slang, but because of its daily use, becomes commonly accepted words in daily dictum

The excess coverage, usage of these words makes it irreplaceable in common day to day conversations thereby giving it a pedestal to cling on in modern day dictionaries. The same can be said of actions too, the more you keep repeating a certain action the more it gains acceptability making it as justifiable action in communities.

The present day dispensation is an able example of this type of action. They browbeat the opposition to their thoughts and view point in such a manner that the fence sitters amongst us start believing there is nothing wrong in condoning such actions and utterances. The basic requirement is that one must commit to these actions in an unfailing manner with lots of conviction and must seem to be, and be eager to defend it.

Some of us have started to copy them and this is the flavour of the season. In a lot of places you will see people acting with disdain. In fact lack of tolerance, jumping the gun and solidly defending even the indefensible has become hallmarks of our daily community living.

This is sadly not only happening in inter religious mixes but also in intra religious gatherings, where the majority or elected representative viewpoint is being thrust upon ordinary folks with the same body language and with the same conviction as the propagators of this line of thinking. If you differ you are ridiculed and threatened with physical incapacitation or even false propaganda.

Unfortunately the keepers of religion also have started to mess about in this thick. The seemingly subdued modesty of these keepers somehow sweetens the intimidating tactics that they follow. It seems that the present trend in the country seems to have rubbed off on some of our parish priests.

I am a member of a church and have seen the brazen acts of these so called keepers of religion and appointed guardians of the faith, who have started using the pulpit in the church to articulate totalitarian ideas. Anyone who chooses to defy or forms an alternative view point is doomed by these leaders and their gods.

We as bystanders can either choose to fall in line, thwarting the wrath of their gods or choose to trudge a different path and cross swords in matters of faith. Either way you are doomed; as inviting the wrath of the Gods will not go down well in your own circle of family and friends, and choosing a different path will go against the dictates of the religious order.

So should we follow the oft repeated path set from above or question the closed fist attitude of these leaders. Should one go down the path less trodden or stutter in speech when confronted by their God in your prayers. Should you take inspiration from the great Poet Rabindranath Tagore who exhorted us to go it alone in the absence of backers, or hold on even if you are the last man standing?

Robin Varghese

18^th July 2017

Eraviperoor to Eraviperoor

Eraviperoor to Eraviperoor

Those were the words written on his tin trunk which he hauled to the carriage as it left home. In the distant his parents waved him good bye, never once dreaming of the applause their son would bring home one day.

Forget the fact no one outside his geographical reach knew the village he had come from, but his tin trunk proudly displayed his past. It was probably those words which always pulled at his heart strings so often that he could never ever be separated from his hometown.

Today he is yearning to come home to be buried in the fields of yore, where once his father and forefathers had tilled so stoutly and steadfastly. The defender of the poor, the messiah of his countrymen is on his return journey fulfilling the prophesy so boldly painted on his little tin trunk

It was a sunny afternoon when the breeze rustled the coconut leaves perched high above the ground. The bright light of the day gave hope to little Mathunny who was setting out on the voyage of his dreams, a land across the oceans, where he was to find his home.

As the ship sailed deeper into the ocean eagerly trying to touch the distant horizons, young Mathunny’s dreams started to stand out amidst the sadness of parting ways. He felt numbness inside him; the emptiness of leaving his loved ones, the smell of the green and the ocean, the wild hooting call of the fish seller, the aroma of raw coffee filtering through the air around him. 

Yes, he was setting sail for his date with dame luck. Slowly the past got merged into the future and dreams began to sour. Once he landed in the city of his dreams he set about in right earnest to get what was offered to him, the job of a typist. The rest is history.

His deeds along with other fellow Indians of influence leaves many teary eyed and his fellow countrymen can feel a bloating of their chests with the pride that he instilled through his courageous and selfless acts during the invasion.

He briskly walks into the pages of history and will stay put through the various awards and recognitions that were won during his years of toil. He brought his obscure village onto the world map and village folks proudly announce the synonymity that the name carried with the village to gain instant recognition.

Now I hear the roar in the distance of the chariots coming to take M. Mathews to his eternal home to where he belongs and where he is to be united with all his righteous and well meaning friends.

On the return journey to Eraviperoor I can imagine him humming these few lines:

“Going home, I'm going home
There is nothing to hold me here
I've caught a glimpse of that Heavenly land
Praise God, I'm going home

Now the twilight is fading, the day soon shall end
Lord, I get homesick, the farther I roam
But the Father has led me each step of the way
And now I'm going home”.

Can someone find and pull down the rusty old tin trunk and erase the words written so prominently -for Toyota Sunny has returned home.

Robin Varghese

24^th May 2017

NB: My tribute to the Late M. Mathews- this is a fictional piece of writing and the happenings in the article may have nothing to do with the actual events as they unfold, unfolded or shall unfold.

Democracy backsliding

Democracy backsliding

Our Prime minister before he became one was the Chief Minister of a state for 13 long years running into three successive election victories. He is seen as one who is straight forward and reckless in his beliefs yet seen to carry conviction of the masses at an easy pace. He is perceived as the villain yet gets the applause of a hero. Such is his aura and image that people have come to compare and associate him to the Iron man of India.

He is seen to take unfamiliar stands but comes out victorious in spite of all the hue and cry. He is often predicted to receive a drubbing at the polls yet comes out victorious with a thumping majority. He is simply unbeatable and irresistible. He can tweak his way to the top and can twist an initial thought to serve many ends.

The demonetization of the economy was carried out to defeat the scourge of black money not the ones lying in Swiss banks, but the counterfeit kind which was equivalent to building a parallel economy, but he cleverly turned it to suit other ends like digitalization etc. It is actions like this that make him seem as a larger than life hero, someone who can justify a wrong and succeed in carrying it along without simmering discontent in any quarters.

After the Gujarat riots in 2002 no one gave him a chance at the Chief Ministers chair for the second time, yet he overturned all predictions to occupy it a second time. In spite of several opposition parties shouting out his sins and in spite of various government agencies intermittently applying the brakes he rode on to complete his second term. Anyone would have thought that the minority community who sees him as a conspirator would hardly vote for him, but for his third term he came out with even bigger numbers. Poll pundits and political analyst could not figure out why this was happening.

How could someone who had made enemies with the minority become victorious in every sphere of election? This clearly was baffling and learned people even ventured to opine that the minority was intimated and subdued and threatened to vote for him. The ones who voted against him started scratching their heads as soon as election results were out. They could not figure out where their votes had vanished. Everyone kept quiet because it was ridiculous to challenge a verdict of the people.

But was this a verdict of the people? Who could tell, given that the ones who voted against him did not want to claim it in the open for fear of showing their hand? However a good and astute politician will be able to calculate his chances. That is why opportunist’s politicians jump ship nearer election time. They can smell defeat and change ends to ensure that they are victorious.

Thus all political parties have a feel of the results going into elections, but they normally do not disclose it for fear of lowering moral of workers, because there can be only one winner. However when the results are grossly disproportionate some screeched louder and that is how a former Chief Minister of Uttar Pradesh, Mayawati shouted from the roof tops that there was something baffling about the Electronic Voting Machines.

So strong was the narrative in favour about EVM’s in the country that people were afraid to turn against it. Talking against the machine would tantamount to surrendering ones intellectual capabilities, since the majority were convinced that the process of voting had become easier to monitor and safeguard given the kind of reports that used to filter in during manual voting process about booth capturing and forced voting and voters being intimidated and prevented from voting along with poll officials everyone sat in their comfort zones.

However what one conveniently overlooked was the point that there was a method in the madness, in the story that the Bharatiya Janata Party had worked up a frenzy in synchronization with the voting machine to get a foothold in the political landscape in India and used this foothold to push through their agenda while acting like tough unwed school principals in matters of administration.

Finally someone demonstrated that these machines were not tamper proof and as one engineer politician added anything that is programmed by humans is capable of being surpassed by humans. The general public is now shedding the notion of Democracy being supreme and debating the quality of processes employed in achieving this apex position that the term ‘Democracy’ espouses.

There is a saying ‘ you can fool some people for some time but not all people all the time’, perhaps the game is up and the tide will turn allowing people and parties that seem to have been deliberately elbowed to claw their way back. As some would agree this is one condition that aptly fits into the newly coined term “Democracy backsliding” faced by countries and which has started to gather steam across the world.

Robin Varghese

12^th May 2017

In letter and spirit

In Letter and spirit

The recent reports of young aspiring medical students being subjected to stripping by test center officials has raised a hue and cry in some quarters. Students, it is reported were forced to strip down to their undergarments and in one case, was also asked to remove them because it was against the written down rules as perceived by the official on duty.

Particularly noticeable is the fact that this is reported from the state of Kerala when surely, female students were present in all states where the examinations were held. Why then has this incident surfaced in Kerala? Again surely, students were wearing their under garments in all states and from what we know other states did not report this kind of behavior.

To understand this you must understand the ‘Malayalee’. He lives by the rule; and waits for an opportunity to pounce on someone circumventing the rules. That is why you have a horde of locals ‘ghearoing’ a Policeman and forcing him to take off his cap to trade with a helmet. The question is not whether riding a motorbike without a helmet is against the rules, but the curious concern of the locals to enforce them, given their penchant to implement rules uniformly, thus stepping into a new domain.

Long back I travelled a short distance of two hours from Ernakulum Junction station to my Hometown Tiruvalla in a long distance train that starts from New Delhi and terminates at Trivandrum. I hopped on because being a resident of Delhi I knew that a lot of people would get down at this station and seats would be available aplenty. All one had to do was pay the legalized fare for such distance and travel.

However when the ticket collector came, he fined me for getting into a reservation compartment without a reserved ticket. I explained to him that I was prepared and willing to pay the price for such travel, but he refused to budge and asked me to get off at the next station after paying the nominal fine for such travel. 

I even argued that having empty seats amounted to a loss for the railways, so wasn’t it better to have short distance passengers like me who were willing to pay for travelling in a reserved coach? Nothing of what I said or none of my arguments cut ice with him and he majestically did his job of hauling me into an unreserved compartment.

Those who travel by air would have observed that even the check-in ground staff in airlines put up such as fuss over minor weight excesses in hand baggage that it is almost impossible to buy peace with them. It is their way or the highway, there is no middle path. Compare this with ground staff in Major metros like Delhi and you can see the difference.

Hand baggage is allowed up to 7 Kgs on domestic flights in India. While you can travel from Delhi to Cochin on a few extra kilos, you cannot do the same on the return leg. I tried to bring in 9 Kgs of hand baggage on the flight from Cochin recently and they asked me to check in the baggage because it was outside the limits. There is no point arguing or making them see reason they will not budge so fixated are they on the rules read out to them.

Therefore the difference is, in the Malayalee psyche, he is born to implement the rule both in letter and spirit and will not tolerate another behaving otherwise, albeit in small measure. He is the upholder of the laid down rules and will not broach aberrations. Needless to say that the instructions of CBSE officials, was followed by all staff in all centers throughout the country,  but it was only in the state of Kerala that the female candidate had to give her exams at a cost to her inner peace. 

Robin Varghese

10^th May 2017

From either Side

From either side    

Come Good Friday and the Christian community around the globe embark on this ritual of self purification through prayers and rituals that proclaim the common theme of repentance and sacrifice. The inevitable Bible portion read out on this day relates to Jesus on the cross with two persons crucified alongside him, one on the left and the other on the right. One among them asking Jesus to exercise his powers if he truly had them and save all while the other asking for a place with him in heaven. The two persons though indulging in a common occupation portray a different view point.

Our society is equally divided among both the above types; the one who wants Jesus to exercise his powers can be seen running around overlooking all the nooks and corners and mocking rules and systems, emphatically overruling a major view point, twisting and turning things to suit his view point and his end objective, even going to the extent of erasing history and inserting this view point into history books to purposefully affect the new generation.

They will trample upon the peaceful mind and intimidate them to get a ruling in their favour. They are the ones who will propagate their view point among the innocent and get them to endorse their will. They will introduce systems and procedures and through sheer intimidation coax the masses to endorse them. Those who resent will be called names and talked about in demeaning ways to the extent that dissenting voices are muffled at the altar of this new dawn. They will poach in your territory, and hearts that were once considered yours can be seen changing sides overnight.

When the wheel turns and they find themselves at the receiving end, they expect miracles to happen, they expect rulings to leave them at peace, they are not willing to be adversely referred to in the pages of history and constantly call upon the powers of their masters to bring them succor. They simply must be saved in spite of the ever increasing evidence against them. They believe in the theory “if I sink, I take you along”, so it is in your interest to save me because by doing that you will be saving yourself.

On the other side is the type who is willing to chug along, who doesn’t want the burden of his past to reflect on the happiness of the silent majority.  He is willing to pay the price of his deeds, willing to be called upon on judgment day. He will wish to show resilience but he dare not, for fear of being portrayed one way or the other. He will never do anything that might cause a ripple. He is simply one who has everything except a spinal cord to stay upright in thought and action.

Never will his utterances be considered extreme because he will always mince words to portray himself as the most amiable person ever lived on this planet. Never will he will, to be the lone survivor amidst a holocaust. He is the kind who has had bad days under the sun, but will showcase those bad days as the woes of someone else rather than his own mistakes. He is the one who will ask you to take medicines because his stomach aches. And by virtue of this seemingly wonderful trait he expects to be the good guy who righteously owns a place on the right side.

This is the story in our society; we are caught between the viewpoints expressed by both these persons on the cross. Even though most of us have lived life ordinarily, we do not expect to take accountability for our actions. The flip side being that we turn an approver late in life and seek forgiveness for all our actions and therefore redemption from the ills of our actions. Look into the faces of people gathered to repent on Good Friday, study them as they prepare to sink in the sermons. Capture their feelings as they dissect the priest and his sermons and you will be able to identify both categories of people.

Finally some are not willing to react to things that they see and experience. They would rather be seen as inactive and happy and be termed passive in their lives as long as it does not in any way bring down their personal aura and stature. They would rather be seen as a Robin Hood character without the hood, who in spite of being capable relents when it matters just because the consequences may not at all be favorable to his standing in society. He would rather sit it out and be seen amiable rather than disturb the tranquility even if it makes sense.

Robin Varghese

13^th April 2017

Beyond the Gaze

Beyond the gaze

I continue to recuperate my mind and soul in Kerala after my father’s sudden demise a couple of weeks ago. In the span of these last few weeks I continue to attend funerals of relatives and acquaintances that have died in this part of the country. Spotting a person’s death is quite easy given that the largest Malayalam newspaper in this region has a dedicated (paid) few pages to the departed souls who peep out of these columns every morning.

So, needless to stress that during these past few days it has become a daily routine to go through the columns to search for persons departed who may be near and dear but whose deaths sometimes remain unknown to us unheralded in ways having failed to traverse the journey through the dogged maze of daily activity.

Being a keen observer, I have been noticing the various expressions that peep out at me every morning from these departed souls. Some look intrigued, some look on blankly, some are looking beyond the camera lens, some frown, some seem weary, some seem to be hapless victims of their destiny, some make an effort to smile for the camera, others give out an expression of ‘devil cares attitude’, and still others send out a soft sense of approval. The camera catches them at different stages in their lives and moments that, which tell a story to the inquisitive observant.

Follow these expressions, look deep inside and you can narrate a story beyond every individual expression. The ones who frown seems to be up on the edge when their expression was captured. They don’t care for the photographer or the effect that their photo would have on students like me. They are so harassed by the events in life that they would wish to wrap up their shot only too quickly. Every moment spent looking into the camera is a waste of their values and thought process. They are too preoccupied within themselves to give a damn to what others would think of them.

The one who looks intrigued is like someone who has lost his horse to a bolt of lightning. He seems stranded without knowing where to go or what to do. He is caught in the moment of indecision just when he seems to have lost his grapple on life. He is asking the question why me and why now? He seems to be probing others on the purpose of his life. He is like an oarsman paddling his boat which is anchored to the shore not knowing why it is not moving.

Now look at the one who seem to stare at you blankly. For them life has been a struggle, and they are not enthused by the end result. They behave and feel like a numb limb which the doctor tries to knock on to see if it holds some sensation. No amount of knocking will help them regain their lost vigor and no amount of coaxing can get them out of their stupor. They are like souls departed from the body but hanging on to a loose thread of life which stare back dangerously at you, ready to snap any moment, not wanting to prolong things but not capable of snapping the cord on their own.

Reflect on the weary looking ones and you can see the toil on the lines of their forehead. If there was any way you could hold their hands you will surely find it rough due to hard labour. The eyes signal tiredness out of years of being constantly focused. The face seems to copy all the emotions that reflect out of their eyes. The look seems to tell us that they had a fulfilling life albeit tired having travelled through the rough and uneven roads and bearing all the upheavals that it offered. There is a glint in their eyes, so common to having given off their best. A sense of satisfaction seems to be conveying out of these faces that look back at us through the pages.

Some seem to be looking beyond the lens of the camera having effectively negotiated the various twists and turns and having gained a handful going through life. They seem to convey in ample measure that there is more than what meets the eye. They are the ones who have gone to their graves with the fruits of their labour harbored inside them. They are the ones who had a fair measure of life but failed to empty it fully while they could. They are the ones who seem to carry things way beyond what everyone seems to understand. They somehow remind us of the pharaohs of Egypt who lay buried with kingly treasures and divinity around them.

The ones with devil cares attitude are the ones that I like the most. They have spent their lives knowing full well that the wick in the candle could be burning furiously. They were the ones who anticipated the breeze to blow out the candle even while in full glory. They are the ones who had a zeal for life and what it offered. They are the ones who gave it all they had and took back in equal measure. They are the ones who do not have a single lapel of regret pinned on their burial shroud. They are the ones who paved their own paths in life and lived life - each to his own. They are the ones who espoused the theory of going out with their boots strapped tightly on.

Some of us while saying ‘cheese’ camouflage these feelings and expressions so as to send out a cozy sense of fulfillment to the outside world. For them, what matters is what matters to others; they risk their self and emotions in fulfilling the aspirations of the world. They are like a kid out to paint for the first time, painting the picture of a dark cloudy sky along with the sun shining brightly in the background, or trying to depict a well tarred road by painting it pitch black amidst a colourful landscape.

12^th January 2017

Pulladu

So Long Daddy

So long Daddy

As the night descends on the last day of the year and as celebrations reverberate in the air, when crackers sound in the distance and the year 2016 gets swallowed by the youthful morning of the New year, I sit down to bid a final farewell to my dear father who left me exactly nine days to the beginning of this New year.

The year gone by had begun with hope and promise which gradually descended into disarray. The moorings of life was inadvertently giving way to the hazards of tomorrow and the promises that seemed so sensuous and charming had begun to wither with the evening dusk. Fate seemed to have singled me out for the strapping of a teacher seething with fury, the ignominy of having to plough alone through the difficult terrains of life.

Just when everything seemed to be so afar, came the little beam of hope through the unlikeliest crack in the window, that helped me cling to a fading hope outside the mental makeup of my little mind. This crack soon seemed to give way in proportions that soothed my jarred mind and senses. The hope that had withered away seemed to suddenly spring up like a newly discovered spring of water.

I freshened to start anew the purpose that had outlived itself, the cascading effects of lady luck that had started to smile at me seemed heartening from the occasional winks that was previously unsure. The steps seemed firmer and the end seemed to be happier. Circumstances too seemed to relive as if awakening from a deep slumber and gather momentum.

Then suddenly the dark clouds descended with a thundering effect that left me stunned and dazed to a point of being disoriented. The howling turned into wailing as I received news of my father having passed on, in this world. The hopes turned into desperation, the memories dug deep into the depths of childhood archives.

The tears refused to flow while my memory was awash with life with Dad. The joy the peace, the ecstasy the exuberance, the innocence, the trust, the loyalty, the fondness, the reprimands, the laughs, the day outs, the tempers, the shrill cry, the pain amidst the never ending shield of a protecting father all came flowing through the shadows of my mind which somehow in the end seemed to extract a price in the warm tears that seemed to flow without provocation.

I am left marooned with the protector gone never to come back again. How I wished my Dad would give me a sly wink while he lay in the coffin. How I would steal a glance at my Dad now lying still to see if he had wanted to part his lips to offer final words as a lasting succor. Even while he was being carried to his final resting place I had hoped against hope that he would somehow get across to me even while the mourning procession made its way through the rural landscape.

The relation between us refused to be buried, though they placed him six feet under. I was able to snatch away our cord of communication; those lines will never snap and will serve well into the time I am devoured by mother earth. The tears have dried and life goes on.

I am aware of the crackers going off in the neighborhood, I can feel the winter chill, the freshness of the night converting into day, the darkness being enveloped by the morning hope and the year that is to be. So long Dad- farewell and rest in peace till we meet again.

31^st Dec 2016

Pulladu