The Dark Side of the Moon

The Hundred and First SMS

2011-10-28T12:22:00.005+05:30

Until a few months ago, I was working in a manufacturing facility and living in its associated township. The township had a strange rule. That it will not allow resident bachelors to go out of the township after midnight, citing reasons that the road traffic outside was unsafe. I found the rule rather disturbing and used to argue with the security at midnight to go out, usually to have a cup of tea from a roadside shop. I felt that I was held against my will and that it was a violation of my fundamental right of movement as a citizen. Sometimes during the course of argument, they relax the rule and open the gates, but with a condition that I should write down my name and purpose of going out. I deny saying, “I might be going out for a tea, or to meet my girlfriend or for a cosmetic surgery. It is my private wish. Why should I tell you?” Not only did they find it normal to stop my movement, but it was also okay to interrogate me.

I did not understand why the rule was applicable only to bachelors and not to married people. Maybe the accident gods don’t favour the married. Anyway, holding against will is not the way to tackle road accidents. We do not stop walking for the fear of falling. We just walk safely. The purpose of the law in a civilised society should ‘not [be] to abolish or restrain but to preserve and enlarge freedom.’1

The recent restriction of text messages reminds me of this township rule. To tackle unsolicited commercial SMSs, the Telecom Regulatory Authority of India (TRAI) imposed a restriction on customers that they can send only one hundred SMS per connection per day, certain customers exempt. They say it all began when Pranab Mukherjee was interrupted by a telemarketer in Parliament. And they come up with a fancy law. Why was he using a mobile phone in the first place, in between the most important meeting of the country?

Well, spamming was not invented through SMS. It was around for quite a long time even when we relied on postal services. Imagine a restriction by postal department where one can send only 100 letters a day because a cabinet minister received a spam mail in his office. Then the invitations for our typical weddings would have to be posted by different people on different days.
After the SMS restriction, I don’t know how would one inform all their friends and relatives that he or she is ‘blessed with a baby girl’? They would have to wait for the next day to send to your hundred and first friend. Or how would you tell everyone that you just passed an important examination?

The interesting fact is that the consumers exempt are social networking sites, e-ticketing services etc., not the common man. The only chance for a common man to send more than 100 SMS a day are on festival days or blackout days. And who decides what my festivals are? Will a Tamilian living in Orissa get a blackout offer on Pongal? Will a Marathi living in Kerala get a blackout offer for Gudi Padwa? If it was not a regional public holiday, one can take leave from work and celebrate. But TRAI leaves us with no such possibilities. You are forced to celebrate the festivals what the TRAI or your mobile operator asks you to.

If TRAI was to deal with spamming, they should have found a more democratic way to do that like a forum for reporting spam and maybe even rewards for reporting, than to deal with it in a school teacher attitude as they did in my township.

Had Jesus Been Alive Today

2011-07-14T21:55:00.006+05:30

Asianet News reporter Sarath Kumar and cameraman Ayyappan were assaulted this morning by a group of people, no less than thugs, at the LMS church compound, Thiruananthapuram, where the headquarters of the CSI Medical College, Karakonam is located. A couple of days ago Asianet News aired a telephone conversation with parents of some candidates who had already secured seats by paying hefty sums to management.

Had Jesus been alive today he would have accused the church for turning the temple into a den to sell education. He would have made a whip out of anything and drove out the priests with their business partners and thugs. He would have healed the leprosy that has affected that minds of self-financing managements. He would have healed the wounds of Sarath Kumar, Ayyappan and India Vision reporter Marshal V. Sebastian. He would have turned five rupee notes into fifty lakh rupees and given admissions to all the financially challenged.

And Jesus went into the temple of God, and cast out all of them who sold and bought in the temple, and overthrew the tables of the money changers, and the seats of them that sold doves,
And said unto them, It is written, My house shall be called the house of prayer; but ye have made it a den of thieves.
- Matthew 21:12-13

PS: Best wishes to Asianet News for exposing and airing this scoop. And all this in an a news hour sponsored by a self financing college in Munnar. Glad to see opinions don't go biased on the sponsorship.

Sri Padmanabhaswamy and his Chamber of Secrets

2011-07-11T19:16:00.006+05:30

The Supreme Court ordered the opening for checking the inventory of the six secret vaults of the Sri Padmanabhaswamy temple, Thiruvananthapuram, after a petition filed by advocate T P Sundararajan. A seven member team headed by retired judge M N Krishnan is opening the vaults and are collecting the details and as I write these lines the team has opened five of six vaults and have found enormous riches whose value is guesstimated to be around one lakh crore rupees.

Now the debate is what to do with this phenomenal treasure? Politicians, bureaucrats, journalists, religious leaders and ordinary citizens express their opinions. M. G. S. Narayanan, former chairman of the Indian Council of Historical Research said it belonged to the temple authorities.[1] Whereas Kanchi Sankaracharya Jayendra Saraswathi says it belonged to the Travancore royal family.[2] Historian K. N. Panicker said it belonged to the state and the public.[3]

Before deciding what is to be done with the riches, let us see how much this rich is on a comparative scale. One lakh crore rupees is an absolute term. It is nearly half the GDP of Kerala. It is equal to the annual revenue of State Bank of India.

What have people done with similar treasures found elsewhere? The fanciest treasure discovery of them all is the Tutankhamen’s tomb treasure which was discovered in the 1920s by British archeologists. Owing to the complex systematic procedure, it took 10 years to move the treasure out of the tomb. Since then it has been in the Cairo museum mostly and has travelled across the globe to be displayed at various museums.[4] The Dead Sea Scrolls, the oldest surviving biblical documents were discovered in the 1940s and 50s. After a lot of initial confusion, it now rests in the Rockefeller Museum, Jerusalem.[5] The Bactrian Gold, discovered in the 1970s by Soviet archeologists in Afghanistan was looted by various regimes and now they are planning a museum in Kabul for the gold.[6]

All these treasures were ancient - thousands of years old. Whereas the one discovered at Padmanabhaswamy temple is relatively new – not more than three hundred years old, with a known lineage of the treasure’s erstwhile caretakers.

The Indian Treasure Trove Act[7] states that whenever a treasure (“means anything of any value hidden in the soil, or in anything affixed thereto”) in amount or value ten rupees is found, it is to be immediately reported to the collector. Even thought the former ICHR Director rubbished the claim that the treasure should be bought under the Act, I still think this Victorian era Act can be applied to the modern discovery.

The reservation in assigning the management of these treasures to the government is the fear of corruption in this season of colossal scams. The government can take this opportunity to prove otherwise by upright decisions and administration of the treasure.

Checked in to Bangalore

2011-07-06T18:02:00.003+05:30

It has been a while since many of you might have heard from me. As I had anticipated, I have started feeling a bit lonely in the most connected city (in terms of internet users).

Before joining with my new job, I had a wonderful time at home. After several years, I attended the famous Thrissur Pooram – the baap of all festivals. I had a great time with all my friends and comrades.

Meanwhile my packages arrived in Thrissur and I was sad to see my Bullet not the way I packed it. From personal experience I share, even private couriers aren’t good in terms of quality service.

I got engaged peacefully and uneventfully the next week.

A couple of days after that, I joined Honeywell. The buildings in my campus are named after planets. The funny part is that the largest building in the campus is Pluto and one of the smallest ones is Jupiter. After a week’s induction, I joined my team (Profit Suite validation) and am getting introduced to works and procedures. My honeymoon with Honeywell is going on well…

I checked into a pigeon hole near office. Bought a TV and cable connection the first week to get rid of the boredom. In the following weeks I bought a cooking stove, fridge and cooking utensils to creatively kill time.

Bangalore is a strange city. I see people wearing sweaters in May (yes, it is cold). I see people riding Harley-Davidson wearing shorts and sandals. It is a city where English is the preferred second language - auto drivers, bus conductors, shopkeepers prefer to speak in English when they see the tag of an corporate ID card around your neck. And the best part is that even Reliance Mart sells liquor, fish and meat. Rest is same as any other metros with high rents, traffic jams, crowded buses, cacophonic honking etc.

On the brighter side, I saw Hangover Part II and X-Men First Class in the releasing week, had a tasty beef steak from TGIF, and visited a few jolly good friends and relatives.

Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

2011-07-06T17:29:00.006+05:30

Friends, Romans, Countrymen,

In a place where rumours spread like wildfire, most of you might have already heard that I have resigned from Essar and will be joining Honeywell Technology Solutions Lab, Bangalore later this month.

In what seems to be a farewell note, let me begin with mentioning that there are a few things and a few people whom I really wish to forget, here or anywhere. :-) But no worries, if you were one of ’em you probably wouldn’t be reading this. Apart from a few of those unpleasant occurrences, the four years I spent here was delightful and will be cherished as the best of my times, as the age of wisdom, as the epoch of belief, as the season of Light, as the spring of hope… [Darles Chickens]

If any of you are under an impression that I am fleeing from your companionship, let me assure you, it is not so.

Amid the rain shadow of the Western Ghats and the beaches of the Arabian sea, in a humid, wet land, there is a place I still call home, the proximity of which was an irrefutable bargain. I will be going home first in the hot brooding month of May, when the days are long and humid, the river shrinks and black crows gorge on bright mangoes in still, dustgreen trees. Red bananas ripen. Jackfruits burst. Dissolute bluebottles hum vacuously in the fruity air. Then they stun themselves against clear windowpanes and die, fatly baffled by the sun. The nights are clear, but suffuse with sloth and sullen expectation. (Don’t worry, I too didn’t understand much of this.)

Anyways, as the Godfather would have put it, what I have is, “An offer I couldn’t refuse.”

I am sorry to have hurried through the relieving process and not giving personal attention to everyone it terms of ‘treats’. To be frank, it doesn’t feel so good to miss you all; parting is such sweet sorrow.

The reason for the hurry for those who are not aware, is that I am getting engaged to a charming (at least to me) woman on this nineteenth; Remya Sreedevi, now doing her internship for the completion of degree in ayurvedic medicine, also a professional dancer, an amateur singer and a fantastic human being. This also means, practically I will be jobless during my engagement. Bless her guts, for she doesn’t know what she is doing.

They will start my court-marshal shortly, starting with my identity card, CUG and network ID, and you won’t be listening to any Bob Dylan anymore. I will not be using a mobile phone for a while to enjoy the pleasures of an untraceable life in an age where even the moral giants compromise on privacy.

However, I will definitely intimate you my new number as soon as I feel lonely. Again, if it is an emergency you should still call 100. However, I will be checking in to my email frequently (navneet.vk@gmail.com). Please direct all your replies there. And I think I will update you all on my happenings on my blog (http://vengallur.blogspot.com/) if anyone ever had the patience to read it. You can also see what my friends are doing on Facebook (www.facebook.com/vengallur); I don’t use that frequently.

I wish our relations go beyond the green-belt of this refinery and wish our paths meet in the future.

With lotsa love, lotsa wishes…
Navaneeth “Peter” V. K.

“Parting is such sweet sorrow,
That I say good night till it be morrow.”
- William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

Cricket: The Opium of an Oppressed Nation

2011-03-30T20:53:00.020+05:30

Sitting in a half-filled office, with colleagues updating scores either on computer or on mobile, I wondered why people cannot handle my reply, "I don't follow cricket" to the standard question of, "What's the score?" Cricket does not amuse me any more than Tom and Jerry. Nevertheless, cricket has arguably evolved as the most popular sport in India. But popular isn't always right.

Without any knowledge of the finer aspects of a cover-drive or a square-cut, I am making an amateur attempt to dissect this national sensation from a purely socio-political angle.
To many, cricket is the medium to portray their Indian-ness. It has grown out from a sport to a national emblem. (How about changing the Asoka Chakra to a cricket ball?) What's so Indian about it, anyway? Cricket, like football (and even the language in which I write) is a colonial dump. Why did cricket evolve as a more popular sport in India than football? Probably because it was the gentleman's game. It was a Maharaja’s game. Playing cricket (as opposed to playing the common man's game) elevated you to the status of an English gentleman who by the time had been successful their white-supremacy (and aristocracy) propaganda. Even after the British left, the Brahmins continued the legacy with 4% of the country’s Brahmins getting 70% representation in the national team - always. Perhaps that could be the reason why football in more popular in states with less domination of the upper caste.

Another reason for the popularity could be because of its focus on individuality. Though it is played as a team, there is a heavy focus on individuals who bats and bowls. They decide the course of the game. It perfectly suits the lifestyle of the Brahmin leisure-class who refuses to become a part of a team chasing a ball sharing an equal opportunity with others. In a country where lead actors are referred to as 'heroes', and where adding human gods to an existing cosmic array is commonplace, acceptance of this individualism follows. The ideas of team work and community efforts still confine to the educators of the corporate world. This could be the reason why a billion people couldn't manage to produce a 'team' for the Football World Cup.

The BCCI (and the government) has been successful in marketing its one-day variant in the country. Sadly, the sport did not have one-tenth of its popularity when India won the world cup in 1983. After economic liberalisation, this task has been taken up by private sponsors trimming it from a five-day test to a 12-hour one-day then to the recent Twenty20. But what they are unaware is that among a culture that watches highlights of the highlights, they will get viewers even for a ten-day match and can still make it profitable.

Post-independence, as a nation still struggling for an international recognition, cricket became a benchmark to compare themselves with the world. Defeating Australia gave a pride of defeating a white-man's nation. It gives a pride that India is performing well in at least one 'world sport' - a world sport played hardly in ten nations, of which an overwhelming majority are South-Asians settled in South-Asia or elsewhere. Winning this world cup will be some sort of a consolation for the billion-strong nation which came back with a couple of bronze medals from Beijing Olympics.

Playing against Pakistan is like a war. It becomes more of politics than sport. I don't understand why this much fury against Pakistan? After all, in 1947, we retained the name India though it is derived from a river which flows predominantly in Pakistan. The shameful mentality is to support our oppressors for centuries, England over our neighbouring, closely-related, culturally-similar Pakistan in an England-Pakistan match. This isn't patriotism; this is sheer ethnic abhorrence - a hate-crime.

For the urban elite, who pride itself with the deserted streets on a match day, watching cricket is cool. Same as watching movies and listening to music is. It is what everyone else does. Follow the crowd or become a national joke. “I am an Indian and a patriot. I would like India to win the match. Sachin Tendulkar scored this much in that match… The percentage of Indians below poverty-line is... er... eh..." Sorry, talking of defeating other nations in Human Development Index is so uncool.

There are genuine lovers and human players of cricket. I wish them all the best amidst this divinity. I still would continue to admire cricket as a sport, not as an expression of national spirit though. For an average Indian, watching cricket has, at one and the same time, the expression of the defeats in all other sports, protests against the defeats in all other sports. It has become the sigh of an ordinary citizen, the sport of a sport-less country, the pastime of a hobby-less nation, the consolation of a defeated crowd. It has become the opium of an oppressed nation.

A Women's Day Remembrance

2011-03-29T21:49:00.008+05:30

This post would have been better posted on a 9th March. But as a non-profit oriented writer and the everyday relevance of the topic, does it really matter?

In what seemed to be a just another normal day, as I walked into my office, a few fair-skinned, cute-faced fresh graduated colleagues stood at the entrance of my office armed with flowers handing them over to every female they met. A little further, a flex with pictures of famous women personalities (Aishwarya Rai-Bachhan on the top) reminded me that it was March 8th. Like many organisations around the world, the company I work with too celebrated Women's Day on March 8th. I walked further with my female colleagues, feeling jealous of why isn’t there a 'Men's Day'.

As I routinely checked my emails, there was a circular from a shopping portal (with which my company has a tie-up) offering special discounts for women's products on Women's Day. It included cosmetic items and kitchen accessories. A little later another email circular appeared inviting the residents of our township to appreciate the winners of best recipe competition held as a part of the Women's Day.

I could only pity the ignorance of these celebrators. How many of them (including women) really understands what exactly Women's Day is celebrated for? There was a play by V. T. Bhattathirippad, Adukkalayil Ninnum Arangathekku (From the Kitchen to the Forefront) that had played a pivotal role in the awakening of the Malayali population from Swami Vivekananda's 'lunatic asylum'. After I read those emails, I felt like rephrasing the title of the play to Arangathu Ninnum Adukkalayilekku (From the Forefront, Back to the Kitchen). Never did I imagine that after the 100th year of Women's Day celebrations, we would have to start again from one.

I forwarded the township's recipe mail to a few selected colleagues with the above observations. One of them replied with a statement: "Whatever it is, they [women] should never forget their traditional trade." I was flabbergasted! Since when is kitchen work the trade of women? Women were confined to the kitchen only since humans started agriculture and settled down from a hunter-gatherer. The stove was invented only in 200 B.C., for crying out loud. That is, out of the million years of human existence, kitchens existed only for a few thousand years. But that was the convention then. When men worked out in fields, women managed the kitchen. Why should the same convention be applied in a world where agriculture is not the sole occupation?

Women's Day celebrations historically originated from a series of demonstrations in continental Europe by women demanding right to vote and hold a public office. Russian women's celebrations of women's day in 1917 initiated the February revolution which shaped the history of the twentieth century.

My first encounter with the denial of equal rights for women was in my childhood, when our house went for a renovation, building an extra floor. I don't remember the exact incident, but I do remember my dad mentioning that the women workers were paid a little less than their male counterparts. He merely pointed out the inequality in wages but it took me years to really understand the underlying concept of oppression and inequality.

Sadly, the Women’s Day has lost its political flavour and is been viewed more as an greeting card marketing and shopping festival. There is nothing wrong in celebrating womanhood but it shouldn’t be at the cost of forgetting their roles in nation building. In a country that is still clinging on to its feudal roots, gender equality has to be addressed first before celebrating womanhood.

Lessons from the leaks

2010-12-21T23:09:00.023+05:30

On the evening of September 11, 2001, after watching TV, when I told my father about the attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, he smiled and replied, “Silly you. You might have seen some Hollywood movie trailer.”

In what seems to be a similar incident I was flabbergasted by the drama, following the release of the US embassy cables by Wikileaks, resembling the orchestration and suspense-thrill of a modern Hollywood science fiction movie.

What do an ordinary world-citizen like me learn from this?

1. The neutrality of the so-called neutral nations Switzerland and Sweden are only towards the rest of European countries. When it comes to the US, neutrality vanishes into thin air. The Swiss post office bank suddenly discovers that Julian Assange has furnished incorrect information for his accounts. Sweden issues arrest warrant to question Julian Assange on his alleged sexual assaults.

2. Why are the huge corporate houses in the US united in protecting the government? Simple. They run the government. It is not by the people. Corporate altruism (as opposed to free competition) is a necessary evil for their group survival. Amazon, PayPal, Mastercard and Visa are united to protect the government and their exploits because of their common interest. Why would a company like, say Mastercard, benefit from the invasion of a country like, say North Korea? Why would Mastercard be interested in overthrowing an authoritarian regime? It is not as direct as oil in Iraq. Imagine the potential virgin market which would be opened up after the US invasion, all ready to be looted by the first entrants, obviously American.

3. What keeps me still in a bewildered state of surprise is that why haven't the US still denied any of the details contained in the leaks? They have only said that the leak of cables is a serious security concern. Obama even went to the extent of saying that there is no new information in the cables, indirectly accepting the details of the leaks. Perhaps a denial would divert the debate leading Wikileaks to provide proofs reaffirming the evils.

4. A quick glance through the home pages of America's major newspaper websites is interesting. None of the major American newspapers seems to run a story on Wikileaks on its homepage. I searched for the keyword 'wikileaks' on the homepage of their websites (on 21st December, 2010). The results are: Wall Street Journal, USA Today: Text not found. Los Angeles Times, New York Times cornered it to one of the scroll down sections (the words wikileaks was mentioned only once in their homepages). How could any newspaper display such disturbing ignorance to a topic of national importance? Well, I can only pity the Americans who live in a world created for them to live in. It reminds me of the movie, 'The Matrix'. But without a Zion, Neo or Morpheus (or is it Julian Assange?).
Among the Indian English newspapers, only The Hindu runs a special section on Wikileaks. Economic Times, unsurprisingly responded with a 'Text not found.' Indian Express was interested in mention of Shah Rukh Khan in Wikileaks. Deccan Chronicle and Hindustan Times seems to be more interested in the alleged sexual adventures of Julian Assange than the confirmed human exploitation details in the leaked embassy cables.

5. The US government blocked the Wikileaks website in all the government offices and Hillary Clinton declared it “an attack on America and internet community”. The same Ms. Clinton, months before had said on the withdrawal of Google from China, “Countries that restrict free access to information, or violate the basic rights of internet users, risk walling themselves off from the progress of the next century”. Obviously, Ms. Clinton is bothered only of Google loosing market and not the human rights of in the People's Republic of China.
On the Google China issue, in January, 2010, Barack Obama said in response to an online question on what he thought of the great Chinese internet firewall: “I’m a big supporter of non-censorship, I think the more freely information flows, the stronger society becomes.”

6. The Nobel peace prize awarded to Liu Xiaobo aroused reasonable doubt about the so-called-neutral Scandinavian countries. Well, it just got stronger after the issuance of the perfectly timed arrest warrant of Julian Assange. The vested interest of awarding Liu Xiaobo is not recognition of his fight for human rights in China but how it helps in opening the market of the world's most populous nation by recognising the outspoken citizen.

7. The common man has never been so powerful. A cyber group who calls themselves 'Anonymous' launched a coordinated war - 'Operation Payback', which might be recorded in history as the first ever case of a cyber-war. The war was launched on the corporations who pulled the plugs to Wikileaks and brought down the Mastercard and Visa websites for hours. The means of individual expression has become so powerful in everyday life that it makes me rethink of the representative forms of democracy.

8. Lastly, just a theory: After Wikileaks started publishing the cables, Julian Assange was in Sweden for publicity. Two females approach Assange, offer him support and even lets him live in their residence. They could have offered him sexual pleasures. And one fine day, they accuse him of another leak – condom leak, and non-consensual sex. Doesn't it look like a well choreographed trap?

കൃഷ്ണ കൃഷ്ണ നിരൂപ്പിച്ചു കാണുമ്പോള്‍
തൃഷ്ണ കൊണ്ടെ ഭ്രമിക്കുന്നതൊക്കെയും.
- പൂന്താനം, ജ്ഞാനപ്പാന.

The Mad Dog

2010-09-19T10:44:00.003+05:30

He felt it ironical. He had just reached home after a talk on pet adoption, at a seminar organised by the students at the Government Veterinary College, of which he is an alumnus. He had started his talk quoting Vaikom Muhammad Basheer’s Pathummayude Aadu, the goat of Basheer’s sister Pathumma, which wandered from place to place, eating everything it could find – paper, cloth and anything. He explained that if watching such childlike innocence could trigger a novel, how it could help the alienating effects of the current lifestyle. A walk with your cow, a cuddle from your cat or a friendly fight with your dog, can brighten up one’s day.

Sixteen years of service as a government veterinary doctor had exposed him to wide variety of behaviours of people towards their pets. He had seen livestock christened, dogs called brothers, people spending a good part of the day caring their pets. This unconditional emotional attachment was still a mystery to him. People don't love pets only for its usefulness. People don't love cats because it catches mice. There was something more. What evolutionary advantage did this affection towards another species has?

He received a warm response to his speech. He recommended some pet adoption agencies to those who approached him after the speech.

Yet he felt ironical. Because he did not own a pet... No, ‘own’ is not the appropriate word. Pets are not commodities. They are living things. Some cities in the west have passed laws stating one is just a guardian of a pet, not the owner. Anyway, he did not have a pet even though he is considered an authority on animal care. In the speech, he had also explained the most common cause of people not adopting pets is the concern of the lack of care while travelling. He tried to comfort himself that since both his wife and he are working, adopting a pet is a luxury which he couldn’t afford. He thought he should consider all his patients as his own pets. Why to worry so much about such ironies? It is all around. The head of meat processing technology at the same college was a vegetarian. Life is full of ironies. So is his.

“Father, someone is on the phone for you.” shouted his thirteen year old daughter.

“Yeah, I’ll be right there.” He was so indulged in thoughts that he didn’t even hear the phone ring in the next room. He got up to fetch the call.

“Hello, yes, Dr. Devan here.”

“Hello doctor, I am David calling from Panamukku. I live near the church. I called you for some advice. I have a dog, of the Pomeranian breed. It has been recently diagnosed to have rabies. It has gone beyond a curable stage.”

“Okay. So, what can I possibly do for you?”

“I think it now deserves a mercy killing. I can’t see him suffer so much. And it could spread also. I have little kids, you know. Could you suggest some methods that will put him to sleep peacefully? I can’t see him die violently. He is as old as my younger son.”

“There are several methods for that. But the most of them involves medication. Why don’t you bring him over to my clinic? I will take care.”

“No, doctor. I can’t do that. I will do it myself. He is so dear to me. But are you sure the methods are quick and painless?”

“There is no complete painless method. Some amount of discomfort will be there, at least for 30 seconds.”

“Is it taken with food?”

“Well, that depends. There are foods that put him out of misery. The most common one is an injection directly leading to heart and lungs failure.”

“That is fine. Could you tell the names? I will buy it myself.”

“There are several types and brands. I can only tell which one is the best only after seeing the patient.”

“Still, the one which is used most commonly?”

“There is nothing like that. Specific ones in specific cases. There are procedures. Better you consult me at the clinic tomorrow. Do you know where my clinic is?”

“Yes, I know. Okay, I will see you there. Good night.”

“Good night.”

Animal euthanasia was not a dilemma for him as euthanasia is for many. Without any religious stains, he strongly supports it. He has a Darwinian perspective on that. The cases like David’s have a potential risk of spreading. So, considering the survival instinct of humans, it should be performed undoubtedly.

The only dilemma he has comes from his years of service to animals. It was because he has learnt to think in his patients’ shoes. He is not content with the fact that the animal euthanasia is always involuntary. Humans can volunteer for euthanasia. But an animal cannot communicate to choose death over suffering. It was always the guardians who take such decisions.

A few months back he had administered an elephant, Kannan, to death after injuring seriously from a road accident. The only part it could move was its trunk. Internal organs were injured badly. Devan could only wish the elephant could volunteer.

He invariantly follows a procedure for euthanasia of pets. A day or two before performing, he explains in detail to the guardian, how it is done and how the shots work. How he gives a high dose of lethal injection in the paws of cats and dogs. He always gives the choice to the guardians either to stay with the pets or away during the process. David’s request of doing the killing himself was a little strange. But it is no more illogical than a human’s love for a cat. The pets’ world is woven with dreams and flying colours.

A couple of days later on a Sunday, Devan woke up with an unusual freshness. His wife generally sleeps through the morning during weekends. So, he woke up, prepared some black coffee and sat in his veranda with the morning paper and coffee. As he glanced through the routine political dramas, a special report caught his attention.

Debt-ridden couple kills children, commits suicide

A real estate businessman and his wife poisoned his two minor children and hung themselves on the ceiling of his house in Millennium Colony, near St. Thomas church, Panamukku. The victims has been identified as David Francis (36), Teresa (32), and two boys, four and two years old.

David is a real self-employed estate businessman. Close relatives said that he suffered some major financial losses recently...

Devan couldn't concentrate any more. It was the same David who didn't turn up at the clinic after the phone call. Devan's heartbeat increased, his hands were shivering. Were the medicines David called for meant for him? Or his kids? Or did he actually have a pet whom he wanted to join? Devan read the article again. There is no mention of a dog. Did the journalists and the police overlook the dog?

Animal euthanasia was fine with him. Euthanasia for humans, he had never thought about much. Were there still any dilemma when it is voluntary? Is suicide euthanasia? Technically not, may be. But isn't it same? What if he had told the name of medicines to David? Would David have used it? What is so unsolvable that he had to commit suicide? His mind wandered from one thought to another in grief of a stranger's strange death. He wished he had pet to divert his attention.

A Season of Revelations

2010-01-06T07:45:00.014+05:30

It has been a season of revelations. All those who wished me greetings of the season, did it so benevolently that it turned out to be indeed enlightening.
Studies on atheism and materialism had exposed me to the dimensions and dexterity of the phenomenon called Wikipedia. I have been using Wikipedia so long and so often that I couldn't ignore the banner at the top requesting for donations. But when I followed the link, I found that they don't accept donations in Indian Rupees. I even mailed the volunteers to find out whether there is some way to contribute to the cause. I was disappointed again to learn that none of my financial instruments were accepted by the donation team.

Meanwhile, during one of those Wikipedia expeditions, I stumbled upon pages related to a medieval era Indian mathematician, Sangamagrama Madhava. My dad, when I was in school, used to discuss about the sine tables Madhava had compiled. I did not understand much about it then, so I kept on reading about it. I also remember my dad mentioning a system called Katapayadi System which was used by medieval age Indians to convert numbers to words for easy remembrance. I searched for it on Wikipedia. But I found that the only reference to the usage of the system was for the naming of Melakarta Ragas of Carnatic music. Seventy two Melakarta Ragas obtained by various permutations of the seven basic swaras (Sa, Ri, Ga, Ma, Pa, Dha, Ni) are named in such a way that the combination of the swaras of a particular raga can be determined by the first two consonants of the Raga's name, using the Katapayadi system. However, I was disheartened that there are no references to the wider applications of the use of Katapayadi which were primarily in mathematics and astronomy. In the backdrop of the disappointment of not being able to donate to Wikipedia, a thought flashed in my mind. What better way to contribute to Wikipedia than to contribute to its content? So, I decided to write it. To write about Katapayadi. To collect all information available, sort it and present in the manner of an encyclopaedia for a global audience.

Research on the topic was not at all a pain. Middle aged researchers, who are accustomed to the conventional sources of library books, journals etc. might be astonished to see the easiness and power of internet research. Living in a desert, 20 kilometres away from the nearest urban area, with no access to technical books or journals, I could gather all information right in my room through internet. You just need to learn the knack of internet searching with wild-cards. Internet , along with dad (a walking dictionary of mathematics) just a phone call away, research was a cakewalk. I collected all information I could get online.
Then, I had to learn the mark-up language used in Wikipedia. I used to stay away from editing pages in Wikipedia, even though their policy states to be bold in editing pages, thinking that the markup language will be difficult. But that too, like research, turned out to be easy. Easier than HTML. Especially the prototypes used specifically for an encyclopaedia like those for reference sections and hyperlinks.
And, thus, one fine morning after a night-shift's work, I wrote it. I wrote about the Katapayadi. After writing it, I too was astonished to see the spectrum of the usage of Katapaydi. It was used by mathematicians, astronomers, musicians and also in popular literature of the medieval age.

First of the revelations I had was the wonder of community effort. Using technology, millions around the world gather and religiously work towards a passion. Of organising the world's knowledge and present it. When I told dad that I finally wrote the article, he said, "Good, now don't be disappointed that someone edits it, for, that exactly is the spirit of Wikipedia." For me, it was also a forum to present my research to an audience. There are people who say that the content of Wikipedia cannot be relied because anyone can edit. It might be true to an extent for articles in its nascent stage. But well developed articles it presents the reliable facts in neutral point of view. And if you feel it isn't, feel free to go ahead and change it.

Another revelation was the achievements of medieval age Indian mathematicians. The school textbooks on Indian history mentions only about early age mathematicians Aryabhatta, Bhaskara etc. They don't mention anything about the medieval age mathematicians. Partly this might be due to the ignorance of the relevance of their contributions and partly, may be, due to the uneasiness to glorify anything from down south. The continuation of the achievements of Aryabhatta and and Bhaskara were mainly in Kerala. Madhava of Sangamagrama founded a school, now known as the Kerala School of Astronomy and Mathematics and several mathematicians have been a part of it. They were in fact the first to work on power series etc. The main contribution I'd like to mention here is the table of values of sines of various angles compiled by Madhava. The methods used to find these values are the basics of calculus. I have read of the arguments between English and continental European mathematicians on who discovered Calculus first. Was it Newton or Leibniz? They have argued for decades to an extent that both sided denied to study the others' mathematics. But after reading about Madhava, I sit back with a smile, and know that it was neither Newton in England of Leibniz in Germany. The foundations of calculus were first discovered by Sangamagrama Madhava who lived in Sangamagrama (present day Irinjalakkuda), just 30 kilometres away from my home, whose genius, considering the time he lived in, is sure to surpass that of even the much celebrated Ramanujan; and Madhava did it centuries before both Newton and Leibniz were even born, when the whole of the Western world were in the dark age.

However, there has been a discontinuity in these tradition. Perhaps due to the influences of British colonisation. Discontinuity led to the lack of its recognition, even in homeland. And later in the era of social improvements from what Vivekananda called a lunatic asylum, people might have got busy with Marxism, existentialism, materialism and whatnot. Pure science, sadly, is still is an undermined field in my homeland. The Kerala Shastra Sahitya Parishad too has deviated both from Shastra and Sahitya and is focussing on politics. As a result of this revelation, I have gone to an extent of sending a request letter to the Kerala government, to consider honouring these contributions in some way like naming a department after these giants, or including it in the school curriculum.

PS: The Wikipedia page on Katapayadi System can be found here.
The Wikipedia page on Kerala School of Astronomy and Mathematics can be found here.

The Glorified Plumber

2009-12-27T19:37:00.009+05:30

Valve operation. Those two words are reverberating in my ears for quite sometime. It consumes a major part of the vocabulary of the people around me. Partly because, valves are an inevitable entity in any process industry, which controls the flow of fluids. But it is mainly because of the frustration of the blue-collar valve-operating engineers whose white-collar software counterparts are sitting a in an air-conditioned office, in a rainbow-coloured cubicle, working on a computer, emailing pictures of fancy training centres and good-looking females, and boasting of their upcoming or ongoing visits to the US. Whereas the blue-collared ones are working in shifts, in extreme climates, wearing grease and oil coated clothes and operating valves.
Chemical engineers feel it a bit derogatory to operate valves in a plant. Just as one need not be a mechanical engineer to drive a car or to repair it, one need not be a chemical engineer to run a plant or to repair it. On the other hand, just as a blockhead can break a car down with his driving or trying a hand at the repair, an improper valve operation can blow up a plant.

The show begins when a valve needs to be operated. Operation means it needs to be either opened or closed, either completely or partially in both cases, just as you open and close a household tap. A friend of mine explained like this to his mom: 'You know the tap on our wash basin? A valve is the same thing, only it is bigger, dirtier and more harder to turn.' A valve could be a manually operated valve or it could be a control valve. A control valve is not generally operated by humans. You have pressurised air, pressurised water or electricity to do that job. Blessed be those who invented the control valve for they have saved countless hours of manual labour. If it is a control valve, the worry is less because it can be operated either by a mouse click or a keyboard stroke from the control room. But if it is a manual valve, the fun begins. The instruction to operate a valve comes from the plant control room as the field operators generally don't take the initiative to avoid inviting comments of being over smart. When the control room instruction is from a reasonably behaved person, you usually go and do the job. But if the instruction is from a dumb-witted moron who gives it to emphasise their superiority or to create a havoc by their consistent barks, you just wait. And reply, 'I'll do it' or 'I'm doing it' or the more popular 'I'm on my way' when you actually relax and wait for the requirement of valve operation to subside. But finally when the control room operator screams on the walkie-talkie, 'C'mon, move your ass. Open the bloody valve, god-dammit.' you get up from your field cabin and move towards to valve. Every step seems so long as you approach the valve. You drag your feet, jump over pipes, climb the monkey ladder and reach the valve. Just when you start opening the valve you realise that the valve wheel is covered with grease and dirt. Then you think of using a cotton hand gloves, which should have been resting in your pocket. But when in need it, it is always back in your cabin. Then you descent all the way down through the monkey ladder, to fetch a pair of gloves.

When you start opening the valve with gloves, you realise that your muscle power is insufficient to open a the valve. Thus starts a hunt - the hunt for the most valued tool in field known as the valve-key. A valve-key is to a valve just as a spanner is to a nut. The valve-key helps you extend the diameter, giving the mechanical advantage, so that with less torque you can open a valve. Valve-keys are generally kept on a valve-key stand at a known place. But as it usually happens, the valve-key will never be there. You start searching for the valve-keys in the field. It is usually during this time, the scream comes from the control room, 'What the eff are you doing? Why the hell are you not opening the valve?' Then, for the first time, you reply the truth, 'Gimme a sec, I'm searching for valve-keys.' Surfing in the field, you find a valve-key lying as an orphan below some pump, smiling at your misfortune. You fetch the valve-key, wear you gloves and climb the monkey-ladder to try again. But as you already guessed, it so happens that the size of valve key never fits the valve. Now you are frustrated to the core that you won't feel like going back and searching the right size. So you invent methods of locking the wrong-sized valve-key to the wheel and open it. And if it so happened that you found a proper sized valve key, the curved portion should be pointing upwards while opening, and pointing downwards while closing. Even though you have done it a thousand times, the first time attempt you always lock it wrong.
You open the valve with the wrong-sized valve-key in a locking position you just invented. Just when you begin to wonder whether the effect of valve opening has started to show, there shouts the control room, 'What the heck? Do it slowly! Don't you know what will happen?' Then you steer a bit left left, steer a bit right, to finally arrive at the required flow rate.

This evolved valve standard operating happenings happens all the time. It sometimes has some deviations. Sometimes one of your sadistic supervisors pass by, sees you opening the valve and comments, 'Your experience can be judged by the way open a valve.' boasting his experience. That is when the chauvinist in you wakes up, and you say, 'True. I was not taught to open valves in college.' Or when you reach the valve in the first step, you see the valve has no hand wheel. Or the gearbox has been removed. Then instead of the hunt for the valve-key, it is for the variable wrench. In yet another instant, for a not-particularly-beautiful, not-so-coloured, beautifully-named, butterfly valve, you discover a missing quarter pin. If it was broken, chances are that it was broken before and you can find those pieces lying around. And if those lying around pins do not fit, you finally insert a welding rod and operate the valve

The worst part is the malfunctioning of the boon called control valve. Sometimes, it just gets bored of being remotely controlled and thus one fine shift, stops working. Poor thing. How long can it be a puppet with some jackass pulling the strings. It stops working calling for some personal attention. To operate a control valve manually, which is accustomed to remote operations, is bit of a job. Find the lever that changes the mode from automatic to manual, try turning with hand wheel, or extra efforts with valve-keys, spanners and variable wrenches. Whatever you do, whichever be the type, in the first attempt it never opens.

Valve operation is thus an art in itself. One of my ex-bosses once commented on the dilemma of chemical engineers becoming a glorified plumber, "You are not paid for the valve you operate. You are paid for the responsibility you undertake. You are paid for the knowledge of knowing which valve to operate and how to do it." Merely looking at the manual labour, one shouldn't dishearten. Valve operation needs meticulous planning, adroitness and a bit of killer instinct. To identify the type of valve, tools to open it, ways to approach it, applying the right torque and so on to get the precise flow rate with the least amount of effort. May be you don't need to be a chemical engineer to operate a valve. But the planning, precision and the foresight of the effects with which a chemical engineer operates it, is unparalleled. Amen.

No, I am not an atheist...

2009-12-20T23:15:00.013+05:30

'Oh, so you are an atheist?'
'Tum nastik ho?'
'You don't believe in god?'
'Nirishwaravadi?'
These are some common responses I get when I generally express my opinion on religion, god, pujas, prayer etc. to which I usually smile off preferring not to initiate a debate. Yet sometimes, when I encounter an ultraconservative-feudalistic-arrogant-fanatic whose mere presence causes utmost irritation, I go a step further saying 'I believe in human capabilities, not divine intervention.' There are only a few instances when I actually got into a debate on atheism. Most of it were during my college days. One memorable one was with an intelligent classmate of mine. We debated for hours in a long, empty corridor of my college. To most of my fundamental 'why?' questions, her only reply was, 'because it is written in the Bible'. Now what shall I say to that if she isn't ready to reconsider light as in 'let there be light' as an electromagnetic radiation? Another debate which I remember was with a classmate who had a bit more reason than 'it is written'. He tried to provide a scientific touch to the age old Indian customs and traditions citing concepts like the chronology of the avatars of Vishnu are similar to those of the evolution of species, beginning with the sea life (matsyam) going through amphibians (kurmam), half humans (narasimham) and pygmies (vaman) and evolving to human beings (Krishna). But then again, when asked, he failed to provide one scientific equation to prove how planetary positions at the time of birth affect the fate of a human being as told in jyothisham. Or, mathematically how does the body alignment while sleeping gets affected by magnetic field of earth? (Traditionally, in India, there are directions in which one should lie down to sleep). He believes the answer to that is somewhere hidden in the Vedas and Upanishads, products of the intellectual triumphs of our nomadic iron age forefathers, which are still incomprehensible to the information age civilised humans. To him it wasn't written, it was 'hidden'. So, I have found such debates lead nowhere and thus chose not to indulge in one, particularly if the opponent lacks some basic reason. I had thus, tried to concentrate my debates more on the evils of organised religion than on the fundamental question of belief as such.

In the past few days, I was talking with a few friends of mine, whose unpretentious company I miss very much, to check what they are up to. Apart from watching a wide spectrum of quixotic world movies, Rajan said he was becoming 'increasingly atheistic' after his fresh studies on the theory of evolution and natural selection. Whereas, Nirmal, probably due to interactions with Rajan and his desperation in the mountains of Guwahati, did talk a bit of atheism but finally said that it is not whether theism or atheism, but it is that 'I don't care'. He also mistook my horns in my edited chat picture, to be satanic. I had to correct it to those of a Gnu (of the GNU/Linux fame). When I mentioned the the topic to Geo, he said, 'What is so much to discuss about it? Its a worthless debate.'
I didn't want to be so equivocal towards both theism and atheism, so I decided to do a study myself as I had nothing particular to engage myself after the hairstyle experiment.

After a round of Googling and Wikipediaing, I got some ideas on how generally theism and atheism is perceived and treated. I knew that atheism is a very confused field in India. Religion and culture are so interlinked that a very thin line separated both. Celebrating Diwali shouldn't make you a Hindu or celebrating Christmas shouldn't make you a Christian. A few months back, at home, I visited the Guruvayoor temple. My parents and relatives were surprised to learn that I visited a temple without compulsion. They thought that I have started to embrace the spiritual path. But, apart from the undisclosed party at comrade Madhavan's place nearby, there was something about the visit. It was not spiritual. I have so many childhood memories of the temple. The bananas and sugar prasadam, the manchadi seeds, the Jnanappana and so on. It needn't be always faith, it could be anything else. Madhavan too, who haven't went inside the famous temple even after living next door for almost an year, mistook my visit and asked, 'Since when did you become so religious?'
Another concept I'd like to discuss is Indian classical music. I used to reject Carnatic music labelling it as feudal. But lately, I have found it to be very interesting. After all its just a form of art. Still, I believe Carnatic music and other classical Indian art forms should get out of the mythology. Carnatic compositions have to get out of simple god-praise. Why don't they sing of socially relevant topics?
My research revealed that the so-called spiritual and conservative India too has a history of atheism. Refer this page on Wikipedia for details. Buddhism doesn't acknowledge any kind of deity. Buddhism is a struggle not against sins or adharma, it is a struggle against atrocities and sufferings. Jawaharlal Nehru, Vinayak Savarkar, Periyar E. V. Ramasamy, Bhagat Singh, Amartya Sen, Javed Akhtar are famous Indian atheists in the modern times.
Anyhow now I know, religion in India, stripped off the belief part, is pure fun. With the food, feast, dance, crackers, colours, flowers, songs, dresses and liquor.

Also, I found that atheism had more dimensions than I thought. Nevertheless, the main aspect I was uncomfortable was the word atheism itself. Though a wide variety of atheisms exist, it failed to convey the real concept it should represent. Atheism, historically is the denial of the existence of any deity and hence a derogatory term. This was obviously because majority of the people in all parts of the world believed in some sort of a deity and the minority who went against were considered rebellious. However, one can be an atheist and yet not rebellious. Atheism isn't even a choice, for that matter. Atheism is the very natural trait one is born with. The concepts of god and religion are introduced only later during the growth. Belief is a choice, whereas atheism, the natural state. This congenital quality fails to be captured in the negative connotation known as atheism. So, I started searching for an alternative term. Even after one week of searching, I did not find a suitable word.

So one fine day, I called up Pramod, who said was unhappily working on some recent revelations he got on male chauvinism. I know, while working on such a topic, he might facing the same moral dilemma which Albert Einstein had while recommending the research on the development of atomic bomb. Chauvinism apart, I asked his opinion on atheism. He replied with his famous sense of humour, 'It is like asking what your opinion on gravity is. Isn't it as real?' I was dumb stuck. He left me at a point where I couldn't ask anything further. Then I had to explain the background of such a question. After a round of discussion, we stopped temporarily. Then, in the evening he gave me an alternative idea. He suggested to use the term 'materialism' instead. His reasoning was that every sort of belief in a deity will spring from the belief of the existence of a spirit i.e. spiritualism. Materialism is everything on the contrary to that, founded on the existence and interactions of matter with no room for a spirit. This seemed to be a profound idea. Yet it is a very challenging topic to deal with, because in spiritualism, every unknown can be left to the spirit, but materialists have to find an answer or at least a reasoning. Yet without getting into the technicalities and details of materialism, I can just borrow the concept to represent my natural stand.

So, now I have my answer ready to all those who ask a question, 'Oh, so you are an atheist?'. My answer would be 'No, I am not an atheist..., I am a materialist.' But sometimes, if materialism is too complicated a concept to be comprehensible to someone, or I meet some aforesaid feudal-fundamentalist-arrogant-fanatic, I might deliberately use the term atheist, just to make things simple or to amuse myself with the trembling face of the fanatic as the bull sees the red cape.

A Special Haircut

2009-09-30T10:39:00.021+05:30

Sometimes in life, you feel 'this isn't enough'. Such was one fine evening, when I woke up after a night-shift's carried over sleep. While your mind transfuses back into reality, you get some serious insights. Those which are unadulterated by the compulsive forgetfulness of the rational mind.
I sat drowsily on the sofa with eyes half open, I felt the warmth of my stomach under the t-shirt, I scratched my head. I contemplated. This has become a humdrum. I could just predict what is going to happen with me this evening, tomorrow, the next two weeks and may be even more. Too monotonous. Something needs to change. What will I tell my grandchildren? Wouldn't they be too unhappy to learn that I don't have any interesting stories to tell. Am I not existing in this world living someone else's life? But how to glorify it was still a harder question.
Last night-shift was quiet. So, I had researched on process control, Indian history and hairstyles. Hairstyle... thunderbolt! Yes, a hairstyle!

I decided to wear a fauxhawk hairstyle!
'A... what?' 'A fauxhawk hairstyle. ' 'And what on earth is that?' 'Its an altered Mohican hairstyle. You have long hair at the centre of your head. You then gel it and comb it inwards from the sides spiking in the centre like a palm leaf.' 'So?' 'So, nothing; I just want to have a fauxhawk haircut.' 'That's it? Is that all what you could come up with? Just a haircut? Some stupid punk hairstyle? Is this the serious insight you had, dangling on to your sub-conscious? Is this how you are going to brighten up your mundane life? A haircut, for heaven's sake? Why don't you murder some corrupt politician? Or go scuba diving or paragliding? Why don't you write a novel? A haircut to improve life! Gawk!'

I went to the saloon in the township I live in. Well, I was unsure whether to have the fauxhawk haircut in a just-another-saloon. But I was quite sure that the hairdresser in township would have never heard of a fauxhawk, let alone the Mohican. So, I showed him a photo of David Beckham in a fauxhawk and asked him whether he could do that on me. He took my mobile, stared at the photo, then at my hair, then again stared at the photo... he continued his professional examination for a few minutes till he said, "Okay, I will do it." I was too happy that he didn't say, 'I will try' and thus, I sat on the revolving chair. He kept my mobile on the dressing table for quick reference and worked on my hair with an artistic devotion. Cuts and slices, cuts and slices. And there I am with a fauxhawk haircut.
My right side hair took a few days to get accustomed to the new combing direction. It protested by staying outward from the mainstream. After a few days it too got fine. While the hair on the right side was learning to stand in a new direction, I got my hair coloured. First, I tried highlighting it with golden but when it wasn't highlighting enough, I got the entire hair done with a boldface light brown.

My hairstyle received mixed reactions from friends and relatives. After listening to my lecture on Mohican and a fauxhawk, my uncle said, "Whatever it is, it looks... pretty awful." My aunt too didn't differ in opinion but it seemed that she was too polite to express it. My cousin, Malu, was the only one among my relatives who said that it looks good. But again, fact remains that she usually doesn't say anything bad about me about anything except for my futile attempts at singing. Manish, my colleague, called it lomdi mistaking the faux to be a fox (Lomdi is fox in Hindi). Mankeshwar, my colleague, notorious for expanding KRA (as in Key Result Areas) as Kyon Rakhe Aapko (why have you been kept), called it, and still calls it, a hoch poch. Narendran, my roommate, was uncomfortable with the colour. He believed that light hair colour will never match dark skinned people like me. Another colleague, Sourabh, said that initially I looked like a ch**u, (before my right side hair got accustomed); but now its fine. Subir was amazed that they do such fancy styles in the township saloon. Nitin laughed, laughed, again laughed and said, "Have you seen those guys in roadside who wear a pink t-shirt with cartoon pictures, a tight jeans with feminine embroidery and extravagant metal and plastic accessories all over the body? You look like one of them."

Meanwhile, I started growing a beard. I was so frustrated with my present job and was being constantly denied a job rotation, that I registered my protest symbolically by growing a beard and vowed not to shave it before a change in job. I was surprised to see the fresh areas where my beard has started growing unknown to me due to the rigorous self-imposed schedule of daily shaving. A popular belief is that one grows thicker and better beard if he shaves daily. I found that it is a myth. Daily shaving just leaves you ignorant of the new areas your beard-dom has explored.

Shortly after, when I went home for Onam, my mother was extremely annoyed to see my new look. "Last time I saw you in Delhi, you were so handsome. Now you look like a beast.", she said. When we went shopping, the next day, I could feel the comments and discussions around me in the store about my rather unconventional hairstyle and colour. Witnessing this, my mother persuaded me to change it to a normal style which I relentlessly refused but she literally pulled me to get the colour at least, changed back to black before visiting our relatives for Onam. Meanwhile, to tackle my mother's 'savage' remark, I incorporated a relaxation in my vow not to shave - I reduced it to a goatee.

While, I was getting dressed to visit my cousin Malu's potential fiancé and his family, my father caught hold of my chin with his left hand, took out a comb with his right and parted my hair from the left and said, "This is better. Don't dare to change it back." He declared it against the code of good conduct and reminded that I am approaching marriageable age. Mother said, "I heard Malu's potential in-laws do farming and needs people to work in their paddy fields. You suit good with your paala thoppi." (Fauxhawk roughly resembled a Kerala farmer's cap called a paala thoppi.) Out of my frustration I said, "I am ready. Ask them to pay me only half the money. At least its home. Moreover, work profile barely differs with my current one."

Such is the story of a special haircut. But as I look back, did I glorify anything? Did I change the course of the world? Or become a legend? Did I make any significant contribution to the history of the humankind? No. After all, all I did was to change my hairstyle. But it did create some waves, some happenings, some events, some memories, some stories for my grandchildren.
I am contended.

We run GNU/Linux

2009-09-23T16:11:00.017+05:30

Dear Dad,

This is a moment of triumph. I publish this post from a computer with GNU/Linux as the only Operating System on it. And I it is connected to the internet through a Tata Indicom USB modem. I am falling short of ASCII codes to express my happiness.

I still remember the days when we both individually and together tried to get GNU/Linux connected to the internet and the printer. We failed. The idea subsided for years until a few days back when Pramod SMS'd me to ask about the free software alternatives for some proprietary software used in his trade. I found a good comparison of proprietary and free software in Wikipedia which I sent it to him. This inspired me to take up the GNU/Linux dream again, since I have been trying to improve my otherwise uneventful life in this godforsaken place by involving in a wide variety of not-so-familiar activities. They include washing and pressing clothes, cooking, blogging, watching world cinema, reading and writing poetry, painting, photography, listening to and learning about Carnatic music, learning probability and statistics, learning process control philosophy, trying a faux hawk haircut, and what not. Partly, this is due to one of your best non-mathematical lessons - to always keep the mind engaged, and partly due to my inherited insanity. Yet let me assure you that even watching a Kurosawa movie or following the aadi-talam of a Tyagaraja composition or tasting my finest dal-spinach curry did not give me such satisfaction as I have in writing this post through an internet connection on a GNU/Linux platform. I have succeeded where I had failed once.

Dad, one big mistake we did earlier was trying to have a dual boot system. I have experienced that when we have a dual boot system, we have a tendency to use windows for things which we haven't been able to do in GNU/Linux. But when we have only GNU/Linux, we are forced to survive and grow in the new environment. We struggle, we learn, we discover, we survive, we rule. So, the day after Pramod's enquiry, I searched and found a portable hard drive from a friend and backed up my personal data files ready to have some fun with my laptop. Then I travelled twenty kilometres to the nearest town to hunt for a copy of GNU/Linux. My modus operandi was to approach the computer institutes first. On the way in the bus, I browsed for computer institutes in my mobile who provides GNU/Linux training. I noted the phone numbers of each and called them for GNU/Linux CDs. Sadly, none of them were neither providing GNU/Linux training nor had an installation CD. But one Aptech Institute gave me the address of two shops who could sell me CDs. I approached one of those and surprisingly I found a copy of PC Quest RedHat Linux 7.1 (Seawolf). Remember we had installed it once? (I had a such a fascination towards the names of RedHat releases like Seawolf, Enigma and Valhalla that I used them as my password for my email accounts.) I bought the CD, came back and tried installing it on the system. But the second CD had a missing file or a corrupt media. And in the process of trying to re-install, I ran the Disk Druid in auto mode. I hope you know what it means. Yes dad, I deleted Windows. Yes, no Ctrl-Alt-Deletions or (not responding) crap anymore. And I was proud of it. Now I will be forced to survive on GNU/Linux. I will not find refuge in Windows where GNU/Linux doesn't seem to work. Although the re-installation didn't work, I was happy that I deleted Windows. So I went back to the shop and bought a CentOS DVD which too didn't work due to some 32 bit-64 bit conflict. My laptop lied Operating System-less for a week before I went to the other shop which the Aptech guy had mentioned. It was interesting to note that this guy, a DJ (Disk Jockey) runs a software CD shop and a DJ song CDs and accesories shop parallel. There I found a copy of RedHat Enterprise Edition 5 with five CDs. Out of experience we know that each CD geometrically increases the risk of installation failure. Also, it was the RedHat's latest version and my laptop was nearly four years old with a Celeron processor and a 256 MB RAM. Nevertheless, I bought it. Back home, I ran the installation with the bare minimum components and it was successful. I ran my laptop only with GNU/Linux OS installed on it. Step one over.

I run GNU/Linux.

Now a bigger challenge lied ahead - connect to the internet. While surfing popular internet providers, I stumbled upon a page in the TataIndicom website listing the support of Photon Whiz on Linux platforms. Also, I saw a pdf file describing how to configure Photon Whiz on a GNU/Linux. I took a printout of it and that evening went straight to a TataIndicom shop with Malu and told the charming young lady at the customer service desk that I need a connection that works on GNU/Linux. I told the lady that I need her show me a demo of the connection and only if it works I will buy. She was not confident at first. So I encouraged her to call their technical support and ask for help and even flattered her by saying that how would someone ever deny such a sweet request. Malu pinched me everytime I flirted with the lady. The technical support guy could not tell anything more than what was there in the print-out. So I decided it to try it out myself. The lady was so astonished to see a GNU/Linux powered laptop that she called all her colleagues and showed it to them. She was also surprised to see me typing commands on the terminal window referring the instructions. The way she was staring at me, for a moment I felt I was Richard Stallman himself coding the latest version of Emacs, though what I was doing is not even a thousandth of what he might be doing on an average day. I took the sample modem she gave and I followed the instructions in that print-out and guess what? It worked! Internet on GNU/Linux! Hallelujah! I opened the GNU website. It did work. I hope you read the mail I sent conveying my surprise and happiness right from the shop. Though a smaller and advanced version of the modem didn't work, I compromised for older one. Yet, it was a moment of triumph. It was finally done. That was step number two towards freedom.

A whole road of freedom lies ahead. Freedom from propietary software, freedom from pop ups, viruses, computer crash and hang and so many other irritants popularised as inevitable by Windows. Now, I also need a good office package, a music player, an image editor, so on and so forth. 'The woods are lovely, dark and deep... And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.'

This exercise taught me sevaral valuable lessons. One can live without Windows. One needn't be a software engineer or a geek programmer to use GNU/Linux. You don't need to be in the Silicon valleys of Bengaluru or California to use it. GNU/Linux is not for people in the Artificial Intelligence lab of MIT. Even a common plant operator like me can install and use it. You can find it, install it and use it while being in place where paan and maawa sells more than books and pens. Dare is all it takes. One can use it even without professional obligations. One can use it purely for pleasure, or for the sake of just using it. One can use it for political reasons. One can use it as an anarchist or an anti-authoritarian propaganda. One can use it just to try something extra-ordinary. One can use it be in the one percent of the population. (Pardon me Pramod, for I am not the common man here.)
Finally, a privilege which I got in a town where GNU/Linux is generally unknown - one can use it to make advances: As I walked out of the Tata Indicom shop, I handed over my visiting card to the charming young lady and said, "Call me if you have any configuration trouble with GNU/Linux...", and I continued softly, "...you can call me even if you don't have any trouble." And believe me dad, she acknowledged by giving me her visiting card. Such is the power of GNU/Linux when it comes to networking.

Regards,
n@vneet

कवितायेँ

2009-09-19T23:36:00.004+05:30

जन्म ली हैं मशहूर कवितायेँ चाह की आनंद में से,
पर खूबसूरत वो हैं जो जन्म ली चाह इनकार में से।

शायरी

2009-09-19T03:44:00.009+05:30

हो जाते हैं बेरंग वक्त के साथ प्यार के भी रिश्ते,
मगर मोहब्बत को कपडों सी बदला नहीं करते।
काटके ले लो प्यार में तड़पते हुए इस दिल को,
मगर बेवफाई से कभी जान लिया नहीं करते।

Not Everyday is a Birthday

2009-08-21T04:00:00.014+05:30

Not everyday is a birthday. Others celebrate you on birthdays.

My childhood birthday celebrations were modest. Birthdays were one of those days of the year on which I had to visit a local temple to collect the payasam (kheer) delivered as the prasadam. The thought of visiting a temple makes me nervous because I was not familiar with the customs and rituals. My ignorance of the rituals once led me to do the pradakshinam (circumambulation) in a direction which I was not supposed to do. A local public figure shouted at me that it is an apradakshinam (anti-circumambulation). Fear of such embarrassing situations makes me nervous and reluctant to visit temples alone. But visting was compulsory on birthdays.
Then, there was the pirannal sadya (birthday feast) which was also special with opastharikkal, a ritual done with ghee and rice before meal. I don't know what it means but ghee mixed rice was always tasty. I eat my pirannal sadya prepared by mom, in the vazhayila (banana leaf) chopped and shaped by dad, in front of the nilavilakku (lamp). My brother sits on my right side for the meal. There is something about valathu bhaagathu irikkal (sitting on the right side). May it evolved as a custom to satisfy the jealousy of the non-birthday kids.
Then I wear the 'colour dress', the pirannal kodi (new dress for the birthday) to school, distribute a pack of chocolates to classmates, teachers and the principal. One good thing about birthdays is that you have certain privileges. The teachers don't scold you or hurt you for not doing homework or being naughty, your name gets announced on the stage during the morning assembly, you get to be in the principals office for a good cause, you get to hear good words from teachers.
Upon return from school, I distribute another pack of sweets for my neighbours.
Such were my childhood birthdays. There were celebrations. But there were no gifts, cakes, candles, bumps, songs or parties.

Then I grew up. During my third semester in college, I cut my first birthday cake inside a tourist bus on a trip to Kodaikkanal. The cake was a surprise. So were the gifts. I was gifted a hair band and a hair clip by the female crowd for my extra long hair.
Later in college, there weren't much of birthdays. I was too busy with politics, and birthdays seemed so bourgeois. Still it does.

Yesterday, I completed living quarter of a century on this planet. This too had its surprises. Again a cake. But with candles. And vodka. Yesterday, I blew out my first ever birthday candles. I made a wish, silently. As the clock struck midnight, I was flooded with greetings on my mobile. Not everyday is a birthday. You discover people still remember you. That you may not be the underling that you think to be. You become the centre of attraction for a change. You feel life is still worth living. Not everyday is a birthday. Certain flashes come to your mind. You remember payasams, parents and homework. Though the birthday reminds you of getting old, it emphasises that you are still alive.
They were playing Kuselan on TV. The climax when cinema actor delivers that touching speech about his childhood friend, the protagonist, coincided with the cake cutting. Catalysed by vodka, the feeling was beyond words.
I grieved. Not everyday is a birthday. Not every birthday has a surprise. Not every surprise gives you tears. And not every tear gives you happiness.

As I blew the candles out, I made a wish, a silent wish.
"Take away all I have. All that I earned and learned. It still keeps me hungry. Take away all the health and wealth. Its a burden. And give me a smile, a wholehearted one, for a minute of a day."

രാധയും വിമ്‌ലയും പിന്നെ ഞാനും

2009-08-16T08:07:00.003+05:30

ഇതൊരു സാമ്യത്തിന്റെ കഥയാണ്. കേരളത്തിലെ നായന്മാരും ഗുജറാത്തികളും തമ്മില്‍. ഇവര് തമ്മില്‍ എന്താ സാമ്യം എന്നു തോന്നും, പ്രധമദൃഷ്ട്യാ. പക്ഷെ എനിക്കൊരു സംഗതി തോന്നി.

മരുമക്കത്തായം നിലവിലുണ്ടായിരുന്ന നായര്‍ സമുദായത്തില്‍ സ്ത്രീമേധാവിത്തം കുറേശ്ശെ കണ്ടു വരുന്നതാണ്. പുരുഷന്മാര്‍ കല്യാണം കഴിഞ്ഞ് ഭാര്യവീട്ടില്‍ താമസൈക്കുക എന്ന പോലെ ഈ മരുമക്കത്തായത്തിന്റെ ഫലമായ് പുരുഷന്മാരുടെ ചില പേരുകള്‍ സ്ത്രൈണവല്‍ക്കരിക്കാറുണ്ട്. അതായത്, രാധാകൃഷ്ണന്‍ ‘രാധ’യാവുന്നു, സുധാകരന്‍ ‘സുധ’യാകുന്നു, പ്രഭാകരന്‍ ‘പ്രഭ’യും, ഗോപാലകൃഷണന്‍ ‘ഗോപി’യും, എന്നിങ്ങനെ പോകുന്നു. തറവാട്ടിലെ അമ്മാ‍യിമാര് കട്ടമീശ പിരിച്ചു നടക്കുന്ന ആണുങ്ങളെ ‘രാ‍ധേ...’, ‘സുധേ...’ എന്നൊക്കെ നീട്ടി വിളിക്കാറുണ്ട്.

പുരുഷന്മാരുടെ പേരുകളുടെ ഈ സ്ത്രൈണവല്‍ക്കരണം ഗുജറാത്തിലും ജാതിമതഭേദ്യമില്ലാതെ കാണാം. വിമല്‍ വിമ്‌ലയാകുന്നു, കല്പേഷ് കല്പയും, സൈലേഷ് സൈലയും, ജിഗ്നേഷ് ജിഗ്ലയും, സുരേഷ് സൂര്യയും, സതീഷ് സത്യയും ഒക്കെ ആയി മാറും.

ഇതാണ് ഞാ‍ന്‍ പറഞ്ഞ സാമ്യത്തിന്റെ കഥ. നാട്ടിലെ രാധയും, ഇവിടത്തെ വിമ്‌ലയും പിന്നെ ഇതെഴുതുന്ന എന്റെയും (നവ്യയെന്നോ മറ്റോ വിളിച്ചേനെ എന്നേ, ഇവിടുത്തുകാര്‍) കഥ.

ജി-സ്പോട്ടും പി-ഫാക്റ്ററും

2009-08-15T07:59:00.007+05:30

(സംഭാഷണങ്ങള്‍ ഹിന്ദിയില്‍ നിന്നും തര്‍ജമ ചെയ്തത്)

നോണ്‍-ജി: “നീയിതെന്താ ഉണ്ടാക്കുന്നേ?”

ജി: “ഓ അതോ? അത് ഒരു സ്ലൈഡ് ഷോ. നമ്മുടെ പ്ലാന്റിനേക്കുറിച്ച്.”

നോണ്‍-ജി: “ഡീസാലിനേഷന്‍ പ്ലാന്റോ?”

ജി: “ന്‍‌ഹും.”

നോണ്‍-ജി: “എന്തിനാ?”

ജി: “അറിയില്ല. എന്തോ ഇന്‍ഡക്ഷന്‍ പ്രോഗ്രാമ്മിനു വേണ്ടിയാ.”

നോണ്‍-ജി: “ഞാന്‍ പണ്ടൊരെണ്ണം ഉണ്ടാക്കിയിട്ടുണ്ടല്ലോ, എല്ലാവര്‍ക്കും അയച്ചു കൊടുത്തതുമാണ്? അതു പോരേ?”

ജി: “ഓ, നീയും ഉണ്ടാക്കിയിട്ടുണ്ടായിരുന്നോ? ഞാനറിഞ്ഞില്ല. പട്ടേല്‍ സാബിന്റെ മെയില്‍ ഉണ്ടായിരുന്നു.”

നോണ്‍-ജി: “അത് പറ. അങ്ങേര് എനിക്കയക്കാതെ നിനക്കയച്ചതാണെങ്കില്‍ ജി-സ്പോട്ട് കാരണമായിരിക്കും. ജി അല്ലാത്തവര്‍ക്ക് വളരാന്‍ അവസരം കൊടുക്കരുതല്ലോ?”

രണ്ടു പേരും ചിരിച്ചു.

ജി-സ്പോട്ട് എന്നുള്ളത് ഗുജറാത്തി സ്പോട്ട് എന്നുള്ളതിന്റെ ഹാസ്യ ചുരുക്കമാകുന്നു. സ്വജനപക്ഷപാതമാണ് സംഗതി. ഗുജറാത്തികള്‍ ഗുജറാത്തികളോട് ഒളിഞ്ഞും തെളിഞ്ഞും കാണിക്കുന്ന സഹായങ്ങളുടെ കോഡ് വേഡ്.

മുന്‍പത്തെ സംഭവത്തിലെ ജി, മറ്റൊരു അവസരത്തില്‍ ഇങ്ങനെ:

ജി: “പി. സാബ്, എന്തിനാ വിളിച്ചേ?”

പി: “പൈപ്പ് റാക്കിന്റെ മുകളില്‍ ആ വാല്‍‌വ് തുറക്ക്.”

4-5 മീറ്റര്‍ പൊക്കത്തില്‍ പോകുന്ന പൈപ്പ് റാക്ക് നോക്കി ജി പറഞ്ഞു,
“എന്നെക്കൊണ്ടൊന്നും പറ്റില്ല. അവിടെ കോണിയില്ല, നില്‍ക്കാന്‍ പ്ലാറ്റ്ഫോമില്ല, കാല് തെന്നി വീഴാം, ചൂടുള്ള സ്റ്റീം ലൈനുണ്ട്. സേഫ്റ്റി ബൈപാസ് ചെയ്യാന്‍ എന്നെക്കൊണ്ട് പറ്റില്ല.”

പി: “എന്നാ ഞാന്‍ സാവരിയയോട് പറയാം.”

കേട്ട പാതി കേള്‍ക്കാത്ത പാതി സാവരിയ മുകളില്‍ ഏന്തി വലിഞ്ഞു കയറി വാല്‍‌വ് തുറന്നു.

പി (ജി-യോട്): “കണ്ടില്ലേ? അവന്‍ തുറക്കും. ഒന്നുമില്ലെങ്കിലും അവനൊരു പട്ടേലല്ലെ?” [സാവരിയ, കുണ്ടാലിയ, ഗൊണ്ടാലിയ എന്നുള്ളതൊക്കെ സൌരാഷ്ട്ട്രത്തിലെ പട്ടേലുകളുടെ സര്‍നേം ആണ്]

ഇതാണ് പി-ഫാക്റ്റര്‍. പട്ടേല്‍ ഫാക്റ്റര്‍. ഇതു ചിലപ്പോള്‍ ജി-സ്പോട്ടിനേക്കാള്‍ ശക്തമാണ്.

ലീവു കൊടുക്കന്നതിലും, പെര്‍ഫോര്‍മന്‍സ് അപ്പ്രൈസലിലും, ബാക്കി സൌകര്യങ്ങള്‍ ചെയ്തു കൊടുക്കന്നതിലും ഒക്കെ ജി-സ്പോട്ടിന്റെയും പി-ഫാക്റ്ററിന്റെയും പ്രഭാവങ്ങള്‍ നമുക്കു കാണാനാകും. പട്ടേലുകളും രണ്ട് തരമുണ്ടത്രെ. കട്‌വ പട്ടേലും ലീവ പട്ടേലും. അതിന്റെ പ്രതിഭാസങ്ങള്‍ എന്റെ ഗ്രഹിതത്തിനപ്പുറത്താണ്. ഈ ജി-സ്പോട്ടും പി-ഫാക്റ്ററും ഒക്കെ വലിയൊരു ദുരന്തത്തിന്റെ ബാക്കിപത്രങ്ങള്‍ മാത്രമാണ്. ഭാരതത്തിലെ ജാതി വ്യവസ്ഥ. ഭാരത മണ്ണിന്റെ തീരാ ശാപം.

ഇതുന്മൂലനം ചെയ്യാത്തിടത്തോളം കാലം ഗുജറാത്തികളുടെ ജി-സ്പോട്ടും, പട്ടേലിന്റെ പി-ഫാക്റ്ററും, തെലുങ്കന്മാരുടെ ‘ഛപ്പണ്ടി’യും ഒക്കെ തുടരും.

ദില്ലി ദര്‍ശന്‍

2009-08-14T00:22:00.004+05:30

മുപ്പത്താറ് വര്‍ഷമായ് ഡല്‍ഹിയില്‍ താമസമാക്കിയ ഒരു ബന്ധുവിന്റെ വീട്ടിലായിരുന്നു ഡല്‍ഹിയിലെത്തിയപ്പോള്‍ താമസം. അദ്ദേഹത്തിന്റെ ചെറിയ മകന്‍ ശ്രീരാജ് കോളേജില്‍ പഠിക്കുന്നു. വന്നതിന്റെ പിറ്റെ ദിവസം ഞങ്ങളെല്ലാവരും ദില്ലി ദര്‍ശനിനെറെങ്ങി. കറക്കത്തിന്റെ ഇടയില്‍ ഇന്ത്യ ഗേറ്റിന്റെ അടുത്തുള്ള ഒരു സ്ഥലത്ത് വെച്ച് ശ്രീരാജ് അഛനോട് ചോദിച്ചു, “അഛാ, ഇതിലെ പോയാല്‍ എന്റെ കോളേജിലെത്തില്ലേ?”

‘സ്വന്തം കോളേജിലേക്കുള്ള വഴിയറിയില്ലേ?’, ‘കോളേജിലേക്കെന്ന്‍ പറഞ്ഞ് എങ്ങട്ടാ പോണേ?’ എന്നൊക്കെ പറഞ്ഞ് ഞ്ഞങ്ങള് കളിയാക്കിയെങ്കിലും, പിന്നീട് ആലോചിച്ചപ്പോള്‍ അതൊരു സ്വാഭാവിക ചോദ്യമായിരുന്നു. ചെറിയ നഗരത്തില്‍ ജീവിച്ച എനിക്ക് ഡല്‍ഹി പോലുള്ള മഹാനഗരങ്ങളില്‍ സംഭവിക്കാന്‍ സാദ്ധ്യതയുള്ള അര്‍ബന്‍ ഏലിയനേഷനെല്ലാം അന്യമാണ്. ബോംബെയില്‍ എയര്‍പോറ്ട്ടില്‍ നിന്ന് ഹാജി അലിയിലേക്ക് പോകുന്ന വഴി ടാക്സിക്കാര്‍ക്ക് വരെ വഴി പറഞ്ഞു കൊടുക്കേണ്ടി വന്ന സംഭവം ഓര്‍മ്മിച്ച് പോയി.

സൈക്കിള്‍ റിക്ഷ

2009-08-13T23:41:00.004+05:30

അത്യാധുനിക നഗരത്തില്‍ പ്രാകൃതമായ ഗതാഗത സംവിധാനം എന്ന് അച്ചന്‍ വിശേഷിപ്പിച്ച സൈകിള്‍ റിക്ഷയില്‍ കയറി, ഡല്‍ഹിയില്‍ വെച്ച്. ഇറങ്ങിയപ്പോള്‍ ഓട്ടോറിക്ഷയിലും ടാക്സിയിലുമെന്ന പോലെ വാടകക്കൊരു കശപിശ. കാരുണവന്മാര് കൈകാര്യം ചെയ്യട്ടെ എന്നു വിചാരിച്ച് മിണ്ടാതിരുന്നു. അവരുടെ ശുദ്ധഗതിയേ മഹാനഗരത്തിന്റെ സാമര്‍ത്ഥ്യം ചൂഷണം ചെയ്യുന്നു എന്നു കണ്ടപ്പോള്‍ ഞാന്‍ ഇടപെട്ടു. 100 രൂപ ആവശ്യപ്പെട്ടത് ബഹളം കൂട്ടി 50 ആക്കി. പോരാന്‍ നേരത്ത് അമ്മ പറഞ്ഞു, “പാവങ്ങള്. നട്ടുച്ച വെയിലത്ത് കഷ്ടപ്പെട്ട് ചവിട്ടണതല്ലെ? പത്തോ ഇരുപതൂ കൂടുതല് കൊടുക്കാമായിരുന്നു.”

ദേഹാദ്ധ്വാനം ചെയ്യുന്നവരോടുള്ള വൈറ്റ് കോളര്‍ അനുകമ്പ സ്വയം അനുഭവിച്ചറിഞ്ഞതു കൊണ്ടും അതിഷ്ടമല്ലാത്തത് കൊണ്ടും കുറച്ച് ദേഷ്യത്തോടെ ആത്മഗതമെന്നോണം ഞാന്‍ പറഞ്ഞു, “കൊടുക്കാതിരുന്നതില്‍ എനിക്കൊരു വിഷമവും ഇല്ല. ഞാനും ഇത് കണക്കെഴുതിയുണ്ടാക്കുന്ന പൈസയൊന്നുമല്ല. വെയിലത്തും മഞ്ഞത്തും വാല്‍വ് തുറന്നുണ്ടാക്കുന്നതാണ്.”

വേഷങ്ങള്‍

2009-08-10T22:05:00.006+05:30

വീണ്ടുമെന്‍ ചമയങ്ങളഴിഞ്ഞു പോയിന്നലെ,
വീണ്ടുമിരുണ്ടുപോയ് ലോകമെന്‍ കണ്മുന്നില്‍.
എത്ര വേഷങ്ങളാടിക്കഴിഞ്ഞു ഞാന്‍,
ഇനിയെത്രയെണ്ണം ബാക്കിയുമാടാന്‍.

അച്ചന്റെ തോളില്‍ കളിക്കുന്ന മകനായ്,
അമ്മതന്‍ മടിയില്‍ കിടക്കുന്ന മകനായ്,
ഇരുട്ടില്‍ ധൈര്യം പകരുന്ന ജ്യേഷ്ഠനായ്,
ധാര്‍ഷ്ട്യം പുലമ്പുന്ന കൌമാരക്കാരനായ്.
ജീവിതം പഠിക്കാന്‍ പുറപ്പെട്ടു വിദ്യാര്‍ത്ഥി,
തിളങ്ങാതെ പോയ പരീക്ഷകള്‍ സാക്ഷിയായ്.
ഹൃദയം തകര്‍ന്നു കരഞ്ഞു ഞാന്‍ ഭീരുവായ്,
ഹൃദയം തകര്‍ത്തു രസിച്ചു ഞാന്‍ ക്രൂരനായ്.

ആടുന്നു പാടുന്നു വേഷങ്ങളിങ്ങനെ,
താണ്ടിത്തീരാത്തൊരീ ജീവിതയാത്രയില്‍.
ഇരുട്ടാരങ്ങില്‍ രംഗങ്ങള്‍ക്കിടയില്‍,
ഇരുട്ടാണു കണ്ണില്‍ വേഷങ്ങള്‍ക്കിടയില്‍,

എത്ര വേഷങ്ങളാടി തീര്‍ത്തു ഞാന്‍,
ഇനിയെത്രയെണ്ണം ആടുവാന്‍ ബാക്കി.
തീരില്ല വേഷങ്ങള്‍ ഒഴിയില്ലരങ്ങ്,
മായില്ല ചായങ്ങളെന്റെ വദനത്തില്‍.

ലോസ് ഒഫ് തെര്‍മോഡൈനാമിക്സ്

2009-08-08T08:53:00.004+05:30

വീട്ടില്‍ നിന്ന് പൈസ വാങാന്‍ വേണ്ടി സ്റ്റീം ടേബിളിന്റേയും ലോഗരിതം ടേബിളിന്റെയും കാലൊടിക്കുന്ന വിദ്വാന്മാരുടെ ഒരു ലാബ് വൈവ.
സര്‍: “വാട്ടീസ് തേഡ് ലോ ഓഫ് തെര്‍മോഡൈനാമിക്സ്?”
“ന്‍‌ഹും... ന്‍‌ഹും... അറിയില്ല.”
“സെക്കന്റ് ലോ ഓഫ് തെര്‍മോഡൈനാമിക്സ്?”
“അറിയില്ല.”
“ഫസ്റ്റ് ലോ അറിയോ?”
“ഇല്ല”
“എന്നാ, സീറോത്ത് ലോ ഓഫ് തെര്‍മോഡൈനാമിക്സ്... അതെങ്കിലും പറ”
“കളിയാക്കല്ലെ, സാറേ...”

ടൈപ്പിങ്

2009-08-08T08:45:00.004+05:30

“കൈയ്യുകൊണ്ടും കാലുകൊണ്ടും ഒരേ സ്പീഡില്‍ ടൈപ്പ് ചെയ്യാന്‍ പറ്റുന്ന ഈ കോളേജിലെ ഒരേ ഒരാള്‍ - ഞാന്‍”

മറുമോഴി: “ശരിയാ, കാലിന്റെ അതേ സ്പീഡാ, കൈയ്യിന്”

ബെല്ലടി

2009-08-08T05:05:00.007+05:30

വിയ്യൂര്‍ പവര്‍ ഹൌസില്‍ നിന്ന് തൃശ്ശൂര്‍ ടൌണിലേക്ക് ബസ്‌ കയറിയ ഒരു കോളേജ്‌ വിദ്വാന്‍ കണ്ടക്ടറോടു സ്വകാര്യത്തില്‍ പറഞ്ഞു, 'ചേട്ടാ, പെരിങ്ങാവ് ബെവെറേജസ് കോര്‍പറേഷന്റ്റെ മുന്‍പില്‍ ഒന്നു നിര്‍ത്തണം.'
കണ്ടക്ടര്‍: ‘ഗഡ്യേ, ഇത് ലിമിറ്റഡ് സ്റ്റോപ്പാ. അവിടേം ഇവിടേം ന്നും നിര്‍ത്തില്ല്യ.’
‘പ്ലീസ് ചേട്ടാ, ഒന്നു സ്പീട് കുറച്ചാ മതി. ഞാന്‍ ചാടിയിറങ്ങിക്കോളാം’
‘വണ്ടിയോടിക്കണത് ഞാനല്ലല്ലോ?’
‘പ്ലീസ് ചേട്ടാ, ഒന്നു ബെല്ല് അടിച്ചാ മതി.’
‘എന്തൂട്ടാ ഈ പറേണേ? ബെല്ലടിച്ചാ ട്രൈവറ് വണ്ടി നിര്‍ത്തും.’
‘പ്ലീസ് ചേട്ടാ, ട്രൈവറ് കേക്കണ്ട, പതുക്കെ അടിച്ചാ മതി.’

The Onset of Monsoon

2009-08-08T04:01:00.003+05:30

Its a charming unrest,

The soothing stir of its onset.

This smell of settled dust,

And of soaked sand,

Lulls my heart,

Yet kindles its fears.

Morning

2009-06-05T07:42:00.005+05:30

I write these words in an exceptionally fresh morning. I don't feel that quite often. Thirty minutes more to go. And I am back into the whirlpool. The daily dive. The whirlpool of machines, fluids, grudges, politics, hatred, sadists… All flowing into one another, from everywhere to everyone.

Even the thoughts of these sickening currents don’t make me feel bad this morning. I just feel elevated. And I don’t feel that quite often. So I pen it down. May be when it goes too much, when I feel like running away, when I yearn to just scream it out, I will read this: That I too have felt good.
I too was happy, but then, I grew up.

There were times when I felt happy. Like this morning. Let it pass.

എഴുത്ത്

2009-06-04T08:11:00.002+05:30

പാര്‍ക്കര്‍ പേന,
റൈറ്റിംങ് പാഡ്,
വെള്ള കടലാസുകള്‍,
മേശ,
കസേര,
പിന്നൊരു ചവറ്റുകുട്ടയും.

എല്ലാം റെഡി. എല്ലാം.
സമ്പല്‍സമൃദ്ധി.

പരിപാടി,
എഴുത്ത്.

എഴുതുന്നത്,
കവിത.

വിഷയം,
‘ആശയദാരിദ്യം’.

കുട

2008-08-15T22:39:00.004+05:30

ചേസിങ്ങ് ദ മണ്‍സൂണ്‍ - പ്രമോദിന്റെ ഒരു വലിയ ആഗ്രഹമാണ് (എന്റേയും) . കോവളത്ത് നിന്ന്‌ തുടങ്ങി, ബോംബെ വരെയെങ്കിലും കാലവര്‍ഷത്തിന്റെ കൂടെ സഞ്ചരിക്കണമെന്ന് കുറേ പ്ലാനിടുന്നു. ഒരുപാട് കാര്യങ്ങള്‍ കാണാനും മനസ്സിലാക്കാനുമുള്ള അവസരമാകുമത്. ഗണപതി കല്യാണം പോലെ അതും നീണ്ടു പോയി. ഏതായാലും കാലവര്‍ഷത്തിന്റെ പിന്നാലെ പോയില്ലെങ്കിലും ഇവിടിരുന്ന് കൊണ്ട് വേറെ ഒരു കാര്യം പഠിച്ചു. ഒരു ചെറിയ അനുഭവം.

കഴിഞ്ഞ മഴക്കാലത്ത് കമ്പനി തന്ന റെയിന്‍ കോട്ട് (സാങ്കേതിക ഭാഷയില്‍) പാസ്സിങ്ങായി. അപ്പൊ ഒരു കുട വാങ്ങാന്‍ തിരുമാനിച്ചു. മൂന്നായി മടക്കി പ്ലാസ്റ്റിക് ബാഗിലിടാന്‍ പാകത്തിലുള്ള ഒരെണ്ണമാണ് മനസ്സിലുണ്ടായിരുന്നത്. ഓഫ് ദിവസം ജാംനഗര്‍ ഒട്ടുമുക്കാലും കറങ്ങിയെങ്കിലും ത്രീഫോള്‍ഡ് കുട കിട്ടിയില്ല എന്നു മാത്രമല്ല, എനിക്കഞ്ജാതമായിരുന്ന ഒരു സത്യം മനസ്സിലായി - ഇവിടെയാരും കുട ഉപയോഗിക്കറില്ല. പിന്നീടാലോച്ചിച്ചപ്പോളാണ് പലതും വ്യക്തമാകാന്‍ തുടങ്ങിയത്. ഗുജറാത്തികള്‍ക്ക് മഴ ഒരാശ്വസമാണ്. മരുഭൂമിയില്‍ അതൊരാഘോഷമാണ്. കാറ്റ് കൊള്ളാനിറങ്ങുന്നത് പോലെ, ഇവര്‍ മഴ കൊള്ളാനിറങ്ങും, കുടുംമ്പസമേതം. വസ്ത്രം ഒട്ടി നഗ്നതാ പ്രദര്‍ശനമാകുമോ എന്നുള്ള കപട സദാചാര ബോധമൊന്നുമില്ല. ബസ് മജാ കരൂ ഛൂ...

അങ്ങനെ ഞാനവസാനം കുട കണ്ടു പിടിച്ചു. റിലയന്‍സ് മാര്‍ട്ടില്‍. ആഡംബരം കൊണ്ടും, ഗാംഭീര്യം കൊണ്ടും വന്‍കിട മാളുകളുടെയൊപ്പം നില്‍ക്കുമെന്ന് പറയപ്പെടുന്ന, റിലയന്‍സ് മാര്‍ട്ടില്‍. അവിടെ ആകെയുണ്ടായിരുന്നത് പൊടി പിടിച്ച പേരറിയാത്ത കമ്പനിയുടെ, അഞ്ച് ടൂ ഫോള്‍ഡ് കുടകള്‍. ഒരെണ്ണം വാങ്ങി. മഴ കുറേ കൊണ്ടെങ്കിലും കുട കാര്യമായ് ഉപയോഗിച്ചില്ല. ചാറല്‍ മഴ കോള്ളുന്നതിന്റെ ഒരു സുഖം ഒന്നു വേറെ തന്നെയാ.

ഒരിക്കല്‍, മഴക്കാലത്ത് ഞാന്‍ കുട പിടിച്ചപ്പോള്‍ നാട്ടുകാര്‍ തുറിച്ചു നോക്കി.
വേനല്‍കാലത്ത്, ചൂടില്‍ നിന്ന് രക്ഷ കിട്ടാന്‍ രണ്ട് സ്ത്രീകള്‍ കുട പിടിച്ചപോള്‍, റ്റൈംസ് ഓഫ് ഇന്ത്യ - അഹമ്മദാബാദ് എഡിഷനില്‍ ഫോട്ടൊ സഹിതം മൂന്നാം പേഗില്‍ ന്യൂസ് ആയി!!!

വേര്‍ ദ ഫ** ഈസ് ജാംനഗര്‍?

2008-08-12T20:04:00.007+05:30

മദ്യപാനികള്‍ക്ക് ജാംനഗര്‍ ‘റീഹാബ്’ ആണ്.
കലാപ്രേമികള്‍ക്ക് ജാംനഗര്‍ കാരാഗൃഹമാണ്.
നഗരങ്ങളില്‍ ജനിച്ചു വളര്‍ന്നവര്‍ക്ക് ജാംനഗര്‍ ഗ്രാമമാണ്.
ട്രഡിഷനല്‍ എഞ്ചിനിയര്‍മാര്‍ക്ക് ജാംനഗര്‍ മെക്കയാണ്.
മദ്യപാനിയും, കലാപ്രേമിയും, നാഗരികനായ ട്രഡിഷനല്‍ എഞ്ചിനിയര്‍മാര്‍ക്ക് ജാംനഗര്‍ ‘മജ്ബൂരി’യാണ് (നിവൃത്തികേട്).

ഏതാണ്ടതുപോലുള്ളൊരുത്തന്‍ - ഡെല്‍ഹിയില്‍ ജനിച്ചു വളര്‍ന്നു, ചെന്നൈയില്‍ പഠിച്ചു, ജാംനഗറില്‍ എത്തിപ്പെട്ടു. അങ്ങനെയിരിക്കെ, ഒരൊന്നൊന്നര കൊല്ലത്തിന് ശേഷം മൂപ്പരുടെ ഒരു സുഹൃത്ത് ഫോണ് ചയ്തു. ഒരു സാധാരണ, ലോങ്ങ്-ടൈം-നൊ-സീ കോള്‍.
“വാട്സപ്?”
“സ്കൈ ഈസ് അപ്. ഹെവന്‍ ഈസ് അപ്. ലൈഫ് ഈസ് ഡൌണ്‍.”
“വേര്‍ ഡിഡ് യു ജസ്റ്റ് ഡിസ്സപ്പിയര്‍? വേര്‍ ആര്‍ യൂ?”
“അയാമിന്‍ ജാംനഗര്‍.”
“ജാംനഗര്‍? വേര്‍ ദ ഫക്ക് ഈസ് ജാംനഗര്‍?”
“ഇറ്റ്സ് ഇന്‍ ഗുജറാത്.”
“ഗുജറാത്? വാട് ദ ഹെക്ക് ആര്‍ യൂ ഡൂയിങ്ങ് തേര്‍?”
... ഇങ്ങനെ നീണ്ടു പോയി സംഭാഷണം. അന്നു വൈകുന്നേരം ഈ സംഭാഷണമോര്‍ത്ത്, കുറച്ചു മൂട് വന്നപ്പോള്‍, മൂപ്പരൊരു പാട്ടെഴുതി, മുറി ഗുജറാത്തിയില്‍, ഒരു കൂട്ടം ആത്മാക്കളുടെ നിവൃത്തികേടിനെക്കുറിച്ച്.

തമെ സു ഛെ, തമെ ക്യാന്‍ ഛെ,
മനെ ജാനാ‍ ദിയൊ...
മനെ സു ഛെ, മനെ ക്യാന്‍ ഛെ,
കൊയി നഥി ജാനാ ദിയൊ...
[നീയെങ്ങിനെയാണ് നീയെവിടെയാണ്
എനിക്കറിയാം...
ഞാനെങ്ങിനെയാണ് ഞാനെവിടെയാണ്
ആര്‍ക്കുമറിയില്ല...] എന്നാണ് ഉദ്ദേശിച്ചത്.

പട്ടേലിന്റെ ആംഗലേയം

2008-07-09T15:24:00.005+05:30

ഗുജറാത്തില്‍, പ്രത്യേകിച്ച് വടക്കും പടിഞ്ഞാറും ഭാഗങ്ങളില്‍ ഇംഗ്ലിഷ് പരിഞ്ജാനം കുറവാണ്. ഇതറിയാവുന്നത് കൊണ്ടോ എന്തോ ഒരു ദിവസം, ട്രൈനിംഗ് ഡിപ്പാര്‍ട്ട്‌മെന്റില്‍ നിന്ന് ഒരു ഇമയില്‍ വന്നു. ‘Know where you stand and improve your English.' ഒരു കൌണ്‍സിലറുടെ പത്ത് മുപ്പത് ചോദ്യങ്ങള്‍ക്ക് മറുപടി പറഞ്ഞാല്‍, നമ്മുടെ ഇംഗ്ലിഷ് പരിഞ്ജാനം എത്രത്തോളമുണ്ടെന്ന് അളന്ന്, അത് വളര്‍ത്താനുള്ള സൂത്രങ്ങള്‍ പറഞ്ഞു തരുമത്രെ.

ഇത് കേട്ട ഉടനെ, എന്റെ ഒപ്പം ജോലി ചെയ്യുന്ന ഒരു മെഹ്സാനക്കാരന്‍ പട്ടേലിന് ഉത്സാഹമായി. ഓടി പോയി കൌണ്‍സിലറെ മുഖം കാണിച്ച് വന്നു. ദിവസങ്ങള്‍ക്ക് ശേഷം, കൌണ്‍സിലര്‍ ഒരു ഈമെയില്‍ പട്ടേലിന് അയച്ചു. നാലഞ്ച് പേജ് നീണ്ടുനില്‍ക്കുന്ന ഒരു ‘ഡീറ്റൈല്‍ട് അനാലിസിസ്’. പട്ടേല് അഞ്ച് മിനിറ്റ് അതു തന്നെ തുറിച്ചു നോക്കിക്കൊണ്ടിരുന്നു. എന്നിട്ട് ദേഷ്യത്തോടെ, ആത്മഗതം പറഞ്ഞു, ‘സാലാ ബ**ചോ*, അഗര്‍ ഇത്നാ സമഝ് മെ ആയെഗാ തൊ മെ ഉസ്കെ പാസ് ക്യോ ജാതാ??? [ഇത് മനസ്സിലാവാനുള്ള വിവരമുണ്ടങ്കില്‍ ഞാനവിടെ പോകുമോ?]’

പ്രേതം

2008-07-08T20:11:00.005+05:30

ക്രൂരഫലിതങ്ങള്‍ ഒരു വിനോദമാക്കിയ ഒരു വിദ്വാനുണ്ടായിരുന്നു. ഒരിക്കല്‍ ഈ വിദ്വാന്‍ ഒരു മരണവീട്ടിലേക്ക് പോയി. അകാലമരണമായിരുന്നു. വീട്ടുമുറ്റത്ത് തന്നെ മരിച്ച ആളുടെ ജ്യേഷ്ഠന്‍ നിക്കുന്നുണ്ടായിരുന്നു. കയറിവന്ന ഉടനെ ഈ വിദ്വാന്‍ ജ്യേഷ്ഠന്റെയടുത്ത് ചോദിച്ചു,
‘രാമാ, അല്ല, ഇപ്പൊ ഈ മരിച്ച ആള് നമ്മുടെ ആരായിട്ടാ വര്ആ?’ (ജനിച്ച നാള്‍ മുതല്‍ ആ കുടുംബാംഗങ്ങളേ കാണുന്നവനാണ് ഈ വിദ്വാന്‍)

രാമന്‍ ദെഷ്യവും സങ്കടവും എല്ലാംകൂട്ടി പറഞ്ഞു,
‘എന്റെയാരുമായിട്ടല്ല വര്ആ, പ്രേതായിട്ടാ വര്ആ!’

പാമ്പ്

2008-07-08T19:20:00.006+05:30

മണിയന്‍ രണ്ട് വര്‍ഷം B.Sc. മാതെമാറ്റിക്സ് പഠിച്ചിട്ടാണ് എഞ്ചിനിയറിങ്ങിന് ചേര്‍ന്നത്. അതുകൊണ്ട് കോളേജില്‍ മതെമാറ്റിക്സ് ക്ലാസ്സ് നടക്കുമ്പോള്‍ തെല്ലഹങ്കാരത്തോടെയാണ് മണിയന്‍ ഇരിക്കാറ്. സഹപാഠികള്‍ക്ക് അപ്പോള്‍ മണിയനോട് ബഹുമാനവും കുറച്ച് അസൂയയും തോന്നും.

അങ്ങനെ ഒരു ദിവസം, കണക്ക് ടീച്ചര്‍ ഡിഫറന്‍ഷ്യല്‍ കാല്‍ക്കുലസ്സിലെ ഒരത്യുഗ്രന്‍ പ്രോബ്ലം അര മണിക്കൂറെടുത്ത് സോള്‍വ് ചെയ്തു. സോള്‍വ് ചെയ്തു കഴിഞ്ഞപോഴേക്കും ബോര്‍ഡില്‍ ഒരിഞ്ച് സ്ഥലം ബാക്കിയില്ല. ഉത്തരത്തിന്റെ അടിയില്‍ അടിവരയിട്ട് ടീച്ചര്‍ ക്ലാസ് നിര്‍ത്തി പോയി. തിരുവമ്പാടി വെടിക്കെട്ട് തൃശൂര്‍ റൌണ്ടില് നിന്ന് കണ്ട പോലെ കുട്ടികള്‍ കണ്ണും മിഴിച്ചിരുന്നു പോയി. ഒന്നും മനസ്സിലായില്ല. അപ്പോഴാണ്‌ കുറച്ച് പേര്‍ക്ക് ഒരൈഡിയ തോന്നിയത്. മണിയനോട് ചോദിക്കാം. അങ്ങനെ എല്ലാവരും കൂടി മണിയന്റെ അടുത്തത്തി. മണിയന്‍ ബോര്‍ഡില്‍ നോക്കി കുറച്ച് നേരം പുരികം ചുളിച്ചിരുന്നു. പിന്നെ ഒരു വിരലു കൊണ്ട് തല ചൊറിഞ്ഞു കൊണ്ട് പറഞ്ഞു,
‘എല്ലാം മനസ്സിലായി. പക്ഷെ, ആ പാമ്പ് പോലെയിരിക്കുന്ന ചിന്‍ഹം എന്താണെന്ന് മനസ്സിലായില്ല.’

അത് ഇന്റഗ്രല്‍ സൈന്‍ ആയിരുന്നു!

യൂ. എന്‍. പ്രസിഡന്റ്

2008-07-07T00:47:00.004+05:30

അഛന്‍ പേരാമ്പ്ര കോളേജില്‍ ജോലി നോക്കുന്ന കാലം. താമസം ഒറ്റക്കയിരുന്നത് കൊണ്ടും, തിരിച്ചെത്തിയിട്ട് പ്രത്യേകിച്ചൊന്നും ചെയ്യാനില്ലാത്തതു കൊണ്ടും പരമാവധി വൈകിയേ അഛന്‍ കോളേജില്‍ നിന്നിറങ്ങാറുള്ളു.
അങ്ങനെ വൈകിയിറങ്ങിയ ഒരു ദിവസം. വാതില്‍ക്കല്‍ നിന്നു ഓഫീസ് മുറിയുടെ വാതില്‍ പൂട്ടുമ്പോഴാണ്, പരിചയമില്ലാത്ത ഒരാള്‍ നടന്നു വരുന്നു. കണ്ടാല്‍ 35-40 വയസ്സ് പ്രായം തോന്നിക്കും. അയാള്‍ അഛന്റെയടുത്ത് വന്ന് പറഞ്ഞു, ‘രാമനാഥന്‍ മാഷിനെ കാണണം.’
‘രാമനാഥന്‍ മാഷോ?’
‘അതെ, രാമനാഥന്‍ മാഷ്’
‘അങ്ങനെയൊരാളിവിടെ ഇല്ലല്ലോ?’
‘ഇല്ലേ? ഇംഗ്ലിഷ് ഡിപ്പാര്‍ട്മെന്റിലെ രാമനാഥന്‍ മാഷ്’
‘ഇംഗ്ലിഷ് ഡിപ്പാര്‍ട്മെന്റിലെന്നല്ല, ഈ കോളേജില്‍ തന്നെയാരും ആ പേരിലില്ല.’ ബി ഗ്രേഡ് കോളെജിലെ എല്ലാ അദ്ധ്യാപകരേയും പേരെടുത്തറിയാവുന്നത് കൊണ്ട് അഛന്‍ ഉറപ്പിച്ച് പറഞ്ഞു.
‘എന്താ കാര്യം? വേറെയാരേയെങ്കിലും കണ്ടാല്‍ മതിയോ?’
‘ഒന്നുമില്ല. ഒന്ന് കാണാനാ. ഞാനിവിടെ പഠിച്ചിരുന്നതാ. മാഷെന്നെ പഠിപ്പിച്ചിരുന്നു.’
‘എന്നാല്‍ ചിലപ്പോള്‍ ട്രാന്‍സ്ഫറോ റിട്ടയറ്മെന്റോ ആയതാകും.’ അഛനയാളുടെ പ്രായം കൂടി കണക്കിലെടുത്ത് പറഞ്ഞു.
‘ശരിയാ’
‘എന്തെങ്കിലും അറിയിക്കാനാണെങ്കില്‍ ഞാനിവിടുത്തെ ഡിപ്പാര്‍ട്ട്മെന്റ് വഴി ഒന്ന് ശ്രമിക്കാം.’
‘ഓ ഒന്നുമില്ല. ഞാന്‍ പാസ്സായി എന്ന് പറഞ്ഞാ മതി.’
അഛന്‍ നിശബ്ദനായി. ഒന്നെങ്കില്‍ ഇയാള്‍ക്ക് ഭ്രാന്താണ്. അല്ലെങ്കില്‍ എന്നെ കളിപ്പിക്കുകയാണ്. സംസാരശൈലിയും, ഭാവവുമൊക്കെ കണ്ടാല്‍ കളിപ്പിക്കുകയാണെന്ന് ആരും പറയില്ല. ചിന്ത പുറത്ത് കാണിക്കാതെ അഛന്‍ പറഞ്ഞു,
‘പറയാല്ലോ’
‘താങ്ക്യൂ’
‘അല്ല, ആരു പറഞ്ഞു എന്ന് പറയണം?’
‘എന്നെ മനസ്സിലായില്ലെ? ഞാന്‍ യുണൈറ്റഡ് നേഷന്റ്റെ പ്രസിഡെന്റാ, കോഫി അന്നന്‍ സെക്രട്ടറിയായുള്ള യുണൈറ്റഡ് നേഷന്‍?’
‘അതെയോ, നമസ്കാരം.’ കാര്യ ഗൌരവം വിടാതെ തന്നെ അഛന്‍ തുടര്‍ന്നു, ‘ഞാന്‍ അറിയിക്കാം ഡിപ്പാര്‍ട്മെന്റില്. ഇപ്പൊ വേഗം പോയ്ക്കോളു. യുണൈറ്റഡ് നേഷനിലേക്കുള്ള അവസാന ബസ് കുറച്ചു സമയത്തിനുള്ളീല്‍ ആ കവലയില്‍ വരും.’
‘ഓ, ഓ... ശരി, ശരി... പിന്നെ കാണാം’ എന്നും പറഞ്ഞ് അയാള്‍ പോയി.
കണക്ക് പഠിപ്പിച് ശീലിച്ച അഛന് ഒരു വ്യാഖ്യാനം കിട്ടാതെ നിന്നു പോയി.

കലാലയ നുറുങ്ങുകള്‍

2008-07-06T11:16:00.007+05:30

1.
(This post might have objectionable content)

പോരാളിയെന്നര്‍ത്ഥം വരുന്ന ഇരട്ടപ്പേരുള്ള ഒരുത്തനുണ്ടായിരുന്നു. കോളേജില്‍ അഡ്മിഷന്‍ സമയത്ത് 'Why do you want to join this institution?' എന്ന കോളത്തില്‍, 'For Entertainment!' എന്നെഴുതിക്കൊടുത്തുവെന്ന് പറയപ്പെടുന്ന മഹാന്‍. ഒരു ദിവസം പോരാളി നടക്കാനിറങ്ങി. പെട്ടെന്നാണ് കാള പെറ്റ പോലെ, വേനല്‍ക്കാലത്ത് മഴ പെയ്തത്. കുറച്ചു നേരമെ ഉണ്ടായിരുന്നെങ്കിലും, ഉഗ്രന്‍ മഴയായിരുന്നു. മഴ തോര്‍ന്നപ്പോഴേക്കും പോരാളി അടിമുടി നനഞ്ഞ് റോഡ് സൈഡില്‍ നില്‍ക്കുകയാണ്. അപ്പോഴാണ് പോക്കറ്റില്‍ കിടക്കുന്ന 50 രൂപ നോട്ടിന്റെ കാര്യം ഓര്‍മ്മ വന്നത്. നനഞ്ഞ നോട്ട് സാവധാനം രണ്ട് വിരല് കൊണ്ടെടുത്ത് വെള്ളം കളയാന്‍ വേണ്ടി കുടഞ്ഞപ്പോളാണ്, കോളേജ് പരിസരത്ത് കറങ്ങി നടക്കുന്ന ഒരു ഭ്രാന്തിത്തള്ള അരികിലുണ്ടെന്നുള്ള കാര്യം മനസ്സിലായത്.
ഭ്രാന്തി പോരാളിയെ തുറിച്ചു നോക്കിക്കൊണ്ട് പറഞ്ഞു, ‘പ്ഫ..!!!, പു*** മോനെ, നിന്റമ്മായിയമ്മയ്ക്ക് കൊണ്ട് കൊടുക്കെടാ...’ ചുറ്റുവട്ടത്തിള്ളവരുടെ ശ്രദ്ധ മുഴുവന്‍ പോരാളിയുടെ നേരെ.
പോക്കറ്റില്‍ 50 രൂപയുണ്ടെന്നുള്ള കാര്യം നാട്ടുകാരെ അറിയിക്കാന്‍ പോയതിന് ഇങ്ങനെയൊരു നാറലുണ്ടാകുമെന്ന് പാവം പോരാളി വിചാരിച്ചിട്ടുണ്ടാകില്ല.

2.
കോളേജില്‍ പഠിച്ചിരുന്ന വടക്കേ ഇന്ത്യക്കാരും വടക്കുകിഴക്കന്‍ ഇന്ത്യക്കാരും തമ്മില്‍ ഇടക്കിടക്ക് കശപിശയുണ്ടാകാറുണ്ട്. അതു പലപ്പോഴും ഒത്തുത്തീറ്പ്പാക്കുന്നത് കോളേജ് യൂണിയന്‍ ഭാരവാഹികളാണ്. അതുപോലൊരു ബഹളത്തിനിടക്ക്, സ്വയം ‘ഡീലിങ്ങിന്റെ’ ആശാനെന്നു കരുതുന്ന സഖാവ് ചോദിക്കാന്‍ പോയി. പ്രശ്നം നടക്കുന്നതിന്റെ അടുത്തെത്താറായപ്പോളേക്കും ഒരു ഹിന്ദിക്കാരന്‍ നിലവിളിച്ചുകൊണ്ട് ഓടിവരുന്നു,
‘മാരാ... മുഝെ മാരാ... ദാരു പീക്കെ മാരാ, ദാരു പീക്കെ മാരാ...’
അപ്പൊ സഖാവിന് ആരെയാണ് പിടിക്കണ്ടതെന്ന് മനസ്സിലായി.
രൌദ്രഭാവവുമായ് സഖാവ് അലറി,
‘ആരടാ, ഈ ദാരു പി. കെ.??? ഫസ്റ്റിയറിലെ ചെക്കനാണെന്ന് തോന്നുണു. അവനിട്ട് കൊടുക്കണം.’

പുകവലിയുമായ് മല്‍പ്പിടുത്തം

2008-07-06T10:23:00.006+05:30

ഇന്നു മുതല്‍ പുകവലി നിര്‍ത്തണം. തലേന്നു രാത്രിയെടുത്ത ഉറച്ച തിരുമാനമാണ്. മോര്‍ണിംഗ് ഷിഫ്റ്റാണ്. നാലര മണിക്കെഴുന്നേല്‍ക്കണം. കുളി കഴിഞ്ഞു ബസില്‍ കയറുന്നതിനു മുമ്പ് ഒരെണ്ണം പതിവുണ്ട്. അതോഴിവാക്കിയതിന്റെ ആഹ്ലാദത്തില്‍ ബസില്‍ കയറി. ശ്രദ്ധതിരിക്കാന്‍ പ്ലാന്റിലെത്തും വരെ മൊബൈലില്‍ പാട്ടും കേട്ടിരിന്നു. അവിടെയെത്തിയപോഴാണ് മനസ്സിലായത് ഡ്യൂട്ടി പാനലിലാണെന്ന്. ഫീല്‍ഡിലായിരുന്നെങ്കില്‍ അങ്ങോട്ടുമിങ്ങോട്ടും കറങ്ങി നടന്നു സമയം കളയാമായിരുന്നു. പാനലില്‍ ബോറടിച്ച് ഭ്രാന്ത് പിടിക്കും. എട്ട് മണിക്കൂറും മൊണിറ്റര്‍ നോക്കിയിരിക്കണം. പുകയിലയുടെ അളവ് ശരീരത്തില്‍ കുറഞ്ഞു വരുമ്പോള്‍, പെട്ടെന്ന് ദേഷ്യം വരും, വിറളി പിടിക്കും എന്നൊക്കെ മുന്‍പൊരിക്കല്‍ ശ്രമിച്ചതിന്റെ അനുഭവത്തില്‍ അറിയാമായിരുന്നു. അതുകൊണ്ട്, പാനലില്‍ എത്തിയപാടെ കൂടെയിരിക്കുന്ന വിമല്‍ ഭായിയോട് കാര്യം പറഞ്ഞു. നിയന്ത്രണം തെറ്റിയാല്‍ ഒന്നു ഓര്‍മ്മിപ്പിക്കണം. പത്തുമണി ആയപോളെക്കും നാല് മണിക്കൂര്‍ കഴിഞ്ഞു. പുകയിലയുടെ അഭാവം അനുഭവപ്പെട്ടുതുടങ്ങിയിരിക്കുന്നു. വിരലിലെ ഞരമ്പുകള്‍ വലിയാന്‍ തുടങ്ങി, തല വേദന, കൈ വിറക്കല്‍ എന്നിങ്ങനെ. ബാക്കി നാല് മണിക്കൂര്‍ എങ്ങനെയോ കഴിച്ചു കൂട്ടി. ഷിഫ്റ്റ് എന്റിങ്ങില്‍, തെലുങ്കന്‍ ഷിഫ്റ്റ്-ഇന്‍-ചാര്‍ജിനെ നാല് ചീത്ത വിളിച്ചപോള്‍ പൂര്‍ണമായി വിത്ഡ്രോവല്‍ സിംട്ടംസ്!

തിരിച്ച് ടൌണ്‍ഷിപ്പില്‍ എത്തിയ പാടെ സന്തോഷിന്റെ കടയില്‍ ഓടിക്കയറി, കത്തിച്ചു ഒരെണ്ണം... വീണ്ടും ഒരെണ്ണം... അങ്ങനെ വരിവരിയായ് നാലെണ്ണം. ഇപ്പൊ സുഖം തോന്നുന്നു. പഴയ പോലെയായി. അതോടുകൂടി ഒരു കാര്യം മനസ്സിലായി: ശരീരത്തില്‍ അലിഞ്ഞു ചേര്‍ന്നിരിക്കുന്ന പുകയിലയുടെ അളവ് - നാല് വില്‍സ് നേവി കട്ട്!

എന്നെക്കൊണ്ട് പറ്റില്ല മാഷേ! നിര്‍ത്തല് പോയിട്ട് കുറക്കാന്‍ തന്നെ പറ്റുമോ എന്ന് സംശയമാണ്. ഈ ജീവിതത്തില്‍ പറ്റുമെന്ന് തോന്നുന്നില്ല.

കുറെ ദിവസം കഴിഞ്ഞ് അതുപോലുരു മോര്‍ണിംഗ് ഷിഫ്റ്റില്‍, യാതൊരു വിധ പ്രകോപനമോ, പ്രോത്സാഹനമോ ഇല്ലാതെ ആ സുപ്രഭാതം മുതല്‍ വലിക്കാന്‍ തോന്നിയില്ല. വൈകുന്നേരം വരെ കാര്യമായ പ്രശ്നങ്ങളൊന്നും അനുഭവപെട്ടില്ല. വൈകീട്ടൊരെണ്ണം വലിച്ചു. ദിവസത്തിലൊന്ന് എന്ന രീതിയില്‍ രണ്ടു ദിവസം പോയി. പിന്നൊരു ശനിയാഴ്ച അതും നിര്‍ത്തി. മുമ്പനുഭവപ്പെട്ട പ്രശ്നങ്ങളൊന്നും ഇപ്പൊ തോന്നിയില്ല.

നാലഞ്ച് ദിവസത്തിന് ശേഷം, പേരുകേട്ട ഒരു കമ്പനിയില്‍ ജോലി ഒഴിവിന്റെ പരസ്യം തപ്പുന്നതിന്റെ ഇടയില്‍ ശനിയാഴ്ചത്തെ പത്രം കണ്ടു. അതില്‍ ആദ്യത്തെ പേജില്‍ തന്നെ മുത്തനക്ഷരത്തിലെഴുതിയിരിക്കുന്നു - "May 31: World No Tobacco Day"

കള്‍ച്ചറല്‍ ഷോക്ക്

2008-07-06T00:49:00.002+05:30

ബോംബെയില്‍ ജോലിയുള്ള കാലം. സയണ്‍ എന്ന സ്ഥലത്താണ് ഓഫീസ്. ഒരു ദിവസം ബോസ്സിന്റെ ഫോണ്‍ വന്നു. ഹെഡ് ഓഫിസിലേക്ക് ചെല്ലണമത്രെ. ഇതുവരെ അവിടെ പോയിട്ടില്ല. സയണിലെ സെന്റര്‍ മാനേജര്‍ ഒരു കടലാസില്‍ ഹെഡ് ഓഫീസിന്റെ വിലാസം എഴുതി തന്നു. ബാന്ദ്ര-കുര്‍ള കോമ്പ്ലെക്സിലാണ്. ബഹുരാഷ്ട്ര കുത്തകകളുടെയും മറ്റു വന്‍കിട കമ്പനികളുടെയും ഹെഡ് ഓഫീസികലുള്ള, നരിമാന്‍ പോയിന്റ് കഴിഞ്ഞാല്‍ ഏറ്റവും ഡിമാന്റ് ഉള്ള സ്ഥലം. അവിടെ ആറാമത്തെ തെരുവില്‍ പത്തു നിലകളുള്ള കെട്ടിടത്തിന്റെ ഏഴാം നിലയിലാണ് എനിക്കെത്തിപ്പെടേണ്ട ഓഫീസ്. കമ്പനിക്ക് കേമത്തം അത്രക്കിലാത്തത് കൊണ്ട് വഴിയെപോകുന്നവര്‍ക്ക് എന്റെ കമ്പനിയുടെ ഹെഡ് ഓഫീസ് ചൂണ്ടിക്കാണിക്കാന്‍ പറ്റില്ല. അതുകൊണ്ട് ആറാമത്തെ തെരുവില്‍ ഓട്ടോയില്‍ നിന്നറങ്ങി. എന്നിട്ട്, സ്വയം സ്ഥലം കണ്ടു പിടിക്കാന്‍ ഒരു ശ്രമം നടത്തി. വിഫലമായപ്പോള്‍, കണ്ടാല്‍ മാന്യനെന്നു തോന്നുന്ന, സാമാന്യം ഭേദപ്പെട്ട വസ്ത്രം ധരിച്ച ഒരാളോട് സെന്റര്‍ മാനേജര്‍ എഴുതിയ കടലാസ് കാണിച്ചു ചോദിച്ചു, 'ഭായ് സാഹബ്, യെ കിധര്‍ ഹേ (സഹോദരാ, ഇതെവിടെയാണ്)?' കടലാസിലേക്കൊന്നു നോക്കുക പോലും ചെയ്യാതെ അയാള്‍ എന്നെത്തന്നെ തുറിച്ചു നോക്കി കൊണ്ടിരിക്കുകയാണ്. പൊതു സ്ഥലങ്ങളില്‍ മാത്രം കണ്ടുമുട്ടുന്ന 'അരപ്പിരി' കേസുകളില്‍ വല്ലവരുമാകുമെന്നു വിചാരിച്ചു ഞാന്‍ തടിയൂരാന്‍ ശ്രമിക്കുംപോളേക്കും അയാള്‍ സംസാരിച്ചു - "പഠ്കെ ബതാഓ (വായിച്ചു കേള്‍പ്പിക്കൂ)." അപ്പോഴാണ്‌ എനിക്ക് കാര്യം മനസ്സിലായത്. അയാള്‍ നിരക്ഷരനാണ്. ജീന്‍സും, ഷര്‍ട്ടും, ക്ലീന്‍ ഷേവുമൊക്കെ കണ്ടാല്‍ എഴുത്തും വായനയും അറിയില്ല എന്നാരും പറയില്ല. നൂറു ശതമാനം സാക്ഷരതയുള്ള കേരളത്തില്‍ വളര്‍ന്ന എനിക്ക് അങ്ങനെയും ആളുകളുന്റെന്ന് മനസ്സിലാക്കുവാന്‍ അല്പം വൈകി പോയി. പേരു ‘കേട്ടപ്പോള്‍‘ അയാള്‍ സ്ഥലം പറഞ്ഞു തന്നു. ബുദ്ധിമുട്ടാതെ ഞാനവിടെ എത്തുകയും ചെയ്തു. പക്ഷെ അതൊരു മറക്കാന്‍ പറ്റാത്ത അനുഭവമായിരുന്നു. ഒരു കള്‍ച്ചറല്‍ ഷോക്ക് (അങ്ങനെ വിളിക്കാമെങ്കില്‍) തന്നെയായിരുന്നു.

വസ്ത്രാക്ഷേപം

2008-07-05T23:47:00.005+05:30

ദ്രൌപദിയെ വസ്ത്രാക്ഷേപം നടത്തിയപ്പോള്‍, ഭഗവാന്‍ ശ്രീകൃഷ്ണന്‍ എന്തുകൊണ്ടാണ് യുധിഷ്ടിരനെ ചൂത് കളിയില്‍ സഹായിക്കുന്നതിനു പകരം ദ്രൌപദിക്ക് സാരി കൊടുത്തത്?

കാരണം, ദൈവം പകിട കളിക്കാറില്ല.

God doesn't play dice!

ശ്രീകൃഷ്ണലീല

2008-07-05T10:06:00.009+05:30

കുട്ടിക്കാലത്ത് ഉറങ്ങാന്‍ നേരത്ത് അമ്മയും മുത്തശ്ശിയും പറഞ്ഞു തന്നിരുന്ന ഒരു കഥയും അതിന്റെ സമകാലീന ഭൌതിക വ്യാഖ്യാനങ്ങളും:

ഗോപിക: “ദേ, കണ്ണന്‍ മണ്ണ് തിന്നുണു. മുന്‍പ് പറഞ്ഞപ്പോള്‍ വിശ്വസിച്ചില്യാല്ലോ, ദേ ഇപ്പൊനോക്കൂ... മണ്ണ് തിന്നുണു.”
യശോദ: “എവിടെ, നോക്കട്ടെ. കണ്ണാ... കണ്ണാ..., എന്താ കാട്ടണേ നിയ്യ്?”
യശോദ കണ്ണന്റെയടുത്തെത്തുമ്പോഴെക്കും, കണ്ണന്‍ കൈ പിന്നില്‍ കെട്ടി, വീര്‍ത്ത കവിളുമായ് ഒരു കള്ള ചിരിയോടെ യശോദയേ നോ‍ക്കി പരുങ്ങുകയാണ്.
യശോദ: “കണ്ണാ, വായ തുറക്ക്.”
കണ്ണന്‍: “ങും... ങും...”
യശോദ: “കണ്ണാ, വായ തുറക്ക്. കാണട്ടെ എന്താ കഴിക്കണേ ന്ന്.”

ഒടുവില്‍ കണ്ണന്‍ പതുക്കെ വായ തുറന്നു. വായ്ക്കുളില്‍ നോക്കിയപ്പോ യശോദ എന്താ കണ്ടേ?
(ഈ ഘട്ടത്തില്‍ വിടര്‍ന്ന കണ്ണും തുറന്ന വായുമായിട്ട് ഞാന്‍ മുത്തശ്ശിയോട് ചോദിക്കും, ‘എന്താ കണ്ടേ...?’, ഒരായിരം തവണ കേട്ട കഥയായിരുന്നിട്ടും കൂടി.)

യശോദ കണ്ടു. ഈരേഴു പതിനാലു ലോകവു. മനുഷ്യരും, മൃഗങ്ങളും, ദേവകളു. സൂര്യനും, ചന്ദ്രനും, നക്ഷത്രങ്ങളും. കാലങ്ങളും കാലചക്രവും. സ്വര്‍ഗവും, നരകവും, ഭൂമിയും... ഭഗവാന്റെ മായ കണ്ട് യശോദ കൈ കൂപ്പി നിന്നു പോയീ എന്ന് കഥാന്ത്യം.

സമകാലീനനുഭവങ്ങള്‍ വെച്ച് ഭൌതികമായി ഒന്നു ഈ കഥയേ വിലയിരുത്തിയാല്‍, കൃഷ്ണന്‍ ബീഡി വലിക്കുകയായിരുന്നു എന്നൊരു വ്യാഖ്യാനം. വായ തുറന്നപ്പോള്‍ യശോദ കണ്ടത് കാജാ ബീഡിയുടെ കട്ടപുകയായിരുന്നു. അതിനെ ഈരേഴു പതിനാലു ലോകമായി കണ്ടത് യശോദയുടെ ശുദ്ധഗതി.

കടപ്പാട്: പരേതനായ ഒരു ബന്ധു.

ചില മതേതര ചിന്തകള്‍

2008-07-05T01:00:00.009+05:30

ഏഴാം ക്ലാസ്സിലെ സാമൂഹ്യ ശാസ്ത്രവും ചില മതേതര ചിന്തകളും:

ഏഴാം ക്ലാസ്സ് പാഠപുസ്തകത്തിലെന്താണ് കൃത്യമായിട്ട് എഴുതിയ്തെന്നറിയില്ല. എന്തായാലും കമ്യൂണിസം പ്രചരിപ്പിക്കാനണെങ്കില്‍, കണക്കായിപ്പോയി. കമ്യൂണിസ്റ്റുകാരെന്ന് പറയുന്നത് ഹിന്ദുവിനെയോ ക്രിസ്ത്യാനിയെയോ പോലെ, ആണ്‍ കമ്യൂണിസ്റ്റിന് പെണ്‍ കമ്യൂണിസ്റ്റിലുണ്ടായ സന്തതിയൊന്നുമല്ലല്ലോ. സ്വതന്ത്രമായ തിരുമാനത്തില്‍ സ്വീകരിച്ചതല്ലെ, അല്ലാതെ എന്തോ ഒരു നിമിത്തം കൊണ്ടായിപോയതൊന്നുമല്ലല്ലോ? അതുകോണ്ട് അതില്‍ കുറച്ച് കാര്യം കാണാതിരിക്കില്ല.
ഭാരതത്തെ നശിപ്പിച്ച ജാതി വ്യവസ്ഥ ചുരുങ്ങിയ കാലത്തിനുള്ളില്‍ മാറണമെങ്കില്‍, രണ്ടു കാര്യങ്ങള്‍ ചെയ്യാം:

1. മിശ്രവിവാഹങ്ങള്‍ പ്രോത്സാപിക്കുക
2. മിശ്രവിവാഹം ചെയ്തവര്‍ക്ക് നികുതിയിളവു പോലുള്ള ആനുകൂല്യങ്ങള്‍ നല്‍കുക.

ഇതു രണ്ടും വിജയമായാല്‍, ഒന്നു രണ്ടു തലമുറക്കപ്പുറം ജാതി-മതം ആരും കണക്കാക്കുകതന്നെയില്ല.

കാലവര്‍ഷം

2008-06-19T07:19:00.003+05:30

താളം തെറ്റിയ ചിലങ്ക നാദമോ,
നേരം തെറ്റിയ മണിമുഴക്കമോ, അതോ,
കാലം തെറ്റിയ കാലവര്‍ഷമോ

ആമുഖം*

2007-05-26T23:50:00.000+05:30

ഇനിയെന്‍റെയല്ലീ വാക്കുകള്‍,
ഇനിയെന്‍റെയല്ലീ കവിതകള്‍,
കേള്‍ക്കേണ്ട കാതുകളെന്നേയടഞ്ഞു,
കാണേണ്ട കണ്ണുകള്‍ ദൂരെ മറഞ്ഞു,
പാറിപ്പറത്തുന്നു കാറ്റിലീ കവിതകള്‍,
പേരറിയാത്തൊരു ശ്രോതാവിനായ്,
കാണും അതിലെന്‍റെ മനസ്സിന്‍റെ വേദന,
കേള്‍ക്കും അതിലെന്‍‍ ദീനമാം രോദനം!

*ബ്ലോഗിന് ആമുഖമായിട്ട് എഴുതിയത്

കാപട്യം

2007-05-20T12:15:00.000+05:30

തിളങ്ങുന്നു വിലസുന്നു
ബൈക്കിന്‍റെ മുകളില്‍
‍മന്നന്‍റെ ഭാര്യയും
കുഞ്ഞു കിടാങ്ങളും

ഒന്നതാ മടിയിലും
ഒന്നതാ ഇടയിലും
പിന്നൊന്നിരിക്കുന്നു
ടാങ്കിന്‍റെ മുകളിലും

സര്‍ക്കസ്സു കാണിച്ചു
പോകുന്ന വണ്ടിക്കു
ചേരാത്ത നിയമമോ
കോളേജു ബൈക്കിന്?

ആരംഭം

2007-03-10T13:02:00.000+05:30

സ്നേഹിച്ചു തുടങ്ങിയതെന്നു ഞാന്‍ നിന്നെ
മനസിന്‍റെ താളമിടറുന്ന നേരത്തോ
ഉരുകും കരളുമായെരിയും നെഞ്ചുമായ്
പിഴക്കുന്ന ചുവടുമായ് നടക്കുന്ന കാലത്തോ

മയിലായ് ശലഭമായ് പൂമ്പാറ്റയായി
വര്‍ണച്ചിറകുമായെന്‍ മുന്നിലൂടെ
പാറിപ്പറന്നൊരാ സമരകാലത്തിലോ

ഉറങ്ങാത്ത രാത്രിയിലുണരാത്ത ഹൃദയത്തെ
നനയും കരങ്ങളാലുണര്‍ത്തിയ നേരത്തോ
എഴുതാത്ത വാക്കുകള്‍ മൂളാത്തൊരീണങ്ങളെ-
ന്നുള്ളില്‍ നിന്നു നീ ചുരന്നെടുത്തപ്പഴോ

നിളയുടെ തീരത്ത് മണലിന്‍റെ മേലെ
കൈ കോര്‍ത്തു നില്‍ക്കുന്നൊരാനന്ദ വേളയില്‍
പാടുന്നു ഞാനീ അനുരാഗ ഗാനം
മീട്ടുന്നു ഞാനീ പ്രണയത്തിന്‍ വീണ

ആദിയുണ്ടെങ്കിലുമറിയുന്നു ഞാനിന്നു
മൃതിയില്ല പ്രണയത്തിനെന്‍റെയുള്ളില്‍

സൂര്യനുദുക്കാത്ത കാലം വരേക്കും
കണിക്കൊന്ന പൂക്കാത്ത കാലം വരേക്കും
നില കൊളും പ്രണയമെന്‍റെ ഹൃദയത്തില്‍
മന്ത്രിക്കുമീ ഗീതമെന്‍റെ ശ്വാസത്തിലും

ഇതു സമത്ത്വമൊ?

2007-02-17T18:20:00.000+05:30

സമത്ത്വത്തിനായ് തുടിക്കും
യുവത്ത്വമേ നിങ്ങാള്‍ക്കറിയുമോ
തവ മുത്തശ്ശന്മാരന്നൊരീ
മണ്ണില്‍ ചത്ത പശുവിനെ
പുലയനാല്‍ തീറ്റിച്ചത്

മാനവസ്പര്‍ശമല്ലൊ പാപ്-
മെന്നൂതുന്നു വെദങ്ങളെങ്കിലവ
തന്നെ ചൊല്ലട്ടെ രാവില്‍ മടി-
കുത്തഴിക്കും കരങ്ങളശുദ്ധമാ-
ക്കാത്ത ശ്ലോകങ്ങള്‍

മുറ്റത്തെ ചെടിയില്‍
നിന്നറുക്കും പൂവിനും
കാട്ടിലെ മരങ്ങളില്‍
നിന്നെടുക്കും കൊമ്പിനും
ഇല്ലാത്തയിത്തമോ
പാണനും പുലയനും

നിന്‍റെ വിഴിപ്പലക്കും
ദാസി തനുണ്ണിക്കും
തെങ്ങു കയറും
ചാത്തന്‍റെ പുത്രിക്കും
എക്കാലമന്യമോ
വിദ്യയും ജോലിയും

പഠിക്കുവാനവസരം
നല്‍കിയപോഴുയരുന്ന
ഹരിജനെക്കണ്ടു നിന്‍
തൃഷ്ണ കിടുകിടുക്കുന്നതെന്തിനു
ചൊല്ലുക ബ്രഹ്മപുത്രാ

സമത്വമലറും നിങ്ങടെ
കണ്ണില്‍ ഞാന്‍ കാണുന്നതെന്തൊ
ഈര്‍ഷ്യയൊ, അതോ ക്ഷുദ്രമാം
ഉല്‍കര്‍ഷ ഭാവമൊ?