Once upon a time in a global village....

I had first heard the term 'Global Village' during my journalism course, long time ago and had felt amazed at how the technological advancements are going to shrink the vast world into a small global village. Though we still talk about it much more casually, it is only recently that I could identify the real village in the virtual world - the facebook.

As I was going through my facebook, I was struck by how we behave just like those village simpletons. The "Wall" was just another name for the ubiquitous village tea shop. One could get a bird's eye view of what was happening in our village and could easily join any of the discussions going on. One could also be a bystander and silently observe how each event is developing. But here we have one more advantage. One can partake in all this, incognito, which is a mindset truly rustic. If the facebook developers had added a mechanism to secretly record those footprints silently walking through its pages, it would have been real fun. 

Just like villagemen innocently celebrating their small achievements, the Wall too brandishes such announcements in all forms..be it birthdays or kids performance.. the celebrations require no special reason.

A villageman is bound to visit his neighbours occasionally and personally enquire about their wellbeing. Otherwise he becomes an outcast in his village. The modern day villageman also visits the homepage of his friends, but he does it mostly undercover and curiously scans what they are upto. 

The newly-wed couple are a sight to behold in a village. All eyes follow them jealously and so are the visitors to the albums. The ones uploading and the umpteen ones downloading are equally happy.

Those who value their privacy in a village and built a six foot fence around their houses too find their counterpart in the modern day village. They bluntly shut their doors with a no-entry sign and friends of friends are left high and dry.

But the real boon is for that evergreen lover, the pareekutty of every village. His lady love may have settled with a lad long back, but through facebook, he continues to watch her... at a distance.... and watch the fairytale life he had dreamed of unfold before him....albeit without him.

When blue-bleak embers gashed gold-vermillion...

"No wonder of it: sheer plod makes plough down sillion
Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,

Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermilion."

These concluding lines of the poem "The Windhover" by Gerard Manley Hopkins have kept me enamoured for years not just by its poetic beauty but by the way it had changed my life at that impressionable age. 

As students of English literature, we had Poetry as the main subject during the second year of our Degree classes. And to teach us poetry we also had our Geetha Miss, the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. However it was her down to earth nature that turned out to be more charming as we got to know her more. 

In the first term, we had to cover this wonderful poem by G M Hopkins. The poem with its rare rhythmic format had seemed quite a tough one at the onset. But our Geetha Miss guided us through its maze with such ease that we could really enjoy the lasting beauty of the poem. It got etched in my mind in such a manner that at the first term examination, the answer for my annotation could capture the poem's essence very aptly. It is at juncture that I had the most surprising experience in my life. While distributing the answer sheet back to me,  a beaming Geetha Miss amply made it clear that she was highly impressed with the answers I had given for the poem. I had never had such a straightforward appreciation ever from any of my teachers till that day and I felt really indebted to her for having recognized some worth in me.

That single incident had a a lasting effect on my life as it changed the way I looked at myself. It boosted my confidence which was non-existent till then and I even began dreaming of building up a career in the future. A little time later I got  another opportunity to savour the goodwill of this teacher. My interest in the current affairs saw me participating along with my friend, in the Quiz Competition, which was supposed to be meant only for those "brainy" people. As we sat huddled in a corner on the stage, we found to our surprise that we were able to answer quite a lot of questions and we ended up winning the second prize. On the next day, Geetha Miss was simply waiting to congratulate us as she said, " Just imagine...all this time, these two girls were sitting right under my nose and we never knew them. "

Looking back, I can vouch for the fact that a Geetha Miss had changed my life for good, as a teacher should. To  adapt Hopkins' lines, the blue-bleak embers had gashed gold-vermilion under a true teacher.

On seeing Bhagat Singh's original handwriting

A writing so beautiful

It reflected  a  serene mind

A language so elegant

Its mastery unveiled  
He was a fragrant bud

Waiting to bloom

But his thoughts revolutionary

 Pricked the Empire mighty
That they found him fit

For the noose

Rather than let him loose.  

Lest We Forget

It is the first monsoon season in our newly built house. The Rain 
God seems to be in a benevolent mood as it is raining copiously this year. To have a house of your own, and to enjoy the rains, sitting in the balcony, had been a dream, cherished deep down in our hearts. So when the dream finally became true, and as we sat in the balcony, drinking in the beauty of the monsoon showers, we felt overwhelmed with gratitude towards the blessings of the Almighty. It was also the time we felt indebted to our Kunjettan.

For years, the thought of constructing the house had been gnawing at our minds and everytime we tried to make a move forward, it would invariably meet with a hurdle. And then Kunjettan came into our life, literally becoming the Hands of God to give shape to our dream.

Kunjettan was my husband's cousin brother. But the love he had for his cousin was more than that of a sibling. For, what else could make a person take up a work, that would keep him away from his house for nearly two years, and which would consume his time and energy so much that he would hardly be able to enquire, leave alone care for his aged mother as well as his wife and children. In that respect, kunjettan was quite a mystery for everyone who came to know of his role in building our house.


Kunjettan, lost his mother at a very young age and was brought up in the house of his relatives along with his younger sister. As a teenager, he was later taken to Trichy by his father where he grew up under the loving care of his second mother. 

Kunjetten soon became associated with the construction field and he became a construction engineer by profession without attending any professional college, other than hands-on experience. His expertise was so well known that every newly recruit engineer in the state Public Works Department was asked to take apprenticeship under him before undertaking any independent work.

 For years on, Kunjettan became the layman's architect in building dream homes for people belonging to all sections of the society.  When the rich sought his guidance again and again for undertaking extension works or for newer projects, the poor looked upon him as a messiah who had fulfilled their 'never-likely-to happen" wish.


 Kunjettan would often reminisce about how he would take the initiative in first instilling confidence in these people and then take a token advance from them. Very often he himself would finance the expense for the foundation. After this, he would take a loan from the bank in their name and built a one-room house so that they can shift. The monthly rent thus saved is collected and then step by step the construction is completed over a period of time.   

Kunjetten returned to Kerala and settled in his hometown Wayanad, a few years ago after winding up all the projects and disposing off his assets in Trichy. His children, two sons and daughter were all settled and it was time to enjoy the retirement period. But it was not long before Kunjettan began to feel restless sitting idle at home. A person who has been active all along is suddenly beset with all sorts of illness when there is no other engagements and Kunjettan was no exception. It was at this juncture that the idea of taking up the construction of our house was mooted and Kunjettan was only eager to do so. 

When Kunjettan came to Cochin to inspect our land, it was with a child-like excitement that he went about enquiring the details and seeing this excitement we felt assured that Kunjettan had taken up the task with cent percent willingness and not out of any obligation.


 He readily agreed to stay with us though the two bedroom flat was hardly spacious enough. We soon came to understand why he was so confident of managing  himself, for his wants were much too less than we could ever imagine. He would be  up in the early morning and by 7 he would leave for the construction site to return only at 7 in the evening. His only demand was for a two-wheeler to move around and his enterprising nature took us by wonder for he was so much at ease in a new and crowded city like Cochin, finding his way through the nooks and corners which we never knew existed.

Kunjettan was so simple a person in his outlook that one would have expected him to be soft in the site also. But there he was such a stickler to perfection that he would brook no laxity at all and the workers soon came to recognise this and started cooperating. Whenever a problem came up he would find some ingenuous way to overcome it and thereby ensured that not a day passed without any progress in the construction. Each day we would eagerly visit the site and see our dream home coming up so fast that before we knew it, the construction was complete and that too with a much needed financial savings. 


He knew how little spare time we had to supervise the works and  never complained about it other than pulling our leg by addressing us as the guests of the house and not the owners! He also knew that if any work is left incomplete, it is likely to remain so for years. So he took care to finish all the major works and even cajoled us to shift to the house soon enough, unmindful of the little works pending, so that he could go back home contented. 

As the life in our new home moves on, we often pinch ourselves in disbelief that we are truely staying in a house of our own.  So when our "Indeevaram" house get ready to become drenched in another spell of rains, we silently thank the Almighty for this  Kunjettan's varam.

Kashmir: Some fond & painful memories

          After months of anticipation, we were finally on our way to Srinagar. Though we had enough feedbacks about the "calm" state of affairs in Kashmir from those who had just returned from there, the human psychology is such that we need firsthand experience to believe anything. So we masked all our reservations in the "martyr-to-be" attitude and set forth on the journey. As our flight neared Srinagar airport, the so-called fears began to disappear as the beauty of the snowclad mountains unfolded beneath in full splendour. The vast expanse of the Himalayas stretched itself out with the snow gleaming here and there.  The joy that this soothing sight gave was enough to mitigate whatever reservations we had about the decision we had made.

The Srinagar Airport turned out to be a small airport, after having seen the infrastructure giant that the Delhi Airport had become thanks to the GMR group. Whilst enjoying the slight chill that had begun to envelope us once we landed in Srinagar, we were surprised to see how little formalities there were, considering the security aspects, before we got on into our van enroute  our  hotel.

The  city of Srinagar is a quiet one, retaining an old world charm about it. A clean city, the result of a strict ban on plastic, giving the visitors an idea or two on how to keep it so. It took a while though before we could come to terms with the insecure feeling that had slowly found its way back into our minds. All through the journey which took almost 45 minutes, we anticipated one bomb to go off under the van but no one had the courage to show it in their face.

In the afternoon, we reached the famed Dal Lake, which was located at the centre of Srinagar City. The entire city was built around this placid lake which extended to a Km or more. Before we could enjoy the beauty of the Lake, we were ushered into the Shikaras which lay resplendent in rows. The rate, we were told, was fixed and so we just had to hop onto one and get moving.  While enjoying the Shikara ride, it was as if we had overcome the first hurdle in conquering our fears and it was writ large on everybody's face. The coy Sharmila Tagore and the tame Shammi Kapoor suddenly came alive as we glided on and let the feeling sink in that we are really in Kashmir.  

The next day saw us trooping out to visit the famed moghul gardens in the Srinagar City.  There were four famous gardens and all were located nearby. As it was a Sunday, we could see the natives in large numbers enjoying the beauty of these gardens. The people were as beautiful as the roses that seemed to grow in abundance in the households there and we couldnt help but feel a bit jealous thinking of the pains we take to nurture a rose plant back home. These gardens dating back to centuries were carved out from hill tops giving them the tag "terraced" gardens.  The greenery, broken only by the colourful flowers in vibrant hues vouched for the avowed beauty that Kashmir had come to signify. Nature surely had blessed this place.

Our plans to visit Pahalgam the next day was altered in the last minute as someone had suggested Sonamarg to be a better place for a single day visit. So we found ourselves  driving to Sonamarg with anticipations of seeing snow in close quarters. Now, whatever fears we had had was chucked away, with a quiet assurance of nothing could happen in this beautiful place.

The way to Sonamarg took us to the interiors of Kashmir, a quiet countryside with fields and farming. As we moved on to the hilly areas, the sight afar of the snowclad mountains whetted our spirit of adventure. The first stop was at Snowpoint where laymen like us got the first hand experience of Snow in all its purity. The child in us overtook our inhibitions and almost everyone scrambled atop the snowy hilltop. The slippery terrain took us unawares and there were many a trip and fall amongst us, adding to the fun.The snow had started melting there and we saw how a mighty river is born. The angst of seperation was encapsulated in the swirling waters that thundered down.

At Sonamarg, we were surrounded by a huge crowd besotting us to take their horse for the ride atop. These hardy men clammering for a client was a sad reminder of the poverty that the terrorism hit tourism had granted them. But, the horse-ride was quite an experience. The chilly winds blowing into your face was both soothing and seering in turns. Like the characters in the movie Ice-Age we moved ahead slowly in the winding pathways. Sonamarg does not have any winter sports activities. So the whiteness of the snow, at times had an eerie loneliness about it. A sort of vacant dullness that could make you gloomy.

After reaching Snowpoint no.2, we had a halt. The gentlemen of the group went ahead to enjoy the sledge-ride on the wooden sledge that our escoters carried with them. Having seen pictures of modern equipments used in winter sports, this wooden sledge seemed  a bit primitive, once again a grim reminder of the stagnation  that the tourism industry was facing. But enjoyment is measured in the minds and there it got cent per cent marks.

On our way back, in between various stages of dozing, I caught a glimpse of a soldier standing guard hidden amongst the trees lining the highways. At first, I thought I was imagining things, but on keen watching  I found more and more sentinels, yet another pointer to the ground reality.

In fact this led us to seek new meanings into ordinary things, like, why is there a road block everyday and at the most unexpected time? You can never return in the same road that u took while going. Was it a technique to ensure that nothing remained the same everyday and thus foil all bids to plan an attack. Or why is it that the room attendent make all sorts of reasons to barge into your room after you come back at night. Are the tourists also under scanner and if not, why would the Police Chief come to dine in your hotel, the food of which has nothing extraordinary to boast of. These were but some of the silly thoughts that fortunately did not take root for long, for, the beauty of Kashmir has such a magical effect.

Gulmarg, a name synonymous with Kashmir itself, was awaiting our arrival it seemed. For, the day we went there it was teeming with people enjoying the pleasant climate. Just the day before that, it was raining heavily and people couldnt even get down from the Gondolas ( ropeway) after reaching there. Nature can be fickle at the most inopportune time. But we were lucky.

Gulmarg epitomised the beauty of Kashmir. Be it the freshness of the snow clad mountains reaching out to the blue skies or the richness of the green valley that simply rolled out downhill, the place seemed  ethereal. That such a place really existed on earth was hard to believe. It was indeed that Paradise on Earth as they say, for nothing could be more enchanting than this.

The tourists thronging Gulmarg allayed all our fears of what doom may befall Kashmir one day, for such was the tourist activities going on that it kindles a ray of hope. A hope that Kashmir will one day be able to get off the shackles that tie her down.

But that day is still a long way off was evident when we reached the Srinagar Airport the next day on our way back. As we neared the Airport, we felt as if we had strayed into a military camp. For such was the military ensemble there with army men and armoured vehicles. Before entering the airport, we had to put our luggage for security check and once inside, the routing checking was again carried out even more strictly. All the handbaggages were checked inside out and even before we had overcome the bewilderment at such stringent security measures, we are once again put through personal body checking before boarding the aircraft!!

This was a pointer to the real state of affairs in Kashmir. A reality check. And it pained us a lot. As our aircraft arose over the snowcapped mountains again, it was with a lump in the throat that we looked down to bid adieu to our beloved Kashmir.   

The Royal Journey begins

The famous Arattupuzha Pooram is an assembly of Gods in Arattupuzha, 15 kms from Trichur, which is chaired by the Lord himself i.e. Lord Sree Rama the presiding deity of Triprayar Temple. And this beautiful photo captures the beginning of the royal journey to attend this Pooram.  The Triprayar Temple is situated on the banks of a river and what strikes you is the fact that the river is unusually calm and pristine in the temple precints.The river flows by right in front of the Temple. Therefore whenever the Lord embarks on a royal journey his tour begins in this humble manner. But it speaks volumes about how the real culture gets merged with the festivities of a land.  When I first saw this photo I was bowled over by these very thoughts and what better way to start off my blogging than with this photo of the royal journey.

The Lord continues his journey on reaching the banks, on the mighty tusker. There are no accompaniments other than a few on the traditional "Chenda". But a sea of humanity accompanies him on foot and what a sight it is..The Lord amidst these ordinary folks is awe-inspiring and as he  moves slowly ahead, each household welcomes him with fireworks timed to such perfection that people from far across can really identify as to where the royal journey has reached.

The Lord returns the next day in the same manner, with the sea of humanity following him albeit a bit tired, having walked miles.  But this ritual undertaken every year gives them more strength to come back the very next year. Such is the power, the charm and the gratification that this Pooram provides.