Last traveler
It was a narrow road winding down the hill. To the new traveler the road never seemed promising about a good place that will be reached in the end; yet he chose to travel. All journeys are like this, he thought. There are new terrains, new experiences and new flavors. His vehicle sounded of strain against the ancient tarred road and the wind slapped his cheeks. Suddenly he thought about featuring this kind of land in the next version of the game he planned as his next project. He was scared of heights and his office was on the thirty first floor where he never bothered to see the outside world through the open blinds. Anyway did he have time to go and stand near the window during his working hours?. His window to the world was his computer and he created strange worlds for the young ones all over the world where they would willingly spent hours together traveling rough terrains and climate armed with whatever imaginable weapons to strike at the enemy forces. He never came across such a place in his imagination. This place would be wonderful, he thought. When he was a student at MIT he awakened in the night with dreams of roads falling apart and plummeting through collapsed mountain rails and later he worked out his fierce dreams in his graphics that provided immense thrill to the gamers over the world. He designed spaces within no spaces.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
Omana Talkies
This was the only cinema hall in the village. Every body was so enthusiastic about it. And there was an inaugural show on invitation.
The people who were in the first class had wicker chairs and overhead a smoky beam came out of little square holes in the wall. The square tunnel of white smoke widened as it reached the snowy big screen. That screen was vellithira. It must be made of silver..but it was not silvery.
It was all very mysterious for the little girl.
No questions were ever asked about that screen, so it remained unreal. Often the girl looked up to see whether pictures were visible inside the white smoke traveling towards the screen. May be the specks of sparkles seen inside the square tunnel may be some form of pictures!
It was a movie made for children. In the darkness of the talkies an eerie looking box of red light shone above the door. Something was scribbled on that box. What is that e ex ai tee?
The little girl knew only Malayalam, but she did not ask anybody.
The people who were in the first class had wicker chairs and overhead a smoky beam came out of little square holes in the wall. The square tunnel of white smoke widened as it reached the snowy big screen. That screen was vellithira. It must be made of silver..but it was not silvery.
It was all very mysterious for the little girl.
No questions were ever asked about that screen, so it remained unreal. Often the girl looked up to see whether pictures were visible inside the white smoke traveling towards the screen. May be the specks of sparkles seen inside the square tunnel may be some form of pictures!
It was a movie made for children. In the darkness of the talkies an eerie looking box of red light shone above the door. Something was scribbled on that box. What is that e ex ai tee?
The little girl knew only Malayalam, but she did not ask anybody.
Friday, January 04, 2008
Ravanan and Scorpion
The wind was rather strong that night. Through the howling wind we heard a shrill squeeking sound from the kitchen backyard. No it is not the wind. Father took his big 8 cell torch and went out.
The sound was coming from behind the rose bush. There was a tiny clearing behind the rose bush just in front of the chrysanthemum patch. Ravanan, our cat was sitting there wagging his tail very fiercely. He was hissing like a snake and staring with wide black eyes.
Father aimed the beam at him. Oh it is a scorpion ! How could he catch such a dangerous thing. Ravanan looked up so happy being recognized by father for his esteemed services.
The furious scorpion was waiting for the moment and it suddenly slashed it venomous tail aiming at Ravanan’s nose. Luckily Ravanan moved back hissing.
I do not think he will be able to handle this creature alone. It is too dangerous for him. Father asked brother to take away Ravanan. Brother with some effort carried the seething Ravanan in his hands and took him inside the house.
Using an iron pipe, father killed the scorpion and he dug a small but deep pit to bury it.
Escaping from brother’s hands, Ravanan rushed to the scene, but by that time everything was over.
Come here Ravana, tsu, tsu…mother called out with a rice ball mixed in milk for him. What a rather soft diet for such a fierce cat!
The sound was coming from behind the rose bush. There was a tiny clearing behind the rose bush just in front of the chrysanthemum patch. Ravanan, our cat was sitting there wagging his tail very fiercely. He was hissing like a snake and staring with wide black eyes.
Father aimed the beam at him. Oh it is a scorpion ! How could he catch such a dangerous thing. Ravanan looked up so happy being recognized by father for his esteemed services.
The furious scorpion was waiting for the moment and it suddenly slashed it venomous tail aiming at Ravanan’s nose. Luckily Ravanan moved back hissing.
I do not think he will be able to handle this creature alone. It is too dangerous for him. Father asked brother to take away Ravanan. Brother with some effort carried the seething Ravanan in his hands and took him inside the house.
Using an iron pipe, father killed the scorpion and he dug a small but deep pit to bury it.
Escaping from brother’s hands, Ravanan rushed to the scene, but by that time everything was over.
Come here Ravana, tsu, tsu…mother called out with a rice ball mixed in milk for him. What a rather soft diet for such a fierce cat!
Thursday, January 03, 2008
Tables
These are not ordinary tables. These are mathematical.
The tables are keys for addition and multiplication. No school going kid can grow up without these tables. May be now things have changed. But a kid studying in any of the schools in Munnar inevitably learned all the tables by heart.
I might have written them hundreds of times. Often our teachers used that time to gossip. I do not remember much about them
The tables are keys for addition and multiplication. No school going kid can grow up without these tables. May be now things have changed. But a kid studying in any of the schools in Munnar inevitably learned all the tables by heart.
I might have written them hundreds of times. Often our teachers used that time to gossip. I do not remember much about them
Muthuvan
That was his tribe’s name, and nobody knew his real name.
He was always called Muthuvan and he spoke a language which was a combination of Malayalam and Tamil. Every two months Muthuvan came down to the village to buy salt, chilly, and rice.
He bartered honey and herbs for his supplies.
He was dressed in a brown loin cloth and a black shawl around his shoulders. He wore a head dress of old wool and on his head he carried a bundle of herbs. He had a backpack full of honeycombs. He squatted on the veranda and smiled. His teeth were strong and had the reddish black stains of tobacco and betel juice.
The forest air surrounded him spreading the aroma of herbs and honey.
Muthuvan began to squeeze the honeycombs one by one through a muslin cloth placed on the mouth of an earthen jar. The honey was thick and golden brown.
Come on little baby, Muthuvan called the girl and squeezed a few drops in her palm. The honey was warm. Its sharp sweetness bit into her tongue. She thought her tongue was stung by a sweet bee. She stuck out her tongue against the wind from the hills. The honey felt like snow. Sitting on the window sill she imagined about the small hut perched on the faraway mountainside from where Muthuvan came.
No forest fire should touch my friend Muthuvan’s hut, she prayed.
The night was black and the wind was strong. One could hear the splutter of green grass and small tree branches while burning in the wild fire. The mountain was wearing a fiery red garland which grew with the night.
Wild fire danced and swayed fiercely.
Watching through the night sitting still for a long time, her cheek began to burn. Mother, it is so hot here. She called out to her mother. Don’t be so stupid daughter. The fire is so far. How can you feel the heat sitting here?
But I am feeling, she protested. Her cheeks were pink and hot.
May be you have fever, mother said. Come inside and rest. But she sat there eyes and ears reaching out to the fire. The wind from the mountain carried the smell of burnt leaves and wood. Her eyes began to burn from the smoke and tears trickled down. Mother was singing a song and she fell asleep in her lap.
He was always called Muthuvan and he spoke a language which was a combination of Malayalam and Tamil. Every two months Muthuvan came down to the village to buy salt, chilly, and rice.
He bartered honey and herbs for his supplies.
He was dressed in a brown loin cloth and a black shawl around his shoulders. He wore a head dress of old wool and on his head he carried a bundle of herbs. He had a backpack full of honeycombs. He squatted on the veranda and smiled. His teeth were strong and had the reddish black stains of tobacco and betel juice.
The forest air surrounded him spreading the aroma of herbs and honey.
Muthuvan began to squeeze the honeycombs one by one through a muslin cloth placed on the mouth of an earthen jar. The honey was thick and golden brown.
Come on little baby, Muthuvan called the girl and squeezed a few drops in her palm. The honey was warm. Its sharp sweetness bit into her tongue. She thought her tongue was stung by a sweet bee. She stuck out her tongue against the wind from the hills. The honey felt like snow. Sitting on the window sill she imagined about the small hut perched on the faraway mountainside from where Muthuvan came.
No forest fire should touch my friend Muthuvan’s hut, she prayed.
The night was black and the wind was strong. One could hear the splutter of green grass and small tree branches while burning in the wild fire. The mountain was wearing a fiery red garland which grew with the night.
Wild fire danced and swayed fiercely.
Watching through the night sitting still for a long time, her cheek began to burn. Mother, it is so hot here. She called out to her mother. Don’t be so stupid daughter. The fire is so far. How can you feel the heat sitting here?
But I am feeling, she protested. Her cheeks were pink and hot.
May be you have fever, mother said. Come inside and rest. But she sat there eyes and ears reaching out to the fire. The wind from the mountain carried the smell of burnt leaves and wood. Her eyes began to burn from the smoke and tears trickled down. Mother was singing a song and she fell asleep in her lap.
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Merry Christmas from the hills
A traditional Christmas star made of bamboo and white rice paper, seen in a remote village near Munnar. Made the same way it was made for centuries.
Wait till the evening stars come up in the sky and a small candle is lit and placed on a wooden plank. inside the star. The gentle, soothing light of the candle brings back the calmness of yet another Christmas.
Some things never change. Happy Holidays!
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Golden Earrings.
"How can a girl grow up without ear rings. A girl child should have her ears pierced and should wear ear rings. That is the tradition" - Mother was complaining. But the little girl could not wear ear rings. Her father did not want his daughter to go through such a painful process for the sake of beauty. She was too precious for him to do that, but mother kept on complaining.
A little later, the little girl also began to think about adorning her ears with pretty ornaments. Some times mother bought her earrings made of glittering plastic which can be worn with clips. They were so pretty with their sparkling small ringlets, but she could not wear it for a long time, because it bit into her soft young flesh. Her ears became so red and painful wearing them. Those days she began to yearn for real golden ones, the ones which can be worn permanently by piercing the ears.
"Father I want to wear golden ear rings." One day she told her father.
Why?.this idea is very unlady like for a girl like you, I am not bringing you up for these frivolous yearnings in life. Father tried to explain, but the little girl's mind was so fixed on golden earrings that she would not listen to any thing else.
"Let us wait for some more time, and then I will decide". Finally father said thinking that some day the little girl will change her mind.
Now the girl was in her 6th standard, and every other girl in the class sported beautiful tiny ear drops. The little girl wanted to dance and dress up like others and one of the important things she wanted was to wear ear rings.
So that is it. Any way if you wish so, we will do that, but I will do that myself, father said, I can not trust a goldsmith. He ordered a new pair of ear rings with a special design. After a week, one evening father came home with a tiny packet in his pocket. It was a beautiful shiny pair designed like star shaped flowers. It glittered against the purple rice paper in which it was packed. Along with that father also borrowed the gold needles from the goldsmith.
It was early morning. The girl was ready. Father picked her up and placed her on his big teak table and put marks on her ears with mother’s pen. Now shut your eyes, I am going to do it ,father said.
Now mother was very worried and afraid. She did not want her daughter to feel pain afterall. One, two, three.. every thing was over in a minute, before the little girl start thinking of crying.
Everything is just fine and beautiful. Mother said. Only one problem. You made the markings unevenly. See, one is very high than the other. Now nothing can be done.
Father was angry. It is okay she is my daughter and let her be like that and there is no rule that the ear drops should be worn only evenly!.
A little later, the little girl also began to think about adorning her ears with pretty ornaments. Some times mother bought her earrings made of glittering plastic which can be worn with clips. They were so pretty with their sparkling small ringlets, but she could not wear it for a long time, because it bit into her soft young flesh. Her ears became so red and painful wearing them. Those days she began to yearn for real golden ones, the ones which can be worn permanently by piercing the ears.
"Father I want to wear golden ear rings." One day she told her father.
Why?.this idea is very unlady like for a girl like you, I am not bringing you up for these frivolous yearnings in life. Father tried to explain, but the little girl's mind was so fixed on golden earrings that she would not listen to any thing else.
"Let us wait for some more time, and then I will decide". Finally father said thinking that some day the little girl will change her mind.
Now the girl was in her 6th standard, and every other girl in the class sported beautiful tiny ear drops. The little girl wanted to dance and dress up like others and one of the important things she wanted was to wear ear rings.
So that is it. Any way if you wish so, we will do that, but I will do that myself, father said, I can not trust a goldsmith. He ordered a new pair of ear rings with a special design. After a week, one evening father came home with a tiny packet in his pocket. It was a beautiful shiny pair designed like star shaped flowers. It glittered against the purple rice paper in which it was packed. Along with that father also borrowed the gold needles from the goldsmith.
It was early morning. The girl was ready. Father picked her up and placed her on his big teak table and put marks on her ears with mother’s pen. Now shut your eyes, I am going to do it ,father said.
Now mother was very worried and afraid. She did not want her daughter to feel pain afterall. One, two, three.. every thing was over in a minute, before the little girl start thinking of crying.
Everything is just fine and beautiful. Mother said. Only one problem. You made the markings unevenly. See, one is very high than the other. Now nothing can be done.
Father was angry. It is okay she is my daughter and let her be like that and there is no rule that the ear drops should be worn only evenly!.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Kumbhakonam
The night was surrealistic in kumbhakonam.
Old buildings and places always radiate energy. It might have something to do with the past, the people, their lives, their memories... it is a special feeling that somebody trying to communicate something to you. Something trying to engulf you. You are transported to some other time. May be if I have developed my meditation skills I could have felt or seen something similar to what Dr Paul Brunton experienced in Egypt.
The music is divine and inspires the spirit within. Mind is filled with an unusual emotion which is so overpowering, struggling to get free from an unidentifiable bondage. Is this devotion ?
The darkness of the night is cool and peaceful. There is bright crescent moon overlooking the world. The face of the moon reflects the optimistic vision of the world, and a blissful feeling remains.
Old buildings and places always radiate energy. It might have something to do with the past, the people, their lives, their memories... it is a special feeling that somebody trying to communicate something to you. Something trying to engulf you. You are transported to some other time. May be if I have developed my meditation skills I could have felt or seen something similar to what Dr Paul Brunton experienced in Egypt.
The music is divine and inspires the spirit within. Mind is filled with an unusual emotion which is so overpowering, struggling to get free from an unidentifiable bondage. Is this devotion ?
The darkness of the night is cool and peaceful. There is bright crescent moon overlooking the world. The face of the moon reflects the optimistic vision of the world, and a blissful feeling remains.
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