Those days

There was a very popular saying those days going around the clerk community that “a clerk’s life commence with a loan and ends up with another loan”.

Many of us, the Office going lot, usually want days flip through fast. This phenomenon starts normally on the tenth of the month, as the stock will be over by that time. Then on an average he look around for a ‘pick pocket’, i.e another term for borrowing from ‘rich’ colleagues. 10th is no such cut off, as many even start it from day one, for reason that the previous months picks have fully been recovered by the ‘rich’. Those who have other means, or miser to the core, live on resources available or as it comes. But I am talking about the ordinary fellow, who is lost before a type-writer for eight hours, with a break for lunch when the art of prying and bitching takes shape and other news such as power, water and DDA. You know, at times the so called misers are a very respectable community, as these lot provide the pick pocket facility. Though bitching is mainly about these people for they do not spent a pie for socialization, they are the ones in deed when in need. .

I do not know what is happening these days, as I am ‘rich’ now and do not wish the days flip by. Type-writer hardly visible. Nostalgia ! Babus have either vanished or still munching ‘mungphalis’, got pot bellied and polluting and counting days for Gratuity, and left over from PF to be ‘rich’. Things, I am certain, have changed. Youngsters are now well off. Though their spending spectrum has widened, they no more look up for a living bank.

I do miss those days, my friends in need, I remember Shri Chokharam, of DPS, my premier bank who use to freely allow me to pick pocket then K S Varghese, who is now settled in Changanassery. He lost his wife and is settled in his Palatial House, all alone, his children away on job elsewhere. C P Jopseph, was another living bank I loot, I have lost contact, for long. He may have settled in his “Manadan” House in Chalakkudy or his Vikaspuri house. There are many more, but for I do not remember, I can not mention their names.

‘Marayya’ came to Delhi when the Vijayawada stock yard closed. He was a Chowkidar at the Delhi Stock Yard of Tata Steel. I remember Marayya with a folding hand, seeking some help for his son be employed in Tata Steel. Satyanarayana joined the Company, as a Chowkidar at the Okhla Stock Yard. A post, his father, Marayya vacated by retirement. Marayya would have been on cloud nine now, as his son – within a span of 15 years – got promoted as Assistant Manager with Tata Steel. A rare achievement for Son of a Watchman. Marayya left the world, a month or two after his son got absorved in Tata Steel. Tata Steel has got four to five generations working for the Company. The Company in turn, look after their folks well. That is why people from Tata Steel proudly say, ‘ I am from TATA’. Like the Indian Army, Tata men truly belong to the Company. Mind you, it is no Corporate – It is Tata Company, always, any doubt, ask any second or third generation Tata men.

Before I forget

Blogging has given me a wonderful note pad to scribble my memories, as memories may fail to support as age goes up.

I owe a lot to two persons for my being in this city of CWG and Asiad, for the past forty years. I will write on those two souls, who are no more in this world. I will also include my friends in 1971, group of job seekers, whose names I have forgotten, but their youthful faces are still clear in my mind. All that later on.

Yes, Delhi was a sleepy – nick named ‘Babu’s city’ in the 70s. The first time it had some awakening was when the Asia 72 exhibition was held in 1972 (The Pragati Maidan was built for that). That was perhaps the first of its kind in Delhi with a gap of many years, or may be I felt it that way being a new Delhi-ite. The year 1971 ended up with the liberation of East Pakistan – renamed ‘Bangladesh’. The war was for 14 days. Those were power cut evenings–in preparation of a bomb attack from Pakistan. The fourteen days were buzzed with the screeching noise of Knat, the Airforce fighter guarding the Delhi skies. The Hindustan Times was full of stories of the advances our Vyjayanthi Tanks made in the Western Sector and the captures our Army made there.

At the end, I remember, the Hindustan Times photograph with General Niazi the Pakistani General with ninety thousand of his troupe surrender before Lt. General Jagatjit Singh Arora, The Turbened Indian General who fought the enemies in East Pakistan and defeated General Niazi. War cemented Mrs. Indira Gandhi’s seat of power and the decline of Congress. The INC (Indian National Congress) had split in 1969 with Freedom Struggle heroes Kamaraj, Nijalingappa, Morarji Desai, K C Abraham et al staying with Official Congress, and IG with artists of sycophancy forming the Congress (I). Of course, the people, as they are, stood with the more glamorous IG team. Some Historians memoired that Bangladesh was an absolute creation for Mrs Gandhi’ for her own sake. I am no historian. Things were becoming bad to worse in the country and Jai Prakash Narain called for a second liberation struggle. People came out wholeheartedly in support of JP and the movement.

The absolute power got shaken. An unnecessary emergency was declared and the Nation was under complete darkness. Thereon it was darkness in the corridors of power, IG, the sycophants and her son Sanjay ruled Delhi like Sultana and Aurangzeb. Fundamental rights were violated by the very people who was to protect them Morarji, Jaiprakash Narain, and all those seemed a threat to her were jailed and tortured. Many were vanished off the scene by all means.
Then India rose up once again. Thanks to our democratic spirit, roots and values, Mrs IG was defeated in her own pet constituency, Rae Bareilly by a lesser known Raj Narain ( He was the comic reliever in the Morarji Desai Government) in the National Elections. Congress was confined to the South, notably Kerala. Thanks to the good deeds and discipline which came with the Emergency in that part of the country. The Jan Sangh also joined hands with the fighters and formed a united Janata Party.

The rebels (so they were called) could not last long, power hungry, Charan Singh, Jagjivan Ram, Chandrasekhar, all together brought the two years old government under Mr. Morarji Desai, (one of the few all clear politicians in the Independent India). The Jansangh portion of the Janata Party also walked out of the Janata Party and formed their BJP. That very formation has disintegrated to regional parties, who horse trade in the centre whenever there is uncertain verdict. They have learned the art of splitting and staying alone.

I am no historian, hence the dates and exactness of the facts may vary. But the essence of the thing is true to the best of my memory. Back to the Bangladesh episode, much hatred were traded between politicians of both nations for their survival. In the recently concluded CWG, Pakistan contingent got the lasting applause after India. That was really heartening. Indians were not welcoming the sports persons from our neighbouring country. We were welcoming our estranged brethren. I felt very good.

Women Power - Law has changed

Indira Gandhi, Sushma Swaraj and Sonia Gandhi – three bigwigs of Indian political spectrum might have had to struggle to stay put in their position as leaders on their own merit. The men dominated political arena leave little space for women to thrive let alone hold formidable positions. But they did it. So do Indira Nooyi, Chanda Kochar and Kiran Shaw Mazumdar in their arenas of business.

The highly decorated Anglican Church has split recently, with five of its Bishops joining the Catholic Church. The Roman Catholic Church welcomed the five with stretched arms with the right to practice their own rite for sacraments. A welcome step towards the consolidation of “Holy Sea”. The Anglican Church, a creation of a British Monarch who wanted to have a mistress with canonical approval, have recently anointed women as Bishops and priests with authority to perform church services in par with the masculine gender. This is intolerable for the believers who strongly consider woman as a byproduct of the sixth rib of man, who coerced Adam to have the forbidden apple of Eden and instigate the first sin. According to Bible, woman is cursed along with Serpant, and therefore does not qualify to be the agent of God. Unable to bear the brunt of woman on the Altar, the five robed Lords switched their order.

Mary Roy, mother of ‘Pulitzer’ Arundhati Roy has earned a place in History. She won a 60 year long legal war in the judicial corridors of Kottayam to New Delhi. The toil was for an equal share of the massive wealth her father had bequeathed on her brothers, in the Rome of the East in God’s own country. The Travencore Christian succession Act, a law enacted in the 19th century, practiced by the Syrian Christian clan, depart only a sum of INR 5000/- or equivalent to the girl child as dowry, which include tythe- the church tax of 10 per cent of the dowry. Ms Roy could not accede to this archaic law. She plead for equal wealth, – crores worth in today’s valuation. Her brothers declined to part with. Church backed the brothers and provided them with arms and ammunition to fight the hapless Lady. She won the battles from the lowest to the the Apex Court of the Land. Even then,it took 25 long years, after winning the war, 1985 – 2010, for the legal fraternity to physically bestow her share of land to her. Win is a Win. Mary Roy, you stand out ! Hats off ! For those girls who are covered under The Travencore Christian Succession Act, please note the law has changed. You too change.

Appreciation unlimited

My yesterdays posting was about her, my wife ! I was planning to put up one for my mother. I need not break my head. I received a beatiful forward from a good friend. Same is copied as such, without any cuts. This registers my apreication and repentence for my mother more than what I could have thought of.

*Story of Appreciation** -
One young academically excellent person went to apply for a managerial position in a big company.
He passed the first interview, the director did the last interview, made the last decision.

The director discovered from the CV that the youth's academic achievements were excellent all the way, from the secondary school until the postgraduate research, never had a year when he did not score.

The director asked, "Did you obtain any scholarships in school?" the youth answered "none".

The director asked, " Was it your father who paid for your school fees?" The youth answered, "My father passed away when I was one year old, it was my mother who paid for my school fees.

The director asked, " Where did your mother work?" The youth answered, "My mother worked as clothes cleaner. The director requested the youth to show his hands. The youth showed a pair of hands that were smooth and perfect.

The director asked, " Have you ever helped your mother wash the clothes before?" The youth answered, "Never, my mother always wanted me to study and read more books. Furthermore, my mother can wash clothes faster than me.

The director said, "I have a request. When you go back today, go and clean your mother's hands, and then see me tomorrow morning.*

The youth felt that his chance of landing the job was high. When he went back, he happily requested his mother to let him clean her hands. His mother felt strange, happy but with mixed feelings, she showed her hands to the kid.

The youth cleaned his mother's hands slowly. His tear fell as he did that. It was the first time he noticed that his mother's hands were so wrinkled, and there were so many bruises in her hands. Some bruises were so painful that his mother shivered when they were cleaned with water.

This was the first time the youth realized that it was this pair of hands that washed the clothes everyday to enable him to pay the school fee. The bruises in the mother's hands were the price that the mother had to pay for his graduation, academic excellence and his future.

After finishing the cleaning of his mother hands, the youth quietly washed all the remaining clothes for his mother.

That night, mother and son talked for a very long time.

Next morning, the youth went to the director's office.

The Director noticed the tears in the youth's eyes, asked: " Can you tell me what have you done and learned yesterday in your house?"

The youth answered, " I cleaned my mother's hand, and also finished cleaning all the remaining clothes'

The Director asked, " please tell me your feelings."

The youth said, Number 1, I know now what is appreciation. Without my mother, there would not the successful me today. Number 2, by working together and helping my mother, only I now realize how difficult and tough it is to get something done. Number 3, I have come to appreciate the importance and value of family relationship.

The director said, " This is what I am looking for to be my manager.I want to recruit a person who can appreciate the help of others, a person who knows the sufferings of others to get things done, and a person who would not put money as his only goal in life. You are hired.

Later on, this young person worked very hard, and received the respect of his subordinates. Every employee worked diligently and as a team. The company's performance improved tremendously.

A child, who has been protected and habitually given whatever he wanted, would develop "entitlement mentality" and would always put himself first.
He would be ignorant of his parent's efforts. When he starts work, he assumes that every person must listen to him, and when he becomes a manager, he would never know the sufferings of his employees and would always blame others.
For this kind of people, who may be good academically, may be successful for a while, but eventually would not feel sense of achievement.
He will grumble and be full of hatred and fight for more.
If we are this kind of protective parents, are we really showing love or are we destroying the kid instead?*

You can let your kid live in a big house, eat a good meal, learn piano, watch a big screen TV.
But when you are cutting grass, please let them experience it.
After a meal, let them wash their plates and bowls together with their brothers and sisters.
It is not because you do not have money to hire a maid, but it is because you want to love them in a right way.
You want them to understand, no matter how rich their parents are, one day their hair will grow gray, same as the mother of that young person.
The most important thing is your kid learns how to appreciate the effort and experience the difficulty and learns the ability to work with others to get things done.

You would have forwarded many mails to many and many of them would have back mailed you too...but try and forward this story to as many as possible...this may change somebody's fate... :)

What of her !

What to say? Of late I began giving attention to something which I should have done a bit early; Sorry Yaaar………..! I started observing Baby, with more curiosity now.

Madam, wakes up precisely at 5.30 in the morning every day, no matter what time she slept in the previous night. I invariably wake up with her call for our morning tea. This exercise she has been dutifully carrying out, God only has an account, for how long.

At 8 a.m. sharp, I leave after a tastefully prepared breakfast, taking with me carefully packed lunch, leaving her to herself. I remember very little of not having an ironed cloth by the time I get ready for office. I must confess, many a days, she even polishes my shoes without any repugnance. Saturdays and Sundays are holidays for three of us, now four, but not for her. These are the days her culinary marvels are revealed. . The Mother of perfection, she has been cutting and polishing me shape up my personality. Books from Sahitya Academy made her an ardent reader and gave her a humped back neck. Her reading has put more tools to her arsenal in chiseling my deeds and verbs.

During the period Swapna and Lisa were born, then on to School, College and to office, she has never caused reason for them to be late. Even now, like a mother bird, she takes care of their food, cloth and everything for them, the naughty creatures. She doesn’t like to jell with the fact that her two chirpy girls are now grown enough to run their own set up, independently. All to all, the beauty has always maintained herself youthful, a point which draws me back home after work.

All this tasks are executed within the time, I have left for her at her disposal, free, so did I conceive so far. I valued very little the precious time she spent in shaping all of us, confining to the four walls of our small house. Never wondered what she has been through back home during the time I was busy in ‘working’. But yet, despite her limited space or rather confinement, she gathered more practical and resourceful information, wisdom and knowledge.

I have been working for the house. She was building the home always. A beautiful home, in which all who lived, and who joined later, love to be together, always.

Past is past, I call upon the young boys, never call the mother of your child/ren a ‘House Wife’ . Cut it ! She is deservingly a Home maker !

Death of Paul-the soothsayer

‘Paul’ died, I don’t mean St.Paul, or any Paul in the human species. Since I had mentioned Paul and his predictions in one of my postings, I feel, it would be unfair if I don’t put up an obituary. Paul belongs to the Crustacean family, if I am not wrong. Any how, I will not be sued, I am sure, for putting Paul in the Crustacean family. I would have sued Paul, if his prediction for Spain went wrong. Any ways, Paul need not have to worry, as I would have filed in one of the Indian Courts. The Indian courts put together, have pending cases running over a crore. What to say, Paul or his hundreds of generations would have died to hear any verdict.

Thank God, Paul died in Germany, otherwise Gadkari would have called for an enquiry sort of thing, for Paul might be a Post Graduate in Palmistry which is a pet subject promoted by the party and its veterans. Gadkari would suspect an Italian hand. as his mentors believe Germany is their land of Origin (Aryan), and Hitler hero of Aryan cause. Anyways, Paul is popular across the world, Gadkari is known only in India, that too, if people don’t ask Who Gadkari?.

Back to Paul, I do not know, if he was a Christian or a Jew. Both have the same heaven, OR hell, as both descend from “Abraham” – I believe, “Ebrahim” for Islam too. Paul, the Octopus, with his eight tentacles could gather and pronounce information correctly on the wins and losses of world cup football. Our Pandits always claim in their full page ads, their prediction about anything, after it actually happen, like earth quake, wildfire, avalanche. Don’t mistake, they will not predict a stampede at Kumbh, Haridwar, Sabarimala or Velankanni or a carnage in Gujarat or Bombay or anything that has to do with the 1984.

Paul, you have earned a place in the hearts of the Spanish, but we the fans of Brazil, Argentina, Germany, France, England, Italy in that order were let down. You might be a protestant. No prob. There is a better heaven. Go there.

Esperanza

They all yelled ‘Esperanza !’ ‘Esperanza !’ ‘Esperanza !’ – in Spanish language this means ‘ Have hope’

They have hope in every thing they do, did and will be doing. That was evident when the Entire Chile prayed (a term Chilens dislike otherwise) together for the 33 miners trenched under three quarter of a kilometer down the earth for over two and a half months. On 13th October 2010 (a rather inauspicious day, is n’t it?)

‘Phoenix’ capsule (a rocket like excavator vehicle developed by Chileans with indigenous technology) excavated all 33 of the trapped miners one by one to the surface— Successfully. All Chileans and the world sighed. It was so heartening to watch the Chilean President Sebastian Pinera himself there to receive and hug the rescued workers. The president addressed the miners to form a football team, to play and win. He travelled through the miners’ hearts and realized, those hearts really needed applause. What else, but football to cheer these almost lost lives of South Americans.

Good work Chile! Great work Sebastian.

Thousands of our country men spent days and nights, some even laid their lives to ensure the successful open and close of the XIX Commonwealth Games. These country men were blocked from the view of the visiting sports fraternity by placing ‘Shera’ painted hoardings in front of their huts. Wah ! What a country ! Jai Ho !

We are a democracy. Chile an autocrat nation, Communist, phew….

Educate the educated

Population of UK 6.2 Cr
Population of USA 30.7 Cr
Population of Australia 2.1 Cr
Population of Canada 3.3 Cr
Population of South Africa 4.9 Cr
Population of Nigeria 15.1 Cr
Population of India 114.0 Cr

(The data is based on 2008 WB report)

Yes, we are 20 times of UK
4 times of USA
77 times of Australia
40 times of Canada
30 times of South Africa
10 times of Nigeria

Our demographic growth surpass our economic growth graph. As a result, any of the development scheme launched by any government does not reach the end-beneficiary–the people in need. Education is the least prioritized development scheme. We have almost half of our people without any contact with the letter. —Person aged seven and above, who can both read and write with any understanding in any language, is treated as literate. (As per 2001 Census, the overall literacy rate of India is 65.38%. The difference between the highest and the lowest literacy rate in India is very high. Kerala has the highest literacy rate which is 90.92 %, while Bihar has the lowest with 47.53 %).

Note the quote “the difference between the highest and the lowest literacy rate in India is very high”. The context of this statement is based on the difference of literacy level between states.

However, I feel the difference between the literates is also very wide. Education does not reach all with equal quality. Rich people can buy quality education even with limited talent, whereas the poor with rich talent can not acquire education for want of money.

There is a need to educate the ‘educated’ to bring them to a level of educated.

One for the History

‘Tambhli’ a village in Maharashtra got the credit to be the launch pad of “Aadhar” ,the Unique Identification card on 29th Sept 2010.Hitesh Sonawane and his mother Ranjana Sadashiv Sonawane will get a place in the history of UID for being the first receipients of the card. Though, both the son and the mother do not know what good it will do to their life, the presence of Sonia Gandhi and the PM delighted their minds and the fellow villegers, what to say, the village sar panch elevated Sonia Gandhi as an Idol. (Can expect a temple in Tambhli, soon).

Young India is looking forward to this unique venture, aspires to be the keyword for development and its Captain Nandan Nilekani.

After watching “Peepli Live” (the Official Indian Entry to ‘Oscar’), Tambhli attracts attention for more reasons. The village resembles a lot of 'Peepli'.The villagers do not know what difference, UID card will bring in their life. Like in Peepli love, the official machinery woke up, done up the village roads, illuminated the homes, a ‘Lal Bahadur”(a hand pump under LB Shashtri scheme) got erected for water. Hope everything does not end there.

- this is for the history

Change thyself

In the month of September 2010 I reached office late on two days by 14 and 35 minutes respectively. Both days were pouring cats and dogs, and Delhi roads, as usual, were jammed.

Our Area Convenor is strict in punctuality for his subordinates. Both occasions he shot lotus notes for applying for half a day leave. With utmost dismay I applied. I felt dejected for the loss of two precious half days for just being absent for 57 minutes despite sincerely fulfilling my day’s tasks. I was sad and angry with the AC, the Chartered Bus operator, and of course the Delhi roads and vehicles.

I looked for options to overcome this unjust on me Then I recollected “Secretaries home skills @ “Winning Through People Workshop” and the charming Ms. Lakpa Sherpa.

She proposed, in the work-shop, the exercise to change. We were taught, it is futile to try to change the adamant boss. It is equally silly getting angry with the chartered bus operator nor is it worthwhile cursing the traffic jam. Ms. Langpa taught us to look inward and find ways to change oneself. I decided to change myself. I started Metro train. I had to stand in the train for 45 minutes at a stretch. Again a 2 km walk from Jorbagh to IHC. What an ordeal. I ran out of breath by the time I reached office. But then, I recalled, I could hardly get time for workout in the morning, so the 20 minutes walk could become my morning walk. And for the 45 minutes standing in the train, after all, I will be sitting all the eight hours in the office, thus this stretch can be my stretch out for the day.

Chirpy & Chukoo's nest

Little Chidia and lover Sparrow met and lived in a nest they built on the tall Peepal tree. They had a very poetic love life chirping and pecking, so much so that other birdies looked Chidia and Sparrow with jealousy.

Days passed by…. Little rosy Chidia became rosier. One day Lover Sparrow saw Chidia pensive and tired. Sparrow became anxious and worried. On repeated queries Chidia gave him mischievous smile, her beaks got red, and she shyly pecked Sparrow.

Sparrow could not make out a thing, but he was confident, his Chidia bird is not at all unhappy, though in suffering.

On an evening when Sparrow came nest, he found Chidia with two little chirping chicks, their beaks open. Then only he realized that all these days Chidia seemed disturbed was because she was carrying these two Eggies. No wonder, he started feeling at clouds, his beaks rose up, overwhelming with joy, he danced and sang a birdsong.

Head held high, he flew out to fetch bits of wool to keep the little birdies warm. He flew again to the woods to catch the best worms for the young ones. Needless to say, life of Chidia and Sparrow turned around the little chicks, thenceforth. On a fine day they baptized the chicks with beautiful names. The chicks were named Chirpi and Chukoo. Sparrow and Chidia were found busy with Chirpi and Chukoo all the time. They screamed with joy at even the silliest play the chicks did. Days and months passed by, Peepal tree shed leaves once again. The little nest became smaller for the family. Sparrow never looked tired, he continued his flights in search of warm clothes and worms for Chirpi and Chuko.

Gradually, the nest became less noisy as Chirpi and Chukoo made little chirpings and showed weak anxiety in the worms Sparrow brought home. Chidia knew of the restlessness in the nest, but Sparrow was not told.

One day when Sparrow came home with a beak-ful of worms, Chidia was found alone in the nest. She seemed happy and proud, that her Chirpi and Chukoo flew away in to the sky on their own. More so, they have also found their own partners to live with and were collecting hays to build their own nests.

Sparrow was not very enthused and looked sad. He became worried for the chicks as he has never let them wander alone. He lost interest in worms. He did not flew out to get clothes. The rain did not thrill him any more to have a peck on the beak of Chidia. So much so,he wanted to leave his old nest which seems utterly empty to him.

Chidia was, however, at peace. She chirped in to the ears of Sparrow…. Chirpi and Chukoo are having new chicks in their nests. We should visit their nests and embrace the little ones.

Saparrow again straightened his wings. After all, every thing has not come to an end. He has got jobs to finish..

A Priceless Award

Last week I posted my entry in the ‘Meaning of Independence’ contest called for by TERI. My entry was awarded 1st prize. Above all, it is more a matter of pride as the winning entry was personally handpicked by none other than Dr. R.K Pachauri, Director General of TERI.& the Chairman of the ‘Nobel winning’ IPCC. However, I register a note of regret for I had not turned up for receiving the prize. It is a loss. A loss I will be recalling for many years to come.

I was congratulated by many a friends. I also have mailed the piece for them. For others, it is once again given under in the format which I sent for the contest.

"What does being part of a sovereign democratic nation (whose independence and current form have come at a price) mean to you? What can you do to further the values associated with independence that we celebrate on this day?"
------------------------------

1. I feel great being a part of this sovereign democratic nation as the colours of India we see today are made with our own wisdom and labour. BUT………I recall my journey from Jamshedpur to Kharagpur. I saw a herd of my countrymen, lean and dark, scarcely clothed, board the train with loads of fire woods over their heads. The dead wood they collect from the jungles would be exchanged for a few rupees to buy two meals for the family. I weep inside, whenever I recollect what I saw then, for I could do little for these brethren of mine. Today’s Statesman reports that 77% of Indians live BPL. I urge our enlightened youth to be the ‘Adhar’ to lighten these ‘billion lives’ and be partners in filling their bellies and minds.

2. Given a chance, I’ll be back to village, plant trees, conserve water and contribute greening the environment. Here in Delhi, I pledge using less water and electricity and will say NO to plastic so that my grand children can enjoy the freedom and independence, my father fought and won, in its fullness.

--------------------
M.M. Mathew
LIC
Extn: 2751

A subject for contest

I feel great being a part of this sovereign democratic nation as the colours of India we see today are made with our own wisdom and labour. BUT………I recall my journey from Jamshedpur to Kharagpur. I saw a herd of my countrymen, lean and dark, scarcely clothed, board the train with loads of fire woods over their heads. The dead wood they collect from the jungles would be exchanged for a few rupees to buy two meals for the family. I weep inside, whenever I recollect what I saw then, for I could do very little for these brethren of mine. Today’s Statesman reports that 77% of Indians are BPL. I urge our enlightened youth to be the ‘Adhar’ to lighten these ‘billion lives’.

Given a chance, I’ll be back to village, plant trees, conserve water and contribute greening the environment. Here in Delhi, I pledge using less water and electricity and will say NO to plastic so that my grand children will enjoy the freedom and independence my father fought and won in its fullness.

Note :
The thoughts relate to a contest by TERI. Since the contest has a 100 words boundary, which I could not cross wishing not to lose the prize I may win.So that is it and I leave it as such.

Three legged bird

Paul (not the Disciple), the soothsayer Octopus dropped the ball of the mighty Germans in their own net. The Germans lost 1-0 to the under-dogs Spain, true to the Paul prophecy. The majority of angry Germans now wants to make a salad of ‘Paul’ or to fry him or to put him to sharks. I suggest let them put Paul to the gas chamber which they are good at as they have done to the Jews during WW-II.

I recollect a folktale about a Paul in Kerala

Pyilee (a malayaleised version of Paul) was an Egg trader.

Once Pyilee was on a local train to Ernakulam with baskets of eggs to be sold in the Ernakulam market. Pyilee’s co-traveller was Prof Thomas, a well learned professor of so many sciences. The local train rolling on its parallels was on its way to Ernakulam occasionally bugling and coughing smoke.

Nothing else to do, Pyilee engrossed in counting profits of his day’s trade folding and unfolding his five fingers & knuckling them in between. Pyilee then noticed the handsome professor lost in deep thoughts. Pyilee was hurt for he thought that the professor was bored and really needs a joyful company to ride through. Pyilee, therefore, volunteered him a helping hand …..…“ Sar Engotta ” ( Where are you going, Sir?)

The professor, though not liked the countryman’s anxiety, murmured –‘Ernakulam’’
After some more time the simple Pyilee put another step to proceed the diologue…

Sare… Ernakulam is well two hours away… so why don’t we engage in some talks to pass time…

Smirking on the country-man’s advance Professor sarcastically put across “ “Thanickenthariam… Eee Lokathile” (What on earth you know about ?) chuckling and whispering “ other than the eggs”

You are right Sir, agreed the illiterate Pyilee… I am an egg-seller least literate… but yet we shall give a try” .

Time passed by.. but the tireless Pyilee did not give up.. So he offered the learnt Professor a way to pass time. He invited the Professor for a ‘Quiz’ session. The amused professor submitted to Pyilee with a condition that for any question un-answered by either, the loser will give the quizzer 100 rupees. Pyilee, pleaded for a 50% discount in his case as he was the poorer of the two The Scholar professor agreed to Pyilee’s condition and offered him to kick the first ball.

Sari Sare, Pyilee, after some meditation, kicked the first ball..

“ Bhoomiyile Ethu Pakshickanu Moonnu kalullathu’? ( Name the bird on Earth that has three legs)..

The sceptic professor chuckled, then decided to give a try to prove the idiot wrong. His scholastic medulla oblangetta browsed through various branches of zoology… but could not locate a creature with three legs, leave alone a bird with three legs.

He pulled out a crispy 100 rupee note and flashed it to Pyilee and challenged him to name that wonder bird.

Pyilee briskly put the crispy currency in his purse and pulled out a muddy old 50 rupee note and respectfully placed before the Professor and said, Sir, I surrender….

“Enickum Angine Oru Pakshiye Ariyilla Sare…” .(I too do not know such a bird on earth…)

Sacred heart ripped out

The recent trip to Kerala, I had a prioritised mission. I wanted to watch the ‘Good Friday’ celeberations of Kudamaloor church. I had last participated the programme in 1971, the year I left for Delhi. After that, though I wanted, I could not make it. This time, I had planned my Kerala trip to suit the good Friday. I must confess, the enthusiasm with which I wanted to visit my hometown, especially the key institution of the village, Kudamaloor Church, famous for it’s Good Friday programmes as also for being the birth place(parish) of Saint Alphonsa, could not sustain for long. The Kudamaloor St.Mary’s church was believed to have been built 900 years ago by the then king of the province, Chempakassery Raja. With so many wonderful architectural marvels, the old church in it’s present form might have been built not less than 400 years ago. The icon of the church was the beautiful painting of The Lady with baby Jesus with Kings, placed in the centre of the Alter of the main hall in a huge glass frame meticulously placed to fit in the painting. The church also has stone carvings inscribing some historical tit bits written in a Malayalam script, which the present generation could hardly understand. The stones were placed as floor marbles. With wide huge stone walls, the church hardly needed any cooling. In my last to last visit I had noticed that the floor has been done up with new ‘Rajasthan marbles’ probably to make it look modern. The carved stones were plucked and placed along the wall, as if to make it to speak it’s own age and ethnicity. I feel it would have been beautiful if it had remained where it was already laid. This time, what pained me most was the scene of the Altar of the old church. Empty, vacant, as if the ‘heart’ has ripped out. My church, Which I wanted to visit again and again, stand like a skeleton of the old church.
I saw the most famous painting of the ‘Mukti Amma’ is now framed and placed in front of the new church.
Next time, I may see a green patch in place of the old marvel. My heart weeps.

Sacred heart ripped out

The recent trip to Kerala, I had a prioritised mission. I wanted to watch the ‘Good Friday’ celeberations of Kudamaloor church. I had last participated the programme in 1971, the year I left for Delhi. After that, though I wanted, I could not make it. This time, I had planned my Kerala trip to suit the good Friday. I must confess, the enthusiasm with which I wanted to visit my hometown, especially the key institution of the village, Kudamaloor Church, famous for it’s Good Friday programmes as also for being the birth place(parish) of Saint Alphonsa, could not sustain for long. The Kudamaloor St.Mary’s church was believed to have been built 900 years ago by the then king of the province, Chempakassery Raja. With so many wonderful architectural marvels, the old church in it’s present form might have been built not less than 400 years ago. The icon of the church was the beautiful painting of The Lady with baby Jesus with Kings, placed in the centre of the Alter of the main hall in a huge glass frame meticulously placed to fit in the painting. The church also has stone carvings inscribing some historical tit bits written in a Malayalam script, which the present generation could hardly understand. The stones were placed as floor marbles. With wide huge stone walls, the church hardly needed any cooling. In my last to last visit I had noticed that the floor has been done up with new ‘Rajasthan marbles’ probably to make it look modern. The carved stones were plucked and placed along the wall, as if to make it to speak it’s own age and ethnicity. I feel it would have been beautiful if it had remained where it was already laid. This time, what pained me most was the scene of the Altar of the old church. Empty, vacant, as if the ‘heart’ has ripped out. My church, Which I wanted to visit again and again, stand like a skeleton of the old church.
I saw the most famous painting of the ‘Mukti Amma’ is now framed and placed in front of the new church.
Next time, I may see a green patch in place of the old marvel. My heart weeps.

Richeness means.....

Today, there was a picture of Anil Ambani with marigold flower garland around his neck, standing in front of Tirupati temple, in the front pages of some popular English dailies. Similar pictures were seen of Mukesh, Amitabh Bachan, Abhishek Bachan and A few such newsworthy souls of India. I am sure, they all were there to please the deity who, they believe, will shower them with blessings (of course wealth in billions), for their offer of a few lakhs. Rich Indians, no matter their religion, offer hefty sums to deities of their choice.

A few days back, there was a picture of Mr. Gate who with his extra bills(wealth),(which keep swelling every moment), busy shaking hands with kids in a remote Indian village, for whose, health, education, up-liftment, he spare his extra wealth. His wife also join him in this act of worship.

It was a very hot day of the month of May, I had taken a coke, and a bottle of mineral water to keep me cool. Put together it costed me 35 Rs., not bad, so hot, I have seldom felt this heat in Delhi. I had taken a Blue line bus to Dilshad Garden, almost 18 kms from ITO. It costed 15 Rs. But the journey was horrible. Heat wave from the side windows with glass panes missing. Crowd inside. I was lucky to get a seat. I decided no more Blue line ( I had made this resolution a few times before also.). Alighting at Seemapuri, I called a Rikshaw. Checked his charge for Shalimar Garden (2 kilo meters). Alas ! Cheater wants 20 Rs for that much distance. Cheater, I could barely resist my anger to this opportunist, leach… and whatever came to mind and boarded. He pedelled the distance, sweating, wiping his forehead, again peddling finally reaching my destination. I paid him and walked off. Hardly will I remember this guy who brought me home at a cost of course, at 2 p.m noon on a day considered to be one of the hottest of the season.
Reaching home, I recalled, if the rikshaw was not available at the place, I would be walking the two kms, might have consumed another bottle of cola, yet got exhausted, might also have the heat wave on me and jolly well could have fallen ill for a few days. I have paid Rs 20/- to the service that man – most probably from Bihar – whose face I would hardly recollect. Why only rikshaw even that Blue line was doing a service. That time of the day, DTC do not operate for reasons ranging from lunch break to change of duties. Even if there is one, it will skip you and speed away.

Believer's agony

So many Godmen make news for wrong reasons these days (thanks to Media) women abuse, child abuse, and in many other abusive activities. Such questionable characters amass wealth and fame. All these men and many before with such profile are leading luxurious life with followers flowing in from all over the globe. The saddest part is that the very promoters of these characters of darkness are the so called elite, educated and well informed people.

There is a sect of believers who engage their energy and time in sending chain mails to people with scary tales of calamities. These fanatics take up the case of some concrete structure survived in a devastating calamity and say “the Cross survives the Haiiti devastation”; “the statue at Velankanni has stood intact amongst the debris of tsunami” etc. and warn the reader that only the cross & statue survives, while the people die. So be a believer and send the mail to twelve believers. The irony is, the one who shed blood and gave his body to save the world, was busy in safeguarding his properties when his children were dying and getting perished all around.
I think these followers of Godmen and self promoters of God need to be told the fact that no Godman can guarantee immortality . No God will be glorified if He looks after his own concrete structure of cross and statue and let his folks die and their homes get shattered

Kerala Pride

The admirably handsome former Minister of State Shashi Taroor, who, despite being born and lived outside Kerala, stand for an applause from the proud Malayalees, for holding his head high for Kerala.

The fact that the who is who from Kerala, in spite of holding very powerful ministerial positions in the cabinet could not make a niche worth noticeable for the state and its people, therefore, are the strongest adversaries (jealousy – what else) of the globally acclaimed writer – diplomat who got backing from none other than Kofi Annan for his bold stand. Shashi Tharoor has actually stepped in the shoes of V.K. Krishna Menon, gem of a Malayalee reined in Delhi’s power corridor, notwithstanding the contribution of late Shri K R Narayanan. I have a list of prominent Malayalees in Delhi on top of which is Mr. Prakash Karat, who sails another boat.

Having said this, I do not endorse the controversy, Mr. Tharoor got embroiled in —it was un-matching of his stature — although he made this move for his love for Kerala and the youth of the state in mind. Any how different people think differently. I join (rather intrude) the mass of young Malayalees all over the world in extending an unconditional support to Mr. Shashi Tharoor. In his exit speech as a Minister He quoted Vallathol’s famous lines.

“Bharatham ennu kettal abhimana puritham akanam antharangam, Keralam ennu kettalo thilackanam chora namukku njarampukalil.”

(One should be proud of a mere mention of Bharatam but on hearing the name of Keralam, blood should simmer through the veins)

Let’s join him !
Jai India !
Jai Kerala !

A Different Pilgrimage

Suddenly in January it occurred to me that I must make a trip to Kerala, where I was born sixty years ago. Having said so, I owe a clarification. By virtue of birth I do belong to Kerala, the land Malayalees and others fondly call “God’s own country”. During the last forty years, I have been making sorties to Kottayam and back to Delhi, shuttling between relatives. This time too we visited relatives, but only as a ‘Edathavalam’.(Midway)

It was a cozy Jetlite trip to Nedumbassery, where Lata and Premkumar received us. We were taken to their home ‘Savitri Bhavan’ in Elammkkara. They both and Naryanan Sir(Velliachan) made that evening a warm, memorable one. Nothing to compare the yummy Appam and Fish Stew treat managed by none other than “Satyechi”. Mouth watering Crab curry was a first time delicacy. We thoroughly enjoyed the evening. By opening a scotch, Velliachan made us feel VIPs.

Our next destination was Vagamon, a less popular location, but a princes amongst the hills, Vagamon is approximately 40 kms up Erattupetta. Though we had a plan to make it to the Kurisumala where the stations of cross being held. We could not make it as it consists of an hour’s steep climb. We reluctantly skipped. We visited the pine forest (This did not fascinate us as we are just a month down our visit to Mukteswar). The “Mottakunnu” (Egg shaped mountains) reminded the small mud mounts made of coconut shells in our childhood. There were no trees but grass on the mounts . Is n’t it surprising that in perpetually raining Kerala a natural marvel exists without trees or bushes. Perhaps nature has its plans differently. But that is it. Perhaps the most surprising and scenic place in Vagamon. Another interesting place of visit in Vagamon is the Paultry farm managed by the Franciscan Missionaries. The Swiss breed cows milk the entire valley of Pala, Bharananganam, Erattupetta. The Campus, so meticulously planned, resources and wastes used and reused, and managed for decades was established by a foreigner Franciscan missionary. Management students must make a serious visit to this place to learn things in detail. Bravo, Father, you climbed the hilltop when Vagamon was not heard of by outside world and for making that ‘conversion’. Vagamon still need to be visited. Next time. On our descend, we passed through Bharananganam, but could not alight for “the St.Alphonsa’s” tomb.

Our Good Friday at Kudamaloor was an experience. Nothing has changed. The Neenthu Nercha(crowling on knees) from the Cross (Black stone)till the altar (a quarter Km) continues to attract thousands from far off places as it used to be forty years ago and before. We did not go to any other places in Kottyam, though Kumarakam was only a few miles from my place. Here we visited all the family oldies, some of whom may not be there till our next visit.

Easter was at Punalur, all near and dear ones from Bangalore and Delhi gathered and was a very pleasant day. The four hour holy mass in ‘Malankara rite’ was as if I have had my quota for the whole year. I confess I could not control my nap during the service. Sorry Lord. On Monday after Easter we took a visit oldies mission. Take it from me, we visited six elderly people past their eighties, all women. None of them has her life partner in this world.

Our next destination was Thiruvananthapuram. The most beautiful capital city of all the Indian States (I am serious). Next two days we visited Kovalam and Shankhumukham. Having heard a lot about the beaches, no need to mention we were thrilled. We enjoyed the roaring waves in Shankhumukham and the romantic sands in Kovalam. Kingfisher brought us back in style. The illuminated Bombay (I dare to call) from above sky was marvelous, and another sight of splendid Delhi (my city) again from the Sky was Wow!
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Footnote, Sorry to mention, Kerala, the most advanced Indian state lacks basic human facilites. The state of public lavatories is pathetic, especially Bus Stands, and wherever you may be lucky enough to find one, it hardly has a women’s toilet. Hope the KTDC and ITDC takes care. Untill then, please be prepared.

A Himalayan Memory

It is almost a month now, we have been driven up and down the ‘Almora’ ranges of the mighty Himalaya’s. Credit goes to my SIL, who despite being infected with some mountain bacteria, drove us up the 8500 ft. high and made all arrangements for a memorable two days. The panoramic views we enjoyed of the mighty mountain ranges was absolutely stunning and refreshing. The lines of pine trees recall the rubber grove of Kerala High Ranges. The rubber has diluted the scenic beauty of Kerala country sides, but the Himalaya’s yet manage to sustain. Thank God, for HE has preserved some place for his most loved (so we claim) creatures The beautiful picturesque valleys looked as if they are paintings on a vast canvas created by the most acclaimed artist. The living things like pines, the red mountain flower (no name) the ash coloured (black faced) langur families all so fascinated.

How can we forget the two boys who served us with everything with smile, we inadvertently forgot to click their photos. I have not forgotten to get photographed with ‘Haridas’ err Jagan.

Earlier they, in Delhi, called me a ‘Madrasi’.
Now they call me a ‘Mallu’
Neither ways I am happy
Then I went to the Malayalee welfare
There they advised me for my identity
They sent me to the Christian Quota,
When I reached there
I was directed to the Catholic section
Then, when I reached there, they directed me to identify myself with
Syrian OR Latin
I fell on the Syrian line
Then they segregated me with Syro Malabar & Syro Malankara
I was thrown into the Syro Malabar wing
Then they looked for my badge of Knanaya Or Others
I stood with the Others, then came if I belong to which diocese…

Tired …. I went back to my Origin, where I had friends from all sections… But then

They kept me at a distance with the title “Delhi wallah”

Appanu Kappa Mathi

Here again, another journey through the memory line….

At the outset, let me confess, I might have been more comfortable scripting the below memoir, had IT been in the language of my heart, Malayalam. I know there is Malayalam script in the computer. But if I chose to converse in Malayalam through this media, I would give up midway. So it is better to use the convenient tool. Nevertheless, the fact is that English is a language I adore, advocate others to learn, as I feel English has been, is and will be the language of the millennium.

I recollect a short story, I read in my youth days, which had appeared in a popular Malayalam weekly, I do not remember the name of the author. The given abstract is only an outline of the original story.

The story might have happened in the Meenachil Taluk, near or around Kuravilangadu (Kottayam). The man, fondly called “Appan”(father) by his children, was a farmer. His occupation was ‘Kappa” (Tapioca) cultivation.. Besides Kappa, farmers cultivated Inchi(Ginger), Kachil, Chena, Chempu (All undergrond stems rich with carbohydrate) etc. Rubber was not yet took much root in the Tehsil of Meenachil. Those were the days, small farmers were finding it tough to meet two ends as crops hardly yielded enough revenue for a living.

Appan’ was determined to make his children come up well in life. So, no matter he was hard pressed for cash at times, he sent all his six children to school and college. He was conscious about the tremendous hard work his dear children were to put in to achieve his dream goal. Therefore, Appan was so determined to ensure his children get nutritious and sufficient food, so that all of them remain healthy which in turn will boost their appetite for knowledge and studies.

Given his circumstances, this was a Herculean task to accomplish. But Appan stayed put and refused to give up his dream project.

At times he had to struggle hard to make this great mission possible, so much so, that the daily rice was not enough to serve the entire family. Appan realized this situation of the kitchen, which Ammachi (mother)–his wife– had to face. Appan, therefore, decided to shoulder a part of this burden. He, with the tactic consent of his wife, entered a bad habit. He decided of switching over to “Kappa” for all his meals. Initially children wondered, then Appan convinced them with the statement “Appanu Kappa mathi” (Appan relishes kappa the most).Gradually all his children got used to this phrase and this special liking of their father and stopped bothering him. Only Ammachi was concerned, and used to remind him to go for rice like others in the family. He not only made her agree to his ‘Kappa’ eating habit, but also not to let his children know of this secret covenant. After all, who else, but him, knew the treasury secrets.

Much water has flown through the Meenachil river…..Trees shed leaves and worn new leaves after every major rain, year after year. Even his dear wife adopted to Appan’s habit and it became a phrase at the dining table “Appanu Kappa Mathi..”
Appan’s children grew up, healthy, wealthy and in to respectable positions in life. All of them were well settled in life. Appan felt happy and was satisfied being the proud father of successful children who have made best of their life as envisaged by him.

On a fine day Appan decided to visit his dearest son who was always closer to him the most. The thought got Appan so thrilled and he imagined of the excitement, his son and daughter-in-law would have, on seeing him at their place. His thought was proved to be true. His dear son, daughter-in-law, and grand-children were excited and were overwhelmed with joy seeing Appan, the surprise visitor, standing at his door step. They decided to make it a day of celebration. “Appan” was enthralled and could not control tears of joy. Pleasantries were exchanged. Nostalgic memory lines were opened and it was all fun for all.

The dining table was plentiful with delicacies which Appan has not had for a long time.

He made the prayer with the sign of cross on his forehead, nose + lips and then chest with a murmured gratitude in a few words to the Lord, Our Father, for this day. A true Christian (Sathya Kristhyani) ought to perform this ritual before every meal.

The table was with plentiful delicacies, which Appan was looking forward to and has not had for a long time. But, Appan’s enthusiasm did not last long. His daughter-in-law carefully placed a plate full of “Kappa” before him with a statement “ Appanu Kappa Mathi” ennu Enickariyam” The son was very careful in passing on Appan’s passion for Kappa. The daughter-in-law then proudly and fondly claimed the credit and said. Look Appan, I have not forgotten.

You are right, my daughter; with a concealed pale smile, Appan consumed his delicacy.

A Backward journey

It was years, perhaps decades, more precisely if I sharpen my recollection, it was in the first week of January 1976.

I was a bachelor, went to Kerala for Chinnamony’s marriage. After the marriage I was returning to Delhi. It will be inappropriate, if I do not mention the railway facility those times. There was no Broad-gage beyond Ernakulam down South. So, I boarded the Kollam-Ernakulam metre gauge, which left Kottayam sometime around midnight. My friend late Kuttappan and brother Johny were there to see me off. The following morning (very early morning) I reached Ernakulam (almost 4 – 5 hours) to board ‘Jayanthi Jantha’ -that was the name of the only direct train to Delhi from Cochin.

If I give a minute by minute detail of my journey, it would be really boring. The 2nd Sleeper was filled -over filled -with families (moving along with their Kerala memories like kappa, chakka, ural, ulakka, unakka meen, chakkakuru, etha pazham, and what not) bundled in cartons and jute bags (chaku), girls and boys (marriageable age) also with all the above memories. But a toddlers cry every now and then kept us disturbed, and then th0se days, that kind of noise need not be worth noticeable. The toddler was perhaps less than a year old with her mother, (I am sure it was a girl child), a young lady in mid-twenties was there in one of the six sleeper cabins. The youngsters were enjoying playing with their young companion like a crying toy, which is a pastime during the journey in a 6 footer cabin. After a tiring three full days’ run and the usual Indian railway’s late run, the train creeped into the New Delhi Station(Only Paharganj and no Ajmmere Gate). Time was around 4 or 5 p m. I had only a small carry-bag and a small carton box with which I was going to alight the train. Then I noticed the toddler’s mother peeping through the window looking for someone who was to receive her. She could not carry all the luggage she was carrying with her child in her arms. I offered to help her to take her luggage down. She seemed disturbed as she could not locate her receiver (husband in this case) anywhere near the station. He was a Military personnel located at Bareilly. As I was trying to say good bye to her, the lady almost came to tears and told me, her husband was to come and that she had telegraphed him.She pleaded me to stay on for some more time hoping that her husband might reach her some time. Those days telephone was a luxury and mobile phones were not even heard of. After waiting for almost an hour I asked her If I could help her by accompanying her to the platform where connecting train to Bareilly could be boarded. She hesitated, but helpless, told me she did not have the necessary money also to buy a ticket to Bareilly. I got irked, I too had exhausted all my money. I could not leave that lady with the toddler in the early January in New Delhi Station. So I told her I would go home and come back before the time Bareilly train was to leave. She thought I was also making excuse and escaping. I repeated my promise to come back. She believed it or not. After reaching home, I told the story to Nair who first advised me to ignore and relax. But on my repeated pestering he agreed to accompany me to the station. I could see the glare in the lady’s eyes with relief. I could notice her struggle to control her tears with joy. We bought the ticket for her upto Bareilly. She had taken my address. The Train was so crowded, Nair & me somehow managed to put in the boxesand bags she had carried and placed both mother and child on one of the boxes for their over night (12 hours) journey to Bareilly.

I had almost forgotten the case, but after a month or so (thanks to the Postal Services)I had received Rs.10/- by money order and an inland letter from her husband, thanking me for the help. I have not kept the letter nor do I remember the name of the person.

The girl might be over thirty five/thirty six now, probably married with children, The mother and father settled in Kerala or may be in Delhi.

Politics played wrongly

Politics is good, but politics played is bad.

In the corridors of power, be it at Home, in the Government, Corporate, Global forums and wherever it matters, politics is played with different purposes. Politics played with partisan aim damages not only the environment but an idea too.

The recent damage done to the fame of Dr. Pachauri, popularly known as the “Climate Change Icon” is the result of politics played globally, nationally and perhaps at home (TERI). To play politics, the opponents need only a small cue. They built story upon whatever they could lay hand on. Thus a noble cause of Global warming got diverted to mismanagement of funds, even stooped to the level of dragging him for his lifestyle. A few 'globally acclaimed' ‘English’ newspapers took upon the task of witch-hunting with no substantial reasons. The big stir could not make any swirl, it seems.

Movers & Shakers

Two happenings moved me, so before I forget, I thought I could scribble it in this page.

On the coldest day of this season, 4th Jan 2010, our regular chartd bus did not turn up. I had to go to the metro station to reach home. From CP I boarded the train which was hell crowded. My legs were paining, head heavy with the severe cold wave on that day. Was I looking too tired ? Don’t know. Youngsters, both men and women were occupying the seats. I wished someone would get up for the next station and I could sit. All on a sudden a curly haired teenage girl stood up and invited me to occupy her seat, not only that she had to block with her hands another youngster who was trying to catch the vacated seat. After a few seconds, I noticed that the girl was carrying a heavy bag on her shoulders. I ‘requested’ her to hand it over me, which she did with a warning “ uncle it is pretty heavy”. The very next station one person got up to alight and she occupied the seat. She resumed her reading , an action she had to discontinue for a few seconds. Needless to doubt I got the answer for her deed. This also reminded me Deepika Joon’s offering me help to carry the stationery I had to carry from the stores to the 1st floor.

The other day Swapna advised me to use simple phrases in writing and for conversation. It is easy for the user and the listner/reader to understand. I recalled the day I taught her “A for Apple”& ‘B’ for Ball” . Metamorphosis — my late father a Primary school graduate — He sent me to School and College (Swapna will challenge me for not addressing my mother; It is included in my addressing my father, because I do not see them separate) What he could not do I did for my children, what I could not achieve, my children will achieve.