Knowing Thyself

Arun was not my best friend in school. He wasn’t even in the ‘inner circle’. But he was a nice boy – kind and helpful. He always had a smile on his face, warm and innocent. Though we were both in the same class from Grade I, I never had the good fortune of getting to know him personally until Grade 7. His bus reached early and dad had to drop me in school on the way to his office. As a result, both of us reached class almost 45 minutes early. What started with Good Mornings and Hi-Hello’s gradually evolved into heated debates about school house teams and playing a quick game of shuttle everyday with the other boys before the daily assembly.

One distinct memory I have of Arun is the time we were discussing our school captain’s small but famous tattoo. It was a swastika on his left biceps, most of it hidden while wearing the school uniform but shown just enough to draw the attention of students and teachers alike. Students loved it while the latter couldn’t decide what to do about it. There were lengthy arguments amongst teachers whether the boy was a huge fan of Hitler or an ardent devotee trying to invoke good luck through spirituality.  Obviously, that didn’t matter to us much (He was way out of our league!) except for the fact that it got us thinking about what we would like to have if we ever got a tattoo.

I had come up with a few options and finally settled on the face of the Bull for two reasons. One, my sun-sign was Taurus and people who know me could easily attribute most of my characteristic behaviours to the ‘bull’ (ahem!); two, smaller the better, considering how painful it was to get a tattoo done. Happy with my choice, I asked Arun what he’d prefer but all he did was smile and say, ‘I’ll show you!’. I was curious about it the whole day and made a list of things that Arun would have liked. The good (read ‘sensible’) ones from my list included Johnny Bravo, Popeye and Batman. I made a note of them all thinking I’ll discuss with him the next morning. But Arun was a step ahead than I thought. That evening, before we all left for home he came to me and placed a piece of paper on my desk. I instantly knew it was the tattoo and quickly opened to see if it was as good as what I had in mind for him. Frankly I was disappointed! In it, five letters were written in black ink and beautiful calligraphy – thrive.

Of course, I knew what ‘thrive’ meant - our biology teacher who was also a passionate gardener had made sure of that. Arun was an artist alright but why a tattoo with this word? Maybe I could explain to him that Batman was way cooler. But like all other teenage discussions, we totally forgot about this. Or maybe just I did. After completing Grade 7, I moved to another country and school. New friends were made and Arun along with a few others receded to the archives of my brain.

Fifteen years have passed. Arun is now Archana, a very enthusiastic boutique owner. Her new features have not taken away her charm and innocence. We meet occasionally over cups of coffee where I can’t help but notice her radiant smile and gentle laughter while we recollect old memories and in the process, create new ones. She is scarred, but happy; tired, but relentless; emotional, but free. The process of knowing thyself is, in itself, one that calls for courage and the indomitable will to stand tall in the face of ridicule and criticism. But when you act on your reflections and work towards being thyself, you begin the extraordinary process of polishing and filing yourself, only to emerge stronger and soar higher. 

Where the tiger belongs..

Dasettan took his work very seriously. Or as most people who know him might say, ‘Immade Dasettan Puliyaantta!!!’ (Our Dasettan rocks!!!) Pulikali is an artform sans pareil in Thrissur. It is a matter of pride and a symbol of their eternal legacy second only to the famed Thrissur Pooram which men and women from all over the world gather every year to witness. These two events – the Thrissur Pooram and the Pulikali together encompass what the people of Thrissur truly believe in – the ensemble of culture, charisma and camaraderie!

To Dasettan, Pulikali was his mirror - the truest way of expressing himself. All year round, he would mentally prepare all the moves that would accompany the enchanting beats of the udukku, thavil and the like. Once the Thrissur Pooram ended, it was his cue to get started with his elaborate process. Who would paint, how would the design look like, how much rounder should his potbelly be, how much more food should he eat to achieve the desired ‘round-ness’, how many jingles of his handmade belt needed to replaced - all the details would be meticulously charted and followed to the T.

The event happens every year on the fourth day of Onam. For a performer the process starts from the wee hours in the morning. All the hair on the body has to first be removed and the now shimmering body is then given a first coat of paint which takes around 2 to 3 hours to dry. Then the second layer of painting is done, this time with great detailing and perfection (and of course, a truck load of patience). After a good 7 to 8 hours, the tigers assemble in the famous Swaraj Round. The drums sound and pulis dance, pounce and shake their bellies accompanied by the shikaris and other characters. The performance is a sight to behold and the sheer energy it exudes is enjoyed by both the classes and masses, alike.

Dasettan was one of the very few who was still going strong. Most of his friends who accompanied him when he started out were now part of a very distant past. This, however, did not discourage him. It only became the foundation of his love for the artform, bordering on obsession. ‘Pulikali illathe enthu Onam!’ (What fun was Onam without Pulikali!), he often said.  Forty years of tireless performances and Dasettan was still the stud of the event. Most youngsters who joined the sangams looked up to Dasettan. He was their very own Birju Maharaj, their Da Vinci of sorts. These days it was much easier. You could get readymade masks, tongues, teeth, tails and all the accessories. Also, the Thrissur Municipal Corporation gives a grant of Rs 30,000 for each troupe so as to encourage young performers and keep the tradition in its vibrant best. But in Dasettan, you could appreciate the art for its innocence and genuinity. Lots of people who came to the event remember Dasettan from when he was a young man. When asked, they would chuckle and say, ‘Dasettan annum innum same aantta, vayaru maathre chaadittullo!’ (Dasettan is still the same, only his potbelly has gotten bigger!)

His family however, did not share the same love for Pulikali or for him. Tigers essentially live solitary lives, except during mating season and when females bear young. The same could be said about Dasettan. His female left after bearing her young. His pulikali hardly brought any money and Dasettan didn’t hunt. Also, his wife didn’t quite get the whole idea. Performing pulikali, won’t make you a tiger nor will it fill our stomachs, she kept reminding him to which he would respond with only a smile. So one fourth day of Onam, when he returned back home after his performance, he found his wife had left. And she took along with her, his little cub who was barely 3 months old. He didn’t go looking for them. Nor did he expect them to return. Tigers essentially live solitary lives.

However, as years passed by, Dasettan felt the void. Most people he knew had moved on. New jobs, new families, new cities. But Pulikali had kept him rooted. It was everything he had and the one thing he could hold on to. Today, after his 40^th performance he shed a tear. It was his last time and was truly an emotional moment. All the people including the Collector gave him a standing ovation after the performance ended. A salute to his undying devotion to Thrissur’s most distinct tradition by almost 30,000-odd people. But Dasettan could only spot one face – his cub had returned. And this time with a tiny one in his arms – a baby girl. His son had his wife’s eyes, but most else was Dasettan. There was no mistaking him. And if he was in any doubt, the look on the young man’s face said it all. Dasettan broke down.

Most children were either scared or shy but she readily greeted him with a smile on her face when her father introduced the town’s most famous puli to her. Throughout the way back home she asked him various things about pulikali – how many bells did he have in his belt, how many idlis could he fit in his stomach, was the tail real and many other questions which left Dasettan dumbfounded. She also claimed to be the one who cheered the loudest. The little one was now sleeping in Dasettan’s lap and he stroked her hair lovingly. Looking at his granddaughter he realized he had missed all the wonderful moments of being a father. He had not been there for his son’s first fall or first word, nor was he there to support him after first punishment at school or first breakup. He had lived all his life as a puli and now that it came to an end he was unsure what to do next. But he knew what he wanted. He wanted to connect with his son and know him better. Fumbling for words, Dasettan asked him his name and even before he heard it he knew what it was. His wife was a huge fan of the actor, Jayan. He had not forgotten after all.

Jayan smiled and told his father how he had been to Dasettan’s every single performance after his mother told him about his father. He was angry at first, but then as years passed it was just a deep longing to know the man better – sans paint and costume. And what better time than after his last ever performance. Jayan wanted to take his father home. Surely he could not grow up with his father but little Gouri would have a playmate and friend. Dasettan’s heart felt a lot lighter. He was proud that his son had grown up to be such a good man. Or maybe it was because Dasettan wasn’t around. He wouldn’t know.

It was getting late. Gouri Mol left home with her father but not before Dasettan planted a kiss on her cheeks and promised that he would join them soon. Removing the last traces of paint from his body, Dasettan felt the last signs of his old self quickly fading out of reality. The images of his wife, son and Gouri began to replace the happy faces he usually noticed when performing. All the cheer that he got from his enthusiastic audience now seemed to blend with the love of his family. He smiled weakly feeling complete and thus basking in the warmth of it all, Dasettan died peacefully in his sleep.

Tigers dont really cope with old age. Most of them are poached or killed by other predators much before their time, but some lucky ones live the full extent of their lifetime before breathing their last.

The Visit

As a child, hospital visits were something I always dreaded. The peculiar smell that was strong enough to induce a dreadful nausea the second you set foot on the compound, the building that looked straight out of a horror movie, the nurses with their marked indifference to whatever the hell your sickness may be, the doctors with their mostly inapproachable attitudes, the patients who seemed all packed and prepared for the ‘final journey’. All this mixed with the deplorable canteen food made it a top contender for my personal ‘Top 5 Places to Avoid’ list. The next close competitor was Raji Aunty’s house but let’s save that story for later.

So coming back to hospitals, this visit however, was special. Vasu Uncle who we all fondly called ‘Vasu Mama’ was not the average patient. Doctors called it ‘Nerve Degenerating Disorder’ which meant within a span of a couple of years, Vasu Mama had gone from being a highly paid official in a Corporate Giant to being affected by partial paralysis which soon resulted in complete loss of movement. His declining health brought with it, both shock and despair to my family. After all, most of Vasu Mama’s nieces and nephews owed their degrees and good lives to him. That such a situation would befall Vasu Mama was unacceptable.

I adored him for his simplicity and the love with which he would engage me in deep conversations which mostly revolved around my silly and imaginary theories. He would encourage my childish ways of making sure he and aunty never felt bored whenever they visited home. Add to that all the lovely gifts he brought and the good food we got to eat when he was home. This man, was truly a Rockstar!!

And today, we were to meet this rockstar. Until then, we had only heard about his condition and so today we didn’t know what to expect. In any case, I wanted to give him a little something he didn’t expect too. For lack of other ideas and resources, I finally decided to make Vasu Mama a flower bouquet. Yes, I had inherited my ammama’s creative genes and I was going to make him a wonderful bouquet. He would keep it by the side of his bed in a pretty vase and would show it off to all the nurses, doctors, cleaners and visitor. The gardens in Kerala have a generous bounty of indigenous flowers and leaves and off I rushed, to make my first bouquet ever.

I plucked, organized, arranged, plucked some more, rearranged, added some highlights, made some cuts, tied a ribbon and it was good to go!!! I gave it a good look. The red flower in the center was the obvious attraction but in general, this bouquets was for keeps. I couldn’t wait to give it to Vasu Mama. The details of his condition escaped me. To me he was now a tired man whose pain I was going to alleviate with my beautiful bouquet. Soon we got ready and left for the hospital. None of the smell, environment or attitude mattered any more. I was here to meet Vasu Mama and as I marched to his room, holding my bouquet on one hand and my mother’s dupatta on the other, I smiled thinking of my little surprise.

What we had heard was only a fraction of his actual condition but what he lost in physical energy, he made up in his sparkling eyes and heart warming smile. He could talk but in a feeble voice with which he lovingly enquired about all of us. Amma and Ammama were strong enough not to break down seeing Vasu Mama in his current state. As for me, my world had sunk. Two reasons - the usually cheerful and animated Vasu Mama in bed itself was disheartening. To worsen things, there was a huge bouquet on his side table, so colourful it could brighten anyone’s day. Rows of chrysanthemums, asters and roses neatly arranged to perfection in a lovely woven basket. I thought about my bouquet, which I now held behind me deftly hidden from Vasu Mama.

How could I give him this shoddy gift. I didn’t even know the names of the flowers in my bouquet. Hell, I even forgot the ‘With Loads of Love’ card!!! Just as I quietly decided to discard it as soon as we left the room, Amma turned to me and asked, ‘Are you not giving it to him?’. How could she even mention it now. Had she not noticed the table? Annoyed, I slowly whispered to her saying I couldn’t give him such a shabby gift while there was an exquisite bouquet waiting to greet everyone. Vasu Mama was now curious. ‘What did you bring me?’, he asked me with a smile. I could only manage a nod while, much to my embarrassment, Amma narrated all my morning tamasha and my current feeling. Vasu Mama let out a mild  laugh and whispered something in his Aunty’s ear. Smiling, Aunty extended her hand at me expectantly.

Awkwardly, I held out my hand and gave her the bunch of flowers. I couldnt even call it a bouquet anymore. To my surprise, Aunty immediately replaced the bouquet on the table and placed my flowers instead. ‘Here you go! This is, by far, the most beautiful bouquet I have ever received and it will be here so I can see them everyday until I leave.’ His words made me both happy and proud. Happy that I was atleast able to gift Vasu Mama a moment of happiness and proud to have known such a great man.

My First 'Last Working Day'

Not many people are fortunate enough to look back at their very first job and have a smile on their face. Well, Am grinning! Almost 3 years, and yet the clichéd line ‘ It just feels like yesterday’ is exactly what I felt. It was time to pack all the dolls and idols I bought/ won and was gifted, myriads of invitation cards from my colleagues, the small pieces of paper on which I had drawn my very intricate art designs during heated meetings and concalls (Most people tend to scribble, but hey, Why not sharpen your skills instead!). I had other stuff to pack too. Things that meant much more – My memories and learnings.

My first day in an office was unlike most other campus recruits since I had no one from my college/ school. An entirely new crowd, many of whom would go on to be my mentors, guides, friends, gossip-mates and colleagues. I had miles to go, ahead of me and being my very first job, I must say, I had no clue of what I was going to do. I had to learn the rules of the game and then follow those rules, I had to be a game changer when some of the rules didn’t make sense, I had to try and be as valuable to my team as the team was to me, I had to prove that I was as passionate about work as I was about dancing in every office event. And after all this, I had to make sure I stayed sane. J

When I was in school, my father once took my mother and me to visit his office. I still remember, most of whom I got introduced to would speak so highly of him. To me it was almost as if he was the stud without whom the entire office would just stop functioning. I beamed with pride. After the whole tour, we got to our car and just as my father was out of the parking he shrugged and said – ‘At your job, everyone is replaceable’. It didn’t make sense to me then but now I understood what that meant - anybody could do what I did with just a few days of training. So what difference would I be able to make? Eventually, I would just be a memory, a name that might come up when months later, the slides I had created would be used. But that wasn’t enough. Perhaps this thought was what drove me to try and contribute further. Maybe the fact still remained – ‘Everyone is replaceable’ but no harm trying!

Any little step that would help unclutter a process, any idea that may perhaps help in more effective work or reducing timelines, any data that would help understand our clients better. The ideas were definitely coming, but putting it to good use is always the challenging part. You need a Boss who was willing to (first) hear your idea and your rationale and then put it to use, atleast on a Trial mode. I was blessed with someone who not only trusted my abilities but also was ready to take a fall in case, some of them didn’t work. Also, my entire team which was exactly what it was – A team in the true sense of the word.

Over the course of my three years I was polished, tempered and filed. I learnt where to channel my energy and where to ignore. I learnt that to be a professional, you not only had to do your job well, but also do it right and with a honest conscience. And this, I will very much carry with me wherever I go.

It is said that your first job always leaves a mark. Mine’s left an entire encyclopedia.

The Birthday Gift

Sanju could not contain his excitement. It was his birthday today and he knew Vivek Uncle would surely give him a gift. That was always the case for the past 8 years. With great fondness, he wiped clean the Harmonica uncle had gifted him last birthday. He ran his small hands over the words etched on the blue steel surface – ‘Wishing the best to my dear Sanju: Love Vivek Uncle’. Playing the Harmonica had always brought a smile on his mother’s face. Quickly he ran to his mom and kissed her cheek.

As soon as she saw Sanju, she hugged her with her dough-smudged hands and kissed him until his face was bright red. He whined playfully and ran to the garden. Today was going to be a busy day and he already had a list of things to do in his mind.  Time passed, and he sat at the porch waiting. Right when he was about to give up he heard the sound of a car turning in the street. He jumped towards the gate and waited with bated breath for his Birthday wish.

‘Happy Birthday Sanju’, uncle said, planting a kiss on his forehead. ‘So don’t you want your Birthday Gift’, he asked? Sanju nodded expectantly with a playful smile. The smile that reminded uncle about his son. With a tear in his eye, uncle opened the back of his car and Lo! Sanju could not believe it. Uncle had bought him a cycle, gleaming red and with a big ribbon and a tag with the words, ‘Wishing the best to my dear Sanju: Love Vivek Uncle’.

He called out to his mom to come see the cycle, who laughed softly seeing her little one dancing around the cycle in excitement. ‘No more walking to school for you’, Uncle had said. Sanju carefully removed the ribbon, placed it on the porch and gave uncle a long hug. And even as his mother was screaming at him to have breakfast and then leave, he sat on the cycle and speeded off. At a distance, he could hear his mother call out to him – ‘Take Care, Sanju’.

---

Neha woke up cursing herself for getting up late. She was new in town and her mom had repeatedly asked her to go meet her uncle who stayed there for the past 30 years and had established himself as one of the best lawyers in town. She resented his questions and his opinions on things ranging from the color of Neha’s hair to what she should eat to remain fit in order to get a smart husband.

After much postponing, she realized she had better make a visit before uncle stormed into her flat and created a scene. She decided she’d be there in time for an early breakfast with her uncle so he would spare her the ‘Importance of Getting Up Early’ speech. To her dismay, she woke up at 10:00. She made a quick call to uncle and told him how she could not get out of the house early since her servant maid showed up after a week and so wanted to get the house clean. She promised him she would meet him for dinner. After a quick round of freshening up, she decided she would go buy something for uncle. After all, Uncle would be pleased that she got him something from her first salary. She decided to drive down so she could explore the town also a little bit and get acquainted with the places.

After a few wrong turns and confusing directions from the local people, Neha realized she was lost. She wanted to reach the bazaar and instead wound up in the middle of a farm lined with mango trees on both sides of the road. Of course, Google Maps didn’t work, thanks to the poor range in the area! She was a little worried but the cool breeze and the shade encouraged her to drive further down the road until she reached a small garage. Who better to guide you than the local garage- walas!

Just as she got down to ask for directions, she saw a small boy seated on a cycle, fidgeting with the handle. A gleaming red cycle. He seemed lost in his own thought. ‘How much does a boy under 10 years of have to worry about!!!’, she thought. Instantly, she felt the need to cheer him up a little. She went up to him and asked his name. ‘Sanju’, he said shyly. Neha found herself instantly attracted to his playful, yet reserved smile. She asked him what he was doing there alone. He simply looked at her and pointed to an old home on the other side of the road. ‘I want to watch a movie, but I don’t have company’, he said dully. The building seemed old and rusty. Neha couldn’t help feeling sorry for the boy. She thought for a while and said, ‘Ok, lets go! But what time’s the show?’ The little boy’s face instantly shone and he was excited. He held her hand and tugged her across the road saying – ‘Any minute now’. Neha laughed at his enthusiasm.

As soon as she reached the building she noticed it was empty. ‘Who would come all the way here to watch a movie!!’ – she wondered. Just as she thought that maybe the show was cancelled since there were no people, she heard the music from the screen. ‘Ok!! So tickets first and hopefully an icecream’ she said, winking at Sanju. He let out a cheerful laugh. They couldn’t find the ticket vendor and Sanju was growing impatient waiting to get a glimpse of the screen. After a full five minute hunt in the ground floor Neha decided she would come pay during the interval or after the movie was over. Afterall, what is the point in missing out the beginning!! She held Sanju’s hand and went in.

From the first scene, Sanju was animatedly cheering, singing the songs, and even saying most of the dialogues. Neha could not get enough of his smile. She sat there, with no interest in the movie but all the while admiring this little boy. She felt an instant connection to him. Something like a special bond that demanded her to care for the little boy. And lost in her thoughts, she fell asleep.

A couple of minutes later, she woke up startled. For a minute, she didn’t know where she was or how much time had elapsed. And then things became clear. She looked up and saw the screen blank. Maybe the movie got over and she hadn’t even realized. Then she looked to her side. Where was Sanju? He did not wake her up and was not even in his seat. Did he just leave her and go? Did he wander off somewhere else? Neha felt responsible for the boy. She sprang for the seat and searched for Sanju in the entire building calling out his name but he was nowhere to be found.

She rushed out of the building, crossed the road and went to the garage. An old man in his fifties was lying on a makeshift cot taking a nap. She nudged him slowly and asked if he saw a small boy coming out of the theatre. The man looked at her, puzzled. ‘A red cycle’ she said. A gleaming red cycle. That’s when it struck the man. He looked at her and gave a subtle smile. A smile that failed to cover the tears forming in his eyes. Neha sensed something was not right. She asked him what was wrong and what she heard seemed impossible.

Sanju had driven to the garage in his cycle on his birthday. He wanted to show baba what uncle had given him. As soon as Baba saw the cycle he was very happy. He wished him a very happy birthday and asked him what he wanted as a gift. Sanju pointed to the theatre. Please Baba. You promised me I could see a movie today. Smiling Baba nodded his head and went inside the garage to make sure everything was locked before he left with his son. And that’s when it happened. It was a white car and the driver, a college boy perhaps, was driving to face to impress his girlfriend. What he hadn’t noticed was a small boy crossing the road to watch a movie on his theatre. It all happened too fast. After that, all Baba could remember was tiny Sanju in his arms soaked in blood. It was eight years and yet the memories seemed so fresh.

Neha listened to all this with shock. She couldn’t believe the man was telling her and yet, looking at him she realized no one could lie about their son. She softly asked him if she could see a picture of his son. ‘Oh I have an entire album that I keep flipping over and over!’, he said with tears rolling in his eyes. Neha reluctantly opened the cover with trembling hands half expecting to see a face she was not familiar with. Yet, he was there. Sanju and his playful smile. The smile that drew her to him. And she couldn’t bear to be there anymore. She contemplated asking Baba if she could have one of his photos for herself. She didn’t need one though, since he was already etched in her memories. She didn’t know what to say. All she could do was tap his shoulder and drive away looking for the bazaar.

What Being Independent Taught Me

I would like to recollect one important lesson that I learnt from a recent incident. I was travelling from my hometown to Chennai. It was a night long journey but my issues had begun as soon as I got to my seat. The guy behind me started whispering something (read 'NONSENSE') in my ear just minutes after I settled down. Thankfully I couldnt hear most of what he said since it was freezing and I had wrapped my head with a shawl. However, the torture continued for a good 15 minutes until I could take it no more. I turned around, to find a 40- something slob of a man, pretending to be asleep. I had 'wake' him up to give a piece of my mind. And I did!!! With satisfaction, until I recounted this event to one of my friends who then asked me, 'So what did the other people in the bus do?' What did my co- travellers do?? They too, like the 'Slob', just pretended to be sleep. No Baazigar's, No Himmatwala's, No Ek Tha Tiger's... Just plain folks who wished I spoke softer so they didnt have to pretend to wake up.

 

So here's my advice to all you lovely folks out there - Be there for yourself and be strong cos there aint a single soul who would give a damn cos its not his mother, sister, friend or daughter!! And to those 'sleeping' - Go ahead cos there's not much else we expect from you!

The strange species called MEN

The species we most often come across in our lives – with all the seen and unseen, shown and unshown shades of character

How they turn from being the omniscient pillar of support to the insecure bugger. That too, in no time!!!

Confronted with the main question of whether to stay happy or feed their ego… And unfortunately, most of them, choose Ego…

The focus shifts from long- term direction to short- term bouts of a farce sense of achievement, knowing only too well that battles may be lost but it is the War that matters.

The War matters.. Life matters..  And so does the way of enjoying each moment that makes it what it is.

‘The most evolved species!!!’ Doesn’t the definition of evolution have a component of Maturity as well?

And if it did, then Man has most definitely not evolved.

Atleast, most of them havn’t. Thankfully, my man has. :)