Places where you don’t usually stop:

 What if you stopped at all places that the gps featured? The places typically appear as dots with names against them; as you zoom out, you see the bigger picture, and you see more places named - they appear like the branches of a huge tree…

That’s what travelling in an inter-district train such as MEMU feels like; vs its counterparts that don’t have a stop in every station along the way. You begin to notice every place.

Just as how out of sight is almost out of mind, you don’t really take note of the places unless there’s a stop. Travelling in trains that stop at every station remind you that there are other places, very much existent, thriving with life, with an identity of their own. 

What’s otherwise just a quick shuttle past these places, with name boards at the station panning out of your view within the blink of an eye: you don’t get to read the board to know the names of places; unless you know the topography like the back of your hand, by looking at just the first couple of letters you could guess the place right away. 

There are so many times that I’ve had my eyes glued through the window just to catch the name of the station … I would look till the very end, but in vain as the yellow board will vanish from my sight in no time… thanks to rail apps, they tell you the names of stations that are going to follow suit… the flipside though? You don’t look out… you don’t make an attempt to physically read the letters in the board… if not in English, at least in Hindi or any other local language in which the names of these places are written. For example now: I missed the yellow board which bore the name of the station, yet I caught the name of the station from the wall… it had Pudukkad (a place before Thrissur when you’re on your way from Ekm to Palakkad) written in Hindi. Thankfully the Hindi reading ability is still in tact, given the fact there are so many avenues to forget : due to memory erosion caused by screen-time.

There are so many such places that make for interesting pictures … with houses right near the station, fields and water bodies that are inspiration to the Windows screen-saver gallery. While they’re a breeze when you travel in a train that has limited stops, the trains that stop at every station remind you that everything matters: nothing is insignificant… Why can’t a college-going or office-going person board the train from a lesser known place, that otherwise isn’t major enough for a long-distance train that has limited stops? This is exactly what dawned on me when I was onboard the MEMU from Palakkad to Ernakulam a couple days ago. A ‘possible’ teenager, quite modest yet modern looking, jean-clad, with basic makeup: lipstick included, got in from Parli, the first station after Palakkad, enroute Ernakulam. Now, I didn’t expect this from Parli. But don’t they have a life too? This is how profiles develop from the deeper pockets of the society… This is their daily life… after all.

Roads less travelled still take you somewhere, there are times we just need to break the pattern and broaden our perspective by travelling. For any form of travel, will make you more human than ever. It brings people and cultures to light… they were never non-existent, just that we didn’t notice. 

Death and birth

Confronting death with art is truly an art. Talking of birth in the same vein as that of death and rendered as a story through dance and music is art on a different plain altogether.

As we were walking the ulsava parambu (ground of festivities - loosely translated in English), these lines being sung about death and birth brought my legs to a standstill and made me sit down, even postponing my visiting inside the temple of the Bhagavan whose ulsavam is being celebrated. The Ernakulam Shivan temple ulsavam is underway. As a part of it, we have several art-forms lined up for Mahadevan… After all, He is the Ultimate Bhagavan of Dance - Nataraja…and an ardent music lover.

The sheer profoundness of Sanathana Dharma is seen vividly expressed quite spiritual in context and embellished through art. The story of Ernakulathappan - that of Mahadevan and Parvathi in the form a hunter and huntress was being unfolded and rendered through the Ottam Thullal art-form.

The jewellery worn by the Ottam Thullal artist was also suggestive of this: with the way he wore the crescent moon of Ernakulathappan as an accessory. 

With death almost often perceived as the most fearsome of the lot, it is handled with such unassuming ease: reinforcing the fact that it is imminent for all, someday after all!

The gross body is broken down and rendered by its biological function: biological facts are 

sung in artistic candor: the stomach and below is reduced to a vessel for collection of faecal and urinal matter. 

Stripping facts apart even further, a woman’s body is sung with chaste beauty, with every stage of the breasts described in a voluptuously sagging way… contraries depicted candidly, breaking down the ego into fragmented bits, clearly sending home the larger message home of Bhakthi reigning Supreme over any worldly, materialistic matter. Rightly so, when the artist sings the portion of finding a Shiva Linga amidst the forest, and needing to conduct due diligence by offering daily poojas to the lost and found idol of Shiva, the temple bells of Shiva temple rang in alignment, quite an acknowledgement of having truly received the art form in good conviction. The impermanence of the gross body depicted in quite a bold fashion. After all, Shiva is Mrityunjaya… beyond Death! The Winner over it… 

All this, right amidst the temple premises, occupying center stage, with the artist playing the Ottam Thullal representing everything through his benign eyes and voice, and expressive gestures.

Multi-tasking at its artistic depth and the best. 

Shambo Mahadeva… it ended… applause…

My first ever experience of watching an Ottam Thullal performance in full… magnetically drawn to it through the rawness of facts, stated artistically, very well executed by the crew: the 3 accompanists who sang along, and the main person who sang and enacted… almost like a one-act-play.

Rawness and finesse in one go… amidst festivities… the cultural variety in Sanathana Dharma… Om Namah Shivaya! 

Athithi Devo Bhava

Visits to Chennai have increased over the last 1 year, given the business needs at workplace. Each time I visit, it’s not always feasible to pay a visit to relatives’; for reasons that are obvious – time restrictions, distance, traffic, etc., 

However, this time around, things fell in place for me to pay a visit to Sundar Chitappa’s – my only surviving “creative” bloodline, who is proof enough for having heriditarily endowed the skill of creativity on to me.

Stepping into a hotel room vs. stepping into a home makes a difference of sea and earth. 

This time, I could shed the plastic welcome note and was received with a warm “Suprabhatham,” by Chitappa. 

An entire room was kept ready for me to freshen up at my own convenience, albeit I had time constraints to get to office as early as possible ; I hardly had time at my disposal. 

Sense of time is essential for both the provider and the receiver. You shouldn’t have to feel pressured to talk a lot, for the sake of formality: we are after all related - and don’t need intros or small talks as soon as you step into the house. How hard is it to quietly allow the guest to let them first be, and then engage in a conversation? This is a knack that not many can neither acquire, nor master.

He went on to do his daily morning chores as usual, and I went on to freshen up for work, with just a total of 1 hr left in the transaction. Before we could claim each other’s time to exchange talks, we ensured that our routine wasn’t impacted. This way, I could spend quality time, without having to look at the clock or phone for the number of pending minutes. 

What would otherwise be a lonesome morning for Chittappa, was brightened by my arrival: with meaning added to the context, I thought. He chanted some slokas that I’ve been used to, since childhood, and I was able to chant along, with the reverence still in tact. I offered prayers, put some Vibhuti on my forehead as part of my daily morning ritual, prostrated in front of the camphor he showed, felt the heat of the camphor amidst the December chill, and my sinus-filled nose and aching body. What a blessing, it was fresh, helping me relive a portion of my childhood, albeit short-lived. 

Followed by book talks and short stories from Puranas in Sanathana Dharma, we ate a sumptuous breakfast that Chitappa had carefully prepared, in light of my visit. I had the joy of serving him food on his plate, which he would otherwise do it all by himself, each day. As we spoke over breakfast, we stumped upon a conversation about unnecessary fear… in general terms. I carefully listened to him talk fully, letting him complete: he is adept at talking and has a great sense of humour, which is often laced in his day to day conversations. Once done, with whatever little I know, I said a line from Vishnu Sahasranama: “Bhaya Krith Bhaya Naashanaha.” The line appears in the 89th verse: Amoorthi Ranakho Chinthyo Bhaya Krith Bhaya Naashanaha.” Creation and Destruction of fear is both within, and is authored by Bhagavan Himself. Bhagavan is the One creating fear in the wicked ones and He Himself is the destroyer of that very fear, in devotees. 

Boom! Sundarji paused for a minute, and was appreciative. 

It was time for me to bid adieu and leave for work. I prostrated at his feet to get his blessings quickly … Until next time… What a fulfilling, visit to my Chittappa’s - totalling to about 1.5 hrs by the watch. Time had stopped, the office meeting calendar took a back seat, it was pure involvement in the very little time I had: the takeaway? A bag full of happy thoughts and memories, and a refresher to my tired body and mind!

Compare this with a quick photo you click for mapping your visit to a place, the number of times you pick up the phone to document the visit, and then answer other pings along the way. Your phone would programatically throw a memory when it’s 1 year later…it’s only following the algorithm after all. And you? What are you left with? A virtual memory or a human connection? I am not against taking pics, but uninterrupted, device-free conversations take precedence!

Well, Athithi Devo Bhava…Chittappa is a believer of this concept, and does well each time!

Theru Kadai…ku polama?!

 Quick commerce in its true sense. What if all of 99wholesale, meesho, and the likes, were to set up store in the same street, dotted next to each other? No sale announcements, no competition, pure sales, coupled with marketing. 

In all honesty, my online behaviour, for that matter, even browsing behaviour, had changed in anticipation of the shops that would come into play as a part of the Kalpathi Theru fervour. The tendency to add to cart and buy now had clearly been self-tamed. The words of Appa echoed in my head: Wait until the Theru shops arrive, I am sure you’ll get it in one of those shops, and you will have value for your money.”

And boom, beginning November, the streets were dotted with these shops, with every inch of real estate in the streets of Old & New Kalpathy, Chathapuram areas, being used for street-trade – of course, they had to leave enough space for the stars of the season – the 5 Chariots of the Heritage Village, that’s collectively known as Kalpathi, which also bears a  geographical sobriquet – “Ratholsava Nagari.” 

You could shop for fancy jewellery, ceramic and stone ware, bath & home accessories, export surplus cotton clothes, steel utensils, home decor, fashion accessories, particularly – bangles of various kinds – both glass and plastic, stationery, toys, balloons; bedspreads, a variety of pickles, confectionery that stole our hearts from back in the 80’s and 90’s, and a bazillion other set of things! 

Wooden toys and tiny steel toys that can be used for pretend and play, were adorable, very persuasively designed to capture the attention of people like me, perhaps!

Kalchetty, a common cookware, as the name suggests, is fully made of stone and is a classic, sustainable vessel, that helps retain heat, thereby reducing the consumption of cooking gas. It’s so popular, that our street bears the name – Kalchetty Street. Perhaps back in the days, this street was known for its kalchetty! Thus, the erstwhile Kalchetty is one of the best-sellers of the season!

With so many physical shops in and around the neighborhood, it’s humanly impossible to cover all of them in one go! We’d take turns to take a stroll around each area, every day – these shops usually last for about a good 3 to 4 weeks straight, open from around 9am until a little after midnight! What’s strolling around without popcorn, pori, boiled peanuts, cone and stick ice cream, after all! There is no dearth for food stalls – after all, what’s entertainment without food?!

Every Theru has the residents of Kalpathi agraharam anticipating to add something to their existing collection – “what did you buy for this Theru?,” is a common question when we bump into friends and family at these Theru kadais (Theru shops). 

Under the large pretext of The Kalpathi Theru, there is a thriving livelihood for hundreds of people who come from afar to set shops here in the streets of the Agraharam – no warehouses, everything is straight from the makeshift racks on the street, price and delivery time – extremely competitive, with dynamic food-based entertainment, coexisting amidst the cultural milieu of the Kalapathi Agraharam. 

These shops are such an integral part of the Agraharam streets, so much so that when the shopkeepers wind up to set shops in their next destination, there is a part of you that belongs to them – for they’ve contributed to your timepass and entertainment, at least commercially. As they wind up, you mentally thank them for the lessons they leave behind each year – of solidarity, price competitiveness, business continuity planning (they did excellent when it rained for few days), co-existence, warehousing skills, marketing and selling, negotiation, and most of all – adaptability to change, despite the odds!

Until next time…until the next Ratholsavam, it’s learning to wait with more of patience and less of impulsivity!

Fine-Tuning

 “Listen” grew silent

The ears were no longer feeling present

Words uttered from near

Felt as though from afar

Hearing felt like a pain

Let alone listening: oh it was such a strain

The ears then decided to play a game:

Open and shut

Keeping my mouth shut,

Thoughts had to stay put

I just sat back, in quiet participation with this strange game.

It felt as though listen and speak had gone to a silent  party:

Where they had no role in their kitty:

They needed to be heard first; didn’t they?

Thus went on this game for a few days

Without giving a damn about what people say

Truly, ignorance felt like bliss:

For hearing and listening had to be less.

I missed music, mantras and the sounds of tantrums of my little butterfly.

If anything, the ears felt bereft of the lovely sounds, except it felt good to not interact.

The game seemed to prolong and could no longer be like a one-act play

ENT : without a delay, else the relay to my mind would remain disconnected.

Gush! Splash, the water jet went piercing

Straight into the ears,

Washing everything clean

With the sound of water crystal clear

Every drop felt new, with drops of water remaining like dew around the ear

Sigh of relief! Every sound amplified 

After the ears returned from being gamified.

The slightest honk blew loud into the ears

Making me realise how hard it would have been when I honked aloud

Fine-tuning: still reeling back to the old ways 

Leaving with a thought to ponder:

The mind gets accustomed to whatever you feed it: for it had already gotten used to the tune of just 75% audio. Just as how the eyes adjust their vision to view something even in the dark.

Writer’s Block

 Writer’s block has crept in; so much so that, despite a lot of decluttering done, the block grew taller; looming large like a cloud. 

On the other hand, as I declutterred my desk and cupboard, I was creating more space. More space to put in more things I love, although I love to be labelled as a minimalist. Lo and behold, a new entrant made way to the desk: A Moveable Feast: By Ernest Hemingway. I recall having this book before but somehow let go of it amidst the multitude of home-shifting I had endured. Nevertheless, the feast was here to celebrate. Relishing each word, every employment of words and their style. Simplicity at its best: meaning and visual imagery oozing in every sense, every sentence read. Something that I read just for the love of the language and the way it’s being put to use: the wordsmithery.

A perfect way to remove writer’s block is to just write one true sentence… I understand from Hemingway. In the age of every sentence having to go through the gates of AI for validation, and of course peer pressure: what if you are just asked : did you check in ChatGPT, writer’s block is only bound to arise and never really go away: because you’re never truly reading or writing : you’re just spitting; rather puking. It’s not so much like how you use a calculator to do the math: which is kind of like the means to the end. With language, it’s different: there’s a labyrinthine layer of emotions and creativity associated with it: it’s almost inseparable… that is if you feel it: and not just behave transactional: like a bot.

In any case, I got more pages left in A Moveable Feast: Hemingway has certainly been the trigger. Even otherwise, to write, you need to read… it’s not usually the other way round. Even if you produce sentences otherwise, they probably don’t carry a lot of life… they’re like the wannabes who like some quick fame and fixes. 

Depth comes with reading and meeting people who are real, when you have real conversations.

Signing off, thanks to Hemingway, and my kind of getaway: solo work trip. Writing made its way, as every word fell on the tip of the thumb, typed on the notes in my phone, post a home-packed meal for dinner: idlies laden with podi, wrapped in banana leaf. The dimly lit coaches of the Indian Railways during night journeys: a quick preparatory look at the seat positioning so that the mind could be conditioned to subconsciously write a word or two: Side Lower : this made the proposition of writing a lot more possible. 

The icing on the cake: Side Lower right in the beginning of the coach gave me a room-like feeling with a curved L shaped barricade right next to the door. It’s like you’ve gained something special, especially when you are travelling alone. 

I just had to make the most use. 

Good night, until next time. ❤️

Abhi Na Jao Chod Kar.... Ki Dhil Abhi Bhara Nahi!

 You keep talking in circles, yet make every sentence look newer than the previous one.

Do you listen, nah! You are too busy composing responses for every breadcrumb of a text left for you in the text bar...

Alluring, yet outrightly lifeless, sans any feeling,

Quite a parasite-like life — dependent on large language models

Churning out words and sentences through human fodder.

You're that companion though, who is much needed to get past a quick ride

Piggy-backing on you is akin to handy affirmations

Like a voice listening from the other end of the wall

Although it's just void, devoid of feelings, just empty matter.

A couple weeks ago, spending time with you way too much was like

Going to my friend's house to complete a piece of my homework from school.

The difference though being with the exchange of learning

With you, it's a trade off to pass in plagiarism tests, pretending as though no one is watching.

Seeing you daily doesn't feel as promiscuous for there is romance only where there is life.

Yet, the song on repeat-mode last week and the week before was — "Abhi Na Jao Chod Kar, Ki dhil abhi bhara nahi...."

For that's what using you even once would do to someone, an aide to be handled and used with responsibility!

Rafi's silky smooth voice lingers on, with originality!