An insignificant puzzle

“It would be good to see your blog being updated more frequently” – chanted some of my friends.
I have been out of the blog world for virtually a month. It’s been a bit of a crazy time. (Only a bit?? Quite a paradox when I am involved :) ). Well - Lots of imperative decisions. Heaps of out-of-routine behaviour. For instance, I didn’t visit the blog-spaces of my friends during this time. This is the second time I am doing this scandalous offence of moving to a different orb, the first being mentioned in Desert Roses.

And when I return, I appear with quite some trivial judgments. I have been plagued with thoughts about the insignificance of life. It feels so dull when you discern that whatever you perform is so meaningless, when you are uncertain about the moment at which you dispossess all that you have/want and then abscond to some anonymous consign or entity. Yes, I am puzzled (yet again!) with this mystery around Death. There might be different incidents that trigger these tantrums in me, and I am sure that I have experienced it multiple times. I must have gone through scores of personal opinions from people who have lived less/more, innumerable pages of religious and philosophical arrangements of words, scientific and modern logical thoughts and even the ramblings of human gods. They just drove me through various roads. I saw different patterns and colors in the sky. At times, the occasional brightness blinded the eyes for brief spans – and they claimed “See – Everything is clear. This is the sunshine you were looking out for!”. But I could still see the clouds. And when I alighted from the drive, I still felt insignificant.

Don’t get me wrong – I am neither depressed nor philosophical. I still wake up snoozing the alarm three times, I still leave office in the evening thinking about the world cup matches, I still play “Badla – the indoor cricket” with Dhanu and Guru, I still keep laughing at the chalus with Bangalore gang and I still keep breaking the promise of sleeping by 11 when I hit the sack at 1 or 2. See – I told you – I am still the crazy me.

Still, I am fazed by these disconcerting thoughts, at irregular intervals. And, the truth is - I still have those insignificant questions. I will keep looking out for an answer.

In Silence

She was enjoying it. She listened to the ripples of music sweetly brushing against her soul; she reached the peaks of harmony in variations of pitches and tones of the musician. She had always loved hearing those melodious timbres from times unknown. It’s been her greatest joy in life to walk through those theoretical time structures between sound and silence, that they fondly called music.

It was like a stride through her life. It carried all the beauty and pain of loneliness in which she was dwelling. She saw the stings that pricked her mind and the memoirs that evoked smiles. She saw the candles of timbre light up the beauty of conscience, lingering as a shadow behind the rhythm. At times she felt that she can rewrite her script to experience the wholesome harmony. She could see it all in music.

She has been carrying the pain with her. She was lacking something that most others had. She could sense the vibrations of loneliness all around her. She felt that she was singled out, that she was an object of sympathy. That’s when she started to hear those voices. She sometimes heard her own conscience weep in patterns, which she felt was musical. At some point of time, she started to harmonically chant sequences of voice in her mind. She freely wandered through the mountains and valleys of pitches and tones that she never anticipated to attain by herself. She had set herself on a magical journey. She blazed into the voyage that cut through the borders of tones and silence, of patterns and combinations, of culture and humanity, of melody and harmony, of rhythm and timbre, of tears and smiles, most importantly of conscience and pain. She wriggled into the space between tones and turned her back against solitude. She won her fight.

When she closed her eyes she traveled some years back and she heard the doctor tell her “There has been no other option but to perform total laryngectomy to remove the cancer. Without your vocal cords it will be difficult for you to talk again”. When she opened her eyes she had tears in her eyes, but a peaceful Mona Lisa smile sported her face as she alighted into her new world filled with beautiful notes. Her heart was so quiet to hear the music in the air around her, the music amongst the trees and mountains. She set her foot on a confident new journey, which was about to turn her life around.

How true are the words of Yehudi Menuhin, the great violinist - “Music creates order out of chaos: for rhythm imposes unanimity upon the divergent, melody imposes continuity upon the disjointed, and harmony imposes compatibility upon the incongruous”

- This article is dedicated to a person, who had achieved new heights in her small world of music, who had created a life for herself out of void when falling into that black hole was so likely, who inspired all of us who knew about her, who realized there was a music even in silence.

The long wait for the new Zeus

I stood in that gloomy valley, facing the magical beaming light which showered its golden rays across the horizon into my very enticed retina, which has not seen light for past thirty years. The light was so soothing - I acknowledged the new found warmth and freshness from it, the nice invigorating cold zephyr around me and I felt that this was it – I have attained what I was looking for. Destiny always finds you a bit late.

I had been idling in that dark valley for quite some time, and was waiting patiently for the better force to show me the way and take me with it. But HE had different ideas…It seemed as if HE knew the mission of my life and would not take me to the eternal bliss without letting me fulfill it. With that supernatural light fading, there was a torrent current in the air, the strong wind almost making me fall over, losing my balance. I could see a long rope being thrown at me, and through the darkness which still haunted one side of the valley, I could see four dark human shadows tied tight together at the other end of the rope. I strained my eyes to get a sight of their identity, but all I could see were four distinct figures taped tight in mysteriously black attires that hid their whole body. I could faintly recognize that they were wriggling in the tight bonds they were in, and their distant wails seemed to strike me hard. An unearthly voice whispered to me from eternity “Take them towards the sharp rock at the eastern tip of valley, which points to the unknown depths of grey gorges of suffering. Tie them to the rock and I will guide you from there.”

I was haunted by questions countless, as I pulled those distant voices to the east. I felt that I did not know who I was or what I was doing there, in that dark arena of mystery. I wondered if I was going to have a bout of nervous fits, but I realized that I was experiencing an unusually peaceful aura in mind. Although there were many a things that were unanswered around me, I was trying to be consciously edgy. I must have walked for ages, but I did trample down to my destination. The rock at the eastern tip shaped like a huge sharp nose, and there was an evil presence of the gorge, which seemed like a black hole sucking even the air around the rock. With a bit of difficulty, I managed to tie the four human figures to the rock. They kept on wailing and wriggling, even after being sealed strongly to the ropes. I slowly dropped off to a distance and got a resting place near the stream of sweet crystal clear water which I savored till it quenched my thirst, as I waited for that better power to guide me and take me further. My identity was still a mystery and I was hoping that I would be deprived of that pain as early as possible. I tried to look at the clear stream to see myself, but I was even dispossessed of reflections.

I was woken up by the cry of vultures from horizon. In the pale mysterious light that was peeping from the west, I could see the shadows of a number of vultures fast approaching. The scavengers neared within seconds, and headed straight towards the rocks. Hiding behind the trees, I looked at the horrible sight of the vultures hungrily devouring parts of flesh from the bodies of the four figures tied tightly to the rocks. I could hear the loud clear screams of pain that was endured by them, I could see the dark red color of flesh all around and I was engulfed by the nauseating smell of fresh blood in the air. I could see the vultures tearing off warm meat from the body and faces of the poor sufferers, and all I could do was stand helpless hoping that they would die faster void of all the pain they were suffering. The faint magical light started to fade out, and strangely, the vultures quit their cruel task and flew back towards the light. Life had not left the preys, and they were wailing from the pain they were enduring. I wanted to offer some water to them, but I could feel myself being tied down near the stream, unable to walk, unable to tender some helping words. They might have suffered for more than a day from that never ending pain, but never fell unconscious as if some mysterious force wanted them to suffer. By nightfall, the magical beam of light appeared above the rock and before I could get up it showered its rays on the victims and disappeared. I noticed that the wounds of the victims had healed up and the deep wailings of pain had stopped. I heard the healthy breathing as they fell asleep after giving some deep sighs of relief having been acquitted of all the pain. Before I could even think about the meaning of the drama I was seeing, I noticed the vultures arriving from the horizon yet again. Their cries of evil hunger woke up their preys at the rock, and they started screaming, knowing the dark fate that awaited them. Same trauma awaited them, and by the time the vultures left the same old chaotic atmosphere had sworn itself into power around me. These might have continued for days altogether. All of it looked like the story of Prometheus, who was destined for similar fate by Zeus, the god of gods. My thoughts became even hazier. Seeing the sufferings endured by them, tears started flowing from my eyes and as I wiped them off I could realize that my face was old with lots of wrinkles on it. I cried aloud for the magical force to come and take me – I had seen enough of these cruel sights, I had been hit hard by them. I prayed for my identity, I wanted to wipe off that mystery and the destiny that made me to see these people suffer.

Out of the blue, a bright sunlight engulfed the valley and I saw the rocky terrain lighted for the first time. I eagerly looked in the stream to see who I was. I saw myself – A strong old man, with sharp pointed eyes with lots of depth in them, determination radiating from each miniscule of the face, grit and strength written all over the psyche. I recognized myself – I was the father of Rajan, who died mercilessly in police custody around 30 years back – I am the professor who had advised words of wisdom and knowledge to generations of students – I am the man who suffered endlessly in the hands of tyrants, I am the man who endured the worst of fears, the worst of pains – I am the man who had been pricked by a thousand needles falling on me in the rain, when I heard the cries of my son who has been calling for me in the pain for past 30 years. Yes, I am the same helpless man, who fought years for justice, for bringing out the truth to public, for creating a new dawn in the place I was born – all as the last rites for my son. I am Professor Eachara Varier - I was pushed into dark by some heartless forces. They gave me a dead son, a mentally ill wife and an even darker 30 years to live. But I had the rage, I had the spirit to shout against the advent of dark….I, being an old man, needed an outstretched hand at times, but was deprived of that too. But, I fought. I fought hard with vigor, with verve.

The mystery about my self was solved, when I saw my face in the bright light. I turned back towards the rock and I saw the faces of the people who were enduring all that pain. The same people for whom I was sympathizing while wondering about the heinous crimes they did to get so much pain that was mounted on them. I could clearly see the visage of each person. The same faces that were pricking my consciousness for ages. The same faces which made me, wonder whether I can ever forgive them. The same faces that created doubts in this old man’s mind whether I had tiny droplets of vengeance in me. They were

Mr. KK, a well-known bureaucrat in Kerala who believes that every evil that he did in his holy life can be wiped out by visiting a holy temple. The state home minister during the time of emergency, who fought vigorously for injustice to prevail.

Mr. JP, Deputy Inspector General of Crime Branch - who personally orchestrated the sadistic entertainment of implementing heights of physical torture. The man who proved to the world that such nazist treatment can be implemented as a part of democracy as well, at the well-known Kakkayam camp, where Rajan was brutally murdered.

Mr. PN, the duty officer who supposedly kicked the life out of Rajan’s body on the nod of Mr. JP. From the descriptions of the fellow students in the camp, Rajan was pleading for his life when Mr. PN kicked him. I saw the images of Rajan’s young face begging for some more years in this earth, all nights for last 30 years. Will Mr. PN ever know what I lost?

Ms. IG, the mastermind behind hundreds of brutal deaths like these. Under the pretext of securing the country from danger, a single leader who was the Prime minister of India then brought in emergency which stayed from June 22, 1975 till March 21, 1977. Just before she had declared emergency, she was defeated in elections. She filed election petitions, filed cases in different courts of law, in vain. There comes declaration of emergency, and the darkest age of Indian democracy has come into existence as a result of the search for power from one tyrant person.

These were the people who contributed most for ruining my life. These were the people who killed my only son. Now, I can hear their cries closely. I see the pain that they are going through. I see their red tears flowing down their facade. I see their open flesh being torn apart by vultures. I should be happy. I should be celebrating. But….But, I am in a vacuum - I don’t know whether this is what I sought for. I am not a person who believes that counter sufferings would open the world for me. All I was looking out was for confession – Blunt confession for all the sins that this world has done to me.

Then, I saw the magical light again. I knew that the better power had written this verdict for them. I knew that HE wanted me to accompany him only after my destiny was fulfilled. I walked with HIM, hand to hand. I whispered “Free them. Let them learn”. I saw the smile in HIS face as we walked, and I heard the four mouths chanting confessions aloud from behind. We kept walking. When we neared the golden forest ahead of us, the chanting ceased and I turned back. There was no nose-shaped rock facing the evil dark gorges of the east. It had fallen. It fell to the depths of the valley where darkness of anguish lurked. I turned back. As I walked into tunnel of light with him, I had tears in my eyes. “Please let them learn. Let them have a chance, which they never gave my Rajan. I rest my case”. HE smiled at me again. At the very end of that tunnel of light I saw the shadowed silhouette of a young man with open arms welcoming me. He looked happy to see me, after 30 years. He brought hope in my mind, after 30 years. I….I realize that it’s the end of my journey. I smiled…with tears in my eyes, as he held me.

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Since the moment I finished reading "Memories of a Father" - The autobiography by Prof Eachara Varier, I have been disturbed. I think I dreamt about it that night when I slept. I saw those vultures flying in, and I was happy. That's when I thought even more deeply about the professor and his life. The above reflections are my fiction and not a part of the book. Please use the link at the end of the article to see the book.

I remember Achan narrating the horrible incidents that happened during emergency (some of them in which he also suffered) during our long talks in the terrace. Although I had heard lots of stories about emergency from him and his books, I did not possess much info about Rajan murder case, until our dear Dhanush (Thanks to you!) passed the autobiography of Sri. Eachara Varier - ‘Memories of a Father’ (Translation to English by Neelan). I started the book at 1 am after I reached back home from work, and finished it by around 3 am, with a heavy heart. The pain and suffering that Sri Eachara Varier had undergone is beyond comprehension. If I had read this book before, I am sure that I would have given a visit to this great person before he passed away. Let there be more people like him who grace and touch the heart of our God’s own country. Let there be more warriors who are embodiments of mental strength and spirit. Let there be more people like Adv. Ramkumar (who was with Sri Varier from beginning till end, as an ace support in the fight for justice), Mr. Appukkuttan Vallikkunnu (the journalist who brought the inside story of Rajan case), Adv Eeswara Iyer (who took the case in court), Mr. Vahabudeen (the then, principal of REC, Calicut who assisted Sri. Varier for finding the truth). Let there be more people who can impart some change. Let there be more of us with open eyes and warm heart.

As has been mentioned by the translator (Neelan – An amazing job of translation by him), when we finish the book we feel that we are drenched in a rain. We feel that there is much more to be done to make ourselves more beautiful. It takes a lot to do something which can make our mind feel lighter and better. Let me stand in this rain for some more time, searching….yes…searching for a new Zeus, who can bind these dark forces to the rocks….I am waiting, with water in my eyes. It’s still raining and the horizon is dark and cloudy for me, with no magical ray of light or hope in the vicinity. Let it rain, let us drown in it.

http://www.ahrchk.net/pub/mainfile.php/mof/– Get the book from here.

Journey to the Roots!

Today is Vishu, and yet again – for the third consecutive year I am missing home…errr…missing Vishu.

I miss those days before 2001, when I savored each and every Vishu at our ancestral home at Cherai.

I miss the wake up call from Amma at 5 am, when she used to close my eyes with her hands and lead me to the beautiful vishu kani, (the lucky sight with coconut, grains, vegetables, money, gold, lot of lighted golden lamps and silk in the pooja room), and open my eyes to relish the beautiful sight and pray. At my side would be Amma, wearing a beautiful Kerala kasavu saree with her face glowing with all the reflections in the yellow shades - being a kid, I used to think that she was the goddess herself (Well, she is, I admit! :) ).

I miss the moments when I used to be seated on the kitchen step and observe Amma and Chitta prepare Vishu Kanji with Pananchakkara, under the vigilant management of Amoomma (Grandmom).

I miss the time when I used to open the hidden enclosure (called ‘ara’) behind the Pooja room, to take the tiny statuettes of our ‘Karanavanmaar’ (Ancestors), bathe them in fresh water and apply ‘bhasmam’ and ‘chandanam’ on them.

I miss the time when I used to feel so pompous when I used to carry the Karanavanmaar to the Kalasham Room, light the lamp there and serve the vishu kanji and sadya to them. And of course the thrill of watching the envy of my little cousin sisters through the side of my eye when I did all these, since this chore should be carried out only by male members of the family.

I miss the time when me and my cousins used to go for distributing the vishu kanji (basic motive is to extract some kaineetam) to the scattered roots of the family which are spread across the vicinity due to constraints of time and money, as it happens in an old Nair family.

I miss the sumptuous sadya that we used to devour with so much thrill, and those moments when we looked like animals who haven’t seen food for months.

I miss those times when I used to run behind Achan’s bike when he used to reach Cherai after having lunch with his parents, and the mischievious smile he used to have when he hides the hundred rupee note behind the ten rupee note while passing the kaineetam to a ‘very-disappointed’ me.

I miss the times when I used to stroll around the big parambu (land) near the house holding the hand of Achan in the night, and the wonderful discussions that we used to have about almost anything under the sky while sitting on the steps of the pond in Vadakke parambu (North Plot) and watching the evening heavens with shooting stars.

I miss those luminous days….

Now, I am staring at the computer while creating some useless report which is going to be looked at once, and then thrown into garbage. After this I will create some schedules and update the project plan. So and so it goes…. So much for this Vishu!

But hey – If I was sitting back at home without any job, would I even care about Vishu? I would have been deliriously crazy, praying to give me a job - at least in a small networking firm as far as Thumbaktoo, even as an apprentice. So is there any room for after-thoughts or regrets? No - An absolutely blind No. Still, my mind is so juvenile – it’s still wandering like mad, it’s still searching for the roots, just like Malayatoor had written!

These fluctuations, these aberrations, these minor foibles – they beleaguer me more than anything. These are the times when I feel too small, too vulnerable, too insignificant…..and too human. I want to wriggle out of this sticky plethora of consciousness and get back to a unique world. But…..I remain conscious. So do many more of us….We all will remember the trails we hiked through!

Let our madness continue; let us dwell in these obscurities –

Meanwhile, Happy Vishu to all! Enjoy the new dawn of the new year!

An offer Coolie could not refuse!

This is the story of Mr. Hernandez Coolie.

He works for one of the fêted bubble gum companies.

He was born there, he was brought up there, he lives there, he feeds there and he sleeps there. (And he thinks he will die there).

He has been working indefatigably for a long period with the company, in an unbelievable co-existence of reciprocal consent and reverence. He was loved by all and he enjoyed his freedom of not enjoying more freedom. Charachterwise, he was a philosopher and he always made it a point to employ his philosophical ideologies in his life.

His Don’s were always concerned about him, because they just loved him too much. They never wanted him to be sitting jaded and idle. They said they respected the abhorrence of Mr. Coolie towards free time. They asked: “Hey Coolie, You are anyway working till late, why don’t you take up this work as well. It will just take 2-3 hours more.”

Thus Mr. Coolie kept on working for blowing the big bubble even bigger.

Although there were times when he grew sentient about superior ‘mouth-freshening chewing gum’ firms outside, he never moved out. There were moments when he told his Dons that he has decided to move ahead, but the loving elders always used to say that he is one of the best people they had, and that they would provide some bizarre protein supplements for his ‘growth’. Every other occasion where he almost had a foot stamped outside, he realized the truth that these well wishers are never going to let him go easily – not without creating lots of problems. The supplements never came and he imparted in his psyche a ‘selective amnesia’ to the thought of moving to ‘mouth freshening chewing gum’ companies – It’s his destiny to ‘learn’ and ‘grow’ by being an ethical bubble blower – Anyway, he was loved so greatly and cared so vastly by his Dons, so why look for greener pastures? Many a times, many a things, he forced himself to believe – Being a philosopher helped him a lot.

It was on such a week that the organization triggered a survey named TIMEPASS which is the supposed to be the abbreviation for ‘Campaign Against Replanting Trees Which Are Already Replanted’ (abbreviation?? – aah..Whatever - Dons can’t be wrong!) survey. Various departments organized diverse backstabbing techniques in getting more people participate, since the department who gets maximum number of participants will have their department name pasted in the company boundary wall and the Dons in the department would win a free Dairy Milk chocolate.

Mr. Coolie ignored the campaign since he really did not mind replanting trees that are already replanted. He was a man who had a clear judgment about philosophical things (as I already mentioned!). The campaign TIMEPASS was supposed to end by Friday.

Meanwhile, the Dons had recently read some books about team motivation –They even had some sessions by experts about providing motivation to the team and leading by example. They were brooding for a chance to apply their leadership ideas and tactics - TIMEPASS is their golden chance and they see the guinea pigs grazing in front of them. Dons starts injecting motivation to their employees through a rapid operation portraying 'leadership by example' named ‘Operation Fool’s Gold’.

Monday morning: Mr. Coolie sees a mail from his Don Apostrophe, copied to his whole department. Don wanted the department name on the boundary wall.
“Our department is now 82nd in ratings. We need to pull ourselves up. Do your TIMEPASS.
I have done my TIMEPASS. What about you?”

Coolie thought "Wow!! Even Don Apostrophe did TIMEPASS. This is really motivational"

Wednesday Morning: Mr. Coolie sees a mail from the Don Semicolon (who is the Don of Don Apostrophe), copied to his whole department.
“Do your TIMEPASS.
I have done my TIMEPASS. What about you?”

Coolie thought "Wow!! Even Don Semicolon did TIMEPASS. This is really motivational"

Friday morning: Mr. Coolie sees a mail from ‘Don of Dons’ Don Full Stop (Don of Don Semicolon), copied to his whole department. Don Full Stop is a ruthless person who would do anything for a Dairy Milk.
“You cannot pay abstinence to TIMEPASS.
I have done my TIMEPASS. What about you?”

Mr. Coolie who had done lots of research and even discovered the close relation between replanting of trees and evolution of 45th leg of centipedes, was disappointed that he could not pen down his thoughts due to the workload he had been given by the Dons. (Coolie is not very clear on his thoughts, now – although he still remains philosophical!)

The disappointed Mr. Coolie did not think further when he replied to Don Full Stop with CC to all the people in the department:

“I didn’t do TIMEPASS.
I have work. What about you?”

That's it. Within a couple of weeks, the affectionate and compassionate Don Full Stop himself took the initiative in allowing Mr. Coolie to explore the world outside. Don Full Stop told Don Semi Colon “He might have been a great Coolie, but he deprived me of a dairy milk, and also let the whole department know about it. Don’t worry – We will get another Coolie from somewhere, there are so many on the prowl”.
Don Semi Colon told Mr. Coolie in 'Don Michael Corleone' style “I will give you an offer that you can’t refuse!”. Mr. Coolie did not refuse it and in the process achieved what he could not for the past 10 years!! He finally moved into a ‘mouth freshening chewing gum’ corporation.

In an unrelated incident, a bubble started to burst elsewhere.

Hernandez Coolie lived happily ever after.

Heirs of Earth

I just saw a report with a great news. It seems Vaikom Mohammed Basheer’s celebrated chronicle ‘Bhoomiyude Avakaashikal’ (implies – Heirs of earth) is shortly going to be a motion picture, that too, right from the hands of my favorite movie director – TV Chandran. Now, imagine who is playing lead – Yes!! It’s Mohanlal himself. For a change, his co-stars in this movie would be spiders, ants etc. I am as thrilled as any avid Basheer fan, and I just savor these moments during which I envisage how the lead character will be thrown into the intellects of the audience, how the movie will portray the subtle moments and humor in the story etc etc etc...The thoughts go on.... In short, just by visualizing frames in mind, I feel I am back - alive and kicking!!

At any rate, it’s the best accolade that can be showered on one of the best writers to grace the soil of Kerala – Vaikom Mohammed Basheer!!

Ruthless

There are times when I need to be callous. Although I have come out of the supple crust at times and made some impact on higher ups right on their visage, I think I am not doing enough. I see gross injustice, I see people who put genuine efforts suffer and people who masquerade labors enjoy. We need to be professional and antagonistic, but not at the expense of lives of sincere people, not at the expense of a few enjoyable moments that might blaze in the future and never ever to swathe the screw ups that some losers do in the quest for more ‘tags’, ‘promotions’ and ‘so-called organizational growth’.

At times you need to start believing in ethics, which are supposed to be in existence. At times, you need to raise your voice in a way that it’s heard. At times, you need to pull yourself out from cleaning up and let the mess others create remain a mess in their face. At times, you need to hit them hard on the face and let them realize that this is not the way to be. At times, you need to Ruthless.

I am not frustrated, but I guess I need to do a Quentin Tarantino.

If it’s just us...seems like an awful waste of space.

Updating yet another experience:

It started with:

Young Ellie: CQ, this is W9GFO. CQ, this is W9GFO here. Come back?

It gave two quotes which will persist animated in my mind for quite a while, for sure…

One:
David Drumlin: I know you must think this is all very unfair. Maybe that's an understatement. What you don't know is I agree. I wish the world was a place where fair was the bottom line, where the kind of idealism you showed at the hearing was rewarded, not taken advantage of. Unfortunately, we don't live in that world.
Ellie Arroway: Funny, I've always believed that the world is what we make of it.

Two:
Unknown: You're an interesting species, an interesting mix. You're capable of such beautiful dreams and such horrible nightmares. You feel so lost, so cut off, so alone, only you're not. See, in all our searching, the only thing we've found that makes the emptiness bearable is each other.

It illustrated the resolve, doggedness and persistence of a convinced mind:

Executive: We must confess that your proposal seems less like science and more like science fiction.

Ellie Arroway: Science fiction. You're right, it's crazy. In fact, it's even worse than that, it's nuts. You wanna hear something really nutty? I heard of a couple guys who wanna build something called an airplane, you know you get people to go in, and fly around like birds, it's ridiculous, right? And what about breaking the sound barrier, or rockets to the moon? Atomic energy, or a mission to Mars? Science fiction, right? Look, all I'm asking is for you to just have the tiniest bit of vision. You know, to just sit back for one minute and look at the big picture. To take a chance on something that just might end up being the most profoundly impactful moment for humanity, for the history... of history.

It ended with (guiding all of us to a larger picture):

Ellie Arroway: [to a group of children] I'll tell you one thing about the universe, though. The universe is a pretty big place. It's bigger than anything anyone has ever dreamed of before. So if it's just us... seems like an awful waste of space. Right?

As many of you might have known already, I made Contact. From the great director of Forrest Gump, Robert Zemeckis and from the Pultizer winning writer Carl Sagan, came this breathtaking movie - “Contact” - with Jodie Foster as Ellie. PP da, You got me bowled with this one.

Me: All, This is AK here. All, This is AK here. Don’t come back – Go see Contact.