And quiet flows the river

It took some genuine compulsion from my cousin Manu to pull the lazy me for a swim in Periyar. The water seemed so untainted. The Aluva manalpuram (sand banks) and the Shiva temple which lie a stones throw away were almost deserted, quite unlike what it is during Shivarathri. In the dawn, the manalpuram would have many people who come to do the final rites for a deceased relative, by breaking and immersing the mankudam (sandpot) with chithabhasmam (ashes) into the river. I could see the stones through the sparkle clear water near the kadavu of the manalpuram, and it all seemed so alluring. I walked through those steps and was soon immersed in head deep water. There were some boundaries marked with boulder pillars, beyond which the waters are supposed to be dangerous. People who knew swimming were venturing near those columns and the amateurs were sticking nearer to the steps. I started floating and swimming around, sometimes throwing the plastic balls back to the kids who were playing near the steps. It’s been a real long time since we got a chance to enjoy a quiet bath in the river, with the fresh evening breeze negating the otherwise humid weather. I was quite surprised when a young kid hardly 12 years old, dived into the water and started swimming beyond the stone pillars. He kept on swimming, and to the amazement of all the people in the kadavu (shore), easily managed to carry on and cross the river, which was around 400 meters wide, through that brawny current.

As night started to prowl in from the horizon and shadows set in, the crowd started dispersing, leaving only a handful of people in the river. Sinister clouds were gathering around from the west, and the menace of shower loomed around in the horizon – the monsoon in Kerala was predicted to be earlier this year. The reflections of the gloomy sky darkened the clear water that was flowing around me. I must have floated around for a while, facing the dark skies above watching the clouds move by swiftly in the gushy wind and abruptly, the torrents from heaven started pouring in tons. The river that was flowing like a beautiful country lass started to scuttle profusely like a model on a pageant. I watched the lights inside a train starting to move in the railway bridge at a distance, through the hazy weather. I could hear the rhythmic rattle echoing through the subtle surface of the river, and noticed that the train looked like a stretched snake moving rapidly to catch its prey. As I fell in love with this vicious flow of the river, as I was energetically swimming against that surge almost like a challenge, as I started to dissolve in that looming obscurity and silence, as the chilly gust started to freeze my mind into a single photo frame, I felt myself gripping my toes on a piece of sand pot which would have carried the ashes of a deceased body (chithabhasmam). In the shock, I started to move away, but I was too late. A hand grabbed me from the darkness of the water below. As I tried to scamper my way out, I saw the smile in the cold boyish face of my friend who had drowned in that river 12 years back. I instantly recognized him with panic, I felt the weight of his hand on my shoulder just like he used to do in school, I sensed the world shrinking, and my mind was dazed in that thunder. When I broke free and swam frantically for the steps, I noticed through the darkness and heavy rain that the distant yellow lights from the train were disappearing and the rattling sound was fading out. Panting heavily as I stood on the soggy sands of the manalpuram, I noticed the yellow boards on those boundary pillars with poems written on them. Through the downpour, I read those chilling Malayalam lines. ‘Little do you know about thrill and enjoyment! Little do you know when you take pleasure by going beyond boundaries. Little do you know how the serene tranquility can turn into brutal vigor. Little do you know about the tears that have flown into this river. Little do you know what you lose, unless you suffer. Little do you know the pain and void that death creates. We know it more than you. We are the souls that sank into this river in a small pot. We have seen it all’


I was poignant in that depressing silence. I walked back with Manu to my car as the heavy rain evolved to a light drizzle. It was a bit late into the night, but the lamps in the Shiva temple were still burning hazily in the gust. As I drove through the ‘Marthanda Varma Bridge’, I glanced down at the manalpuram - The leaves of the banyan tree in the temple which were lashing against the fierce gushing wind was flagging around peacefully, the wild flow of the river had turned into a calm walk and I realized that the unruffled beauty of that maiden named Periyar was luring me again. The traffic signal ahead indicated green. I kept going, I could not turn back. And underneath the bridge, even now, quiet flows the river.

A Combat named 'Badla'

“It’s not a cakewalk. I never expected it to be. I sense I had a terrible accident. My head was whirling, and I stood facing the wall, with repugnance to myself. But there was no one else to blame. I need to face the anguish and pain myself. Why else should I try to play a pull when the ball is so short, quick and directed at my face? I missed the ball completely and it battered me right on the sweet spot in the wedge of my nose. There I was, batting on 29, on the verge of a triple century to reach the highest ever score in our Playground, but hit the 7th time precisely on my face by a short quicker one from Guru. I needed to focus. I needed to take those moments off my memory, and concentrate on the next ball. Guru has already declared that it would be his last ball. After this Dhanush would start off his whizzers, that shoot off like a bullet from good length on leg stump and whizz past the off stump. It will be difficult for me to adjust quickly to that, and there are chances that I miss out on my first triple century. Guru is ready with the ball looking ominous from his hands. I forget my pain, I try to focus. I try to see only the green patch of tennis ball and the movement of fingers holding the ball. I see that slinging yorker, that Guru often gets me out with, wriggle out of his hands and loom towards me like a speeding bullet. I see the green circle that’s approaching me and I bring down the bat to my legs. I hit my toe on the way to meet the ball, but yes – my bat met the ball on yorking length, and it bounced off the pitch to the wall – I hit the first triple century. While jumping around from the pain on my toes, I slowly and proudly raised my bat at my opponents, the fiercest enemies when in The Playground – Guru and Dhanush. And shouted at them… Badlaaahhhh”

This was a scene at midnight, couple of weeks back in our house. There have been lots of queries raised to myself and Dhanush, on what exactly is this ‘Badla’ that features in our blog often. Hence, we decided that we would handle ‘Badla’ in the blogosphere together.

Let me issue the warnings first.
Those who are not aware of cricket might find the post a bit absurd.
Those who are aware of cricket will find the post totally crazy.
And for us, the world consists of only these two kinds of people :).

Basic intent of this post is to popularize this variant of cricket named ‘Badla’, and to get some money stinking big-shot to buy our ground-breaking scheme so that we can earn millions of dollars as patent privileges. (Ahhh – A slight compromise– millions of ‘Rupees’ is also ok. No more negotiations please!)

History of the game

Well – It all started when Guru moved in with me and Aravind at our rented house in Bangalore around Jan 2005. It took some sincere compulsions and lot of big time ‘therivilis’ to make him shift with us from a dingy PG, but since we all closely knew each other for around 9 years he was quite apprehensive about the madness that’s going to follow. Anyway to cut the long story bermuda (aka short) Guru moved in with us. The first weekend itself, we declared the bigger bedroom in our house as ‘The Playground’. No one would sleep there, no furniture, bags etc would be allowed to be kept there. The biggest room in the house would be rendered for only one purpose – ‘The Playground’. We went around and bought a small size ‘MRF’ bat from roadside at a fair cost of 22000 Rs, with a tennis ball made with original gold feathers which we decided would be used only inside the house, so that we can keep the painted walls neat (Neat – gulp! – You should see it now!)












The Rules

There were no well-defined rules in the beginning. We started off with the usual indoor rule of direct hit on any walls being out, in addition to bowled and catch. Over-arm bowling was allowed, and that made batting even more difficult with the pace, bounce and movement that can be brought by that variation. Any shot hitting the walls after pitching the ground is rendered as a run. On due passage of time, the average winning score was found to be around 2-3 runs, with anything greater than 5 runs being a huge total. Scoring 10 runs has been declared as a century, and the batsman would raise the bat to the huge applause of the crowd watching the match. (If crowd is not there, bowler will applaud the batsman – mostly with swearings). Also, there is no LBW or hit wicket to ‘favor’ the batsman. There were some other rules like – If you wear specs, keep a spare ready since the ones that you are wearing can be broken at any time, If your blood group is rare, then please arrange for a bottle of extra blood before coming to the game etc etc.

The challenges

It won’t do any good if you are a fine cricketer on the cricket field. The concept of Badla is totally diverse. The challenges are very intense; chances of injuries are very likely, saving the proud face while returning is an unattainable solace. Bowling bouncers that hit right on the nose bridge is usually a source of inspiration for the bowler, almost everyone bowls bouncers to consciously injure the batsman and hence break the morale of the player. One lapse of concentration and you will either get an edge or have one banged on your nose pretty strong. The pace of the deliveries combined with the mix of spin/swing makes it thorny for even good players to survive. And another big challenge is for the close in fielders (again – the room is so small that everyone is close-in :)), to make sure that they don’t get hit in the face by the edgy shots. We have 2 pairs of broken specs, 3-4 instances of swollen eyes, blood oozing from the mouth etc as deterrents to the game. But still we play on – We enjoy the challenge - after all, we are real fighters!













The name of the game

How did the name ‘Badla’ evolve? I needed to think quite a bit into history to remember the rationale, and a smile braces me when I get the memories about that day. Guru was hell bent upon on winning the game, after a disastrous six months of 'Badla' – he used call himself by superhero names (Spiderman, for instance) for winning the tournaments, but nothing was working out. He saw a series name in ESPN, and declared that from that day onwards it’s the revenge time for him. He named the game for the day as ‘Badla’. After bowling every ball he turned himself back to the wall and shouted in a ‘Kroor Singh’ish way ‘Badlaaaaahhhhhhhhh’. Somehow those moments were too full of hilarity and wit which eventually made the name ‘Badla’ jammed to this game. It’s still going on every night, with me, Guru and Dhanush skirmishing it out with all our might, to earn the all vital distinction of becoming a champion. We still thrive for it and we pay hard with our time, our sweat and our blood!

The opening and closing ceremonies

The opening ritual of every match is marked with all of us shouting together ‘Badlaaahhh’ and throwing off our shirts to start off the game topless ;-). This is usually accompanied by the famous dialogues from Guru to the non-players at home (Now - PP and Aravind) ‘If you want to see Abhi and Dhanu with a smiling face – see it now. When they come back from the game, they would by crying with embarrassment of defeat and humiliation’. The closing ceremony of Badla is usually marked when someone slips, falls down on the ceramic tile floor and loses couple of teeth, after the floor gets completely wet with sweat. This is followed by a ‘Tang Refresher’ session when we prepare couple of big bottles of Tang that we devour in a flash while the one who has lost his teeth would be searching for the lost glory. Most of the times, even after the refresher session, we observe our eyes meeting again indicating that its time and everyone nods their heads in approval, and we walk back to ‘The Playground’. We are ready….And the cycle continues. (Couple of us have lost all of our teeth…We are growing them back by drinking Kamilari. And Eureka - its working!)

You can find more details about Badla in my dear friend Dhanush’s blog here. All the gorgeous caricatures and stunning sketches for this post were drawn by Guru and his friend Teju. Our sincere thanks to both of them!










Badla is not just a game for us. We cherish each and every moment that we spend for it and I am sure that it will adore our memories for times to come. Of course, it does not come easy. It needs you to have the zeal for waking from sleep at 2 am for the sake of the game. It mandates you to have a cold heart, coz you are going to have quite a bloodshed there. It’s a passion. It takes some grit and lots of mental strength to participate. No wonder ‘Indian Miscellaneous Games Association’ certified the game as ‘Adults Only’ because of offensive language and excessive use of violence. For facing this music, you are all welcome anytime to our abode!
Come, join the mighty combat!

Text Copyrighted © by Pophabhi & Dhanush ®
Images Copyrighted © by Guru & Teju ®

The Picture Tag

I was tagged by Silverine, long time back. As usual I am awfully late, but I did complete the tag. :)

1. Most Desired Celebrity


Julie Delpy

Comment: The character, Celine, that she played in the movies Before Sunrise and its sequel Before Sunset made me adore the incandescent expressions, reflective charisma and the uncomplicated beauty of this wonderful actress. I don't know whether I liked the character Celine more than the actress herself, but the way she has portrayed the role was so captivating that the subtle touches of her natural, intelligent acting gets you arrested. Julie is just amazing!

2. Want to do this someday


Cycling past the Sunflower fields of Burgandy

Comment: Its been a dream in my mind. To cycle past the sunflower and lavender fields in Burgandy which extends to limits unknown, To just stand by them and watch them make a magnificient beautiful world of colors for me, To just whizz across those yellow petals in an evening with the setting sun illuminating the twilight skies with flames of yellow. Wow! I guess I need to carry a very good camera to capture those moments. Nice dreams. But what dreams can't come true?

3. Want to visit this place

Golden sands of Bharathapuzha

Comment: To idle out. To simply lie down on those sands where heritage and culture grazed. To hear the songs of mamankam. To smile at that tender breeze that kisses the neck deep water. To just sleep in that cold moonlight rendering the psyche to hypnotesis. To relax. To float. Those sands can do it all for you.

4. Random Favorite

Barkha Dutt
Comment: The most popular, daring, eye-catching reporter I have ever seen. One of the rare breed journalists who put their lives into risk to bring in the nations most momentous minutes right into our home - Be it the mindblowing coverage showing the sacrifices and valor of our soldiers during Kargil war when bullets and shells were spraying all around her, Be it the monster cyclone that shook up the heart of Orissa or the ruins of Gujarat, when she stood amongst the debris of the very broken souls of these states, Be it the enormity of the tragedy that was brought about in Tsunami - This brave lady has destroyed all the boundaries of traditional media coverages. That new emotional and personal element she has brought into news has not only negated the time acclaimed ruthlessness of journalism, but has also brought about a new found emotional and personal pathway between media and the viewers.

5. Tag Origin

Comment: My apologies for not 'pic'ing the origin of the post from Silverine. Please see her tag here.

The Theory of 'Well Balanced Life' (WBL)

I still remember those days during the project that I managed 9 months back. The project used to sap up so much of my time, that I used to reach back at my abode at Bangalore only by 1 am in night, that too when work was ‘less’ and application was in production. It usually occured to me that I never see or talk with my gang at home, since they would be deep in sleep for the duration I am at home. The one who reached our home earliest was Mr. W, who had just joined one of the famous firms around Bangalore, and didn’t have too much of work to extend his working hours to night. Others at our home had enough work to hold them back till around 10 pm.

I remember - it was on a Wednesday, when all of us had come home by 9 pm (an occassion that demanded celebration - NASA reported that this occurs once in 2.65*e598 million years -which is approximately equal to the probability of driving through hosur road without getting caught in a traffic block) that Mr. W taught us the theory of ‘Well Balanced Life’. It seems one of his GMs had come from US, and he had given a talk to the employees in India about striking a balance between work and life. This was precisely the most confusing thing that intrigued me, since I moved to the ‘less’ work period which made me sit for 18 hours at office and I was still recovering from the 20-21 hours that I used to spent during the ‘actual execution’ of the project. I found it really difficult to even think about my existence, about my family, about my life, during this period. It was like I was ‘in a hole’ for a respectable span of time. I used to look jealously at my roomies all the time, especially Mr. W. That day was a similar day when Mr. W started giving this theory of ‘Well Balanced Life’, which he called fondly as WBL. He was telling that we need to fix our priorities, utilize the time effectively, get some free time so that our mind would be liberated for the apt amount of rest that it needs, endure in giving the body enough relaxation by sleeping 7 hours etc. Mr. W had his usual style of attacking us, especially me, telling ‘ I need a passport size photo of yours since I don’t know when I would see you next’. The usual retaliations and arguments did not happen, because for once he was making a strong point – he was having a well balanced life. We were all convinced about it. He was managing things effectively. He was implementing the principle of WBL. He was practising what he preached. He was having a life, he was enjoying it and most importantly he was able to rub salt into our sad misery. :)

He told us – ‘The key is to have a Well Balanced Life, like me. Practice WBL, guys. Otherwise you will keep suffering!.’

Was'nt he spot on?

In a totally unrelated incident, Mr. W was moved into a new project the very next day. And since then, we saw him only for brief spans of time, that too during weekends – He always comes so late that we would have slept by then, and he leaves the home before we even get up. Mr. W was renamed as Mr. WBL, and we all make it a point to unleash the hell for him by holding inspiring talks about ‘striking a balance in life’, whenever we see him. No need to mention that Mr. W had a ‘Well Silenced Life’ at our home, till he moved into his next project.

So much for WBL – or ‘Well Balanced Life’. WBL stands as a cliche now, whenever we are into a difficult project. :)

Tag of four

Dhanush has stamped his foot on me with this tag - I don't have an escape and hence I am finally taking it.

4 jobs I’ve had:

- Developer/Marketing for our small venture right after Engineering.
- Near 5 years with Infy
- Shift worker in Achan’s chemical plant
- Car Driver (But no salary :( )

4 films I could watch again and again:

- The Shawshank Redemption
- Before Sunrise/Before Sunset
- Thoovanathumbikal
- Jakob the Liar

4 places I’ve lived in:

- Kalamassery, Cochin – Home sweet Home
- Cherai – All vacations and most weekends at my native place
- Auburn Hills, Michigan for those 20 cold months at customer site
- Bangalore

4 TV series I like to watch:

- Just for Gags in Pogo
- Whose line is it anyway in Star World
- Raagotsavam in Kairali
- The old ones – Crystal Maze & Wonder Years in Star Plus

4 places that I’ve been on vacation to:

- Goa (The great Goa Poa trip with the Boyz - Kichan & Seena, Dhanush, PP, Guru, Jyothi, Aravind!)















- Florida (With Auburn Hills gang - Sreeraj, Ganesh & Preethi, Santhosh, Prashanth, Mani and Dhanush who joined at Orlando)















- Wayanad (Our biking trip – 800 kms in 36 hours! - with PP, Aravind, Guru and Visakh)












- Michigan upper peninsula (With Mohan chettan and Pavan)














4 websites I visit everyday:

- Blogsites of my blog-friends
- Cricinfo, Prem Panickers blog in Rediff
- Wikipedia
- Gmail

4+4+4 books I’d love to read again and again:

- Janitakam by M.Sukumaran
- Samanathaalam by Radhakrishnan
- Any Basheer book
- Aithihyamaala by Kottarathil Sankunni
- Verukal by Malayatoor
- Bobanum Moliyum (I confess)
- Oru Deshathinte Kadha, Sanchaara saahityam by SK Pottakkad
- Screenplay of Moonampakkam, Thoovanathumbikal by Padmarajan
- Some Camus books – I haven’t half understood them yet!
- Rita Hayworth & Shawshank Redemption by Stephen King
- Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe
- Calvin Hobbes by Bill Watterson

4 favorite dishes:

- Maangatholi (Dried mango with lots of chilli powder, salt)
- Puttu, Njaalipoovan pazham and sugar
- Kappa Meencurry
- Dosa and Mulaku-chammanthi that Amma makes!

4 places where I’d like to be right now:

- Home
- The green Chrysler Grounds, Auburn Hills where we played Detroit Cricket League
- Those golden sands in the banks of Bharathapuzha, Thirunavaaya
- Driving a cycle through Central Europe

4 people I’m gonna tag:

- Anyone interested can take it!

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.