Serious Men

It has been a long time since I have written. Probably because I did not have a good topic or maybe I just did not want to write. But today I have something to write and I thought I would share it.

Serious Men – people who are not regulars with The Hindu newspaper might be wondering as to what I am going to say about serious men. For introduction, Serious Men is a novel written by Manu Joseph. I always apprehend before buying a book because they have the ability to change the course of your thoughts. The many reasons behind why I chose this book include the Best Fiction award conferred by The Hindu, it being about serious men and been written by a fellow Malayali.

Among this, the second had more prominence in my mind. Now the question as to how “serious men” caught my interest.

The book is about two people in a research institute. One the boss, the other the clerk. The novel narrates a small period of time in their lives. The book talks about how the clerk tries to bring about a change in the monotony of life using his son as an instrument. He resorts to these in order to break the restrictions brought into his life because of his caste, he being a Dalit. His anger towards the Brahmins, who occupy most of the chairs in the research institute, is very pronounced and he derives pleasure in the fights between the Brahmins in his office.

The boss exemplifies the scientist terminology with an illustrious past and is on the way to a path breaking discovery. Through the boss, the author tries to annotate how a scientist thinks and delineates to certain extent the working culture of research institutes.

 How the boss goes about his discovery, the games played by the clerk and their reach and how the clerk keeps his date with his ideas to keep away from the monotony in his life forms the rest of the novel.

A major drawback of the novel is that during the middle the story’s pace dwindles, like the middle slog overs of one day cricket, though it picks up at the later stages

Writing a review about a book is more like telling a friend how you felt when you read the book. Or that is what I have tried to do in this post. I hope my readers have got a good picture in their mind before spending three fifty rupees on this hardcover.

The Charge of the Light Brigade

Half a league, half a league,
 Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
 Rode the six hundred.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!
"Charge for the guns!" he said:
Into the valley of Death
 Rode the six hundred.


"Forward, the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
 Someone had blunder'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
 Rode the six hundred.


Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
 Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
 Rode the six hundred.


Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air,
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
 All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel'd from the sabre stroke
 Shatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not
 Not the six hundred.


Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
 Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
 Left of six hundred.


When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
 All the world wondered.
Honor the charge they made,
Honor the Light Brigade,
 Noble six hundred.


                            - Alfred, Lord Tennyson

The Dream

He is sitting amongst candles. He doesn't know why so many of them are around him. He doesn't know how or why he is there . He is thinking as to why he is sitting there. He wants to go but there is something which is holding him back. He senses something, but is unable to discern whether it is good or bad. He doesn’t know what but he senses something is going to happen. He senses something coming towards him from some direction. He wants to run away but he is unable to. Tiny drops of sweat show up on his forehead. It is nearby….

I wake up to find myself in my bed with lights on and a mosquito humming near my ear. I thrash the mosquito, switch off the lights and try to go back to the unfinished dream, to find out what was that coming towards him.

P. S. it could be a mosquito.

Football Memories

 These days, Messi, Kaka, Ronaldo and others seems to have taken the place of Dhoni, Sehwag and Yuvaraj in Indian brains. But it can very easily be guessed that it is all momentary and once the Waka Waka dies down the football greats also go along with it for the majority of Indians. After all we are a country where we idolise our cricket players. One reason why football has not gained popularity throughout India might be because the cable operators stop airing football once the World Cup is over.

I was not a cricket fan anytime. I think the first time I watched a cricket match was in 1996 when Sanath Jayasuriya was sending all the bowlers in the world on a leather hunt. I kept watching then on but never like a crazy bull. I wanted to be a spinner, particularly a leg spinner like Kumble. But I was a complete disaster in the field. I held the record of bowling most number of wides in an over during schooldays. I was neither a good fielder nor a good batsman. I was famous for dropping catches like the dumb in Lagaan, and would get out very easily much to the delight of the bowler. In fact, the best designation I held when I played was that of a joker, one who can bat and field for both the sides, so that I can harm both the sides without partiality.

Indulging in sports has been one of the actions I have done least in life. My only source for the same used to be the physical training hours in schools. Because in my school we were not allowed to play cricket during the physical training (PT) hour, the choice was always football. Now, after saying so much about cricket you must be thinking that I would be a great football player. Na……I was a disaster there too, though not as much as I was in the cricket field. I was never a good dribbler. There were no particular positions, but I usually positioned myself in the midfield or in the backward, trying to snatch the ball from the opponent and pass it on to the forward. I would stand bravely to the take the ball from the goalie’s mighty shot, which used to be my friend Manuel’s. I usually took it with my head on and passed it. We never knew how to play by rules and many a time we would lock our horns, the opponent and one of us, allowing nobody to have the ball. We played without referees, yellow cards and red cards. Fouls were decided among ourselves, so were penalties.

My parents were the sufferers. I never showed any hesitation to face the players head on and many a time I ended up bruising my knees. Bruising apart, I would tear my pants in the course of falling. What, pants…! Yes, we used to play with pants, not in shorts and if we were playing in a free hour we would be playing with leather shoes on.

But then they were good. We used to play them with the spirit, running back and forth across the field. I should specially mention of Anuj and Prateek here, who were great dribblers of the ball those days and Manuel who used to be a great goal keeper.

After the match, which would end with the whistle of the PT teacher, we would be breathing heavily and sweating profusely. We would go, five to ten minutes late, panting to the class, where the next hour’s teacher would be cursing whoever made the timetable. We would hardly listen to the classes thereafter as we would be discussing about the match or nursing our bruises. Today as I watch a football match I reminiscence those days.

So that is it. I will stop this nonsense here. Till next time, bye.

The Art of Filling Spaces

The objective of this article is to tap the potential amount of study available in the area of the art of filling spaces at traffic signals and to bring forth their talent. It is very obvious, that everyone in this world is looking for space for occupation and it is expressed in different fashions particularly, in Indian roads and traffic signals. A study can be started by studying the linkage between such attitudes on road and the orientation and effective usage of the foetus in the mother's womb. Also it can be studied whether the drawings made by children at young age relate to their ‘space filling' attitude during later stages of life. On observation, it may be found that filling spaces does not derive any pattern but maybe linked to the momentary state of mind. If the person is disturbed by the previous set of events before driving, the person has a tendency to fill the space in a highly ridiculous manner, ushering in bedlam when the signal goes green. But this alone does not ensure that the person will stop properly otherwise. It also depends upon the knowledge of the person about the road rules and regulations. Also, the tendency can be seen more if the person has a set of events which require immediate attention and so the need to fill space in any possible orientation and any possible place. Use of footpaths and medians too in this regard is also prevalent. A study as to how people are standing in a queue may also reveal some interesting facts.

The types of people occupying the spaces can be categorised to certain extent as follows. First kind, they stop the vehicle such that the other fellow will not know whether the vehicle will go straight, left or right. Second, they stop the vehicle on the right side when they actually wanted to go straight. Third, they stop the vehicle from left to right indicating that the vehicle wants to go right and would do so at any cost. Fourth, due to constant poking, two wheelers drivers try to filling unimaginable spaces creatively. Fifth, stopping the vehicle behind another vehicle according to the lane notified. While, to find cases of the last category are least found, the fourth category is quite common and the most creative of them all. The first and second kinds are also common but many a time they end up so, reluctantly. So they do not deserve a compliment as high as the fourth kind. The third kind is to be experienced rather than being spoken about.

With the IT companies hiring again and the pool of selection getting bigger every year, an attempt to relate the space filling ability can be attributed to some skills required in the industry. The driving test can be made mandatory and the candidate’s attitude throughout can be monitored to derive results. But the infiltration of bribery in this case is to be checked as regularly as possible.

With this article, I have tried to bring out the hidden ability of some drivers in India and I hope these people will get their due which matches their talent in the coming years. 

The Summer Performance

I am sweltering. There is no interesting programme in the T. V. I am feeling bored. I smell something. It is earth’s smell, the smell which emanates when water touches the earth. I go to the balcony to find my apartment under the canopy of dark clouds. They are ready, ready to give a scintillating performance.

I did not know that a show was scheduled, but then shows by the rain in summer are never scheduled. The rain performs whenever the situation is right and everybody is invited, to get enthralled or to criticize.

I can see the birds flying briskly to their nests. Somewhere I see small children and housewives picking up the sun baked clothes dangling on the lines. I see people on the road running helter skelter to find shelter. They are all getting ready for the performance. Slowly, the noise from the road decreases and lo behold! The first drop has fallen and the others follow.

I sit in the balcony of my apartment. The wind is also accompanying the rain in the performance. It is a beautiful dance and the wind has taken up the form of squalls. I see three types of people;  one, who sit in their houses and watch the rain, two , who sit in their houses and criticize the rains or have a ‘whatever’ attitude and three, the ones who come out of their houses and join the rain in the performance. My roommate asks me as to how long will I just watch the rain, why not join the rain. I do not give it a second thought. We climbed the stairs to terrace to get soaked.

I shudder as the first drops of the rain hit me.  I am shivering as the rain was cold and my body is just acclimatizing. We are enjoying, my friend and me, the rain also enjoyed by coming down hard, so much that it is painful when the drops fell on me. The squalls send the rains in all possible angles and it is a treat to watch the rain change angles by the wink of the eye. We become one with the rain. I peep onto other houses to find people soaking, watching and grumbling.

We miss the lightening, maybe because it was still day time and electric shows may not be quite effective. I look down and find the rain drops moving away from me towards the earth, a perfect screen saver.

We splash on each other the stagnant water. A small girl comes to the terrace on the behest of taking the clothes on the line but she enjoys getting soaked in the rain unmindful of the consequences. Finally, the sunrays gush out of the clouds and the curtains come down. It was indeed an experience, an esoterically refreshing one.

A Sighting

A group of children stop a couple from making “eternal markings” of their so called everlasting love on a historical monument. I suppose some of you would have come across this ad some time or the other. But how much do you reckon, has the message has gone down to the people by this initiative. I, for that matter, think it has not gone down one bit. The reason, here it is.

A month back, I was visiting the Golconda fort which is one of the historical monuments in Hyderabad.  After visiting the whole place we were walking past through the last aisle when my eyes set on this sight which could be claimed as a masterpiece, “etchings of eternal love of couples” on the security gate. I could do nothing other than to take some photographs of this wonderful sight.

At a time, when the nation’s security is questioned such a sight is highly discouraging for the common man. The security gate becoming the canvas for the couples’ drawing is something innovative and that is why, I suppose they had gone for it, a new way to declare their love. But haven’t we been taught that in order for something to happen the initiative is to be done by us. If we want the security to be better, then it is we who should take the first step by helping the concerned officials. Instead by showing total ignorance to all such things, we are ushering in trouble for ourselves.

Shock Test!

When the power which created us, envisaged us, he would have given great thought as to what kind of shocks its creation would be subjected to. The creator would have even considered the fact that those of creations which do not withstand certain shocks may return back to the designer’s warehouse. And it may not be a mistake by us to consider the death of a person as a shock. Shock test in technical terms is defined by the acceleration levels and time duration of the shocks. So in our context, maybe the creator characterises it by quantifying the news we hear. The person who died and the relation we have with the person have a direct influence. The evaluation of a system under shock test is done by analysing the performance during and after the shock. Maybe when we are subjected to such tests, it tests how good our sensory nerves are, how fast our hormones work, how the acceleration of our heartbeat is and finally evaluated by how we withstand the shock, how well our brains are trained and move on with life. The only difference being, the system under test has no remembrance of the test while the creator’s creation has. Every system made has a set of predefined shock test specifications as part of their acceptance test or qualification tests. It would be really interesting to know what the specifications the creator has set for us are.  The creator must be releasing the creations into field after clearing these tests and when the creation is not able to withstand the shocks of life the creator might get terribly disappointed. So it becomes our responsibility, come what may, to stand up to the creator’s expectations. Otherwise we are worth only of lying in the dark corners of the creator’s warehouse.

HELP!!!!!!!

I was in school in those days, I believe around eighth standard. I read somewhere that plastics are not good both for our health and the earth. I was a kind who never believed a thing right in the first time. But when the reports came repeatedly I started believing. What do I do to stop getting harmed?  I thought that not using plastic bags would help and so whenever sent me on shopping chores I used a cloth bag. It was a shoulder bag hung across your body, the ones which are a fashion statement today but at that time it was old fashioned. My friends, who stayed nearby, used to tease me seeing me with this old fashioned bag. But I still went on using it. I resisted using plastic bags and would straightaway refuse when the shopkeeper offered one. This is something I still follow and still get comments about.

Recently somebody asked me as to how it would help if I alone practise it. I answered “ what if one person gets thoughtful about what I am doing and starts following the same and what if another follows that person. It would become a chain process and maybe help in preserving the world.”

I am not boasting, I am not preaching, but I am just persuading or in fact pleading. Mr.Pachauri and his contemporaries say that Himalayas will be no more in a few years. People sit across square and round tables and blame each other for the present scenario. But are they the persons who can bring in the change.

In my view, NO. The real force who can bring about the change is you and me. It is not only in the case of environment but also in every case in which you think there should be change. Be it the condition of the roads or the cleanliness of our cities or whatever. Everything can start only from you and me. If you think there should be a change, no, it is not Mr. Obama who should give the speech but rather it is you and me who should act.

How many of you have spit on the roads and complained about it when u see someone else does it? How many of you have been almost hit by a vehicle while walking on the road and complained why there are no footpaths and even if they are present why they are dirty. How many of you switch of your vehicle while waiting in at the traffic signal? How many of you expect and preach the government about the various things but never practice them.

Have you observed the difference between our trains and aeroplanes? While travelling in a plane you are the posh urban citizen and in the train.... don’t tell me you feel like home in trains and you wish like doing anything you want in trains.

We say that we want to increase literacy but the question is what really literacy means. The other day I saw a well bred boy with good education leave a water pipe open after use. The “close your tap when not in use “ad has been here for years but it has created no impact in any class of people.

I suppose whoever reads my blog will be well bred and highly educated but then have you tried to make a change. When the world leaders where sitting in Copenhagen what were u doing, opening a water tap and allowing to flow as if only thing you have in abundance is water. Be careful, because one day the glaciers will melt down and water will be so abundant that you will not have earth to use it.

Many would argue that they have no time for these things. I would like to ask “If you do not have time to plan and work for you and your posterity’s future then why are you working?” It has no meaning. You do not have to get down to the roads and create furore as in movies but do your bit in the way you can.

Finally look around you. Find out what you want to be changed and let you be person who initiates the change. Through this if I  have hurt anybody I am really sorry but all I ask is HELP to make a place worth living  for my posterity and I hope , you, my friends will always help a friend in need proving that you are friends indeed.

Hi..

I know I am late. But circumstances have been such that, I had topics to be written about, but could never find time for them. Now that I am starting let me start with a narration.

Ten thirty in the morning. I am standing at Nampally railway station waiting for the train. I was getting ready for the war, the war for getting a seat in general compartment. I had tried for a reservation but in vain. The train slowly comes into the station. The crowd runs along with it. Some climb it just as they do in a running bus. At the end of it I end up the loser, as I always had been in a crowd, unable to push myself into the crowd and find a seat. When everyone is settled I set out to find out that hidden seat kept ready for me. There are three general compartments, and I move along each coup only to find bunches of clothes or hand kerchiefs. I find a place and I just sit down when a burly lady comes and shouts words in Telugu, I quietly get up move on, understanding from her expressions that she had reserved it already. Then a guy finds pity on me. He removes his bag from a seat and tells me that I can sit there. I thank him and quietly settle down. I have one and half an hour more. Inwardly, I am happy that I got a seat without much fuss. I called my parents and told them that I am on my way and started reading a book. Occasionally, I lift my head up to study my fellow travellers. I find a bunch of people all together and two Ayappa devotees on their way to Sabarimala constituting the majority. Suddenly, I hear some shouting. I did not dare to get up from the seat lest I lose it. But I guessed from the voice that it was the same burly woman shouting.

The train started at twelve and thus started my journey. The bunch of people I had mentioned before were going Katpadi and many among them were Tamizhans. The guy who offered me the seat was going to Erode but was silent throughout the journey. There was another family going to Guntur. Initially, everybody was silent. I did not get the luxury of a side seat but I managed to while away my time with my book. I made use of my ipod when I got bored with my book. I had already brought a dozen of bananas to give me company for lunch and dinner as I had planned not to get up my place. It was a war and no king will let go of his place. Slowly, everybody introduced themselves and got friendly and I remained engrossed in my book and learning these people. There was one guy who was very silent initially but later on revealed himself to be a chatterbox. One disadvantage was my poor command over Telugu. So I never understood what they were talking exactly and always kept guessing.

An interesting thing happened. At one of the stations two girls and a man got into our compartment. They had two chairs with them. I thought they were transporting it somewhere because they looked brand new. But then as soon as the train started moving they opened the chairs in the pathway in the compartment and one of the girls sat in that just like a Rani. I did not understand a deal of it. And the girl was either talking on the phone or laughing. Nobody objected for a long time until when an old man did. But this brought no change to the situation when the old man was satiated by giving a place to seat.

I continued my journey among this unknown people all gossiping and chattering in Telugu. My co travellers told me in broken Hindi about the plight of people who do not know Telugu in Andhra. I could just nod at them because I had heard all that stories already and right then was experiencing one.

Then, at one of the stations a man boarded the train. He looked to be a professional, with a neat shirt tugged in a formal pant. He looked young and I thought he was some salesman. I do not know what made him interested in me. He started up a conversation with me. He tried learning who I am where I am going to and all such stuffs. I, from my part tried the same, (mainly because I was too bored reading the book and listening to songs else I would have simply ignored him). I learnt that he was a primary school teacher in Guntur and was going back home. A married guy, I tried gaining insight into the kind of work he does and how he feels about it. Well, I thought he should be really happy with the profession. But the answer he gave me was quite unexpected. He told me that the profession offered no promotions and menial pay rises and it is difficult to lead a quality life with such a profession. Though I tried emphasising that the kind of job he was doing was great, he kept countering saying that it was not that rosy. He told me that he was married with two children and it was tough. He gave me good company till he alighted at Guntur. We parted exchanging our phone numbers and promising that we would keep in touch which I really doubted whether I would keep.

I had some bananas and guavas for lunch. I was averse to the food they provided in the trains and also my stomach was not in a good condition. At lunch I found people taking food rich in oil, packed from their houses and in no time making the so called cleaned up compartment into a mess.

Towards night, I left my seat in the lower berths and graduated to the luggage racks in the upper berths. This was a better place because you wouldn’t be constantly disturbed by the movement of people. The Ayappa devotees whom I had mentioned had stay put in their berths ever since the train had started from Hyderabad. When I came face to face with them, they started a conversation. They had found out that I knew Tamil and one of them being a Tamizhan, he did not hesitate in starting the conversation. I came to know that he was a cook in a mess in Hyderabad. I told him about my plight with Andhra food and cooks. And so he took my phone number and promised that once he is back in Hyderabad he would arrange one cook for me. This promise has not been kept till now. It was almost ten in the evening and I had almost six more hours to go. I thought of sleeping and hence clutching my bag I leaned over to one side and went to sleep. Of course, it was not a cosy experience. I was in and out of it every half an hour though in a half conscious state. When we reached Salem I got up and woke up myself. In another hour, I was in Erode and home sweet home.

The journey was good considering the usual bus I used to take. I decided that I will take train here onwards and it reinforced my feeling for the trains.

Later on the day, when I had come to the railway station to see off my friend the teacher called me up and asked me about my journey and whether I had reached home safely. Though I had forgotten him for the time being this call made me remember about him and I ended up with a lot of unanswered questions as to why a total stranger would call up another stranger with whom he had spent meagre time in a train journey.