Thursday, February 11, 2021
About my father Shri Mannil Krishnan by Mannil Vikraman
Thursday, January 14, 2021
ADIOS – AN UNSUNG SONG
ADIOS – AN UNSUNG SONG
is cryptic. Each circumstance threads out into multiple situations. Some sense
it as opportunities for self-benefit for others it ends up in inaction. Human
relationships can be complex layers of emotions bundled into behavioral
patterns reflected from time to time. Moods, responses and reactions are prone
to changes, degrees of which differ from person to person. On one end of the spectrum
is hyper sensitivity and on the other end of it cold, frozen inertia.
God destines us to come in contact with souls who through their fortitude endure our actions that could be little known to us. It implies that people without their conscious knowledge can be a cause of hurt or harm to others or they can be an everlasting source of wisdom and happiness too.
Sentiments, ego and reactions interweave our thoughts, gestures and attitude. However the faith reposed on us by another person is required to take on the test of time and situations before being cut bare open to introspection. Each soul is a fresh whiff of breeze. There is always a greeting and welcome on their arrival or a sting of sadness in their goodbyes. Some leave our garden scented with their cheer yet some others leave a trail of agony and sorrow for us to endure.
Each slap of wind is a memory; each gap of silence is a cry, each moment of knowing a longing and in each moment of good bye you belong. You would turn a stranger today. While the gush of winds blow in more rains with ferocity. Somewhere distant, I hear a silent sob. I wonder if it is your silence that seethes in pain or my thoughts that reverberates it back.
Of course, I do care. I know the wind can never be unknown to me or the rain drops. Neither the Earth, that breaks away from under my feet today that would erase your memories.
It would only be the adios which shall remain an unsung song.
MEMORIES WITHOUT SCHOOLS
It is not just the
imposing red brick building but the sheer steel and unseen human soul hidden in
the insides of this reverent temple of learning that beckons me once again
towards it where I spent twelve precious years of questioning, introspection
Nearly three decades have passed since I used to sit perched on one of these benches trying to unravel a future for myself figuring out the intricacy of platonic integrations, geometric progressions of spiraling days, dissecting anatomies of life and mimicking the pure delight of angelic poems that were rendered with such urgency that I could never imagine in my wildest dreams that I would be scribbling some by myself one day!
Massive sprawl of green foliage hiding rows of non-descript yellow single storied structures with arched front in the Canning Lane of LB (Lutyens Bunglow) Zone were our primary class rooms. I would hear gallops of the marching regiment, a cavalry that was perhaps kept safely leashed in some the stables many years ago by the British.
Tiny little brown desks and benches; Damp moist odor of wood and a fresh smell of Earth. Exotic green nuts oozing milky syrup that would be crushed with stones its tender insides that tasted like almonds to be eaten bare. The swarming flocks of Eagles and vultures that would swoop down on our lunch boxes during noon. Melodious notes from the air filled bags of Scottish pipers that I later found were the armed bands practicing their regimental numbers are little specks of memories from the period that I still carry in my head.
With passing time the old structures started crumbling and we braved the rains, heat and the fury of winter in the make shift tents where we grew up learning logic of sane learning, joyous sharing and a sweet fanciful adolescent years of secondary school time.
Beads of sweat, austere leanings and sincere toils saw us shift into gleaming new class rooms. Islands of earthly natured pupils in silence had with time transformed into cities of fortified passions. Some harangued and debated most complex aspects of social and political anarchy prevalent in other parts of the globe while some others had astoundingly sharp scientific temper that would put seasoned scientists to test. There were yet others during our senior secondary school years who would take up challenges of an alien civil crowd on board Delhi Transport Corporation buses fiercely fighting for the safety of their school mates outside school hours.
Sweet and tangy taste
of our brush with destiny of a warm school time start and ends at its gates
that was what we thought when the farewell happened.
Today, I find the list of distinguished people who have passed out from the school is endless. After decades of separation, sincere warmth and a unique camaraderie still binds all of us. But for the memories, our school days are like shadows that grow longer with each passing day. Memories are all about that, aren’t they? And What are memories without schools?
http://www.jpkallikkal.com (Class of 84)
Wednesday, January 13, 2021
Stranger in the mirror
I wonder if you ever imagined sharing stories with strangers of destiny!
No? On ,A train Journey? It would have been an incredible stranger. No. Not a train Journey. I was talking of a Life Journey. A journey, when each individual, who matters to you, wishes to open up a path before you. A path you think never exists! A train journey is a moment; A life journey into eternity.
An eternity to dream your fantasies, feel your heart beats and breathe life. You may be living in a finite world yet your thoughts take you through a virtual journey. The words that the stranger whispers, just wafts over and takes flight. They sometimes crawl, sometimes run, sometimes stop but they do sail long distances.
You know what? I always wished, I could share stories with unknown people. How naïve I was. I thought no one would understand my story. So, I started listening to their stories. I heard them for years and found their stories were same as my story but the plot was different every time. So was theme, the actors, the settings but each stranger had a story to tell. Story of their journeys
What is life? An incredible mix of surreal happenings interspersed with the karma of the present and bhagya or destiny that your future holds? I would rather say life is like meeting that stranger on a highway, depends whether you give him a lift or just speed away your way.
Each moment can be turned into a profound experience or they can be suppressed to happen the way they are happening. Let them keep happening but you need to steer them to a certain extent onto a chosen direction. Each day can be a story of your struggle, achievement or failure but giving a personal fillip to your actions can make your story slightly different from what you perceive and realize.
What the stranger whispers could be what your heart echoes too!
But you need to travel. The incredibility of the stranger would dawn upon you once your heart gets the answers. Answers to the riddle called life. So let a new Journey begin. You will soon realize the stranger of destiny is your reflection in the mirror that knows your heart better than what your face sees on it.
Today, I looked up myself in the mirror but was surprised to see a stranger smiling at me.
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