And God said. Let Music be!

 I have always wondered how man created music. My musings over this question have led me to believe that though this is the only art form which does not have a physical form to emulate, it should have been, and is still there in nature, esoterically though. Identifying or extracting music from nature could not have been the result of any concerted effort with well defined targets. It might have "occurred" to the "selected few" while in some divine meditation. But then, how can various forms of music evolved independently  in totally unconnected places over the earth at different points of time have the same basic structure.Any form anywhere in the world evolved during any era in history is built on the seven basic notes. How can this happen?God might have sung those seven notes into the ears of someone in ascetic meditation, perhaps in an inadvertent pursuit of the unknown. This might have happened to the "selected few" as God might have thought that his creations are incomplete if those seven note remained sublime beyond the human perception. And He might have allowed those note to trickle down from the heavens into the human ear and He might have proclaimed, "Let Music Be". ...........and it might have been all music! Whatever happened after that might be a product of human intelligence.
My belief that music exists in nature is a consequence of some personal experiences. Hearing a well rendered Sreeragam, I bow my head and with folded hands, I feel like standing in some divine presence. Kaapi ragam takes me to Vrindavan. A slow Tabla, accompanying the Sarod, takes me to the Akbar's court and the Veena and the Mridangam take me to Kailasm. Such experiences do not occur always. Mridangam should be by Karikkudi Mani. Great if it is Mysore Doraiswamy Iyengar on the Veena. Zakir Hussian on the Tabla and Amjad Ali Khan on the Sarod..........you are sure in the Akbar's court. And Hariprasad Chaurasia after midnight in dim light or lights off .......... look out through the widows. You can "see" the confluence of swaras from the heavens. While watching the snow fall in Kashmir don't you "see" Pandit Shivkumar Sharma sprinkling those Santhoor notes? And isn't it the Bhoopalam that makes the sun rise in the east? Any doubt?

ANN EYE OPENER !!!

Kottayam,
2nd December 2012

My dear Ann,

I concede defeat. It suffices to write just this. Here I can conclude this letter with the customary "Yours lovingly..."

But since this letter is in the public domain, I think I should elaborate for those very few of my students who unreasonably yet staunchly believe that their Sir cannot falter.

The Kottayam "Mixed Voices" is in existence for 27 years. Over these years their programmes were  hugely appreciated by the music lovers here and elsewhere.  But for a variety of reasons this never enthused me. This time when you invited me I thought I should attend. How can one say no to someone as affable as you are?  Today's carol programme  was a curtain riser to this year's Christmas in Kottayam. The grandeur of the evening needs no description. Ann, I came there in time and could spot you in the front row of the singers. The songs were presented with utmost perfection. May I tell you that this time too, the songs didn't enter my heart. I do not know whether it is my ignorance or some innate dislike, I could never hear western classical music through my heart. So it were not the songs but the singers who defeated me. I remained awe stricken by the mastery of the singers. A really spellbinding performance. Simply superlative.  So much of artists in a small town is unbelievable. Yes Ann, till this evening Kottayam remained a small place for me. The "rubberised" vanity and extravaganza was always nauseating for me. The aromatic pepper or the seductive fragrance of tea or coffee never mesmerized me into respecting Kottayam. But today Kottayam rose to astronomical heights in my esteem and the aftermath was my steep fall in my own esteem. Talent is God's gift. With so much of God gifted singers in this town I felt dwarfed despite my six-one frame.  Ann, in our discussions I had questioned  the spirituality of this kind of singing. I regret. Spirituality being such a personal experience, how can I question somebody else's means of spirituality or its expression? Ann, most of the things I have told you during our talks remain the bedrock of my faith. But I should confess that I learned quite a few things today so that if my views were any skewed they will get corrected.

Having said this much, I think I should say more. As a Physics teacher I have been advocating confinement of mind and convergence of thoughts and have been demanding undivided dedication from students. This was with a view to conquering the world and not even being winners at the national level. I have no regrets and I don't think changing this attitude. Yet Ann, this evening for the first time I have this feeling. "Why should everyone learn Physics? Music being man's greatest extraction from nature (everything else has a physical form) what if someone opts for it? But Ann, was this my real problem? No, I presume. I am confused. I think it can be said like this. For a teacher  and  a student of  Physics, their spirituality is in doing Physics to the best of their abilities. How can anyone tell me that this attitude is wrong? After all, this is not just an attitude. Ann, you may recall that I have talked only to Physics students and any generalization of my arguments may sound ridiculous. With all my humility in place I would like to continue my views regarding teaching  and learning Physics.

Ann, now the funny thing. It is 2 hours past mid night. Yet I thought I will complete this letter lest my views should change with the rising sun of the 3rd of December !!! Tomorrow when I teach somebody Physics, the fanatic teacher in me may overtake my vagaries and my fantasies generated by those beautiful songs of the evening !!! Hope you will excuse me for this last sentence which shows that I am not remorseful despite starting this letter in a different tone and tenor.

With lots of love,

Your Teacher.

ACHAYI

November 30^th 2012. Mr O.K CHACKO (name changed) alias ACHAYI retired from the Kerala PWD after some three decades of meritorious service. Yesterday Achayi telephoned  and invited Susan and me for a small party in the evening at his residence. I was told that the party will begin at 5 in the evening.  On reaching the quiet hamlet of Thottakkad where Achayi lived, we had a big surprise waiting for us. “Small party”, I wondered. Such a big “pandal” for a small party?? More surprises were to follow.  Instead of the close relatives and friends like me, I found the entire Kerala PWD there !!! They all have come there leading Achu to the place where he belonged to. Every one looked very jubilant. Groups of people inside and outside the pandal were engaged in a variety of activities. From bla  bla bla to ‘shairy’ to music, every group was busy, not interfering with the activities of other groups. The Karaoke assisted music group was the most noisy !!! A group of some five ‘musicians’ was valiantly fighting Baburaj, Devarajan master or Dakshinamurthy swamy, .Relentless, the group of five, ‘sang ’in five sruthy, five tunes and a ‘mishra chapala (!)’ tal. There could not have been a better display of unity in diversity. Various groups and the common thread was inebriation !!! Seeing all these celebrations anyone would have loved to retire. Anyway what was on display was the enviable, unmatched and honest PWD Brotherhood. I wanted to bow my head before this unity but I didn't, as those standing there (some were sitting and yet  others were in 'sawasana') were  in obscurity !!!

I turned a little pensive and thought of my retirement. May 31^st, 2012. When I walked out of the Physics department of CMS college at about 4-30 pm on that day, there was none to see me off. While going down the wooden staircase , I thought of the day I first went up those stairs on August 17^th, 1981 following Prof Mohan Kurien. I did not expect anybody there to see me leaving. But today watching in awe the way Achayi was escorted to his place by the entire Kottayam PWD office in a Princely way, I could only envy him.
Did I lament in my mind "at least one of my students of 31 years could have been there"??
Gita Bakshi was my student during 1984-85. A passionate writer, she had wrote to me that she would like to meet me and talk to me. This she did during early 2012 and I wrote back, "Gita, I shall wait for you at the department of Physics, CMS college till 4 pm of the 31st of May 2012. Yes, that will be the time when I will be shown the door". I heard the door  shut behind me, but Gita was nowhere in sight. She could have come, no?? But then, why single out Gita. Any one of those avowed "followers" could have..................

Late News
December 1st.
By mid night even those in 'sawasana' resurrected  to join the mid night rally  through the village road of an otherwise sleepy  Thottakkad with slogans like "Thottakkadin Romancham, O.K Chacko Zindabad".
Now....now, I feel like shouting.....PWD Zindabad !!! I wish I were in the PWD so that I could have retired like a Prince instead of  in desolation.

TUMMY TUMMY MATTERS

Yes. Tummy matters. Just think. Anything matters as much as the tummy matters? Probably not.

It was the evening of 4th of October 2012. While driving the Kanjikkuzhi-Collectorate  strip of the KK road inside Kottayam town I saw a huge crowd on the road a little before the Plantation Corporation office. Seeing a posse of police men I murmured, "another accident?". But, as I approached the crowd, I found it very ecstatic and the police men very relaxed. And to my left I saw an extravagant display of illuminations. Those fools crying foul over  the power crunch in the state should see this and feel happy over the "fact" we have enough and more. So much, more than needed, that we should waste quite a bit. I tried to stop my car and find out what was happening. But a policeman waved violently meaning "get lost".  I obliged, but not before reading the Neon-lighted "PIZZA MAX". It was the inauguration of another branded eatery in this small little town of big people with bigger wallets.

Today, 6th October,2012. I drove the same route. 8 PM. In a glance, I could read the satisfaction and sense of accomplishment(!) on the faces of those coming out of the new "Cape of Good Hope" and the anxiety writ large on the faces of those waiting outside. "Were they starving all these years?" I asked myself. I know that soon I too have to be there as I don't want to let down Anna. Being one of the first visitors to a place, be it a restaurant or a textile shop or a jewelry shop or a barber shop, on the day of inauguration itself is the fad of the day.

                             *****     *****     *****     *****     *****

Year 2000 or so. We (Anna, Renjan, Susan and I) were spending a week end  at Kochi. We stayed at the Bharath Tourist Home (BTH). In the evening we were walking through the MG road and suddenly I felt hungry. This often happens. I am hungry when others are not. We were near the Maharaja's college ground and we found a board "Chicking". The Rooster on the board suggested that it is an eatery. Those were the days when branded restaurants were a rarity.Those days "KFC" would have meant "Kappa Fish Curry" for someone like me (Kappa= Tapioca). We entered "Chicking" and I lost no time in ordering a Masala Dosa for me.The handsome young boy who attended us ready to take our order looked shaken as if struck by a lightning. I still remember him staring in disbelief with his eyes glued on to me as if seeing some one of the bronze age.

An ABBA variant rang in my ears.

TUMMY, TUMMY, TUMMY

MUST BE FUNNY,

IN THE CHICKING WORLD!!!

THE FIVE STAR ESCAPADE

On the 7th of February 2012, Renjan took Susan and me to a five-star hotel in Kumarakom. He wanted to make it big as it was the 25th wedding anniversary of his parents.

I feel like writing on the charm of Kumarakom but let me restrict myself to the five-star experience. I need not tell you of the exotic ambience of a luxury hotel. And, if you know me, I need not tell you that I was feeling like a fish out of the pond. Yet I remained excited (and hopeful) at the thought of some yummy food. It was time for lunch and I searched the typical "meals ready" board but was to be found nowhere. Inside the restaurant I scrolled through the tempting menu which boasted of native food  to Chinese to continental. I announced my decision for Kerala meals (oonu).  After some browsing I saw "plain rice" in one page. In another page was "Avial". Else where there was "Sambar" and so on.  Each item was followed by a three digit number. "Some code number", I told others with authority. But soon to my shock I realised that the 500 following "Avial' was its cost in Indian currency. A small bowl of "Moru Kachiathu" just for 450 ! That I didn't faint is a mystery. Probably I was dreaming of the most tasty food over the globe soon appearing before me.

And the story begins. All the items appeared on the table and I "approached" the "Moru Kachiathu" (MK) with great reverence. When it tasted like anything but MK I blamed my taste buds. When "Avial" too disappointed I excused my taste buds. When "Sambar' turned out to be an apology for it I realised  that my taste buds are as sensitive as ever. The MK in any small little road side hotel anywhere in Kerala should be hundred times better. I thought of Thomas Chettan of the PG hostel and Thomachan of the CMS college canteen. What they serve without any tom-toming was the real taste of the land. Disappointed with the oonu, I encroached into Renjan's plate to grab a little "Bhatura". "Bhatura this"? I exclaimed. I felt like kneeling before the old man wearing a Gandhi-cap on the Agra cantonment railway station platform who was a bhatura vendor. It was in 1977 that I first had a taste of bhatura from this man. He kept shouting "Chole Bhature" even as he was busy making them to meet the ever increasing demand-supply gap. That old man cannot be alive today, but the taste still lingers on my tongue. (The next best Bhatura, I had in Renja's company at an Allahabad hotel in 2010. I forgot the name of the hotel).

Having expressed my disappointment and anguish, I think, I should be a little realistic. The place is not for people like me. (But there is no harm if MK tastes like MK??). The place is for the Forbes listed Indians and not for "native indians". Let them pay @ 500 for MK and those dishes with vernacular names but insulting tastes !!!

                                                            *     *     *     *     *     *

After the five star escapade, I escaped into India from that island of luxury. Back on Indian soil a terrific idea flashed through my brain. You are sure to exclaim "what an idea sirji"!! After reading this (indeed it will be read) Jaipal Reddy is sure to summon me to Delhi to hear more of this brand. Poor fellow is struggling with the oil bills.

Now the fantastic Idea.

The rich and the super rich pay 500 for MK at luxury hotels. Let them. In fact they should. Now let us extend this argument to other places, for instance, the petrol station. Some come there on their "Hamara Bajaj". Even the ageless "Lamby" may be seen there.  Yet others come driving Audi or BMW. Let there be a differential price structure. Why should the Audi-man paying 500 for a small bowl of MK get petrol or diesel at subsidised rates? Why should the Audi-man indiscriminately contributing to global warming in a variety of ways be encouraged to do that with government subsidy??

                                                         *     *     *     *     *     *

After my retirement from CMS college, with nothing to do, such fantastic ideas come fleeting to my mind.

What can I do?

Will someone find a job for me???

GIBBS BOSON & HIGGS PARADOX

Every other man on the street spoke of the God particle. Even the normally discreet ones minced no words when the talk was centered on the new sensation, lest they be mistaken for fossils. As always, the village tea shop and the barbar shop were the hub of discussion dissecting the God particle threadbare. Many a time I felt like telling these scholars, "Thou shall not dissect what God has composed". Even priests talked on the issue from the pulpit during the Sunday mass. With the 'God' epithet they could not but talk. None asked anyone else regarding the new find as everyone was very sure about it with little doubt. Though the ideas propounded by individuals differed violently, that did not result in any violence as each one considered oneself right and others mad. Don't say that this is the first symptom of madness.

Turning  to myself, I remained silent not because I was an atheist disinterested in anything that was even remotely Godly. I was afraid to talk. I knew that Higgs Boson was far from what was being talked about. I knew that like any other particle Higgs Boson too was a mathematical object. But since the mathematics of it was far beyond me, I decided to live happily in a world sans Higgs Boson.

One of my friends educated me on how the God particle can be used to prove the existence of God.  The next day I found the poor man shattered as someone proved to him that the very same particle can disprove God !!! Now I had this friend talking about the 'Gibbs Boson'. As he kept repeating 'Gibbs' I tried to correct him. He was a cricket buff and a die hard fan of the cricketing great Lance Gibbs and it was that ghost creating the tongue twist. He was not prepared to concede defeat. He continued educating me; "See, Gibbs or Higgs, we should be more concerned about Boson. Prof Boson was an Indian scientist you know?? Bewildered, I wanted to tell him that the great Indian was not Boson but Bose. But I refrained as I felt that scholars should not be disappointed. If Gibbs Boson comes can Higgs paradox be far behind? I wait. One thing is certain. Never before in human history, so much of people talked so much over an issue with so little understanding. (smelt a Winston Churchill ??)

Long back Einstein made the following statement when too much of people talked with authority on the photon ( like quantum of energy, packet of energy etc).

  "All the fifty years of conscious brooding have brought me no closer to answer the question - What are light quanta?  Of course today every rascal thinks he knows the answer, but he is deluding himself"

Today, will someone, may be Peter Higgs himself come out with a similar statement?..............

.....................for the God particle's sake???

......................because what is being done to the Higgs Boson is far more diabolic than what was once done to the light quanta.                                                                  

IN SEARCH OF A LOST LINK

This story has always been very disturbing for me. It instills in me a sense of helplessness. "Creating history", "writing history" etc sound meaningless cliches. This story drives me to believe that history creates individuals or society or even nations. When the drama called history unfolds humans remain hapless faceless players acting to the dictates of the incomprehensible reality called fate.

My maternal grand father's sister was called Ammini. Ammini is a low profile name if names mean anything. But my Ammani Ammachi (AA) was a lady of the highest profile. During the nineteen thirties she joined the Christian Medical College, Ludhiana as a medical student and eventually she became a doctor. But the years she spent there changed her life for ever.

I never saw her. But from the descriptions  by her nieces and nephews and some others of her generation, I could learn that she was very beautiful. These descriptions kindled in me a sort of respectful love for AA whom I never saw. For long she remained the queen of my childhood fantasies.  Those were the days when girls passing the fourth standard were treated as "over qualified". At Ludhiana AA fell in love with her class mate, an aristocratic north Indian Brahmin. She married him incurring the wrath of her father (my great grand father), a feudal lord by all standards. In the typical Zamindari tradition  this feudal lord lost no time in issuing a decree by which the number of his children stood reduced by one!

Now she starts her life with the man of her choice. He hailed from a princely family owning thousands of hectares of land in the now Pakistan part of united India. Life might have been exhilarating for AA as the new "Bahu" in that aristocracy. Soon she was to become the mother of two cute little girls. Yet she might have had an occasional sob at the thought of Mavelikkara and her beloved ones. None at Mavelikkara had any contact with AA. With no contacts and no efforts to rebuild a ruptured relation AA would have been lost for ever. But then, strange are the ways of fate.

With the struggle for independence reaching a crescendo the whole of India was in turmoil. Order gave way to chaos. Tensions were mounting. Even as India was united in its resolve against British Imperialism, the most unfortunate episode in the history of India was unfolding - an almost irreversible communal divide in the Indian mind or conscience.This resulted in the volcanic eruption of communal violence with Hindus and Muslims fighting each other. Lakhs of human beings were butchered. Lahore and Rawalpindi were burning the way most North Indian cities were.

Poor AA. She might have run for safety or hidden somewhere with the two little kids close to her chest. The aftermath of this unabated violence was the greatest exodus in human history. With east bound Hindus and west bound Muslims, it was an ocean of human beings migrating to safety leaving behind all the valuables and their place of birth. I was in tears when I read the description of these scenes in the book "Freedom at midnight". Because I knew that one drop in this ocean was my AA tired and exhausted. In a huge sea of humans, none is any special. Anybody is just faceless.

AA and her group finally reached Delhi inching through the desserts of Rajasthan braving all odds. A new life was started at the refugee camp. I can't imagine how AA and her family members might have reconciled with the tragic fall from an aristocratic, princely life to the life of refugees. At the height of her sufferings and in the abyss of an all-lost feeling, AA finally wrote to her father detailing her unfathomed agony.  From what followed one has to say that even for feudal lords, blood is thicker than water. AA's father immediately sent his men to Delhi to bring home his daughter and her husband and children whom he was to see for the first time.

For AA, she was back home. But for her husband he was uprooted from his place of birth. The children were yet to be "citizens" of any land. I have heard that the man from the north was most interested in watching people climb the coconut tree. He spent all the time in the coconut farms watching this "hop up and climb" in disbelief.

During this time the government of India was engaged in the herculien task of rehabilitating those who have fled Pakistan (by now Pakistan was formed) and who were toiling in the refugee camps in India. AA and her family went back and settled some where in North India and resumed their life from scratch. They started a clinic which, I was told, flourished well. Once the trauma of  one of the most unfortunate incidents in history was overcome, people stopped worrying about each other. Relations were not maintained. Decades later one morning, Mavelikkara woke up to a shocking news. The Malayala Manorama daily carried the front page news of the death of AA and her son-in-law in a road accident in the US. And that was the end of a turbulent life which was full of unexpected and unbelievable turns and twists.

Years later, in 1987 to be precise, I got news that AA's grand son,ie, my second cousin Vikas Khitta was at the College of Engineering, Trivandrum as a student of Mechanical Engineering. I wrote a letter to him and he replied addressing me "dear cousin". I cannot describe the emotions that overpowered me on reading that letter. Very soon Vikas came to Mavelikkara accompanied by his mother Remani. We all had an emotion packed rendezvous. A good number of us had assembled to receive someone who had left that place as an infant and is now back as the mother of a teen aged son. For the feudal lord I mentioned in the beginning Vikas belonged to the fourth generation. There were sobs, hugs and none could speak a word. We all stood on the lawns of the centuries old ancestral house which had a long veranda.The changing expressions on the face of the elders assembled there reflected the fleeting memories in their mind. All of us felt as if being in a world of fantasy. The silence that was becoming unbearable was broken by Remani when she suddenly recognized a small little stone grinder left abandoned at one end of the long veranda. It was in this stone grinder that she used to grind arec- nut and tobacco for her grand father (AA's father).Vikas told me that they had settled in Bereli in UP. He told us that his grand father (AA's husband) was still alive. I felt sad. If I had known this earlier I would definitely have visited my AA's man. I was in Agra as a student for three years and Bereli was not too far. Now I am even more sad. I can blame only myself for not maintaining my contacts with Vikas.

I wish someone reading this knew my cousin.

I wish Vikas himself read this story and got back to me.

I remain hopeful.

I do not know the correct spell for Khitta. Some people say it is Kitha or Khitha.

THERE IS SO MUCH IN A NAME. I AM VERY SURE, ONE DAY I WILL GET A MAIL FROM THE RIGHT SPELLED. MY COUSIN CANNOT BE WRONGLY SPELLED. FAR REMOVED THOUGH, IN SPACE AND TIME, THE GENETIC LINK THAT EXTENDS FROM INFINITE PAST AND THAT FLOWS INTO THE INFINITE FUTURES IS THE GREATEST REALITY AND MARVELL OF NATURE AND HE AND I ARE SOMEWHERE THERE SO CLOSE YET SO FAR..... LONGING TO MEET AGAIN.

THE WAIT WILL NOT BE TOO LONG..... IT CANNOT BE...............

MASALA DOSA

The very name "Masala Dosa" is hugely evocative for me. It takes me back to my childhood days when a rare visit to a vegetarian hotel along with my parents or uncles, was the most I could have asked for. These days, when children frequent the Pizza Hut or KFC or Chicking hangouts  or Baskin Robins I stand in awe. I also wonder how one can prefer all these over my Masala Dosa (MD). I remember having the most tasty MD at the Unni's hotel at Mavelikara.( less than 100 mts towards the west of the Mitchel junction - no more there). This hotel didn't have a board, yet MD lovers flocked there. The proprietor Mr Unni was a Nair with aristocratic looks. After all these years I can confidently say that MD  at the Unni's were the best I ever have had .

Masala Dosa is one food item that has been cruelly experimented with by unscrupulous chefs.The filling in Unni's MD was simple, with potato ,onion, a little ginger and nothing else. The moment green peas or carrot were added MD lost its chaste taste. MD ceased to be MD. Intrusions did not stop there. Even cauliflower (of all the things in the world) got into the recipe. The sad result is that Unni's MD is a thing of the past. My mind craves for the simple yet mouth watering MD.

                                            *    *     *     *     *     *     *      *      *

Last week, the Huffington Post of New York included MD in a list of ten food items "one must eat before one dies". I felt happy and proud. I do not  know which MD they have selected. Unni's or the chef-shattered  modern ones? Whatever, let us rejoice over the MD's new found position.

                                            *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

This recognition for MD brings certain thoughts to the fore. Kerala has a long list of native foods to showcase. But our hotels and restaurants try to woo the  tourists (from within India and abroad) with Chinese and Continental dishes. I wonder why foreign tourists should visit India for Chinese delicacies. Why can't Kerala promote food items that are so uniquely its? Dosa, Iddli or Vada may be common to all of South India. But Appam, Palappam, Idiappam, Puttu etc are of Kerala origin. I am sure that if our children get a chance to have these items home made, they will not go after the unhealthy junk foods that are deceptively tasty. Which potato chips marketed by multinational companies can match our "Chakka Upperi" or "Kaya Varuthathu"? Achappam and Kuzhalappam are on the verge of extinction. In fact they are extinct. what we get from the shops are an apology for the old ones.

I wish the Keralites in the hospitality business in a big way, took the lead to promote the food items that so uniquely belong to this place. In that process there shall be no experimentation with Avial or Sambar. Do that only if anyone can suggest an improvement to the Adapradhaman.

Ragam Haripriya

Hari and Priya were declared husband and wife the moment the nuptial knot was tied.this morning (July 11th 2012). Susan and I were present at the Geedham auditorium, Adoor. I think I was unusually happy being there. As always on occasions like this I withdrew into myself and spend some time praying for the newly wed. While being in the sublime state of prayer I realized that my prayers for other students were not any less or lesser. I realized that a prayer is something that happens and is not of ones creation. Yet, during or immediately after the prayer I had this feeling. Their life is going to be "Haripriya Ragam". I have heard of Shanmughapriya, Kharaharapryia and so on. Haripriya, I have never heard but it occurred to me in a flash.
I believe, this Haripriya will be  vivacious like a Hamsadwani,  mellifluous like a Hindolam and  romantic like a Mohanam. I am sure, this Haripriya will be an Amrithavarshini....."Showers of blessings"

Radio Mango 91.9 - Nattilengum Pattai

Some 40 years back a radio was a luxury. Huge sized radios working on vacuum tube technology occupied a place of pride in the living rooms of the rich. Slowly these got replaced by transistor based radios, small in size and costing less too. Tea shops in even remote villages had a transistor radio. These were the "windows"   to the outer world for the villagers. There was a uniformity in the tea-shop-operation of these radios. They switched on the radio in the morning with the signature music of AIR played on the violin by Yehudi Menuhin and switched it off only when it was shutters at the AIR station. It was during the late seventies or early eighties that Doordarshan TV fever spread all over India like an epidemic. In this onslaught, the poor radio got eclipsed. They acquired the dubious distinction of becoming the first e-waste in India. Radios were to be found only in tea shops and barber shops. For over two decades these poor fellows remained in hibernation hoping for a "sapamoksham" which ultimately happened in the form of FM broadcasting.

                                             *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Post retirement, I am confronted with people asking the same question: "what do you do"? when I tell them that I do nothing, the second question: "Future plans"? When I tell them that I seriously plan to do nothing, some look at me in disbelief while some look with sympathy and those with no expression might be telling themselves, "Rascal is lying, something is in the offing"!

How can I tell people that my mornings are busy with Radio Mango 91.9 and its power packed jockey Ms Neetha? For a slow speaker like me, her tides of words are incredible. How can one speak so fast and sensibly too.....with grammar and beauty of language well intact??

Every morning she comes up with something new and relevant too. Sandwiched lavishly with humour, her words provide me with a lot of food for thought. It suffices to say that there were mornings when I forgot to read "The Hindu", something I have been doing with religious sincerity for decades now. She asks people specific questions over the phone. Needless to say that most answers are funny, crazy and far from the right one. We like to hear someone else publicly airing non sense and cutting a foolish figure for oneself. I definitely like that. Yet, two answers on a recent morning show rocked me. Neetha's questions were to students who just passed their higher secondary examination and were seeking admission for higher education.

The question was: "What is electoral college"?

The first boy  soon to join the B Tech course replied: "...er...electoral college....is it connected with elections..."? I was a little relieved to hear this. If the boy had given one of those answers I hear over the morning show, I would have been hugely  concerned about the bridges and buildings this boy would construct in the future.

Now Neetha confronts another boy with the same question:"what is electoral college"?

This boy smart and sure wasted no time in giving the answer:

"Electric college?? It must be related to KSEB (Kerala State Electricity Board)"

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My good Heavens! I was frozen. But Neetha could still joke. That's why she is the darling of the ever increasing FM audience.

Now tell me, should I go for any job, post retirement, leaving these wonderful mornings with Neetha, Big B and Muruken??

Come soon Monsoon !

Today is the 27th day of June 2012. The monsoon has not yet arrived.
In olden days the first monsoon shower came down dancing with all vigour and grace on the day schools reopened after the summer vacation. It was not on June 1st, 2nd or 3rd. Amazingly it was on the school reopening day ! Elders back home were a worried lot as they knew that the children exposed to the first rain were sure to catch cold or fever. But the children were only too happy to reach the school drenched. Those days all students walked to the school even if the school was a few kilometers away. All along it was fun, fighting and friendship regained as quickly as it was lost. During the rains small shallow "pools" used to appear in the school ground. Children used to jump into them one-legged and the splashed water was "foot balled" with the other producing the sound of a diwali cracker. It required great skill, concentration and synchronization of acts to produce maximum sound. I was one who had mastered this native art. This, like many other "art forms" are now extinct. Who will try "foot-balling" splashed water when you can .....,for instance, roller-skate? Those were the days when the Rain Gods reigned. Into the second or third week of monsoon small yet powerful streams would have developed all over. I used to make dozens of wheels using fronds of coconut tree. The axis of the wheels rested on two poles fixed within these briskly flowing streams. Those days nothing thrilled me more than these rotating wheels, powered by the flowing rain water. With incessant rains these wheels went on and on and on and I kept watching them for hours together. Who will do this today when one can watch myriads of  TV programmes sitting in the comfort of the drawing room?
I cannot but think of those rainy days when somebody tells me that water in the Idukki arch dam is only knee deep. Wells have dried up. Village ponds have disappeared (with indiscriminate land filling) leaving no trace of their existence for a future romantic to say "once upon a time......"
The climate is changing. NO, it has changed.
With monsoon still shy to come dancing, I pray to the Rain Gods to show mercy, forgiving us for our brutality towards nature and give us back those beautiful days of bountiful rains.
Now it is half an hour past midnight. I am into the 28th day of June 2012. With no rains yet, the silence is frightening. Do I hear this film song from the thick dark?......"lauta de jannath meri....."

The Bell

May 31st 2012. After 31 years I was rendered jobless on this day.

Today it's June 4th 2012. I woke up in my bed. The sun was rising in the east. The singing birds were as busy as ever in the morning. The CMS college stood as romantically as ever on the Annan Kunnu (translated as  Squirrel Mount). Nothing has changed. I remained idle in my bed. In nearly two decades ,for the first time, I felt no urgency to rise up. Did my eyes wet? I don't know. At 8 in the morning apart from the morning walkers, one could find only Physics PG students in the CMS college campus. Today they wont be there, I thought.  I shuddered at the thought of the best time of the day for learning  Physics going waste. I remained in my bed with my eyes closed (and welled up too??). This was when I realized that one can see with ones eyes closed. I think I was transcended into the past. Did I fall into a slumber and was I dreaming? I saw the faces of most of my PG students.Did someone sob?? Did someone look wanting to tell me something?? Did someone say "Thank You"?? Did the odd one snub?? Did I hear someone humming.... "Kabhi alvida na kehena...."??

The faces and expressions turned obscure and it was all music and dance suddenly. Yes, the annual tours. I found myself in the Mysore palace with Oomman, Sakthi and Mon (Mohan). In one flash the scene shifts to Kodaikanal. I joined Durga,Joji and Jerry in drumming on the old imperial table of Kenley House which produced the "Nadam" of a Mridangam with the loudness of a "Chenta". Those beats still reverberate in my ears. But I am crest fallen. It is 8 years now......since Durga left for his heavenly abode. The "why " or "how" of it......we are none to question. But I still have a drop of tear for this highly talented boy.

At Kenley House the feasting was like never before with Christina bringing dozens bottles of variety pickles. (Her father Mr George Isaac, an Oxford M.A in Economics owned the prestigious "PALAT" brand of pickles, jams and soft drinks). The talent nights, camp fires, boating in Kodai lake, the jovial Mohan Kurien Sar, homely stay at Alex Achayan's Danny Guest House in Kodai, Songs with Rajagopal and Mathew C Mathew where shruthi and thalam were the only casualties!!!!......    I had turned a vegetarian in 1993. During the 2003 PG tour at Hotel Ambadi in Thekkady I decided to break my lent. I prepared myself mentally to consume some meat and even ordered some chicken dish. Seeing this chicken preparation  beside me this stupid girl called Meera screamed "Sir you eat this?" I couldn't and till this day I remain vegetarian !! The most musical of all the tours was the 1994 one with Durga reciting Hamsadwani, Hindolam and all that and Christina and Liby on the" Top Of  The World" with "Carpenters". All these things of the past.....?? I shudder. Yet it was a cool, sweet thing with these scenes parading through my mind.

From the world of music, dance and ecstasy I am brought to reality by the unmusical 8 o'clock siren of the municipality.

8 o'clock!!! The PG class room in the Woods behind the main Physics block will remain closed on this (early) morning for the first time in so many  years. Shall I christen this room a PG Woodhouse???!!! No class room in any college I have seen is like this one. Simple yet elegant, standing there in the woods like a small canoe in a green ocean.....with the symphony created by a variety of birds always there in the background....

I always considered this room the perfect setting for learning something. All that......

 I sit there in my bed not knowing what to do. Now there are no faces before me. No scenes parading before my closed eyes. Have I gone numb? Or, am I in a meditation?? Or, am I waiting??? Ending my wait, came the 10 o'clock bell from CMS college, sliding down the Squirrel Mount with an unusual ferocity. The Bell that was not for me.......

A FORGOTTEN MONARCH

The King of Kings  

 During the early 70's we as school children used to wonder where on earth was this Reykjavik. But we knew one thing for certain, that a young man called Bobby Fischer from the US was there, tearing off the iron curtain into pieces and bursting all red myths prevalent in the then world of chess where the Russian domination was unbelievably complete. At the world championship I think Fischer lost the first game, forfeited the second one and there after  played chess the way none else had ever played , conquered Boriss Spasky and went back quietly with the crown on his head. During those cold war days the west could not have asked for more and their media glorified this as the victory of capitalism over communism. But later incidents show that the King of chess never ever cared for such attributes. At Reykjavik he just played chess the way he only could. He did not even defeat Spasky.  Spasky was just crushed when the juggernaut rolled on! The King of the sixty four squares never competed in another world cup. Probably the genius never wanted anyone else to vouch for his position as the greatest of all grand masters of all times. While making the statement " I am the best and Spasky is the second" he was not engaging in any psychological warfare which was so rampant in the field of chess those days with the Russians being the Masters of the Art. He was only stating the obvious. It is a crying shame that the world chess establishment did not exploit the Fischer genius for posterity. Or did they find it convenient to avoid him and let him go his way? If he had continued to play chess, the present day grand masters would have been playing the game in an altogether different fashion with "Fischer games" as their encyclopedia. If Fischer had not freed the game from the clutches of Russia there would not have been so many non-Russian grand masters and world champions now. The game of chess and all those who love the game are eternally indebted to this legend called Bobby Fischer. Indeed a King who could never be check mated !!

                                                                                                                                                                     

Green's Function turned Red !!!

My dear Harikrishnan,

Did you frown?? I never called you Harikrishnan. But then , today on May 4th, 2012, suddenly everything is different. On this day my PG classes started early in the morning. "So what, you been doing that for decades now. I remember our classes at 8 a.m". I hear you saying this. Wait man, Today is May 4th 2012.  I started discussing partial differential equations in the morning and at about 11.30 I wrote on the board- "Green's Functions" and suddenly I saw Red. Yes , I realized that when I walk out of the class at 1 p.m that will be for the last time from that class which I loved so dearly. You too had loved that class in the midst of "lovely, dark and deep woods".  I remember your father once coming to that class to meet me. And his purpose... to thank me for your success in GATE 2002 !!! I felt humbled before that great man. I don't remember most of the things he spoke that day. But two things still linger in my mind. These two things I have narrated to 10 batches of my PG students after you left. On that day while teaching in our Santhiniketan type of class I felt somebody standing at the door. It was your father. But I could not move for a while.  He was there with folded hands in the "Namaskaram" posture. Before and after that day many people including students and their parents have said namaskaram to me. (In fact this is something any teacher gets in abundance). But this posture was the perfect one. Perfect One?? Yes , when you pick up something from nature, there is only one perfect representation for it.  Not everybody realizes that. Not everybody even knows that. But to the extraordinary, it comes so naturally. I was reminded of a few statements by Dr Padma Subramanyam, the Bharatha Natyam exponent. Sometime during the nineties I had attended a workshop cum demonstration by her. Then she said the following, " Whenever I have a doubt regarding a posture, I go to the temples where these are sculptured. These form our library". So Hari, the representation of a feeling or an emotion in nature is unique !! Your father knew it. Then he told me the following. After Harikrishnan's BSc results were out I started from Kollam buying application forms from colleges offering MSc Physics course. (You guys make the lives of parents miserable. Renjan also believes  that  one's intellectual faculties are in inverse proportion to one's performance in conventional examinations - and at CMI he worked hard to keep his scores as low as possible !! He goes to the extent of saying that the students shall learn only and never be examined !! Fortunately for me he is yet to say that there shall be no teachers). Your father continued. " Sir, reaching CMS college I felt like being in a very romantic ambience. Seeing these old structures and in particular these poetic pillars I decided that Harikrishnan will study here only and nowhere else !!!" Oh God, here is a man telling me what I always had in my mind and what I dared not to speak lest I be branded a lunatic for yet another reason !!! Did I hear a Sreeragam flowing out of the woods.....Endoro Mahanubhavulu......  Yes Man you have to go a long way to reach your father.

A father like him does just one thing. Inspires. The onus to get inspired lies with the son. And you are a "faithful" son indeed !!!

I had started off writing about my last day in CMS but it drifted to unplanned terrains. Yet I am happy that a random drift took such a beautiful course.

And Hari, in my case I am trying to be a "faithful father" !!! Yes, I am hugely inspired by Renjan. These days I learn a lot of Physics from him. I wish I were at least ten years younger so that I could have passed on to my students whatever I learn from him. I have a long long way to go and yet never reach him !!! This makes my joy unbounded when I retire. God has put him on the track I had always dreamt for him.

With love,

Your Rajan Saar.

I forgot to write this:

How it was curtains on May 4th. It was yet another 8 to 1 class on 4th May. Yes, yet another when it started at 8 a.m but not when it ended. At 1 p.m I stopped and was planning my steps out. I thought I will talk to the students for a while, cool down and retire with grace. As I was about to talk something Harsha (she was my student for her BSc too) uttered this without any "provocation" - Sir, this is your last class??

Oh God, now I should leave lest my feigned valour fail me, I told myself and left the class in a haste.

Left the class??

Yes, I left the class room taking with me  in my mind the facsimile of 31 batches of MSc students. Of course not in chronological order. 

Yes, there was some sort of an order. Some pictures were very bright. Some have started fading.

Three very bright pictures were those of Sakthi (Toyo University, Japan), Mon (Mohan) (James Cook University, Australia), and Oomman (Pensylvania State University, USA).                                                Tell you one more? Yes of course Meera (PDF at JNCASR, Bangalore).

                                                                                                                                                       Pradeep, Priyamvada, Thulasidharan, Sreedevi, Nampoothiri, Reji, Sherine...... oh no, I stop...lest I should end up writing all the names.....each was so dear to me.....dearer than what they would have ever thought to be......I always knew that my love for you all was very unrealistic.....but then for each person what is real is what one thinks to be real.....

Christina, should I tell these people that you are there in my heart as brilliantly as ever???

NO DILEMMA FOR THIS DOCTOR

Year 1984. I was in Agra on leave from CMS college for my M.Phil at the Agra University. My M.Sc class mate Mukesh Gupta was already married and had a son, the cute little Aditya. His extremely beautiful wife Madhu was a wonderful lady. Later she completed her PhD in painting. During my year long stay in Agra, I was a frequent visitor to Mukesh's house. Earlier during my M.Sc days I was almost always there. I remember his little sister Usha learning English - S...I...T, SIT, "mane baithna", R...U...N , RUN, "mane daudna" etc. Mukesh's mother used to prepare excellent tea for me. Now at M Phil the responsibility shifted to Madhu. She was a wonderful sister to me in Agra. She never asked me or requested me. She would just say "Rajan Bhayya, today you will have dinner here". I was always left with no option but to oblige.

One day I fell ill and Mukesh took me to Dr Kuntae's dispensary near New Agra chaurai.Chaurai is the slang for Chauraha meaning junction.

 This was the junction were Krishnan had his Madrasi hotel. Wonderful Masala Dosa and matchless Vada. I still have the taste on my tongue. Sardarjis used to flock there for Krishnan's special Vada. For them one vada was an unending source of sambar !  And Krishnan was only too happy to serve them with as much sambar as they wanted.

Again, this was the junction from where I used to buy those copies of " The Illustrated Weekly Of India". I was addicted to this wonderful stuff from the Times of India stable.

And the Bhagwan theater was just opposite to Krishnan's hotel. I remember watching Amitab Bachan's DON here. The cinema hall was on fire with the lambooji dancing to the tune of "Khaike Paan Banaraswallah".Today the chaurai is not there. The six lane Delhi-Kolkotta highway swallowed it.

Back to Dr Kuntae. The one room dispensary was about 20 X 20 feet. There were some 50 to 60 patients packed inside the room, all sitting on the floor. The doctor was at the far end of the room (not on the floor). Mukesh asked me to just walk up to him."Walk up to whom", I exclaimed ! Mukesh pushed me into the crowd and I started "drifting" towards the doctor. Finally when I was some 5 or 6 patients away from the doctor, he asked me in English, "what is your problem?" So he has recognized my "Madrasi" look. I said quietly to myself, " my only problem now is to reach you doctor". He waved to me to tell him my problem without wasting time. I could not open my mouth as I found that his stethoscope was moving busily over a patient's chest even as his left hand was sensing another man's pulse. Simultaneously he was telling the ill-literate village lady to increase the medicine dose if her child's dysentery has not subsided. Now hold your breath. Behind him sat an old man on the floor, with a thermometer in his mouth !!!

Parallel Processing ?

Multitasking ??

I am still in a dilemma.

Note:

While hundreds of ordinary people got relief from that 20x20 room, on the opposite side of the road Dr(Mrs) Vasanthi Kuntae ran a hospital for women. A reasonably big one.