Dumblore Cottage

Dumblore Cottage stood mid-way on a lofty hill surrounded by tall Pine, Oak, and Eucalyptus trees. Nestled in a beautiful setting, this place was home for a brief while. The owner, a certain Mr. Fickle Henpeckshaw must be credited for picking what he must have thought was a swanky colonial name for his drab property. That, he did, decades before organized builders adopted the trend for their expensive, fashionable apartments, littered across India's large metropolitan cities.

But, Mr. Henpeckshaw can be offered no more praise. It is very likely that he chose the name by sheer accident, given his comprehension, or, more likely, the lack of it. For Dumblore was no more than an incongruous, ugly monstrosity, covered in wretched pale-yellow paint giving it a thoroughly distasteful appearance. On the inside, the onslaught of this reeking pale-yellow had a more pronounced and nauseating effect in the form of an uglier, cheap mosaic floor that ran across the entirety of the house. The only two things that were of any positive consequence were the wicket gate and the gravel-filled walkway that lay covered with pine leaves most part of the year.

The Henpeckshaws were an unpleasant and boisterous lot. Mrs. Henpeckshaw, who heaved herself across the grounds, with some difficulty, even at the most odd, ungodly hours, was particularly snooty and cold. On sunny mornings, she would be sprawled on her 'favourite' rusted armchair, bawling out long lists of inane instructions to whoever appeared in her presence. The old bat would be seen flapping about without purpose as if her sole intent was to cause discomfort. She was not unlike a medieval vassal to whom the title of being landlady automatically meant being irksome to those who set foot in her property. Quite naturally, she was disliked by all. I suspect by her family, too.

And then, there were the children. Noisy, uncouth mongrels. All three of them. With their funny names or whatever else that they were always yelled at to be brought to attention, even if for a moment.They ensured that every gathering, however important or otherwise, was quickly turned into an utterly disorderly circus. Keep away from the madness was the generally accepted, but unspoken perception.

But, Rosy, the dog, was a class apart. Pleasant and fine-mannered, like a well-schooled lass, she was the only solace that came from that crude lot. She was full of love and you could be assured of a very warm greeting whenever you met her. There were no ulterior motives. An incredibly loving soul in a terribly soiled world, you could say. But, then, so are most dogs, if not all. One can hardly meet a human being who is dog-like. And, for that reason, one's faith in pooch-kind remains undamaged. In saying so, I do not speak only for myself, I can be certain.

Mr. Henpackshaw was rather inconsequential. He was comical in his appearance. Clad in ill-fitting baggy trousers and a dull gray sweater that sagged upto his knees, the old carthorse could be seen trudging about with his filthy cloth bag. But, no one paid any attention. Neither did he demand any. He had no mind of his own. Almost any question put to him would be met with the stony "I will tell you later." That was his stock phrase. One needn't have been intelligent to surmise that it was Mrs. Henpeckshaw who did all the thinking. He was only vocalizing her opinion. That was all he was permitted to do, other than, of course, running errands, paying the bills, and grocery shopping.

The Henpeckshaws received no visitors. They weren't the hospitable kind. Although, you couldn't say the same of Rosy, the dog. Almost anyone who ventured into the property got a sound yelling from Mrs. Henpeckshaw. It appeared that was her only motive in life. Even the dutiful postman was not spared. The tenants got it, too. I suppose everyone got used to the spectacle or simply put up with it. After all, no one wanted to fight the eccentric, old maniac. So, they let it be. The annoying twerp milling about with no purpose or consequence.

Our stay was brief and lasted no more than a year, when we found ourselves moving to another place we called home. But, that brief interlude of passage spent at Dumblore was formative, although it is the mighty blue hills and the wonderful trees that I will remember and cherish most. And, Rosy, too.

Nearly forty years have passed since. It would be a gross understatement to say that times have changed. They have, indeed. So have the topography and the landscape. The new has become old more than many times. The past is barely discernible. There are few people or elements that share this bygone era that now lingers in only in memory. Of the few that exist, they are scattered far and wide, unsure of meeting in the future. Perhaps, not inclined, too. Disconnected, you could say.

But, there's nothing that will fade the recollection of Dumblore. Not even the vagaries of time or the savageness of life. Nestled in a misty hill that has been pillaged endlessly and its remains conditioned for  countless monstrosities that have since cropped up, Dumblore still stands firm in my memory, as an icon, defiant in the face of changing times, as a momentary escape to fight life's passage, in an attempt to preserve something that is now lost forever, yet inconsequential. You may call this romanticizing the past. But, since when was being romantic a bad idea?

India's National Newspaper

Two things prominently stand out from my childhood – the Nilgiris (the blue mountains of Ooty) and The Hindu. India’s national newspaper, is for me, a memory that transcends time. It is, as it has always been, very timeless.

My association with the paper began while in school, when my father, ever diligent in his efforts to inculcate in me an early practise to begin reading, sought me, every day, to spend a few minutes, to read a small portion of any front-page news-item. I was required to identify five words, which weren’t known to me, and refer his red, bound, ‘Oxford English Dictionary’ to obtain their meanings. For a restless adolescent, this was a problematic affair. And, a particularly uninteresting one.

However, some of the most gripping incidents of childhood and teenage years, I read from The Hindu. The paper, to me, seems synonymous with the breaking-news culture of present-day television news programming (although, looking back, I must say that the quality of reportage was different by galactical proportions and could possibly never be compared with the shite of these days). Many an account, good and bad, have since been associated with their dutiful, unfailing bearer. In many ways, it also was my connection to the world outside, offering an uninterrupted glimpse of people and places I couldn’t readily comprehend.

Slowly, I was enamoured by the fascinating writings of Art Buchwald, Palagummi Sainath, Paul Krugman, Chinmaya Gharekhan, and Bibek Debroy – to mention only a few. Growing up, it didn’t matter, nor was it evident to me, that the paper carried a heavily tilted leftist bias, compounded with attitudes such as pro-Chinese, pro-Sinhalese, pro-Gandhi dynasty, and what not!

My first brush with India’s entirely ‘page 3’ newspaper, (whose name I shall dutifully refuse to pronounce, which also appropriately, and ironically, reflects the depressing times that we live in presently), came about in 1997, when my meandering took me from home, for the very first time. Immensely popular, especially for its bollywood-trivia and intensely salacious style of story-telling, it was voraciously consumed en masse. Blasphemy in colour – or so, I thought!

Suddenly, The Hindu, even with its unrivalled mastery of the English language and celebrated journalistic expression, seemed old-fashioned. Its readers were looked down upon as relics from a pre-historic past. An increasing lot, who had not the slightest inkling of what class-act journalism looked like, pontificated, at length, about how the paper was ‘overrated’.

But, was the paper losing appeal? Or, was it becoming the preserve of a very select group of readers? Was sensation becoming a mass requirement? Evidently, it was not everyone’s newspaper. And, with its limited availability, its circulation and readership, it was no match for its wildly popular tabloid rival. Even though the paper made progress, it lacked a national presence – in a very big way. And, then, the coverage – or the lack of it. While other papers offered sections of news pertinent to a whole range of subjects, oftentimes properly categorized for easy and quick consumption, The Hindu continued its focus on a very limited range of topics.

Could the paper do something to keep up with changing times? Absolutely. Should it change fundamentally in doing so? Absolutely not!

The Living Daylights

Winter mornings in Kerala aren't symbolic or significant. There is a nip in the morning air and the rest is quite the usual. Winters in most parts of Kerala are only indicative of dates on a calendar. They are not a season to expect or experience, particularly along the coastline that is weathered down with searing heat and insufferable humidity.

Some seven hours and a hundred and forty miles away, in Ooty, one wouldn't dare say the same! Nestled in blue mountains, and dotted with conifer and oak, the winds there have a reputation, a notoriety of sorts. Even the arriving sun wouldn't muster enough courage to battle the dew drops of the night before or the omnipresent breeze that can be bone-chilling. Refuge, therefore, is best sought under the covers, many layers of them, until it is deemed appropriate to set about into the day that wouldn't be very different from how it began - sleepy, cold and lethargic!

On the morning of 26 January 2001, when i was roused earlier than usual, i knew it had to be something very important, rather significant. Groggily walking up to the telephone and placing it to my ear, which had now been numbed by the chills, i was greeted by an excited voice who sought to urgently but happily convey an 'arrival.' There were four, she had remarked, and all of them entirely different. I sat up listening to the details and a surge of excitement energized me into exhilaration. As i replaced the receiver onto the cradle, i smiled to myself. Unbeknown to me, i was setting off a chain of events that would last over twelve years. Twelve years today, is close to a third of my life.

Less than forty days after that telephone call, i set foot in Cannanore to begin a new phase. It would be my home for over two years. No sooner had i landed, i paid the 'arrivals' a visit. They were four. Very different, and no larger than fully grown squirrels, huddled up in a corner with their mother. Mixed in lineage, of Chihuahua, Daschund and Terrier, they were a curious lot. Noisy, frolicking and funny, the first you'd notice of them was the attitude they wore and carried; four bundles of fur and the mother were seen trudging along like royalty, never letting go of an opportunity to bark away even at the tiniest object that evoked curiosity or fright.

After a protracted battle with fellow contenders, owners-in-waiting, i settled on one, the one - the little girl with a sandstone coat, not unlike a lion cub, with a fierce temperament, whose idea of a warm welcome was to deliver a sharp bite. For some four weeks that i was her custodian, our roles transformed. Our identities had differed. She was no longer a pet and i no longer a custodian. We were contemporaries instead; she quadruped and i biped. Though devoid of a tail, and different in constitution, i became fast friends with her and it increasingly appeared that she chose me as opposed to the notion that i picked her. Soon, she had a name, one that reflected her person, nature, attitude and being, in all appropriateness and likening - i named her Simbha; signifying the fearless.

April of 2001 we set about to begin a journey that would take us southward, to what would be her ultimate home, in the mountains, in Ooty. Dog and human, in feverish excitement, yet thick of wariness, began their journey mindful that each hadn't undertaken such a monumental feat ever before. Several pairs of curious eyes spied us as we seated ourselves in a bus that was to conduct us to the end of an eight hour journey, transporting us across two neighbouring states, from one home to another!

Arriving home, in Ooty, we received a rousing reception, the new arrival and me, her batman! But Dad would instantly, at his first meeting with her, quip loudly about how tiny as a kitten she looked - a remark that wouldn't go well with her and remain unforgotten till the very end. A month later, when i returned to check on her, she had ingrained herself into the family and bonded very well, having established a place in the hierarchy. Dad was the man who brought supplies - essential in the pecking order, but not one to be very good friends with. Mum was the 'master,' or the mistress in this case; head of the family, an institution to be served with love and loyalty. And then, there were us, Deepu and i, brothers, who were her pets! So, in effect, we had a dog that looked like a cat, and kept pet humans!

The biped 'pets' had rooms for themselves, but visited no more than twice or thrice every year. Their bedding could thus be used to sleep over, jump about like a trampoline and mess up at will. Carpets served as nap stations. The telephone was an object of never-ending curiosity and the television was a mystic glowing box that was to be stared into along with Mum, every evening. The driveway served as a sunning cum watch station, spent barking at passers and chasing birds and cats. And Dad, the supplies guy, was only useful for the late evening snack he offered, before and after which he could be barked, snarled and growled at.

Years passed. My quests took me across the country, crisscrossing Delhi, Pune, Chennai and Mumbai. She remained at home with Mum all along, by her side, supplying her with unending love and limitless compassion. She mastered the art of multiplying happiness, without condition, and spoke volumes with her loving eyes and baring fangs! She charmed us, every bit of the way and we lapped it up seeking more of what she could offer, and offer she did beyond our needs, much further than what each of us were destined for.

In 2009, Mum was diagnosed with peripheral neuropathy - a process resulting in damage to nerves of the peripheral nervous system. It was a sunny summer afternoon in Pune, after my short visit to Ooty, when my phone buzzed indicating Dad's call and the details thereafter. I wasn't sure of how to receive the news and rattled at what the implications could be. Ignorance apart from being blissful can also be scary, when met with a sudden realization of what would be. Deepu was away in Chennai. This meant either of us were a few hours from home, painfully unable to respond to any crisis that may emerge. Eventually, Mum would seek medical assistance outside of Ooty for over 10 months leaving Simbha devastated, depressed and on the brink. I cannot recollect another period in time when she hasn't been by Mum's side other than this excruciating phase which had taken a miserable toll on either. Being reunited with Mum in 2010 was perhaps the happiest part of Simbha's life. Her joy seemed limitless and there appeared a promise of hope. Since then, like before, she would always accompany Mum on her long-distance travels wherever she went, dutifully by her side, slinking away into the shadows, but steadfastly remaining with her at all times. While Mum's doctors continue to wonder and often remark about the brilliant progress she has made at recovery, we have known better - of Simbha's perseverance and consequent success in making the impossible happen. It was dramatic and moving to watch her prod Mum to walk, as she laboured hard to make even one step possible. Bounding off a distance, pausing to look behind and then mildly letting out a woof, she would urge Mum to go forward to her. The activity continued for months, until the patient felt little of the terrible woes that once incapacitated her. I wouldn't attribute it to medical sciences alone. Miracles surely are a part of life too, and in our case, it came on four legs, brandishing a short tail.

Returning home on vacations, Deepu and i were accorded receptions befitting royalty, complete with a welcoming ceremony that would last almost forever. No sooner had that come to a close, she quickly reminded us where our respective places in the hierarchy stood - but not once, without love or kindness, of which she was a living embodiment. She was cuddled, treasured and celebrated, and in return blessed us with love, the kind we hadn't ever seen or experienced before.

Earlier this year, when i visited Ooty for the last time as a resident, Simbha appeared to look her age. She had turned twelve only days before. Her gait and disposition hadn't slowed one bit though. With boundless energy, she charged forward and lept into my arms dressing my face with warm snuzzles and spoke to me with the same intonation that she was used to. However, i couldn't help but notice how twelve years had transformed her - from a bouncing pup to an octogenarian lady at the prime of her age, at the evening of it. There weren't many outward signs of her deterioration, but i knew she was rapidly being consumed from within. Time is an unkind element, badgering the weak, accelerating their pace to oblivion faster than it can possibly be imagined. Perhaps, it is nature's way of deliverance, of liberation, from the woes of the inevitable. Even so, her fire never vanquished. I gather it was too powerful even for time to quell with its pitiless spell. Happy and full of life, running about and deep spirited she carried herself with the disposition of a warrior, surveying the expanses of her empire with the air of a conqueror. I wondered if i'd meet her again. The thought hung on vividly like a bad memory, recalled at every passing instant. Her eyes conveyed reassurance; comforting me that this wasn't about to be the end. I dabbled with doubt and belief, torn in anxiety while she looked up at me more than once with a glance as if to chide me for having tormented myself about something that hadn't yet happened. I returned to Mumbai, not comforted but hopeful. It was a promise that i felt would be honoured. Eventually, the cacophony of everyday life replaced my bother.

Seeking warmer climes, my parents decided to relocate from Ooty this March. Dad had relocated there in 1966 and Mum followed in 1978 after her marriage to him. I arrived in 1979 and Deepu in 1983. Simbha, the third in the line of a tribe of luminary-extraordinaire, arrived in 2001. My quests set me from home in 1996. Returning periodically and setting off to where my pursuits took me, Ooty remained, until earlier this year, home to return to. Though I hadn't been living in Ooty for over a decade now, to imagine permanent relocation of what was home wasn't easy. As a family, we hadn't done it ever before, much less imagined it. Ooty was our base, our hub of life. To conjure the image of another destination in its place was simply unthinkable. But the realities of life often permit that the unthinkable happens! Our home of some three decades sold, parents and Simbha moved to Wayanad, solely assisted by Deepu. I stayed out of the operation, frightfully intimidated at coming to terms with the colossal change.

Early in May this year, i arrived in Wayanad on my maiden visit. As is custom, Simbha welcomed me with unwavering love and livened up my holiday. Extremely cheerful and playful, she brought out the child in me, constantly reminding me that happiness and contentment are central themes of life, all important inspirations upon which our fundamentals should be based. A week sped by in minutes. The close of any vacation isn't easy. This one was doubly difficult. Preparing to leave before daybreak, i strode into her room and picked up a sleeping Simbha. I was surprised at the absence of the usual growl when disturbed. Holding her under her forelegs, clasped within my palms, her paws shot skywards while her hinds loosely hung in the air - a position i often put her in, not unlike the description of Mocassin, Piscine Patel's cat, from Yann Martel's celebrated book Life of Pi. She looked at me groggily, struck by the sudden unease at being roused up at an ungodly hour. Bringing her close, i kissed on her forehead and cheeks and hugged her firm. Still no growls. Her eyes conveyed nothing. They seemed to absorb, and not reflect. I was puzzled. Setting her on the floor, i strode out while she scampered off to her cushion to continue her momentarily troubled slumber. Hours later, when i got off the plane in Mumbai, i was still wondering if i would be blessed to meet her again. There were no answers. Only questions remained.

August 19 was different. It began on a very promising and interesting note. A sense of victory in casting away bygones into the past was endearing. That Monday morning, i began with zeal and energy that hadn't been felt in a long time. Tim Robbins couldn't have been more accurate when, as banker Andy Dufresne, in Shawshank Redemption, he remarked to Ellis Redding (Morgan Freeman) that "hope drives a man insane." My sentiment that Monday morning was not any different. But, remember Baz Luhrmann and his Sunscreen, where he says "The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday." Well, only this time, it was a Monday evening and strangely at 4pm!

I hadn't noticed Mum's call coming in at 1810. Neither did i observe Deepu's text of some 10 minutes after. Mum and Dad were in Cannanore attending a family occasion. They had arrived there with Simbha some two days ago and were set to return soon.

At about 1945, as i ambled out, i fished out my phone and ran through a list of unanswered calls, emails and texts. Those from Mum and Deepu stood out like a sore thumb. Even before reading Deepu's message, i knew instinctively what had happened. Deepu's text merely confirmed it. Oddly, i was greeted by the sight of an intrigued Labrador pup intently looking at me as he was being led away. His eyes were transfixed on me. I was puzzled. It took an awfully long while for the bolt to sink in. I decided against returning Mum's call, instead texted Deepu and set about going, not knowing how or what i felt. My mind was fighting the feeling. An increasing sense of denial was to set in, soon giving way for realization that dawned in a rather dull and ugly comportment. My thoughts mirrored the commotion outside, like endless blinding lights of automobiles, scattered and vying to find a way toward a destination their masters intended them to. Blazing horns and the painful clamour of an evening commute made the feeling worse, close to gut wrenching. It soon grew to become anger.

At 2034, i dialled Mum and heard a somber voice that battled hard to keep tears at bay. I fought too. The sense of anger that had now enveloped me made it easier. Gritting my teeth and clenching my fist, i restrained as hard as i could, aware that every beginning had to have a definite end. Less than 3 minutes into the call, i hung up asking to call later. We both wanted time to reorganize ourselves, comprehend and come to terms with a situation that was complex. In such times, silence is a preferred alternative.

At 2127, i rang up Mum a second time. She recounted the day and how they had been troubled by Simbha's growing unease. Handfed meagerly and accepting no more than a few drops of water from Mum, she bounded off, away from watchful eyes and into immortality. The end had come at about 1610. We both agreed on what had truly been a monumental being of extraordinary love.

Between 2151 and 2224, Deepu and i exchanged calls, often stopping off to ring back. Difficult moments ensued. Sobbing painfully, he recounted his lasting meeting with her and how he had departed without farewell, something that was bizarre. I sensed enormous guilt and grief, but did little to console, knowing that time would do a better job. We cried together. Nothing had united us so much in pain and grief before. It was a first. I recollected how Simbha's predecessors had passed on in our youth. Perhaps childhood offers a better mechanism to deal with bereavement, i thought. Or maybe we were too oblivious to comprehend back then. Possibly the strength of adolescence was formidable. Age can make a destitute of emotion.

Alone and bewildered, i made my way to the refrigerator and emptied some cola. It seemed tasteless and reeked of fizz. I gulped it down anyway and made to the shower and let the cold jet sprinkle on me. Vivid accounts of the past, safely etched in memory now came to fore and translated into tears, streaming down my face. I cried. And smiled.

That night as i attempted to sleep, glowing dreams transported me to faraway places, in the mountains, awash with endless hues of green and blue. I tossed about fitfully, shifting through places and time.

And then, i set about to write this post. I needed to write, express in words. This was my way, this is my way. A way of catharsis, a path towards deliverance. A paltry attempt at recounting a splendid existence that can never really be explained.

This is by no means an obituary, that is not how i would want it to be read. That is not how i wrote it. It is a fragmented account, severely limited in expression, of a superhuman life that intimately and absolutely transformed the lives of four people who, i realize, are truly blessed!

We have all, since, returned to our lives, largely out of necessity and partly out of choice. Eventually, time will consign memories to more manageable spaces where recollection would be possible with more cheer than grief.

That is indeed the purpose. To write; to remember and to come to terms with - to remember and celebrate the grace, love and cheer and to come to terms with the grief and pain.

But truth be told, she will always remain what she has always been - iconic.

Live On Forever Ry

My first memories of him are that of a warm smile, twinkling eyes of sincerity and a firm handshake which evidently were his trademark style of greeting, every one, every time, and at all times. These memories are not from a very distant past, but, from the backyard of the present.

At 21 you wouldn't expect anyone to be anything but a stirring teenager adept only with the ways a relative, contemporary world. But, at that, he proved all assumptions as they truly are - as assumptions. Extremely passionate about education, with the resolved belief that it was a liberating force, he was working on making his dream project come true - education for the under privileged. It was this yet unborn cause that brought us together, though we found ourselves often delving deep into the pleasures of music, movies, travel and literature.

One would think that a soul like this was destined to live his dream, to deliver the world from tribulation and be celebrated in timelessness - because that is precisely what the world needs, a man of resolve, commitment and belief that he will change the way people live, by hope, vision and effort.

Christmas was two days away and i was invited to have dinner with him - even during which occasion he passionately articulated his dream, his vision, his purpose. That evening, i went home comforted in dreams, his dreams, that strengthened a world of perfection deep within my mind.

But life isn't always the way we think of it! There is always that big fucking sick surprise that springs up unannounced, unbeknownst to us. I wouldn't know then that Ry wouldn't make it for Christmas. A little after mid-week last, of the past year, i was informed that Ry had met with death tragically, bringing two-decades of brilliance to an abrupt end.

Today, as i recall our last conversation, only hours before his departure - his words echo, inspire and encourage me, as if to say that we had met that last hour so that he could pass on the mantle of his dream to me, for it to live on. I gather, he was someone, unlike so many of us, who did not need any credit of achievement to attain his coign of vantage - for who he was, his existence alone did that for him. And that day isn't very far away when tributes, which will culminate into efforts, paid to his memory will show how much the influence of the departed will strengthen and inspire the deeds of the living.

For me, he continues to exist, always and all ways, in my memories and my actions. His simplicity, compassion and forthrightness and more prominently, his efforts to make the world a better place for the less fortunate make him truly what he is - the son of God!

Rest in peace, Ry, my friend, my brother! You fought a tough life and now you are united with your creator. Heaven is a place, now, better, but you have left us poor, forever!

Rest in peace, my friend, my brother. You will live on forever.

Remembering Jobs

He'd have celebrated his birthday today had he been alive.

Redefining Oblivion remembers the pioneer Steve Jobs and how the landscape of technology changed due to one man. 

Remembering Akroyd

Perhaps the name Aurobindo Ghosh wouldn't resonate as much in the ear until one drops the second part of the name and pre-fixes the honorific Indian title of Sri against the remainder.

From being a staunch nationalist and freedom fighter, transformed in due course of time as a philosopher, guru of yoga and a poet of eminence, this man's words that "Man is a transitional being. He is not final. The step from man to superman is the next approaching achievement in the earth evolution. It is inevitable because it is at once the intention of the inner spirit and the logic of nature's process" hold immense significance.

For me Auroville in Pondicherry has been a calling for a long time now and I hope to realize that dream, should the 'will' permit.

Redefining Oblivion pays respectful homage to this exalted soul. It was on this day in 1950 that he attained immortality.

Footnotes:

Dr. Ghosh, Aurobindo's father, chose the middle name Akroyd, for his son, to honour his friend Annette Akroyd. 

And Peace Reigns

It was on this day in 1962 that the dreaded Cuban Missile Crisis came to an end with Soviet Union ordering the removal of missile bases in Cuba. Those 14 days in October reminded the world of how perilously close it came to annihilation when the fate of millions literally hinged upon the ability of two men.

In the days that followed, when heaved sighs of relief were breathed in unison, across continents, and among echelons of power executives, one man's words would, in some ways, stand out in reassuring humanity's ardent commitment and, in many ways, desperate efforts to stall evil and maintain peace. Then American National Security Advisor, McGeorge Bundy, was reported to have remarked that “having come so close to the edge, we must make it our business not to pass this way again.”

Assuredly, nature has its own ways of reigning in the renegade and maintaining order to ensure that peace is preserved. Illogical and insane acts of obdurate and deranged minds will be crushed by their own misdemeanour and general good will eventually prevail, reassuring the rest that the world continues to be a virtuous abode for the just and worthy.

Footnotes:

Pictures taken by me on Diwali. 

iSad

“I’ll always stay connected with Apple. I hope that throughout my life I’ll sort of have the thread of my life and the thread of Apple weave in and out of each other, like a tapestry. There may be a few years when I’m not there, but I’ll always come back."

Playboy, Feb. 1, 1985

Footnotes:

Redefining Oblivion pays rich tributes to the timeless innovator who 'connected the dots looking backwards' with 'gut, destiny, life, karma.........'

Goodbye, Steven Paul Jobs.

RIP

After Chernobyl

25 years have come to pass since the Chernobyl incident. Wounds and memories still remain anew. It still ranks to be the worst civil nuclear disasters the world has witnessed, shadowing the more recent Fukushima I nuclear accident in Japan.

As countries dabble on the question of whether or not nuclear power can be a safe and reliable source of energy, it is shocking that many nations, presently part of the elite nuclear club, do not yet have a concrete nuclear safeguard policy!

This post pays homage to those who were affected, and to those who continue to endure the suffering, long after the world has forgotten the incident! 

The Enemy is Us

The first Earth Day was observed on April 22, 1970, and the man behind what is today a coordinated effort across 175 countries, and better known as the Earth Day Network is Denis Hayes.

But, my post is not about glorifying the need for any network or cause, for I truly believe that such acts involving conservation and activism need much more concerted efforts and they are not subscribed to or endorsed merely because of a group of people coming together on any given day!

Any mention of the first Earth Day, is incomplete without reference to Walt Kelly's iconic poster that was made for the occasion and that is precisely the reason why this post has been made today - to honour a vivid sense of reality that a person chose to portray in the most convincingly elementary manner! Kelly was the American animator and cartoonist, best known for the comic strip Pogo.

Kelly passed away only 3 years after the first Earth Day, but his iconic creation remains timeless, and in all probability, will continue to be more relevant in the coming times, considering the manner in which we continue to progress, or regress perhaps!

Footnotes:

Image Courtesy: Wikipedia

Image Description: Familiar, and hence needs no explanation, hopefully! 

Goodbye Uncle Pai

Redefining Oblivion pays respectful homage and rich tributes to Uncle Pai, who passed away yesterday. An enduring legend, coupled with the virtues of excellence, humility and imagination, it was his vision that led to the creation of Amar Chitra Katha, which has over the years transported millions of children deep on an enriching and memorable journey into the troves of Indian culture, mythology and history.

For those of us who grew up to the epic folktales and fables of this wonderful reference, life can always be recollected in cheer and cherished moments of yesteryears so unique and remarkable, something I'm not sure generations of the present era could ever imagine!

Maybe it is for him that Henri Frederic Amiel remarked "Man becomes man only by his intelligence, but he is man only by his heart."

A Sojourn Remembered

There is something mystical about Kerala, especially when one calls it his homeland! And to express that in words, let alone a post on a blog, is humanly impossible, sheerly due to being grossly incapable of capturing the vivid moments of ecstatic emotion that one experiences and can attribute to the endearing charm of this Godly land.

The day breaks with an assortment of enchanting wonders, with the hooting of sleepy nightjars announcing the arrival of dawn, while the faint chimes of a morning mantra usher into the mind an easy calm that is truly unequivocal. The carousal calls, in union, of a flock of birds adds cheer and the surrounding greenery, that has remain unchanged over decades, embalms the soul in a comforting warmth that one does not feel treated to during normal days of ragged bustle on the other side of life.

The animated chirruping of kinsfolk, untouched by time and age, makes one recall the yesteryear wonders of childhood etched deeply within many layers of memory, able to be revisited at ease. The mind is overwhelmed with a sense of emotion fostered as a result of togetherness which it has yearned for all time, and this coming together, after years of being separated by time and distances, brings out the child in oneself - just like the old times! In the mind, amidst the humdrum of activity, Pink Floyd's Shine on you crazy diamond plays aloud, perhaps as a tribute to life and how indebted one needs to feel as a result of being able to co-exist in harmony!

Late afternoons are always blissful. A sumptuous fare calls for a short siesta on the veranda, propped up on a antique recliner while being able to relish the caressing wind and the muted calls of the wandering cuckoo, all in an animated state of stillness that seem to deftly calm every living soul and create a serene setting for rejuvenation - much needed for us folks who are constantly caught up in withering ways and cacophonies of a fast paced city life.

Come dusk, the stillness deepens, this time, more in the mind, posed as a reflection of the surroundings, soulfully imbibed into the self, thanks largely to the comforting feeling of the lack of a sense of time and the absence of an ominous calling for adherence to its passage. A visit to the Tharavattu Kavu (sanctuary of the deity of the family), cleanses the soul no end and the heightened sense of peace and fulfillment that prevails equals no other.

It it hard to forsake such a place and harder not to remember it with every passing moment of one's life. The sense of nostalgia that prevails can well equal and echo many lives lived, in togetherness, well over many millennia.

The shrill ship-horn tone of the train's call rudely shocks one from the comforting recollection of two days well spent - infinite in bliss, and being able to recall the wonderfully well spent times of childhood, togetherness and happiness. As the train departs and gathers pace making the characteristically monotonous din in motion, poised to plunge into time and eventually to a destination of want rather than need, there is a remembrance of yet another creation of Pink Floyd, aptly titled "Comfortably Numb" and deeply crafted with impassioned words, among others, that "I turned to look but it was gone, I cannot put my finger on it now, the child is grown, the dream is gone."

Really, there couldn't possibly be a sense of despair more woeful than the pain of growing up and growing apart!

Footnotes:

Image Description - Korajem, our ancestral tharavad (house) in Kannur, Kerala

Image Courtesy - Mithun Ratnakaran, The other brother

The Wizard of Menlo Park

American inventor, scientist, pioneer and businessman, Thomas Edison was born on this day in 1847.

Of his many significant contributions to the world, perhaps a lasting legacy for all time to come would be the creation of General Electric, which is easily among the most admired corporate organizations in the world.

A proponent of excellence and values, GE is today across a hundred countries, over 3,00,000 people strong with revenues of over 160 billion USD.

Having been a part of GE, myself, the iconic words that "I have not failed. I've just found 10,000 ways that won't work," have found prominence in my life, no end, and today, Redefining Oblivion salutes this great soul for what he was and for how his vision continues to inspire millions across the globe. 

Celebrating Calvin & Hobbes

To describe childhood as having been magical is an understatement. In truth, there can be no possible description of childhood! And for those of us who have been fortunate, thanks to a bankable familial structure that remains even now intricately woven around us providing unending comfort and security, yesteryears are moments that are cherished for all time to come!

This post in particular is an articulation of celebrating childhood, or rather the child in us that we eventually come suppress as a result of a failed recognition of what we need to be, as opposed to what it is that we truly need to be, the answer being happy!

So for me, childhood stands singularly apart for one very good and big reason, apart from, of course, the many other wonderful things that went into making it. That one factor, or if I may say avenue, of unending happiness and joy came from William Boyd "Bill" Watterson's epic creation of Calvin & Hobbes, which has to my soul, by far, been the most appealing piece of pictorial literature bearing supreme levels of intellectual excellence, yet so elementary and cheerful. That feeling of bliss, I'm sure you understand, is timeless and shall continue forever! And as this momentously fabulous creation has come to turn 25 (though having ceased to be renewed in 1995), I thought it apt to make a mention of how my childhood has been a celebration of times, thanks to this timeless wonder!

Boy, I cannot tell you how much I admire anthropomorphism, in the way it should be - Just like how it has been depicted as in the case of Hobbes! But just before I close this post, I'll leave you some splendid lines from the mannerisms of an avant-garde post-modern icon, Calvin! :-)

I think the surest sign that there is intelligent life out there in the universe is that none of it has tried to contact us.

It's hard to be religious when certain people are never incinerated by bolts of lightning.

Pretty convenient how every time I build character, Dad saves a couple hundred dollars

Are you suggesting that this appliance didn't aggravate me with malice aforethought?

Well, it just seemed wrong to cheat on an ethics test.

If warped values are the price of a vicarious thrill, so be it!

I try to make everyone's day a little more surreal.

People think it must be fun to be a super genius, but they don't realize how hard it is to put up with all the idiots in the world

These are interesting times. We don't trust the government, we don't trust the legal system, we don't trust the media, and we don't trust each other! We've undermined all authority, and with it, the basis for replacing it! It's like a six-year-old's dream come true!

If it was completely different, school would be great.

Leave it to a girl to take the fun out of sex discrimination.

Why waste time learning, when ignorance is instantaneous?

As a math atheist, I should be excused from this.

This one's tricky. You have to use imaginary numbers, like eleventeen ..

I go to school, but I never learn what I want to know.

In my opinion, we don't devote nearly enough scientific research to finding a cure for jerks.

That's the difference between me and the rest of the world! Happiness isn't good enough for me! I demand euphoria!

To make a bad day worse, spend it wishing for the impossible.Life's disappointments are harder to take when you don't know any swear words.

I like maxims that don't encourage behavior modification.

I wanted to be a neo-deconstructivist but Mom wouldn't let me

There's never enough time to do all the nothing you want.

Remembering the Mahatma

Each one has to find his peace from within. And peace to be real, must be unaffected by outside circumstances. -- Mahatama Gandhi

Footnotes:

Image Courtesy: Google 

Happy Birthday King

Today is the birthday of Freddie King, the legendary king of blues and funk music, and in time the man who redefined the blues culture not only in the United States, but largely across the world!

Best known for his hit singles Have you ever loved a women and Hide Away, King continues to remain a Godly inspiration for modern day blues musicians who adapt his style and elegance in an attempt to etch themselves a name in the genre.

Following a proclamation in 1993 by the Governor of Texas, September 3rd has been declared as Freddie King Day! King passed away on December 28, 1976 in Dallas, Texas at age 42.

Footnotes:

Official Website - Feddie King

Image Courtesy: The Official Freddie King Site

Goodbye my Lord! So long!

I have known them since 1986, and very intimately at that! To me, they have been iconic, and a very significant and powerful representation of timeless existence of courage, charm, strength and endurance.

They have been more than just a landmark and have known to have existed for over 80 years! Towering well over the tallest of man made structures here, they have been a symbol of nature's unconditionally everlasting process of creation to make this a wonderful place to live in. One cannot, therefore, possibly imagine the legacy, and void, that they leave behind in the minds and hearts of all those who have loved them and opened their eyes to them every single morning - me included!

On the morning of the 30th, sometime last week, as I was leaving for work, I heard an electrostatic hum of some machine. Stopping to gauge it's source, I realized that the culprit was a battery powered chainsaw being put to use to bring down two magnificent Eucalyptus trees in the neighbourhood!

What I could say about those wonderful trees, even in the most descriptively flowery language, will not make up for what they truly are, rather were, now since they have been consigned to history and exist only in the depths of our minds!

The last one fell yesterday, painfully, amidst a nasty persisting drizzle and the sweeping cold. I stood still, numbed by what was unfolding, ashamed at containing a beast-like rage and not being able to do a thing about it!

Timelessness experienced!

In a sense, all of us are travelling constantly, to destinations far and wide, within and outside!

There is always a sense of urgency combined with enthusiasm and hope, or despair, as the case may be, something that inexplicably knots the stomach of every traveller, experienced and otherwise. Travel has indeed become a very integral part of our lives, as a massive exercise of being able to deliver us from one destination to another, quite often one realm to another, it may seem!

We seek to move and change as often as we are, in the quest for something that we assume is within our grasp yet unknown to our minds, only defined as a certain place to arrive at, associated with memories, bygones or anticipations, to connect ourselves with time, past, present or future!

Then, in mechanically aided configurations, set in motion, while at travel, we cast away our anxieties momentarily in the hope that our lives will be better for the purpose that we have embarked upon, in the quest of! Our disposition, powers and limitations seem to bear uncanny similarities, fused together in waiting for time to pass. The only difference lies perhaps in our minds, burdened with differences of sorts many others will never come to know, much less understand!

But fate will most cruelly decree another course and turbulence will come without warning, although some of us will have had a sense of premonition! But then, it is too late and the inconceivable is set in motion to enact something that will change our lives forever, by bringing an end to it, in the manner and form that we know of existence in this realm. Time will cease to exist, and so will us, to be hence remembered as statistic and spoken about in memoirs!

Footnotes:

Redefining Oblivion mourns the tragic deaths of 158 passengers who lost their lives on-board flight IX812, that crash landed in Mangalore during the early hours of 22nd May. This post extends it's heartfelt condolences to the bereaved families and friends and also thanks providence and the good Samaritan souls in vicinity for saving the lives of 8 others who would have otherwise succumbed as a result of the accident!

In the world of the absolute

It was a matter of great privilege to have been invited for the 87th founding anniversary of the Narayana Gurukula in Ooty. What better then, I thought, than to spend the time reflecting upon the teachings of His Holiness Sri Narayana Guru, foremost among social reformers, thinkers, erudite scholars and saints that India has been home to.

The following are my thoughts gathered in deeply introspective moments during the occasion

What is the purpose of our lives? Is it to acquire fame and recognition? Does it lie in amassing a great deal of wealth and material comforts? Or is it meant to get our hands on superior positions that yield power, prominence and money? For most of us, that is the very and only purpose of our lives!

In truth, the real purpose of life is to be able to live in happiness and peace of mind and pass away to another realm that awaits us in continuation of the great cycle of existence, and pass away from here to another place, we all will, in a span of time. That is the absolute and whole truth!

So then, why is it that we spend a great deal of time and energy to acquire those things that will not be a part of us for all time to come? The answer lies in our unending desires and a gross inability to categorize and differentiate our wants and needs, the former of which is almost always mistaken for the latter!

I’m not here to sermonize on how good or bad the world is today, unfortunately it has become a matter of extreme relativity and certain debate to which no agreement can be elicited upon! Neither am I here to tell you how you must lead your lives, for that is certainly your prerogative and I am no authority!

I’m here, merely wondering how important it is to reflect upon our thoughts, words and deeds. I'm also thinking aloud on how peaceful it must be to be able to delink the self from the constant pursuit of desires and wants! None of us is superior or otherwise for what we possess or don’t in a material form. If some of us really are, it is because of our attitude, the ability to reason well, and most importantly the ability to live our lives in a peaceful manner. There is no higher purpose than to be able to live without hatred, prejudice, dishonesty and doubt.

Today, there is a lot of talk on how to change the world, on how to normalize it, on how to harmonize it and so on. I say, there is no need for any of that. And, why so? That is simply because, the world is made of us, people like you and I, and when we make a concerted effort to effect a change from within ourselves, the world will automatically witness the change that we envision! So technically, it is us who need to change as opposed to the belief that change has to come from and be effected by an external entity!

Life is what you make of it. Always has been, always will be.

Remembering Tagore

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;
Where knowledge is free;
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls;
Where words come out from the depth of truth;
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection;
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit;
Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thought and action--
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.

-- Rabindranath Tagore, Chitto jetha bhayashunyo (Where the mind is without fear), Gitanjali, 1910

The grand doyen of Indian literature, music and poetry, educationist, spiritualist, philosopher and Nobel Laureate, respected world over as a man whose creations have no equals, was born on this day in 1861.

Today, as Redefining Oblivion pays respectful homage to this unequivocal polymath, I have chosen to post some of his most celebrated words that have hence become iconic, timeless and supremely meaningful.

Death is not extinguishing the light; it is only putting out the lamp because the dawn has come

Age considers; youth ventures

Depth of friendship does not depend on length of acquaintance

Emancipation from the bondage of the soil is no freedom for the tree

Every child comes with the message that God is not yet discouraged of man.

Everything comes to us that belongs to us if we create the capacity to receive it

Facts are many, but the truth is one

In Art, man reveals himself and not his objects

Let us not pray to be sheltered from dangers but to be fearless when facing them

Nirvana is not the blowing out of the candle. It is the extinguishing of the flame because day is come

The butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough

The highest education is that which does not merely give us information but makes our life in harmony with all existence