Remembering Trichur Kilimangalam P. S. Gopalakrishnan

 

It feels deeply personal and privileged to write about Trichur Kilimangalam P. S. Gopalakrishnan. Not because my tribute or memoir would do justice to chronicling his life any better than what has already been done by so many others, so wonderfully well. But, in writing a few words of gratitude for this magnificent human being, I'm only reliving my own childhood, which was so much fonder due to this man's cheer and compassion

It is, for me, quite easy to slip into a deep sense of nostalgia and romanticism of the past, when I think of Ooty and the times spent there, of an era that now increasingly appears to be a relic on paper than a recollection of past memories

And, what is consistently etched deep in those memories is the person of Gopalakrishnan, whom I would address deferentially as Uncle 

Even back then, I saw him as somewhat of an icon, steadfastly present at all times, a beacon or a symbol of unbreaking perpetuity who remained unaffected by unkind weather or the passage of time and its vagaries 

For decades, this man remained at his post, selling fried peanuts to millions. But, what was endearing was how he remembered people and their names and never failed to have a heartening conversation with everyone who came to him. And that, he did with an unfailing smile and liveliness, which would put many a youngster to shame 

I will always remember this wonderful soul for his kind disposition, cheer, and the eternal sense of happiness that he imparted to others - not once discriminating on the lines of social norms and stature. What is even more important and commendable is that his life is a fitting example of how one man could be such an important part of society despite not fitting into the numerous checkboxes that we so meticulously impose on ourselves and others around us. That, to me, is the most honourable measure of a man, which 'Uncle Gopalakrishnan' came to be known and respected for - for his kindness, compassion, cheer, and for his uplifting smile, which will never be forgotten 

Now, with his passing, a certain part of time comes to an end. His departure also symbolizes the end of an era of kindness and respect. Of personal intimacy partaken without condition or underlying motive. I would argue that he was a model human being who set an example of all the values of life that we were taught and expected to follow, but are not able to.  

I would like to remember him with the words of Ida Lyon, who in 1910, wrote in 'The Joy of Living - The Wonders of Life' that, "Life should be to us nothing less than a joy... real, sparkling, soul-stirring joy, that sinks down to the depths of our being."
 

Image Courtesy: M. Sathyamoorthy, The Hindu

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?

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.

Perfect Symmetry

Footnotes:

Image Description: Tea gardens in Lovedale, outside Ooty

A Few Days in Heaven

Mighty, mist covered blue mountains,
rolling ever greens of happiness,

rich blue skies of eternal joy,
soaring trees, oak, pine and others plenty,

maybe, there are so many different worlds, yes,
but there's only one like you, yours of bliss,

the one i was born to, embraced and loved,
cradled in the arms of divine comfort,

with brethren akin, bound by love,
forever and ever, always in hope,

someday i will return to these valleys, these mountains,
these expanses of joy, these moments of elation,

of your soul, spirit and all, i am part of you,
in you i see me, as in me they see you,

there can only be one home for me,
and it will always be in those mighty arms of thee.

Footnotes:

My 'last' few days at home in Ooty early in February

Beyond Sun and Sands - In Words and Notes

Goa and frolic have, over time, attained synonymy! And, fun in Goa is nothing short of being legendary, decreed by King Momo himself. It has been 20 years to the date since i last visited Goa and something has been itching within me to pack a bag and set off - except that the moment in time doesn't seem to arrive.

Some ten days ago, on a Friday morning, fellow blogger Chirag's text and K's email landed up almost the same time informing me of a press-conference scheduled later in the day announcing the Goa Carnival 2013. The enthusiasm of news from the land of 'sun and sands' added to the prospect of meeting some fellow bloggers was alluring.

The Government of Goa had sent in their top emissaries for the purpose; the minister and chief executive for tourism, who did good to promote the upcoming event and spell a message that Goa wasn't all about beaches and fizz, during the year end, but much more in spirit, culture, food, people and destinations. One witnessed a passionate and sensible attempt to convey of Goa as being a place to be visited year round rather than it just being seen as a frenzied venue for new year calling.

So then, what is the message about the carnival? A moment in time at a place "dominated by enjoyment and merry making where people come together and spread cheer and happiness."

Now, Goa aside, it was a treat to meet the lovely K, charming and eloquent, who as an organizer made it very comfortable and personal. Anil Purohit of Windy Skies was a pleasure to meet with. Kuldeep Chugh of The Top List with his sense and perspective of current goings-on and beyond along with Chirag, about whom i've written some posts before, made for some fine, personal, warm and memorable conversations that one could have hoped for.

Footnotes:

A post on Chirag's blog about the evening.

Real World Calling

There's a place in my mind,
it once used to be real, making me overjoyed - as one of a kind,

For me there, really, are no worlds beyond,
than the wonders of this heaven, with bliss abound,

Today, i find myself far away and apart,
yet so much longing to be within the magic of its art,

There are no promises, here, of anything whatsoever,
there is only the feeling of magical joy, bliss and content, over and over,

It is a place where time stands still,
as if to demonstrate a supremely divine will,

There's a place in my mind,
it once used to be real, making me overjoyed - as one of a kind,
i call it home - the place where i used to live,
now i call it home - the place where i will be in time to die.

Footnotes:

Image Courtesy - Arun K Selvarangam, from his Flickr stream. With appropriate permission to showcase this work of his.

Image Description - Nilgiris Train, A view from the Ketti Valley, shot on June 9, 2011 in Ooty, using a Canon EOS REBEL T1i.

Kurunjis in Bloom

Despite the present geographical disparity of some 730 miles, I go many lengths to stay connected to Ooty and be updated of what happens there, from time to time.

You can therefore imagine my elation when, on Thursday last, The Times of India carried a feature on the Kurunji bloom in Ooty, which is ongoing. Binomally known Strobilanthes kunthiana, the Neelakurinji are how the blue mountains, back home, got their famed name - The Nilgiris. These purplish blue flowers blossom only once in 12 years and served as a means for calculating age among the tribal folk!

Understandably, my mind is wandering about those pristine mountains now, envisioning the wonder, longing to be part of that heaven, forever and ever

On another note, my comment management system gave me a slip last post onwards. I have written to the support team of Intensedebate and am hoping that they right the wrong soon. Some of your comments have disappeared, in the past, and will, in all probability go down under this time too! Nevertheless, do please leave me your wonderful thoughts, as always. Nothing gives me more pleasure than hearing from all of you. 

The Times of Ooty

Footnotes:

Picture taken during my snap vacation in Ooty during the last weekend. Changed a great deal, yet, this place is charming as ever and will forever remain closest to my heart wherever I go! 

Tri-States

1100 odd miles, 3 states, 9 days later and having met a 100 odd people, I write in awe of my trip of the tri-states as being among the most memorable journeys in life so far.

Taking a well-deserved break from regular life, and travelling through the vastness of nature's brilliance of epic proportions, there was a real sense of disconnect from the ordinary and a passage into the amazing.

A new-found sense of belonging enveloped within, reassuring me that I felt right and well there and not here, reiterating the fact that life is also about the choices we make.

Footnotes:

Picture taken by me en-route to Kerala. 

Sights and Sounds

We could have never loved the Earth so well if we had had no childhood in it. ~ George Eliot, The Mill on the Floss, 1860

Footnotes:

Among the pictures taken while in Ooty this time around. This one was snapped during a night trek. Can't tell you in words how wonderful it felt to relive the experience of life in the mountains - absolutely soulful. 

Home-bound

There is no promise more stronger than the hope of going home! One cannot, in so many words, convey that feeling or pick out a particular attribute that brings within the self that sense of elation at being home-bound, and for me, beginning now, that feeling is only compounded many multiples as I imagine the mighty blue mountains, everlasting lush green and a sense of unmatched calm!

Terribly short though, this vacation is a long awaited break and a much needed refresher, one that I hope will help shift focus and most importantly reinvigorate a passion for all those finer things in life that I have been so painfully missing out on!

I also hope to resume visiting your blogs soon.

Do have a good weekend and be safe. 

I and Now

On the personal front, a very different phase of life begins for me, here in Chennai. This will provide a great deal of opportunity for introspection and thought, a whole lot of anchoring will take place and I quite feel the difference coming around!

The key is to peel off the layers and understand that core which resides within the self and I'm hoping that there are some truly memorable times to come.

But that apart, life has been very hectic with no time for anything but work - and devoid of some good reading and music, I need to urgently buckle up!

Theres probably no bigger a sense of feeling different than the feeling of ushering in change and letting it be!

Blue Mountains Calling

Endless expanses of plummeting rich green, shouldered by soulful mighty blue mountains where clouds come calling for the hand to feel, the air is rich with the calling of birds, bees and beetles and the smells of pine, tea and eucalyptus linger ever-fresh for the senses to indulgently savour.

Blue skies dotted with puffy moist lingering clouds, which make way for warm and soothing sunshine, reflect in awe as if in appreciation of nature's dexterously delightful artistry of the land below.

The inner self is rewarded with a state of perpetual bliss and there is little interference of time, allowing one to embrace unending measures of many bountiful offerings of this gifted land. The child in the self is awakened and an enchanting progression of natural invigoration envelopes the body, mind and soul.

One enters a sublime state of marvel, and realizes that there is no quest for material associations, which otherwise engulf the mind, perpetually dogging it to embark on a maddeningly never-ending journey of crazed pursuit.

There is only the quest to unite with nature, to be one with it - to be one of it!

The call of the blue mountains is all alluring, particularly when one's soul resides amidst those very enthralling wonders, and I'm ecstatic about my short vacation to Ooty.

Truly, going home, to Ooty, is a celebration of sorts! 

The Ramparts of 2010

Nothing excites me more than the ability to envision the change I want to be in the coming year!

-- In Ooty; on 27/12/2010

At the beginning or rather at the envisioning of the beginning, every year is thought to be similar to the one that passed by. But living through the expanse of that limited time, one comes to understand that only the count of 365 days is similar and that the similarity ends just there! In truth, it is the differences that are a plenty, if anything!

This year too hasn't been any different from the feeling and understanding of that reality! For me, this past year has been very eventful having taken me places and made me feel so much more closer to the purpose of learning that I have always so inherently imposed by belief upon! Nothing, you'd agree, could be more rewarding the ability to learn and learn well, of the realities that exist and how therefore the person would have to comprehend and come to terms with that on an ongoing basis.

For starters, a relocation to Chennai, cloistered well into the Southern face of India, has helped me sort of begin an innings that someday I hope to title as well-rounded in experience. This move has been very exciting and the multitudes of learning thereafter have been a gift that many would never know of, let alone be able to envision and understand! For that purpose, life has been kind, though challenges have been at the door front like ominous signboards screaming apprehensions! But perhaps, if I were to answer the question of what that singularly moving learning lesson was, I would lose little time in being emphatic at the fact that it the test of one's character to be able to remain composed in the face of all adversity while maintaining stoic disposition of what one truly wishes to become as against what one could be forced into exhibiting in temperament, considering circumstances!

Moving to the blog part - It couldn't have been more rewarding this year, particularly for being able to manage it as desired, despite all the hectic schedules. A while ago, someone on Facebook echoed loudly of how much free time I had in possession to which my response has been that "despite however much busy I would be today or in the coming times, I will be sure of never ever being so busy to forgo my passion."

Although, I haven't been able to remain as engaging as I wished to be, on the blog front, I'm very happy to note that Redefining Oblivion has long surpassed the 100 countries readership mark. This year alone, there have been 15,466 page views, 5137 visits and 2787 visitors. I can't thank all of you folks for this priceless support and patronage that makes me feel absolutely wonderful! On the blogger meet front, I have been very fortunate to be able to meet 3 of the finest people in the blog world, an association with whom I will cherish for all time to come.

This coming year, I imagine will be much more structured, in being able to define what it is that we need as against what it is that we are prepared for work for, strictly in the sense of wanting to be a part of a journey of excellence and good that we have always envisioned ourselves to be an integral part of. Let there be no doubt that our journeys are deeply intertwined and purposeful and so also the importance to be true, realistic and always oriented to a culture of excellence, more from within than to be able to see it outside of the self!

I wish you all a very happy and prosperous year ahead, one that will most certainly bring you the very best, yet! It is also my prayer that you be blessed with the rationale of being able to be wise, steady, firm and confident in all that you endeavour to do, supported unconditionally by a great deal of courage and conviction, while also believing always that excellence is an ongoing journey and not a destination to arrive at!

Most importantly, may you be blessed with unending measures of happiness and health!

God Bless you and thank you for bringing the light in my life!

Footnotes:

The Ramparts of 2009

Opening Statements - 2010

100th post this year

It gives me immense pleasure to be able to pen my 100th this year and more so of a pleasure to be able to do it from home in Ooty, where I am presently vacationing, watching over the coming days that will herald the turn of this year!

Stark contrasts in almost everything, Chennai and Ooty are poles apart. I guess I will never be acclimatized to the weather here in Ooty despite how many ever years that I have been here or will continue to do so! But I must say I love this peace and quiet, something of a luxury of sorts, to be able to unwind in the calm expanse of nothingness really!

This year has been very special, purposeful and quite meaningful too, having spent sometime doing that I was expected to do and then furthered onto something that I have always wanted to do! There is a sense of excitement and goodness, one that I am reasonably sure will prevail for a long time to come.

But this post is different, in the sense of arriving at a count for the year, since, unlike 2009, this is not the last this year! At 101, please standby for 'the Ramparts of 2010.'

Do have a wonderful holiday season!

Wishes on Onam

Today is Onam, the most celebrated festival of Kerala, marking the homecoming of the legendary King Mahabali, during whose benevolent rule Kerala enjoyed a golden era, one of peace, prosperity and general well-being, which is believed to be unmatched to this day!

The following words of Mahabali hold immense significance even today and should well be considered as a model code for existence, "Prana (life) and Maana (honour) are like the two eyes of a person. Even if life goes, honour should be protected. Knowing that the person that has come now is the Lord Himself, I should be the most fortunate one as the Lord, who gives everything to mankind, is seeking something from me."

On this joyous occasion, I extend my wishes for a very happy and peaceful life, with prayers for a healthy and prosperous being, one that is constantly driven by purpose and goodwill.

God bless!

250 posts later

Since May 2006, until now, 250 posts have come to be on this space. Though relatively small in number, the exercise has undoubtedly blessed me with rich measures of interaction with fellow-bloggers from far and wide, in an attempt to understand people, cultures and mannerisms! Many worthy friendships have been formed and I now feel as if part of a large, yet closely knit family of intellectuals, who continually offer an insight into life in a manner that is certainly unparalleled.

I've often been asked how one can, so closely, relate to a world that can at best be visualized in a very individualistic perspective, far away from one that has a definite structure, hierarchy and system. My answer has always been a simple one, emphasizing upon the need to understand this tapestry of a network as an extension of one's existing life than view it in isolation and resultant colourlessness - best perhaps, to be seen as being among the many facets that make up our very existence!

Not oddly enough, readings and experiences here, have accentuated, among other things, my level of spirituality, a passion for literature and an undying need to go out and see the remarkable wide world! Perhaps, I may not be able to chart a dream journey of sorts or pause enough to read every epic that has ever been written, but through you and your respective spaces, and your valued perspectives, I will continue to see the world and remain immensely comforted at the thought of being able to be connected in such short bursts of time, while so far apart, yet so definitively!

This is a world of leaders, those of creative excellence fueled with a very deep sense of passion and thus being able to bring out from within creations that are timeless and certainly unique, every single one of which holds immense significance and meaning that appeals to the deepest insides of the human spirit! For the same reason, I consider it a matter of pleasure and privilege extraordinaire to be part of this wonderful world and most importantly to be associated so closely with every one of you!

Inception

To dream is to be able to see reality, a setting that exists within the walls of the mind and therefore real in being experienced, seen and lived and yet unreal in the waking state purely because any attempt of it's recreation is most certainly futile. Ever wondered why it is so really difficult to recollect a dream long after it's been played in the mind? Now, that is only the beginning of things, in a way that we know of it, or perhaps not!

It is nearly always impossible to remember the start of a dream, in the element in which it begins to occur. One can at best find oneself deep in the process of the event even as it unfolds in a seemingly random and untraceable state of succession! There may be intermittent parallels to reality in the sense of how the memory contributes it's feed as a direct bearing of having seen and experienced matter in the real world. Such parallels, although appearing to be limitless are confined to a certain pattern, only to the extent of being able to be replicated in the same sense of how reality has contorted the innards of the mind, never free to envision a path anew or afresh! To that extent parallels are only a minute part of the entire configuration and not the pattern itself.

But parallels are not the only things that make up the matter that constitute the process of apparitions that are generated by the subconscious mind. There is the imaginative state that exceeds perhaps even the best of creativity, in giving birth to realms of possibilities that appear so real that one is utterly perplexed at the detail with which they occur, often casting the mind into a spasmodically fearful state. And what one does not understand and comprehend, one can and will only fear!

Then, there are stages that convolute in an endless quagmire, occurring and recurring as if generated by the electrical activity within the brain, combined with an imaginative process that can at most times be colourful yet appear in a sepia like tone! One often struggles to lock away those menacingly replicating states, but finds oneself at the mercy of the subconscious for not being able to do just that. Then the battle to create situations arises, where one would create a prison to carefully shut away those repetitions and assign a characteristic attribute to them all, in a serious effort to calm the conscious state against the tedious and taunting proceedings of the subconscious!

The worst kind of a dream is perhaps one in which the entity sees itself in a surrounding which appears to be undergoing a terrible state of degeneration, such as structures falling apart and streets splitting wide open, where despite every effort, the overwhelming succession of events provide no opportunity to gain control over the situation, to be able to attempt to reverse it! One feels as if transcending not just places and time but also realms outside of the Earth, far away and deep inside space! Escape, or liberation as some may prefer to call it, comes from well within, through what are mental projections generated at speeds faster than light in order to create a situation, binding upon which the entity will then further. These projections could by far create an unending network of places and people which seem real right down to the experience of emotion or the familiarity of the place, despite not ever having been there before! Laws of physics do not matter or hold importance of this realm, and can best be used to deduce the state which one is in!

There cannot possibly be any explanation for the realities that exist and happen in such remarkable detail within our minds. They could be as a result of the past, present or maybe even the future, and we have no means of knowing that ever! Momentarily gaining control during the whole process, the conscious stage attempts to offer comfort or courage as the case maybe, and then again allows it's counterpart to chart another course that although appearing remarkably familiar, may well be one that cannot ever be connected to, despite the need to decipher and understood, as if perhaps bearing the very elixir of life!

Sunlight, and another form of reality appears, and for that matter, every dream is only half remembered!

Footnotes:

As you may have guessed, this post was created immediately after I watched Christopher Nolan's epic Inception. Dreams and their occurrences have fascinated me more than I can ever explain and hence I found this movie remarkably well made despite the radical storyline it was based upon. The scene related to the beach landing of the protagonist and an accompanying character, where massive edifices at the waterfront appear to be crumbling down, was eerily familiar to me, having seen the exact setting in a dream a very long time ago, yet so well etched in my mind!

The Spidabutt

He who is not with me is against me!

-- Matthew 12:30 & Luke 11:23 -- The Holy Bible

The blogosphere has been known to enjoy a sense of calm, a lot of peace among it's inhabitants while being relatively incident free and contributing to the coming together of many wonderful minds individually and collectively responsible for some of the finest creative expressions known to the world! However, that very fabric upon which it has been diligently woven together, with multitudes of cultural interchanges and the warm bonhomie among it's co-creators is being gravely threatened!

Of late, two conflicting ideologues, one of evil and the other of it's opposer, have been fast engulfing this hitherto serene world and escalating in a very dangerous proportion, unprecedented in this sphere! Imminently about to create violent divisions, and factions, each sworn in their belief stronger than the other, this vast vestige of human intervention is surely coming to see the likes of the Cuban Missile Crisis and the Cold War, which one sincerely hopes does not manifest into a full scale war of epic proportions!

The person responsible for this is none other than Vimal Vijayan, popularly known to his friends, fellow-bloggers, family members and associates as Vimmuuu, and the contention is his ill-placed belief of Spiderman being the true superhero of the universe, which, as many of you know, is based on fallacies, lies and fantasies at best! So technically, here is someone who is ardently propagating what is malicious and false, knowing fully well that his claims are refutable and baseless. Worse still, over a series of exchanges, he has had the audacity to deride Superman in ways that would put the worst Indian politicians to shame! :) As a truly peace loving citizen of the  blogosphere, I offered him many chances to redeem himself and come clean, thereby accepting his monumental blunder and make amends by pledging his allegiance to Superman, something which he has sternly refused to do, even as I write this post!

Therefore, knowing fully well that a battle is at hand, I now call upon fellow bloggers to seriously contemplate and opine about the sides they are about to take, or, in the course of time, be forced into! Ask yourselves, if your true purpose lies in upholding the good or partaking with the evil? :) To think of it, there cannot be a web-spinning, creepy jerk of a joke that can be worthy of being recognized as a hero! Would you want to cast your fate at the hands of a spider? Or rather, the legs of it? (Spiders don't have hands, do they?) One that has no lineage of excellence and virtue but simply driven (madly) by impulses created as a result of a chemical reaction, that it has no control over? Would you want your children to be known as impudent beings, won over by the influence of malevolence? Remember what Edmund Burke said about evil that "all that is necessary for it's triumph is that good men do nothing?"

So, when the time comes, who would you find yourself being aligned with? I'm asking this to your respective states of conscious, as true keepers of justice and integrity! Responsible citizens with a clean slate, you don't have to be seen thinking hard on this, for the choice is simple! Is it not easy enough to support the just, and join the cause to exterminate the evil web-spinning horror and grant the world a measure of peace that we all so much owe it, as part of our duty? So then, come up without dither, doubt or fear and be part of Operation Spidabutt - mankind's singularly most concerted effort to rid the universe of iniquity!

Finally, I'd like you to be reminded that "he who is not with me is against me." :)