Thursday, March 29, 2007

Hey its me again. I just got to remember my childhood when i used to be a rural unsophesticated giggly boy with dribbly nose and scruffy hair. I used to be bullied by the Nasser and gang. I was no match for their rugged physique and rude behaviour. I used to cry silently at home when lights went out and Mom gave a good night kiss. I used to cling to her hand. She would gently cajole me to sleep. I never felt like telling her the truth and despair her turbulant mind. I kept it to myself and suffered humiliation day after day. In due course of time, it just turned out to be a weary ritual. Eventually the bullying ended when the gang got kicked out for harming an influential boy. Why am I telling this anecdote? It is to tell all those out there: if you let it pass and be patient you can survive without much ability. Don't get carried away by situations; instead handle them with patience. Soon you will acquire the finesse to handle difficult situations. If I can survive anyone can!

The tear of a petal,
The mirth on a church bell,
The smile of my daughter,
So pure ‘n’ natural.

She’s so precious,
Her manners so gracious,
As Hindus do in ritual.
I name her Harmonious

Every moment she teaches,
Of trust and love she preaches
by her glee-rich smile;
Like sanguine beaches.

Yet, in a moment of anger
Alas! I did beat her in rancor
How frail I’m, I curse and cry
Ah! She hugs me in sweet slumber.

I now see her in the garden,
Talking to hibiscus in passion,
They nod their heads so crimson,
In blatant amusement.

I bid adios at the wretched gate
I now regret the recalcitrant state
Clueless of the deceit, ‘bubbye’ she says
Her eyes linger as I seal my fate.

That’s the picture I remember
In my forlorn days of separation
Of the terrible, terrible treachery
Of a father to a child, so fair.

The moment, I would strain
Within the four walls of pain
As I’d twist for tears of shame
But they never came.

The mornings were merciful
But the nights were cruel
As the shadows danced in fury
As phantoms leered in frenzy.

Now I stare at her image
Time rolls in hysteric rage
Her silvery image mocks back
From the glazed album page.

One day I open a mail
‘Dad it’s me, your li’l quail’
Elusive tears flood my eyes
Tears smudge many a sad travail.

Tomorrow’s her convocation
From the school of medication!
I brush back my thinning hair
I look at myself in despair.

Will her medical degree have a cure?
For a cut so deep in her bosom-
For the daggers of misery;
Only Lord knows for sure.

At the gates I fumble
‘Move away ‘, they grumble
I see her far away I want to reach her
Inside the hall, clumsy I stumble.

There she is taking the paper
I flail my hand at her as she searches
Her dad’s face in the perches
Our gaze meet as Death reaches

I lie in heavenly bliss
As she stoops to give me a kiss
As life flutters by, I hiss
My last breath in her bosom.


Education is an ongoing process that helps to transform the unskilled to skilled, the narrow-minded to broad-minded, the inefficient to efficient and so on. Education has many meanings. Basically through education we learn the rudiments of social structure, behavioural patterns, character building, manners, morals and principles on the one side and on the other it gives you lessons on efficiency, skill and organization to do things. “The truly educated know there is no end to education and are humble about their knowledge.” – This was told by a visiting dignitary to our school – Mr. R.V.G. Menon when he interacted with us. Needless to say, this means education never stops. Vanity is the quality of the uneducated. While literacy and numeracy are a part of the educational process, they are not the only part of education. We must learn to be responsible, dedicated and empathetic, to the unfortunate; we must strive hard to better ourselves and those around us; we must seek higher goals both spiritually and economically and attain them; we must bring pride to our locality, region, country and the world as a whole. These are the duties of the educated. Principled life, dedicated work and adherence to social responsibility are the major tenets of education. We the students of GIS are role models for the student community at large. So it is our duty to bring value and principle to our life. Remember – compromise is the sign of weakness or lack of education.

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

What must we do to overcome terrorism?

When we neglect a person, we deny him proper understanding of our attitude. We abandon him to theorize about our intension and deduce based on such a theory he harbours. Communication gap aggravates the misunderstanding and resulting in the person getting ostracized. Apply this to a larger section and we get such a group of disgruntled people. After a considerable span of time communication among the group furthers this process and brings a chasm of difference between them and the main stream of the society. Neither seems to understand the other or bother to. Now the sidelined group has two options; to accept or react. One of the extreme reactions is terrorism.

First of all, there must be a paradigm shift in global and national initiatives. Rather than merely emphasizing on economic and material development, policies must target human development. Prominence must be given to micro societies and their pertinent situations to bring them to the mainstream of eco-socio centric activities. The current tendency to initiate policies in this direction should shift from remote national initiatives to active local centers where the NGOs/ social workers understand the needs of the society. Pragmatic programmes for human development should be implemented without red tape. Rural and urban administration must have more of people consensus rather than bureaucratic interference; nor should it be thwarted by political indecision and inaction. Time should be given to understand, analyse and troubleshoot indigenous problems with the help of people’s forum. For this there must be radical changes in several government and non- governmental procedures, attitudes and mode of activities.

Fanaticism, sectarianism, communalism and ethno-centrism are fragmenting beleaguered societies that are vulnerable to indoctrination and entrapment by the individuals with vested interests. They take advantage of the spirited yet helpless youth, and enroll them in terrorist organizations. So special programmes should be aimed at the youth to identify them, nurture and empower them.

Media takes special pleasure to sensationalise such issues purely for commercial purpose, although lofty claims are made about enlightening the public about what is happening. What must be done is not just talk and rave about such issues; perhaps such announcements only help to give free propaganda for the people’s enemy. Why not give greater role for the NGOs to be among the bitter people and sooth their wounds? Today, a giant share of the rural empowerment and disaster management are done by the NGOs, yet not one of them is mentioned in the news channels after the tsunami recovery. No chat shows either!! The press/TV folk can do something to prop these NGOs up a little bit. In fact the administration can share a lot more of their power with the NGOs and give them money and means.
Com - muting

All are sitting in a huddle
I get in as it hurtles
‘Good morning!’
No answer given
All niceties forgotten
My balance is shaken
I sit in the last row
My head bent low
Lips curled morosely
Amidst the huddled figures
Mind roaming in high gears
The vibration
Of the moving contraption
Spill all over through my buttocks
Sitting like two estranged bullocks
Partly from sleep so gay
The girls ahead sway
As the van trundles away
The man at the wheels
Drives as he feels
Reeling from the lanes like
drunken Mighty Mike
The boy sitting next
drums on the seat, vexed
fearing his job being axed.
Then the van breaks tires screeching
We pitch forward bouncing,
The bobbing heads banging,
Laptops plummeting,
Cars in the rare honking!
And then nothing!
We settle down unthinking!
The pilot is smiling!
Not to worry!
We ARE in a hurry
And ARE ready for the flurry,
No matter what it does carry.
We rush past Romans in toga
And hear the Indian raga
Of unwritten saga
And turn to Rigga.
Past the rows of splendid villas
Past fences of drooping bougainvillas
Past the smoking chimneys
Past the crawling companies
Round the junction
Full of nagging premonition
Just too fast
Not a way to last
As the girls nod in frenzied sleep
As the brakes squeal in slush deep
The van does stop
I make a hop
No glance stolen
No chance taken
I get down.

Exciting maturation
Of exasperation and
Furious purgation, a
Kind of emancipation!

Work until the last second
Work until you’re a legend
Work until the undoable is done
Work until the end of your hope
Work until you become a whore
Work until you’ve lost your conscience
Work until your blood has lost it ambiance
Work, work, work, until. . .

Time has delivered hours and decades
Swallowing vigour, vitality, viscera decadent
Like a humongous black widow, crouching hideously
As the pseudo- humans watch you
They ridicule your plight behind your back
While clucking their tongue in sympathy
You bleed alone
All alone
All alone

Darkness spreads around you
Like a monstrous octopus
Like a ignominious tarantula
In its horrifying viscosity
You falter and fall into the doom
Into the cantankerous chasm
Like a boy in a rattling circus train gone crazy

You hold your breath and look for your siblings and daddy
For your magnanimous friends and family
Then you turn around and see their
Contorted faces chiding you
Admonishing you
We’ll not pardon you
You’re at fault
Shame on you

I look up with my blood-shot eye into the oblivion
Can I search for a beginning at the end?


In wide toothless glee her eyes screws shut
She smiles benign whole-hearted joy from gut
Now her face shrinks into a pinched mood
How her passing time colour her infinite mood!

Her head tilts and momentous gurgle pours mirth
She’s now groping for some precious thing of worth
She finds one so good, it’s a torn bit of paper
She now sleeps may be a shut-eye or slumber

As morning sun sprays golden rays
Her shock of hair frames her creamy face
Like a well-sucked mango stone
And her pudgy fist holds for dear life the paper torn.

She wails, she burps, she sings, she shouts
She crawls, she sprawls, she bawls, she lolls.
Her creator must puzzle in his wisdom profound
How such a small thing makes her world go round.

No possession makes me feel so precious
No one but her consider me great and gracious
No time is enough to share her lively joy and cheer
No gold can buy a bonny daughter sweet and dear.
Behind the door
They’re sore
Afore it
Smiles galore
They hide
Behind the fa├žade
As it yawns open
What’s gonna happen
No one knows

The door when shut
Some do hope
In fumes of dope
Or as they lose hope
On a fatal rope
Traps destiny
When the trap opens
The truth never dawns

You’re shut
Your ego’s bust
As you get a slap
You take it out on the trap
The rage is spent
The knob is bent
As it’s yanked open
All regret what’s happened

He’s got a GUN!
Bullets make patterns
Call up someone
The wall’s open
The corpse has fallen
Another life forgotten
No one gives a damn
As the door opens

It’s night
The cuddly bride
Shuts the door softly
The spouse hides his impotence
With feigned fatigue
‘Darling let’s do it,
‘Let’s not do it,’
Says the wily goat
And feigns a head ache!
As the wall slides shut
Nuptials bust!

‘Tom is learnin’!’
‘Don’t disturb him.’
The door, he fastens
His love the teen pens
Learning can surely wait
With Lila he can’t placate
‘She’s got to get this.’
‘And blow her a kiss’
The door is locked
Love is rocked!
Study mocked

They say the door traps you
But it does well for a few
The door is an enigma
Or evokes a stigma
Yet it’s a guard in defense
Or a curtain of excitement
Or a stupid thing
To vent your feeling
The door is our soul
When it closes makes us whole.

Menon's Musings 20

I am just an everyday guy- nothing great, no one ordinary either. Just the sort of guy anyone would accept easily. But let me warn you. Better to keep me away with a barge pole especially girls. Yet people who know me say I am not so bad! Hats off my girl, she just can't give me up. don't conclude that I am a LOSER! I am not just a LOSER; I am the BIGGEST LOSER in town. I sort of got drifted to the languid dunes of the Arabian Desert with it mystic mysteries. Of course by the time I drifted in it too had lost its rugged charm and had become one those busy oil-rich settlements the Middle East has reduced itself to. Predictable humdrum life made all the more monotonous by the mechanical life style and narrow interests haunt me here too. In my fiftieth year I finally made another migration to the virtual world of forums and blogs. "Never too late" goes the saying but I wonder! In Malayalam there is a saying "Wherever a sinner goes it turns out to be a hell". Hope it doesn't happen with me. . .