tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-65769723496701611642024-02-08T01:51:01.362-08:00menonsmusings20MENON'S MUSINGShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05444059789518350741noreply@blogger.comBlogger50125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6576972349670161164.post-82726705181922382202008-09-19T10:50:00.001-07:002022-12-29T21:51:23.571-08:00Baba I miss you.. .<p>BAABAAAA . . . </p><p><br /></p><p>Such a small and cuddly human, </p><p>yet so strong! </p><p>Baba, you were so tender </p><p>and so, so soothing. </p><p>I miss you terribly. </p><p>Wherever you are. </p> <p>You were there when we needed. </p><p>You just gave and asked for nothing. </p><p>Now you are gone, </p><p>I feel a part of me has gone too.</p> <p>In my youth I was horrible, </p><p>yet you accepted me, </p><p>when others were critical,</p><p>You gave me hope!</p> <p>What have I given you? </p><p>Nothing! </p><p>I couldn't even come to your death bed </p><p>and cremation.</p> <p>How I try to solace myself,</p><p>saying you are so understanding; </p><p>and will not hold grudge.</p> <p>But I feel guilty and helpless </p><p>and angry at myself, </p><p>for losing such a precious person </p><p>from my life . . . </p><p>forever . . . </p> <p>Wound may heal, memories may fade, </p><p>I don't know.</p><p>But the world without you will be </p><p>So much morbid and loveless.</p><p>That I know.</p> MENON'S MUSINGShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05444059789518350741noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6576972349670161164.post-73404642703100617252008-07-08T00:05:00.001-07:002022-12-17T05:30:20.996-08:00<p> </p> <p>Black like a brute</p> <p>It lies there mute</p> <p>When it talks in style</p> <p>It flashes bright smile</p> <p>It sings what they like</p> <p>It stops when they dislike</p> <p>It’s cared, it’s abused</p> <p>It’s shoved, it’s refused</p> <p>They call it an idiot box</p> <p>Around it the life baulks</p> <p>It predicts unpredictable weather</p> <p>And the future price of leather</p> <p>Some own more than one</p> <p>Yet some have none</p> <p>Wading infinite family moods</p> <p>And spectra of routes</p> <p>Say all at home</p> <p>The teli removes a vacuum</p> <p>The ladies like the soaps</p> <p>The males dismiss ‘em as dopes</p> <p>They love the losing sports</p> <p>Despite tons of ads it promotes</p> <p>The kids like the toons</p> <p>The old think it is a boon</p> <p>The young now dismiss it a doom!</p> <p>The small screen will definitely run.</p><p>Or would it, perhaps it won't.</p><p>Oh! descended the world of IT</p><p>From Abacus to do some calculus</p><p>It forged the way we work</p><p>It destroyed a whole industry</p><p>Of papers, files and file cabinets!</p><p>It enlightened us, it enslaved us!</p><p>It spewed out prints and glossies</p><p>With such precision that it amazed us!</p><p>Bytes leaped by kilo</p><p>Soared to mega </p><p>Flew to giga </p><p>Rocketed to tera!</p><p>Now there's whole world out there </p><p>They call it the cloud!</p><p>They have built huge file cabinets</p><p>With zillions data all ready to pop up at a tap! </p><p>Its a magic cries the youth!</p><p>Never will it be the same weeps the old!</p><p>Now is another world for the youth</p><p>A digital world so huge!</p><p>In a time wrap held in animation</p><p>It splashes live updates in every screen</p><p>Of selfies, travelogues , chats and calls</p><p>The medics say it'll harm you</p><p>And wives suspect its gone to far!</p><p>I-phone is the best, some say!</p><p>Its the Android, says others!</p><p>All encrypted and so private,</p><p>Yet the exclusivity is gone</p><p>Many may know things about you </p><p>That you want to hide!</p><p>That you had no idea existed!</p><p>That's data theft! You can actually steal it!</p><p>Tons of data hang in this world</p><p>We tap on any data and it comes</p><p>Movies come, so do songs!</p><p>There's no movie, Nor songs!</p><p>Nor books! Nor poems!</p><p>Just data - that's what we get from the 'web'!</p><p>There's a dark one too out there!</p><p>A lot of slangs have become popular!</p><p>"Peach" is your rear expressed sexily!</p><p>Lol means good, WTF means how deplorable!</p><p>It could also mean: "How come?"!</p><p>And the Neologisms like IYKYK means</p><p>if you know, you know! Well! I don't</p><p>And there's the realm of memes</p><p>I would rather be old fashioned boomer!</p><p>You don't know if its English Language!</p><p>Amazon is not a river!</p><p>It is now a web portal</p><p>Where you can buy every thing,</p><p>Including the channel on your TV</p><p>You can buy a house 'online',</p><p>So can you a bride inline with your choice,</p><p>Online you get foodie blogs</p><p>U-tube shows how its done</p><p>Zomato drops them at home!</p><p>When you grab your tummy in pain</p><p>Online medic advises a miracle tablet</p><p>Through Google</p><p>Google searches and finds </p><p>everything in the world</p><p>except the cell which you have</p><p>left in your car</p><p>purchased online!</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p> MENON'S MUSINGShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05444059789518350741noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6576972349670161164.post-62562549416045709052008-07-06T05:19:00.001-07:002022-12-17T05:34:05.618-08:00Educate Him<p>Wake up Rohan, wake up; today you’ve a test!</p> <p>He eats up Calculus and Calorimeter in good jest, </p> <p>Chews on mundane axioms one, two unto five</p> <p>And belches theorems of geometry dead and alive.</p> <p>Rohan moves to school in nonstop research and reveries,</p> <p>Of his tutors with monstrous knowledge from mortuaries.</p> <p>Oh! Does his face turn turtle or purple? Of course not gentle</p> <p>As he taps, the electronic face spews out data that startle!</p> <p>He ponders o’er not so green a “Green Revolution”!</p> <p>He is rushed to the Pink City o’er the deep blue Ocean</p> <p>He learns of blue litmus that turn rancid with acid</p> <p>And suffers lessons on Yellow Fever and how things go placid</p> <p>‘Rohaan’ calls the French Madam and goes on to grill</p> <p>On this and that and history of *Courville</p> <p>She checks her watch set on patterns o’ Conjugation</p> <p>And, yells to the class to take her petite translation</p> <p>The great India history is a funny story</p> <p>The boiling point of Hydrogen below Zero degree!</p> <p>Geography turns so dreary with Mr. Pot-Belly Thomas</p> <p>He irritates with his snide jokes and worn out smelly Atlas!</p> <p>Rohan crams determiners and metaphors in spells</p> <p>More idioms and pernicious tenses, and it tells!</p> <p>What’ more is made up in radicals and molecules</p> <p>While Benzenes, Al-de-hydes and Ke-tones stare in ridicule</p> <p>He is at his creaky desk to the right, really, really a sorry sight</p> <p>He stares at the queries on the paper until they fade into night</p> <p>In his dream his teacher praises and rates him the best</p> <p>Wake Rohan, wake up! You’re taking a test!!</p><p><br /></p><p>* Joachim Thibault de Courville was a great French composer.</p> MENON'S MUSINGShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05444059789518350741noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6576972349670161164.post-9572628620563721062008-06-10T01:49:00.001-07:002022-12-17T05:37:39.933-08:00THE SIN<p>He kept to the shadows</p> <p>And walked across the meadows</p> <p>Head bent, belly spent</p> <p>Down the barn past the taunting primrose.</p> <p> </p> <p>They say he’s a blackguard</p> <p>And that, all must be on guard!</p> <p>In the valley and the gully</p> <p>For he’s sure to slice us without regard!</p> <p> </p> <p>It seems, he took the life</p> <p>In fishy circumstances, of his wife</p> <p>She’d pleaded ‘n’ even conceded</p> <p>In the end nothing got her off the strife.</p> <p> </p> <p>‘He’s crazed,’ they wail</p> <p>‘Can’t be trusted’; ‘He should be in jail,’</p> <p>None dare argue on this issue,</p> <p>They brand him ‘no good’ and there’s none to bail.</p> <p> </p> <p>My neighbour says it isn’t fair</p> <p>For the man couldn’t hurt a hare</p> <p>‘It’s a frame up they’d set up’</p> <p>Now he’s hunted ‘n’ his kin is in despair.</p> <p> </p> <p>They promptly sit on judgement</p> <p>On others’ pathetic predicament</p> <p>‘A sacrilege!’ they cry and ‘the man has to pay!’</p> <p>And then walk off for a nefarious commitment.</p> <p> </p> <p>In the dark, silhouette foreplay</p> <p>The phantoms grin malicious and gay</p> <p>Their eyes glow red like an eagle’s beak in blood</p> <p>While he sits concealed hoping for another day.</p> <p> </p> <p>Another fine day</p> <p>It never came, they say</p> <p>They led him to the gallows across the meadows</p> <p>Alas! Dead and stiff, in silence he lay.</p> <p> </p> <p>* * * * * * * * * *</p> <p> </p> <p>A sin it became, the justice a bloody game!</p><p>For they found him without an ounce of blame!</p><p>Alas! He was dead and gone</p><p>They who accused him lay in shame!</p><p><br /></p><p>They soon came under a curse</p> <p>A curse they couldn’t tame and was quite terse, </p> <p>Their family broke up; their kids turned perverse</p> <p>And they repented in shame, but couldn't unmake the curse.</p><p><br /></p><p>In ten years the cursed town disappeared</p><p>It took them all; even the onlookers were not spared.</p><p>A lone rickety chair perched surrounded in bushes,</p><p>The one that the man sat on, doomed to death!</p> MENON'S MUSINGShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05444059789518350741noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6576972349670161164.post-74757473058408347502008-06-04T02:20:00.001-07:002008-06-04T02:20:31.548-07:00Science and Man<p>Science and modern life are irretrievably interlinked. Today’s world is unthinkable minus science and technology. As we have stepped into the twenty first century, all our functions, our work procedures, our scope of entertainment- even our very existence are all highly influenced by modern science and technology. As we celebrate this year’s scientific day, let us examine the modern life and the progress we made thanks to science and technology.</p> <p>Ostensibly, science has been instrumental in the quantum leap in our development and has played pivotal role in giving us a comfortable life. If human creativity is one side of the coin responsible for what we are today, science has rendered a catalyst for change. The synergy has given our creativity a momentous spurt. As we gaze into the TV viewing a myriad of entertainment soaps or we surf on the internet getting a kaleidoscope of visual experience or we travel in a jet half way over the world we thank our scientists for making our life more meaningful. Whether it is medicine, communication, industry and architecture or entertainment, education, meteorology and environmental protection, scientific researches and studies have spread its helping tentacles and touched common man’s life. What he used to do in a month’s time can now be done with fluid efficiency in a matter of 24 hours or even less. Thus, we live much more than our counter parts a decade or century ago. I take this opportunity to discuss here, ten of the most important achievements in science.</p> <p>Agriculture was perhaps one of the crucial endeavors that made revolutionary changes in our social system. Agriculture was the only area of scientific study for tens of thousands of years. Green Revolution, seed technology, genetics, White Revolution and innovation in farming practices have now led to the transformation of agriculture from a mere ‘country job’ into a sophisticated industry. </p> <p>Electricity, when discovered, made a humble beginning, but eventually turned out to be the most significant of the discoveries. We just can’t figure out how our world would be without electric current. Our whole life is integrated around this mysterious force. Thomas Edison’s life was a continuum of scientific pursuits and he is by far one of the most successful scientists of yesteryears. The inventions of such stalwarts had a far reaching affect on the humanity. Electricity has now become an interface platform on which several branches of science depend. </p> <p>As we sit here and discuss about the scientific advancement, people travel millions of kilometres going from one part of the world to another! Travel has become instantaneous as flights constantly move right across time barrier and sometimes we can reach yesterday when we start tomorrow! The crazy dream of Wright Brothers had magically produced supersonic jets a century later.</p> <p>While aviation was a distant dream automobiles were a reality, but the cars and contraptions have become speedier, safer and profoundly efficient in today’s world. Today cars work on renewable energy, produce zero pollution and works for healthier tomorrow.</p> <p>In medicine, Joseph Lister’s antiseptic surgery, Alexander Fleming’s accidental finding – the penicillin, John Salk’s polio vaccine and Rongton’s X-rays have all saved innumerable lives and got our future generations healthier. </p> <p>Such a discussion wouldn’t be complete without a mention of Charles Babbage’s prodigy. From the Eniac that he created as purely a calculating machine to the modern pocket PCs the development in computers has envisaged a rapid and mind boggling advancement. In this field, unlike any other scientific field, the rapidity continues unabated. Every breath we take has a software innovation coinciding.</p> <p>Holding a 4 inch by 2 inch mobile we talk, chat, brows the web, send and read emails and get ourselves entertained. We are getting ourselves seen and heard in far corners of the world. We enrol in universities, do transactions from virtual banks, engage in e- commerce and business, using web browsers. If you are an entrepreneur in the Bahamas getting suntanned, no problem – you could teleconference and run your empire by remote mechanism. All these thanks to inter-net and cell phones</p> <p>Many detractors and critics of science blame science for the environmental cataclysm and us living on the brink of safety. To them I ask: did you travel today by bus? Did you wake up to the cool breeze of your ceiling fan? Did you switch off your lights before leaving home? When you have become so dependent on science how could you criticize it so thoughtlessly? Look at Western Europe. It is the model of safe living. Not long ago its cities were as polluted if not even more polluted than perhaps India or Philippines. Charles Dickens immortalized the black hand of industrialization. In the next 200 years or so, science itself found effective solution to redress the problem and subvert the situation. We cannot blame science for our irresponsible behaviour and inadequate planning. Eventually we have to go back to science to find a remedy to the problems caused by human error.</p> MENON'S MUSINGShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05444059789518350741noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6576972349670161164.post-79276540806328305172008-06-02T22:40:00.001-07:002008-06-02T22:40:40.895-07:00Opportunism<p>Today we are proudly masquerading as free Indian, but we wouldn’t have got our freedom without the highly principled freedom fighters under the leadership of Mahatma Gandhi sacrificing their lives for a lofty goal. The Mahatma was a person who lived, persevered and died holding his principles high. Every year the whole nation remembers this great son of India. We feel proud to inherit his legacy. </p> <p>We do remember our Harshad Mehthas and shudder and cringe inwardly at the very thought that he was one of us. He did gain his momentous glory, but did it last? </p> <p>As we stand on the threshold of 21<sup>st</sup> century, our priorities have become ‘high living and low thinking’. Our success is measured in our possessions, bank balances and the amount of dowry ‘Social Bigwigs’ pay. Successive compromises and incursion of western ideology have given a crushing blow to the Indian life style paved on integrity, instead we are seriously thinking of flouting principles and justifying! Bharath, the land of great epics Mahabharat and Ramayana, which has symbolically shown us the unprincipled go to their certain downfall, has a unique culture based on principles! Yet we are here thrashing out this issue of unprincipled behaviour. Who ever dreamed up the unprincipled ‘float’? Of course they may float on some rivers as unfortunate pieces of history!!!!</p> <p>Have you heard of the fox that tried to drink the blood dripping from the goats’ foreheads when they were furiously bumping their heads? The opportunists can never be complacent for moment, because if they become they will have the fox’s fate. If one is an opportunist he will succeed only if the majority of the others are principled. It will only be a matter of time before someone like him/ her comes along and knocks him over.</p> <p>Proponents of opportunism may say that it is much easier to forget our principles and ‘make hay while the sun shines’. I do agree it is easy to be unprincipled, but can they really have such an easy time? Majority of us are idealists; we can’t think of others being selfish, greedy and inconsiderate, neither can we tolerate when others throw integrity to the wind, but when it comes to our own self the criticism disappears, instead we just compromise and say ‘never mind’. It may be true that it is difficult to uphold the lofty principles in this unscrupulous world.</p> <p>Yet we have our Mahatmas whose ideology we are a part of.</p> MENON'S MUSINGShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05444059789518350741noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6576972349670161164.post-84609670888763832732008-06-02T04:08:00.001-07:002022-12-17T05:46:03.799-08:00Twist of Life<p>Life has twists and turns and scores of surprises and shocks in store. For a person to have started a career in Hospitality services and ended up as an Admin. Manager in an Engineering Company is merely by chance may be a tall claim, but that is the truth. People like me will always be carried by the tides of twists and turns and face a lot of shocks. On the other hand, those with a scheme in front an ambition to fulfill will move in a single stream with a definite goal and destination.</p> <p> </p> <p>But, what the hell!! Both get on with their lives with a moderate level of achievement. Well, that might depend on what you consider achievement. Even so, I feel my path is ok, because we don't need to be on guard and have any goals whatsoever. Also one doesn't have to be stuck to the same routine always. I for one enjoyed being a squeeky smart travel executive for the time I was employed thus. Then there was a longer stint as marketing / sales executive, which too gave me lots of thrill and greater chagrin to many others. For a decade I worked as a teacher and now this.</p> <p>Looking back I feel I have learnt a lot of trades, tricks of the trade and never got bored by the monotony. I don't think many will share my enthusiasm.</p> MENON'S MUSINGShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05444059789518350741noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6576972349670161164.post-2989667953946766002008-05-25T23:17:00.001-07:002008-05-25T23:17:37.043-07:00My Dear Bro!!<p>A witty guy- my bro-</p> <p>In math, he was a pro!</p> <p>His pluck I did adore.</p> <p>His laugh was a roar!</p> <p>To Joke he said right-ho!</p> <p>To misery he said NO!</p> <p>He loved us all more!</p> <p>He was never slow-</p> <p>To wipe tears of woe!</p> <p> </p> <p>I take a memory tour.</p> <p>I stood near the door.</p> <p>He lay on the floor!</p> <p>I was not sure how to go.</p> <p>He was pale, I saw!</p> <p>Was tragedy in store?</p> <p>Later I came to know-</p> <p>He was no more!</p> <p>He died in a snore!</p> <p>To us it was a blow!</p> <p> </p> <p>My mom sounded hollow.</p> <p>Gone was her sweet fellow-</p> <p>She cried into the pillow.</p> <p>Dad was all mellow.</p> <p>No more did he bellow.</p> <p>Pain came as sharp arrow!</p> <p>In agony they did wallow.</p> <p> </p> <p>Tears and time go-</p> <p>As his cancer did grow!</p> <p>Many a remedy did he swallow!</p> <p>Nothing could slow-</p> <p>It gored all the more!</p> <p>In pain, he swore!</p> <p>Our heart it tore!</p> <p>Our spirit it stole!</p> <p> </p> <p>He is no more!</p> <p>We feel so low-</p> <p>The pain is slow!</p> <p>At times tears flow!</p> <p>Or feel our minds soar!</p> <p>Memories are in store!</p> <p>On our face they glow!</p> <p>Amid tears that furrow!!</p> MENON'S MUSINGShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05444059789518350741noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6576972349670161164.post-38411029132769846582008-05-25T22:44:00.001-07:002022-09-20T09:28:08.584-07:00Teaching is Learning!<p>Kuwait is green and beautiful! What an impossible dream! To a dreamer like me landed fresh and full of passion, it brought in a free flow of pheromones. It didn’t take me much time to discover the truth.</p> <p>Once I was called to a rich Kuwaiti Sheikh’s sprawling mansion and given the part time duty of tutoring his recalcitrant sons ever so elusive, lessons on English equally elusive. The recalcitrant duo was researching on wild mischief and had perfected the art of spitting in each other’s face, for one. They were in the process of compiling an international dictionary of swear and four-letter words. They would practice such words without inhibition on their close circle of friends, family and much to my chagrin even on their teachers!</p> <p>Why a teacher would wear a large panama hat indoors while teaching, may raise curiosity and eyebrows in some. The Arab siblings having parked on either side of me would often end up in a fight. After flinging back and forth a string of groovy words, they would invariably start a spitting match. It was for this that I wore the hat; to avoid the spit missiles landing on my crown. All the while the tirade went on I had to sit bent low. The class continued for a while because the money was good, but then all was not well when it ended.</p> <p>Soon after chucking that one I was confronted with another one. This time I was wiser, so decided to take only one person at a time. One on one- was far better! At least that’s what I presumed. The boy was just going into teens and was mostly placid. All he was interested in was eating, which he did all the time, I guess. He never stopped munching even during class. While I got richer he grew fatter. He would order a whole burger meal with nearly a litre of Pepsi and to top it five scoops of Baskin Robbins- various flavours and polish off the entire pile without a pause while I did his home work and assignment. It was a compromise which I readily accepted. I feared his tantrum. I had the misfortune to be there when he really blew his top. He yelled for nearly five minutes calling abusive words to his mom, siblings and the maids. The maids got all types of whacks from him all the time, whatever the mood he was in. If he was friendly, they would be whacked on the butt, when angry whichever place his fist landed! WHACK! WHACK! </p> <p>He fancied himself to be one of the wrestlers that come on the television and was into wearing weird costumes and head gears. In addition, he kept a large baton with steel studs which he said he used in fight. It seemed he liked to fight in the street and boasted of being a member of a gang. His driver (he had a separate car and chauffer at his disposal) confided in me that the chap went for fights alright but got walloped most of the time. He did agree that the boy horded all sorts of weapons like chains, clubs and even knives in the boot of the car! Just imagine!</p> <p>When teaching Kuwaiti children we have to follow some unwritten rules:</p> <p>They are always right.</p> <p>Never anticipate any gratitude or proper relationship expected from a student, relatives and parents.</p> <p>Their time is important; yours is not.</p> <p>Never complain about the student to the parents.</p> <p>While instructing, please note the child understands English as <i>he</i> wants, so avoid instructions as far as possible.</p> <p>Keep yourselves at arms length to avoid physical abuse.</p> <p>Never show any emotions on your face; if you smile it will be construed that you are laughing at him.</p> <p>Never joke, for they don’t understand.</p> <p>Beware when they are nice to you.</p> <p>Ali was a unique specimen. His chauffer called him ‘Rubber Boy’. Ali was a roly-poly good-looking chap, but was crazy to the core. He was like one of those exotic pets that don’t match their benign looks with their manners. His chauffeur would pick me up from my flat and drop me after the class. Ali would hop in during some of these trips and scare the wits out the children playing outside by waving his gun filled with plastic pellets or brandishing a large stick which he carried with him at all times. Sometimes he would shout out “PAAGAL HEY!” “PAAGAL HEY!” The onlookers would wonder why this kid was sticking out his head and screaming his head out. “THUM HI PAAGAL!” they would shout back. He reveled in his ignorance, but posed himself to be a swell guy. He was into eating all sorts of seeds. I felt he must have got a bird’s brain from all his nut chewing!! </p> <p>The stint there continued for quite a while!! I don’t know how! But as long as these dumb guys are around people like me can make money without much effort if you don’t mind bending your principles.</p> <p>There were quite a few interesting characters that came to me yearning for some knowledge. I learnt a lot of four-letter words in Arabic from them, but I wonder if they managed to learn anything from me!! </p> MENON'S MUSINGShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05444059789518350741noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6576972349670161164.post-88663291016641543442008-05-25T03:30:00.001-07:002022-12-17T05:50:52.395-08:00Nokkuji<p>Yesterday I got an invite to a programme in my daughter's school. It was addressed to Mr. & Mrs KP. </p> <p>We had registered our daughter's name in the school rolls as Gayathri. K. P to avoid them having to call all those unpronounceable parts of her long name and embarrass the little one. The teacher's sense of humour must have prompted her to address the invitation thus.</p> <p>This reminds of the episode of the Vellodis. Back in the 60s when my Grandpa was still alive, Mr. Vellodi was posted to the Finance Department of the Central Government as a Secretary. Delhi was a modern metropolis even then, but the Vellodis were village folks and continued the usual way addressing each other. In those days a wife never addressed her husband by his name. Instead he used to be referred to as "Nokku" meaning look here! </p> <p>Many people used to visit the Vellodi couple. One among them was a man from Punjab and on such visits Mrs. Vellodi used to nudge her husband and say "Nokku" whenever she had to get his attention. </p> <p>On one occasion the Punjabi and his wife had called on them to invite them for their daughter's wedding. The invitation was addressed Mr. and Mrs. Nokkuji!!</p> MENON'S MUSINGShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05444059789518350741noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6576972349670161164.post-63638306162418220892008-05-24T02:38:00.001-07:002008-05-24T02:38:10.946-07:00Death<p>Death is the second absolute truth.</p> <p>Yet, when it comes no one is prepared.</p> <p>Physical death precedes brain death.</p> <p>Brain death preceded memory death</p> <p>Memory brings alive the dead</p> <p>Death becomes a reality when history dawns.</p> <p>The dead are blessed.</p> <p>Those left behind grieve.</p> <p>In death a villain becomes a hero</p> <p>The dead are seldom disrespected.</p> <p>In death "He' or "She" becomes "It".</p> <p>In death all materials become worthless</p> <p>In death we part.</p> <p>In death we become whole.</p> MENON'S MUSINGShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05444059789518350741noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6576972349670161164.post-48159304696662705772008-05-17T00:44:00.001-07:002022-12-17T05:53:08.398-08:00<p>Sometimes people think they are great and can run the world. I feel they are like the garden lizard trying to bloat its muscles to challenge the car tires that are about to crush it!</p> <p>As humans we have enormous vanity which make us close our eyes to reality. Consequently we break our heart, scream our head off and push our chest out in false prestige.</p> <p>We have very limited ability compared to the nature. One small heave or sneeze can destroy millions, yet we say we are trying to save nature! HA HA!</p> MENON'S MUSINGShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05444059789518350741noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6576972349670161164.post-77459550650237755432007-10-24T07:28:00.000-07:002007-10-24T07:28:26.846-07:00Windows Live Hotmail<a href="http://by143w.bay143.mail.live.com/mail/ReadMessageLight.aspx?Aux=4%7c0%7c8C9E3AB908F0470%7c&FolderID=00000000-0000-0000-0000-000000000001&InboxSortAscending=False&InboxSortBy=Date&ReadMessageId=915af0b9-71f1-4bbd-90a9-889720be6d1e&n=1355610043">Windows Live Hotmail</a>MENON'S MUSINGShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05444059789518350741noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6576972349670161164.post-31676276670059224142007-09-30T23:06:00.000-07:002007-09-30T23:08:21.983-07:00<div align="justify"><strong>Poor Pedestrians!<br /></strong><br />Kerala during the rainy season is a tribute to nature. Even so, nature is not something that hangs out as poignant as a pedestrian’s predicament here. The economic boom comes at a cost. Indeed the cost the pedestrians pay for it is dear. They seem to have lost their right to walk! With the roads getting congested and pending litigations preventing widening of roads, the pedestrians’ track has become more redundant than ever. Wherever widening is done it is at the cost of foot path which disappear altogether. Also, perpetual coagulation on roads forces the motorists to use every lane to reach the destination a couple of minutes earlier. Lack of maintenance and unabated torrential rains have reduced the road space by half. This too puts a pressure on the pedestrian’s path. While these are unavoidable there are others that could be avoided.<br /><br />Automobile drivers use roads as some kind of racing track. Particularly the red town buses rocket down the lane or what is left of the roads, lurching this way and that way madly, without a head to the hapless passersby. They survive by managing to jump into any cranny to avoid the tons of steel goring through their entrails. And they manage just by the skin of their teeth! It’s high time the police became proactive to troubleshoot such problems.<br /><br />The motorists tend to park along the roads and not in some parking areas. They claim the parking areas are not there in the first place. What I have witnessed in other urban areas is the administration levies a parking charge. Here that is not there too. The cash strapped administration can collect sizable amount from these motorists and half of the street parking will stop instantaneously!<br /><br />Another hassle a walker has to face is the rain water. Excess and torrential rains spill water over to the roads. The sewage water from the clogged drains also mixes with the surface runoff. The decaying residential garbage left on the roadsides thickens the street effluents. If the poor pedestrian tries to avoid such a puddle, a row of automobiles speeding down will honk out his brains. If he gives way and stands aside awkwardly, the speeding automobiles will send sprays of the putrid water which will drench the poor soul! Proper drainage maintenance is all that is needed to avoid this.<br /><br />What about crossing? Police is seldom there to help them. The speeding motorist never heed to them. Even at zebra crossings they wait patiently often spending 20 to 30 minutes waiting to waddle across. Why can’t the rules be enforced? Aren’t those that walk also humans? <br /><br />Whatever man-made or natural significance this coconut land has, the Malayalies tend to be more selfish, uncaring and insensitive to the victims of their own creation. My heart goes to the poor street strollers. I deplore the indifference and callousness on the part of the city planners, traffic cops and the motoring public towards the pedestrians. I wish a day would dawn when walking along a street would be a lot more pleasant than it is now.</div>MENON'S MUSINGShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05444059789518350741noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6576972349670161164.post-48694332881429300902007-09-30T23:05:00.000-07:002022-11-27T04:45:50.422-08:00<div align="justify"><strong>My Little Granny</strong> </div><div align="justify"><br /></div><div align="justify">She was small and myopic, but a great lady. In my family the women folk had guts of steel. And my granny had tons of it! She lost her husband early and her only son, our silver tongued ‘Humko Mama’, died of a horrible accident in the prime of his youth leaving behind a young widow and two bonny children! </div><div align="justify"><br /></div><div align="justify">Those did falter her steps, but she didn’t indulge in the misery, instead she immersed herself in work and more work.
I remember her as a cherubic, buxom and witty lady always ready with a smile and chirpy laugh. She would tell us crazy stories and help us in our studies with equal passion. Mind you, she was a professor at the reputed Banares Hindu University! Yet she was so down to earth and such a jolly good person that all of us loved her.
She was the one who named me ‘Samudra Guptan’ after an illustrious warrior king who invaded dozens of kingdoms and brought them under his rule. </div><div align="justify"><br /></div><div align="justify">Don’t be under the impression that I was a warrior of any sort. Far from it, I was a timid one. Very Very timid indeed. Yet she named me after him because I used to move around in my sleep and kick the hell out of the unfortunate one who happened to sleep near me. In my teens I grew up in my uncle’s place. So at night all of us cousins used to sleep lying one next to other. Our little Granny would also sleep with us. During one unfortunate occasion, she was pushed out of her pillow and came to realize that I was "conquering" her!! Till her death, may God bless her soul, she used to refer to this embarrassing part of my life much to the delight of the audience, whenever there was a family gathering. </div><div align="justify"><br /></div><div align="justify">Her tutoring of one of my cousin was a classic example of the tenacity she displayed. He used to be in 4th or 5th year in school and it was mandatory to learn the multiplication tables by heart. Well, that was for every student except my cousin. Fed up with his poor marks in math, li’l Granny took it on herself to drill it out my cousin, who was very enterprising and always found some way to escape the torture. But granny was adamant. Loud sessions of chanting multiplication tables would reverberate in the study hall. She would ask, “Eight nines are?” and the sad boy denied playtime would scratch his head as if the answer was stored there. He would repeat, “Eight nines are. . . eight nines are. . . eight nines are. . .(all of them in different tones). Then granny would shout, “Tell me what eight nines are?” Purposefully, as if he knows the answer my cousin would say, “Oh you want eight nines huh? Well eight nines are,” “Are?” expectantly granny would urge. “Well eight nines are. . . hmmm . . eight nines are . . .lemme see (biting his lower lips and hiding a smile). . ” Granny would chide, cajole, beg and plead but my cousin would play her around his thumb no matter. Finally she would yell at him and ask him to get lost. Next day, again the charade would be repeated without much variation and the next after that and the next. <span style="text-align: left;">But in the end we were amazed because my cousin did manage to learn the whole tables by heart every way; up down or centre. My granny had the last laugh. </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="text-align: left;">She sharpened her skills in linguistics till her end, helping family relatives and neighbours master English. Indian history, yoga and kids fascinated her. She doted on us and was always obliging. We played with her, disobeyed her with impunity for she would never resort to punishment, took delight in her and sometimes even ridiculed her. Then, her greatness was taken for granted. Now, we feel ashamed for mistreating her at least sometimes by denying and disobeying. However we cherish the poignant moments we spent with her more.
Everything good has to stop someday. So did our li’l Granny. Till the end she was passionate about her chores. She stood dying as she prayed to the deities. I was fortunate to put her to her death bed noticing her awkward stance and give her last drops of life as she breathed her last. </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="text-align: left;">I will never forget the scene of stunned inaction, when slowly the fact of her departure would sink in our mind.
That was the end of her physical existence, but her memories and legacy live on.</span></div>MENON'S MUSINGShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05444059789518350741noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6576972349670161164.post-70206579960683386702007-09-20T23:03:00.000-07:002022-12-18T00:22:38.698-08:00<em><strong>RAIN </strong></em><div>
It rains and rains and rains</div><div>In the valleys and the plains </div><div>On the road it spills o’er drains </div><div>And snakes up the tarred lanes </div><div>It makes puddles of strong tea, </div><div>which grows into a big sea! </div><div>The frogs gather for the party </div><div>There they orgy in abandoned frenzy </div><div>Its little droplets march up to wind </div><div>Like smart regiments soldiers they sprint </div><div>In crazy gale they wrap nature in chintz </div><div>They tickle and play on the tamarinds </div><div>Cloudy by day and starless at night </div><div>The sky mourns draped in dark hide </div><div>Of her dear darling- the short-lived spring </div><div>All in its glory smiling and giving </div><div>Nonetheless, drizzles come tingling </div><div>Cloudbursts then come gushing </div><div>Sometimes hail go clamoring </div><div>Uninvited, the storms descend menacing </div><div>It sprouts the seeds and plants go all green </div><div>On farmers’ beaten face a smile is seen </div><div>Once or twice it turns a violent sheen </div><div>It stays for a while and leaves the scene </div><div>Sulking rain stays up as dark brooding clouds </div><div>When happy it just drizzles diamonds around </div><div>And jovial hails laugh out much too aloud </div><div>When angry storms come hurtling down </div><div>Late or soon, the monsoon </div><div>To the parched earth is a boon </div><div>Wild goes the beasts’ platoon </div><div>Pops up the new born mushroom </div><div>I like to see the epilogue of a rain</div><div>On rose buds and see how they sparkle!</div><div>It enriches and ravages lives again and again </div><div>It rains, rains and again rains!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>MENON'S MUSINGShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05444059789518350741noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6576972349670161164.post-75671611593982575712007-09-20T23:02:00.001-07:002022-12-20T05:03:02.907-08:00<span style="font-family: Josefin Sans;"><b><em>In the Twilight</em> </b></span><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">She didn’t say a word! </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">But all of it he heard.</span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">In the dark their eyes flamed! </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">All alone in a crowd. </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">Her hair, he did brush with, </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">His hand all gnarled and veined; </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">She did heave a sigh of anguish, </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">As if she had lost the skill to wish. </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">They sat huddled in the twilight, </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">Huddled in the dusk of their life! </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">A pair of wizened mortals living, </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">The fleeting images of the past. </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">Gone were the days of their blossoming, </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">Gone were the excitements of living, </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">Gone was the confidence from winning,</span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">Their spirited wars and coveted glories. </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">They started young toiling with soil and tears,</span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">A hut they had and it grew with passing years. </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">Amina, Rafeeq and little Abu were born, </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">And came the harvests rich and strong. </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">Happy were those days of honest sweat, </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">In a Hindu neighborhood they got respect! </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">Nature’s bounty, with all they did share,</span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">and got cheerful welcome and lots of care. </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">The Khan siblings grew up frugal in comfort, </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">Yet they did have sumptuous meals in concert. </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">Rafeeq grew to be an officer in the Indian Army, </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">And, Amina was wedded to a youth from Ranchy. </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">Abu had grown to be a nice teenage boy,</span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">In his school he was the first, yet he was coy, </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">All coveted his role in the drama about a seapoy,</span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">which he did so well to everyone’s joy. </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">Some years gave plentiful yield early in May, </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">So the Khans saved some for a rainy day. </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">They dug up canals and watered the crops, </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">And built tanks to harvest rain on hilltops. </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">Then they started losing out on yield! </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">Abu stopped studies to work in the field! </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">Costs and pests doubled; beasts died like crazy!</span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">And many men perished in communal frenzy!</span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">The battle raged; the dead littered with streets!</span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">The leaders brokered a hurry-burry peace!</span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">Pain and fear nibbled everyone on and on! </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">The Khans survived but their spirit was all gone, </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">One day, a meeting was called to order. </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">Big companies were coming to their border!</span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">More jobs and lots of money they promised! </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">Factories plundered the soil they had toiled! </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">The air and water got smelly so did their life too! </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">Few got jobs, but most had nothing much to do! </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">Machines pounded and clanked in chorus,</span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">Trucks and wagons made noisy ruckus. </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">New creed called developers descended, </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">They smiled a lot and talked so sweet! </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">Those that got in their way quietly vanished! </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">Their land was taken and they were vanquished. </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">Abu and father packed their bundle,</span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">At night they left their valley off to the town. </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">Rashid waited at the station to pick them up; </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">To his crowded flat they all went. </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">Three of Rashid’s kids and his begum,</span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">Welcomed them with open arms and cheerful talk!</span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">Abu got a job in the army garage,</span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">And
Khan opened his small shop on their street!</span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">Months ate up days and years, the months, </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">One day Rashid came in a coffin amid loud wails! </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">The Khan clan grieved silently and prayed, </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">Officers came put a wreath awkwardly stood and left. </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">Time healed the wounds; like it did always, </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">But more grief was in store for them!</span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">Abu died in a fire wifeless and issueless, </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">Amina’s husband left her a childless widow! </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">There were other tragedies they had to brave, </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">Nature killed many and brothers killed brothers! </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">Death lurked everywhere reveling in ecstasy!</span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">Ravaging people’s lives in a mad orgy! </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">The Khans were peace loving and law abiding, </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">They raised their kids to be kind and generous. </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">But their wretched fate was indeed reckless! </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">What did we do wrong the Khans wondered! </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">And wonder did they until their twilight! </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">Sun had lost most of its golden glory. </span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">They sat huddled facing the twilight,</span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">They sat thus defeated and sorry.</span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-family: Josefin Sans;">"seapoy" - Indian soldiers were referred to as seapoys by their British superiors during colonial era.</span></div>MENON'S MUSINGShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05444059789518350741noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6576972349670161164.post-16285688804775201162007-09-20T23:00:00.000-07:002022-11-27T04:32:49.697-08:00<strong>Fait Acompli</strong> <div><br /></div><div>He was good looking, suave and bad and was the most important link in the Sri Lankan Felix syndicate, which ran several clean front organizations. But money came for the syndicate from several other unclean hidden agencies. One of them dealt with girl trade. JS was the lynch man for that operation which spread its tentacle to a good dozen countries. JS traveled extensively. His passport identified him as a Sri Lankan male, 28 years old 6 ft 2 inches tall and 60 kilos heavy. Neat! That part was true, but the rest of the information in his passports (he had several) were fictitious. </div><div><br /></div><div>Angela was in late teens studying in Stella Maris, a reputed all women’s college in Chennai, when she met JS in a lending library. Then such libraries were popular. She fell flat for him. He was charming, talked with a sexy accent and had those dreamy blue eyes that ensnared girls in his trap with such succession that it even surprised him. </div><div><br /></div><div>He was the bastard of a Swedish diplomat stationed in Colombo. The blue eyes and the Caucasian appearance he inherited from him. But his mother was a Lankan.
JS was seen with Angela in cinemas, malls and one or two occasions even night clubs. </div><div><br /></div><div>For the orthodox household of Angela, this was all unthinkable. If they had got a whiff of what was going on, it would have brought the house down. But Angela cared less and was a lot luckier not to get caught. The fact was she couldn’t help herself. Through her JS met several pretty girls, who would all one day fall into his trap and end up in a Sheikh’s bedroom or a business magnate’s. </div><div><br /></div><div>In a typical operation, Angela would have landed there first, but she didn’t for some strange reason. JS assured himself Angela would have to go eventually, when the girls started disappearing so that no one should be there to corroborate with the cops. But JS kept delaying. </div><div><br /></div><div>On a wet Monday he got a call from one of his contacts in Mumbai. Then it was called Bombay.
Next week Angela disappeared. She was last seen by her friend Kaushalya. </div><div><br /></div><div>The city Commissioner of Police, Mr. Balakishnan, gave a brief statement to the press in which he claimed he was following certain leads after questioning the missing girl’s family and friends. Nothing would come of it, for JS too had disappeared. </div><div><br /></div><div>The police fed up with the investigation not yielding anything, concluded that it was a case of eloping and hurriedly closed the case. </div><div><br /></div><div>Had they dug deeper, they would have hit the murky waters and linked her disappearance to two other girls who had vanished equally suspiciously. Angela and JS had left by air on a Sunday. For Angela, who was still in her teens it was all so romantic. She couldn’t guess the terrible plight that was waiting for her. On landing at Bombay, they checked into seedy hotel, where a night squad of police raided and took the two into custody. Later JS would mysteriously disappear and Angela would smell rat but it would be too late. </div><div><br /></div><div>The squad would beat her up and Angela would lose all hope of a rescue when dramatically a kind old lady would appear, persuade the officers to relieve her. Naturally, the naïve girl would go readily with the good Samaritan.
JS would not be in a hurry to reappear in Chennai. Instead, he would cool it for a while and then resurface elsewhere, when the hunt was off. </div><div><br /></div><div>But it did not happen that way. Until the appearance of the old lady everything fell into place according to the script. But the old lady failed to appear. The police would later discover her in a suburban train bleeding and near death. To cut the story short, one bad link led to the other stinking one and soon the cops were on hot trails of JS. Eventually he was caught literally napping in a comfortable suite of an international hotel. </div><div><br /></div><div>As for much shaken Angela, she was returned to her parents who whisked her away from limelight. After a battery of tests and a series of counseling she rose up like a phoenix and won accolades in her later life. Only she knew how lucky she was.</div>MENON'S MUSINGShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05444059789518350741noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6576972349670161164.post-79493772975434459512007-08-14T06:56:00.000-07:002022-11-27T05:00:51.763-08:00<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">My Wedding - a Funny Affair </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">My wedding was a funny affair. It happened in a crowded hall. My bride and I sat on the raised stage under a lovely flower canopy. It was a short ceremony. Rings were put by the betrothed on each other’s right hand. A gold chain was hooked around my bride neck and a pair of thick Jasmine-Chrysanthemum garland was exchanged amid much fanfare and shouting and flash bulbs. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">It was while having the prodigious feast that I started scratching my neck. By the time I had reached the middle of the feast, I had to discontinue the eating business and get on earnestly with the scratching business. My bride sitting beside me was bemused by my new- found passion. Couple of well-decked good looking teenagers sitting in the opposite row had started giggling. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Now I was scratching away quite unashamedly!
It’s allergy! My uncle, who was a medical practitioner, seemed to understand the reason behind my not so acceptable behaviour. He quickly got me to a private room adjacent to the dining hall and sent the waiter with a prescription. My upper garments came off, so did my chain, glasses and watch. They agreed to keep the ring, however. My inflamed body had swollen up in places including my face and neck. My near tears bride was ushered in with assurances. One look at me and her pretty eyes nearly popped out if their sockets. I tried to smile but I don’t know quite how it looked. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">It took a while to get my allergic manifestations to subside. The antihistamine administered gave me a good sleep. When I finally got up, the swellings had subsided, so had the marriage crowd. By the time my newly married wife was in jitters. We were whisked away to my ancestral home for the night. We reached there without further misfortune. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">As the night approached the traditional yet so unique first night was about be staged. To accentuate the romantic air, some of my creative cousins had decorated the wedding suit with floral arrangements, mellowed down music and dimmed lights. The last one was not part of the organized scheme. It was more because of severe shortage of energy. The master bed was covered by a floral canopy and the bed was strewn by jasmine buds. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I was first led hearing some of the lewd jokes and pertinent suggestions contributed by all knowing cousins for whom the experience I was about face was long over. As for me it was a bit tormenting. You can’t possibly imagine what fear a closed door can invoke! What would she be like in our exclusive company? Would she laugh at me for the allergic manifestations earlier? Would she show some anomaly that was well covered by her glittering sari? </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I was absentmindedly biting my nails when she entered with the conventional glass of milk that is so much part of a Nair bride on the wedding night. I started and turned around slowly feeling very conscious. I was somewhat comforted to notice her weary look. I forgot my uneasiness and patted her shoulders as I would pet a dog. I really didn’t know what to do. Suddenly my tongue just wouldn’t move. My throat felt dry as it should according to the hurried education in these sorts of things given by Balu, one of my cousins. We looked a sight. Two clumsy individuals!
The moment passed. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I found my tongue at last. I suggested we should sit on the bed. She readily complied. Earlier, I had removed every jasmine bud spread on the bed spread fearing another allergy attack. The cot creaked not so reassuringly. She extended the glass of milk looking at me out of the corner of her eyes. All shy! Hmmm, I thought. In my pretension of nonchalance, I gulped the milk down. But I choked on it, a spree of cough followed. The more I tried to subdue it, the more aggressive it became. My bride was up and looked at me with her bulging eyes. I don’t know what emotion was prevalent in her eyes at that time, but romance was the last thing there. I tried to assure her with a gesture of my hand. I got it under control eventually. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">There was a long stretch of silence. Then I started laughing. My bride joined after a pause. The tension melted and we giggled like two teens. We held each other’s hand and there was an un-describable closeness at that time between us.
We talked at length. In subdued tone, still very conscious, we talked about this and that, I looking at her face she taking fleeting looks at mine. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">It must have gone on for some time, only when she stated to yawn I realized the need to sleep. I switched the light off and went to the bed, got under the canopy and pulled the sheet over. The swish of the fan was loud, but my heart pounded louder. Now what should I do? Should we do it now? Shouldn’t we? If I proceeded, would she think I was an impatient wild brute? If not, will I be judged an impotent? Or worse, a gay! You don’t know how extreme thoughts could be when you think alone under a loud fan and a quiet bride beside.
Finally I summoned courage and turned to her and was about to hug her when I realized she had gone to sleep. I could hear her even smooth breathing. I understood the tension she must have gone through. I longed to hold her close, but I feared it would wake her up. So I lay on my back as close to her and looked up at the patterns on the wooden ceiling faintly visible in the moonlight coming through the window. I must have continued the reveries like that for a long time before sleep angel brushed my eyes shut. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">CRASH!
I jumped up. There was a heavy thing on my chest. After ruling out all the impossibilities including an aerial attack or worse a terrorist attack, I knew the reason. One of the bed posts had given way under the weight of the copious flower decoration on top. Luckily only one side had come down. My spouse was spared. I gingerly got up, woke my wife up. She started! She was appraised of the situation in hushed tones. Having extracted a pair of cushions from the Diwan, we lay on the floor each one to one’s own thoughts. In two hours I woke up groggy. I was alone! </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The worse was to come. All gave me knowing looks as I came out of the bedroom. My nieces in teens giggled when they saw me. Even my mom gave me a reproving look! As if I had done something wrong. I didn’t even touch my wife. Not exactly, but nothing other than touching! My wife was grinning mischievously too. She didn’t look her awkward self any longer. I was working up some wise comment. My dad patted my back and gave me a look which seemed to say it happens sometimes. I gave up and smiled smugly. Who cares?
</span></div>MENON'S MUSINGShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05444059789518350741noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6576972349670161164.post-86436872202988661582007-08-14T06:55:00.000-07:002022-12-18T00:39:05.514-08:00Kerala is a Fever
Country! <div>They call, it the "God’s own country"! </div><div>One hundred percent literacy! </div><div>Yet, they make our land so filthy, </div><div>They pinch us and become wealthy!</div><div>We are the victims of democracy! </div><div>Fever! Fever burning bright! </div><div>Chikun! </div><div>Dengue! </div><div>What a blight!</div><div>‘Course it’s all a terrible sight! </div><div>Fever! Fever burning bright! </div><div>Take our kids and give us fright! </div><div>Browning’s Tiger, don’t burn bright </div><div>They have lost their kin and might </div><div>Few is left to their sorry plight, </div><div>Sulking in what’s left of the jungle. </div><div>Project Tiger- isn’t it a bungle? </div><div>Press is screaming yellow jello </div><div>“Yellow, yellow dirty fellow” </div><div>The paper’s leaders bellow </div><div>“Don’t be too good, dirty fellow” </div><div>Mob won’t eat your marshmallow! </div><div>Did you hear of the Paper Bond Story, </div><div>Of the Patriot taking smelly bribery, </div><div>They swear: it’s a bond; we’re so sorry </div><div>They swear: return the booty, but it’s so silly </div><div>Where’s the crook that runs the lottery? </div><div>Or about the nun in query, </div><div>Her murder is a damn mystery </div><div>They say: The leaders caused the tragedy </div><div>Cops fret about her lingerie </div><div>We cry and curse our drudgery </div><div>CM goes on to proclaim loudly,</div><div>Land! We will surely reclaim </div><div>The Forest Minister says it’s lame </div><div>It’s just a bloody tall claim </div><div>It’s a shame, such a shame. </div><div>Munnar fever burning bright; we sigh </div><div>The opposition makes a hue and cry </div><div>Tata will take the hit they say, eh? </div><div>But no, they can’t touch his hair; oh!</div><div>Life is indeed so unfair </div><div>The cleaning n cleansing campaign </div><div>Gives us a terrible back pain </div><div>While they clean up the big cities </div><div>They dump up our rural crannies </div><div>With smelly stuff lying in the drain </div><div>The leader takes a javelin </div><div>And lands on gold at Lavlin
Ah! </div><div>The loot? He surely didn’t</div><div>Red flag is swirling n twirlin’ </div><div>We are all bleeding n dyin’ </div><div>The flight in sky is burning bright </div><div>KC leader couldn’t just be right </div><div>The woman, aghast, saw no light </div><div>She felt his hand caress her amorously</div><div>And now he is in a slanderous fight </div><div>We farmers, in hundreds, die </div><div>Our kids in multitudes lie </div><div>Waiting in hunger and fatality </div><div>Jobs are lost also loyalty </div><div>LEADERS, LEADERS BURNING BRIGHT </div><div>WE CAN ONLY BEG FOR OUR LIVES!</div>MENON'S MUSINGShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05444059789518350741noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6576972349670161164.post-66496335439165138092007-08-05T07:24:00.000-07:002007-08-05T07:34:14.210-07:00Back Again!Ya, Back again. Just was lolzing in the rainrich god's own country gone to dogs! Bugs and mosquitos are malicious, so are the politicians, kids, students, teachers and every chaprasi. what's come to the most literate, most liberal kerala?<br /><br />Frankly, it doesn't bother me as much as those righteous guys nostalgic about the old times. As if world will stand still. Priorities change. Money is the most important thing. So try and make the best of it if you can. hordes of money grab as much and horde it. i don't know for what.<br /><br />i believe great intelligentia around are contemplating big doom for our planet in a century at the most. So what happens to the money you have the property you own. I wonder! But then you cant just contemplate and fall to inaction. may be we should horde money after all.<br /><br />I remember the Abba song Money, money, money..... Nostalgic! So what?MENON'S MUSINGShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05444059789518350741noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6576972349670161164.post-27547345437216758992007-06-15T21:00:00.000-07:002007-06-15T21:16:04.421-07:00Mom's DelicaciesBeing back in rainy Kerala, I feel nostalgic about Amma's cooking. She would make here concoctions out of a confusion of raw and ripe fruits, an assortment of vegetables, and garam garam Indian spice along with all season coconut gratings, which would find its way into all sorts of Kerala cooking, either as such or ground into a paste with a wide variety of taste makers. She would serve us with hot hot idlies ( fashionably pronounced Italies), steamed rice cakes sprinkled with inevitable coconut gratings with equally steaming black gram curry, puri-potato etc for breakfast; a sumptuous and spicy lunch with inescapable rice and pappads; a high tea with as much tasty spread as you can think of; and a mouth watering dinner to boot. No wonder all of grew fat on her love!MENON'S MUSINGShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05444059789518350741noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6576972349670161164.post-23683387764958845782007-06-07T05:17:00.000-07:002007-06-07T05:43:46.088-07:00My MomI remember her soft and all caring. I remember her feeding us rice. She would mash all the ingredients together, kneed it, work on it with such frenzy until it became a juicy paste, which we used to slurp up. Something in her hand made it all the more tastier. Her perseverance knew no bounds. Although bronchial asthma made her bent, it couldn't bend her spirits. She doggedly refused to be intimidated by the nasty disease instead confronted the difficult chores with a smiling countenance. She lived to make feasty meals and serve to a large crowd. She had such good hands. Even if she made a swift meal it would taste like a gourmet's delight! Alas, fate stole her away from us. It was abrupt and merciless. I feel a vacuum, which I can never really fill. Words become futile to convey my longing for mom. I love my mom.MENON'S MUSINGShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05444059789518350741noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6576972349670161164.post-60489288965228428132007-05-31T05:38:00.000-07:002022-12-27T20:37:07.979-08:00Men's Enterprises Inc.<b>The Nineties . . . . </b><div><b><br /></b><div style="text-align: justify;">Then,</div><div style="text-align: justify;">the chauvinistic men looked down upon the chatty women deep in conversation. Many jokes have piled up one top of the other belittling this ‘women enterprise’ as if for men such trivial activities are demeaning and of course gross! </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Yet, wherever I go, at least among the Malayalis, the men talk as much if not more than their female counterparts, including myself; and louder too. The topics they indulge in – as bad if not worse than the women. If you consider one unit of air going out in speech per syllable, at least a million units of air are expelled from a male’s mouth a day! That itself is enough to trigger a global warming! </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Some love to talk loudly, or may be softly or in some other unique way exclusive to them. I listen sometime to conversation among men gab, gab, gab on and on. Sometimes they are so monotonous that it serves as a lullaby and I have caught myself nodding off to sleep. Some argue among themselves and it sounds so much like a fight. I have been whispered to convey juicy gossips. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I have witnessed some interesting maneuvers in oral intercourse. Some like to keep reading loudly the news paper and also join in a talk with others at the same time. Some talk animatedly shaking their heads, nodding their heads to emphasize the matter, while others fling their hands all over and knock down things perching precariously on shelves, corner stands and other places or laughing and talking simultaneously making it difficult to understand, especially, a joke. The words get stretched, get cut into several bits or are not heard in the vehement expulsion of air, which is so much part of laughing. It is so exasperating that I sometimes tell them to do one at a time; either laugh or talk. Some, while talking, bring out spray of spittle along with words giving a shower bath to the unfortunate communicator. For those inebriated souls words get stuck all over their mouth. The repetition of the idea being communicated is common among such cases. Some of them talk the same idea in several languages to show off their linguistic prowess, perhaps! </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The garrulousness of men is evident in places where they flock like the buses, bus stops, restaurants and so on and so forth. Some like to beat on the thigh of the listener while they talk, which I find terribly annoying. Some try to reach the opposite sex by talking unusually loudly to the unsuspecting crony. After having delivered the message they look in the direction of the intended person, all the while the person talked to remaining a foolish gizmo. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Some, even when they abuse you, like to give a sheepish grin so that the onlooker doesn’t get a clue as to the vileness of the language exchanged, and they wonder why the other person is scowling hideously at the smiling person. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Some like to explain a joke, some want a joke explained. Just Imagine! </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">It takes all sorts to make the men’s world which is sometimes so hollow. Have you landed yourself in a party of teachers or engineers? If you are not in either of the profession, you will surely be excluded from the talk. Also, the so called intellectuals can hardly talk anything outside their world and utter anything other than the jargon of their profession. If at all they attempt, they either ‘ump’ a lot and pause some more before saying a full sentence. So went the conversations then . . . </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>In the current times . . .</b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Now, consider yourself lucky to be in a lengthy conversation with another including your wife, if ever that happens; even luckier if you can get the message across to the other, for there is always the sudden and loud cell phone rings tone that abruptly stops the animated conversation! Then the person with the cell phone exhibits different expressions from glee to grimace and and asks herself or himself to be excused to take the call, much to the chagrin of the story teller. Some do not bother to stop to be excused, instead they start on a tirade or whatever other mode of talking, that is warranted according to their whims and those of the caller! While talking on the phone some think they need to shout to get across the long distance. By the time the conversation is over everyone overhearing it gets the idea how things are. Sometimes, the cell phone caller or the taker of the call, looks around to see the impact he has made on the people around, as if everybody has understood his importance! There are some that whisper while on the mobile, perhaps not to attract the attention of the others or for some other juicier reasons. Mostly, people look like zombies as they stare at their mobile handsets looking at the contents of the different Apps on their I-phone or Android. This they do even when they are walking down pavements! Many times I have been startled out of my wits when moving down the pavement or commuting in a metro, when someone opposite suddenly starts talking, while smiling at me. When I try to clarify if he was talking to me, he points to his ears and gestures that he is not talking to me! I grin sheepishly and he nods his head! This is called AirPods, wireless ear phones! I am left with a question whether he was smiling at me, or was amused by something he was listening to; even the nod!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Anyone returning home from work see their family members all engaged deeply with their mobile handsets. They look at the lighted screen and acknowledge the entrant with a "Hi there!" of a "Hi Dad!", without lifting their vision to look at the tired person standing at the door step! Undeterred the person flops on a vacant seat and takes out his/her cell! The family later goes to the posh restaurant for dinner. After acknowledging the familiar guests and giving the order to the eager waiter, the family returns to their cells and get engrossed. There's hardly any exchange of words!</div></div>MENON'S MUSINGShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05444059789518350741noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6576972349670161164.post-44488551298865816622007-05-19T12:42:00.000-07:002022-12-19T05:42:09.207-08:00FAMILY REUNION<div align="justify"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">I was recently at the ancestral home for the puja, which is an annual affair without a break continuing for the past fifty odd years. Although it was started for pleasing the deities, in the contemporary time of insular fragmented family units, it also serves as the platform for social interaction.
So, the relatives gather for the event with enthusiasm and expectations. For several of us it is the time to indulge in nostalgia of our school days, youth and the good and the bad times unique to us. A kaleidoscope of events and a cascade of characters twinkle and disappear in our memories. For some it means sharing crass gossip, exchange juicy information of the black sheep among the family and have tempestuous orgy of criticizing everyone and everything.
The over-sensitive teens suddenly plucked away from their high-tech gadgets and skyscrapers and catapulted into the quiet rural setting would sit alone weary of the elders and scoffing at their village-bum cousins. They in their lack of sophistication would be curious yet keep away from fear of rejection. They would perhaps whisper among themselves or ogle at the city bred who would mightily ignore the transgressors or condescend to give mono-syllable-d replies to their chirpy queries. Some others would go seeking adventure in the verdant landscape only to get bitten by the itchy plants, mosquitoes, hovering wasps or irked honey bees. They would come with rashes or swellings all over and their mothers would cluck and fuss like big fat hens over their well cared children having to face such a dreadful misfortune. For some the stay would offer a love affair to remember, for several it would be just a waste of time.
The kids were the ones that really enjoyed in open minded merriment running around happily, making new friends and playing meaningless games. They would splash in the tank or slurp the hot stew of tapioca or just yell and make the grown up upset. Some would go into the kitchen to explore the unchartered territories much the consternation of the fussy maids and bewildered aunts.
Of course, the shriveled up senior members would sit and pray looking forlornly at nothing with uncomprehending eyes. They would smile toothless or too toothy and grip your hand in their gnarled ones and look at you intently with their cataract glistened eyes and ask you embarrassing questions, like “Do you remember me?” or remarks, like “My, my, look how this girl has grown into such a pretty thing” . How should you know all this? You may not have met her until then in your life. But you just show a happy face not to offend the nice old lady, even though the corners of you mouth must be twitching and aching from too much of continuous smiling.
The neighbors would stop by and look myopically to find the reason for the sudden hustle and bustle. They would search for familiar faces among so many buxom ladies, filled out men and well nourished children. If they find they would hesitantly march in and loiter around awkwardly until some member recognized and came to their rescue. Pleasantries would be exchanged along with some currencies. The group would depart after politely taking leave soon to be replaced by another and then another.
Day would grow old, haggard and die. At this puja I missed my Dad. He was a superb singer. At dusk, he would sing hymns and bhajans glorifying little Krishna or the destroyer, Shiva. Kids would sing out loudly in chorus and the whole atmosphere would be so harmonious that all will feel uplifted. I could picture him sitting crossed legged with his back erect and singing in ecstasy with his eyes looking up smiling at the pictures of gods and goddesses while relatives of all ages would crowd around admiring his vocal expertise and getting submerged in devotion. His deep voice would reverberate and echo down the alleys spreading warmth and peace.
Instead this year was pathetic. My uncle and his crony got boozed and he was itchy for a fight when he got sloshed. We knew his trick. He would just open a topic and encourage you to talk. Then he would pick an argument. Soon the situation would be irrevocable and irretrievable. He would quash his victim by calling them ‘stupid’ ‘idiot’ and other adjectives even more unpleasant. He would make his adversary squirm and cry. At last, he could trap my unsuspecting cousin to open her mouth. The friendly discussion of politics soon escalated into a full fledged fight. We tried to intervene and deter it. But the pair had by then started calling each other names. To cut the morbid story short, by the time everyone came to his sense a terrible damage had been caused.
The next day early my cousin left in a huff with her family. My uncle got up with a nasty hangover but no frayed nerves. He was clueless why Raji and her fine husband had left so early. We never told him. Let bygones be bygones. </span></div>MENON'S MUSINGShttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05444059789518350741noreply@blogger.com0