The Beauty of Glory Personification!

This was just a passing thought when I got out after watching 'Kerala Varma Pazhassi Raja', starring the all-time Mammooty, written by M.T. Vasudevan Nair. According to me, the movie, though a trifle long, was definitely worth-a-watch...something new, different and entertaining (finally!) from Mollywood. The budget of the movie was sound in its every scene, plus the performances from Sarath Kumar, Manoj K.Jayan, Suresh Krishnan and Padmapriya were simply memorable. The 'chuttuval' scene was incredible. And bravo for Resul too.

Enough said about the movie, now about the thought that passed (before it completely passes out!). Many ought know about Pazhassi Raja being the sole resistance to the British tyranny. But there's no definite story about how he died...some accounts say he was wounded in the war with Thomas Baber (when his men surrounded him), others say he committed suicide by swallowing the crystal in his ring, thus refusing to surrender to British Rule (this I read in Amar-Chitra-Katha: Freedom Fighters!).

Anyways, now since the movie's out, the image of the Pazhassi prince has been renewed with vigour...the majestic looks of Mammooty, extreme martial abilities and fearless valour (especially the scene when he single-handedly strikes back following Chandu's death!). Not only he, let it be any character whose myth survived the ages, only looking for a script and a producer to be sculpted into a movie...they have been glorified to an extent which even they, looking down from the heavens above, will be wondering, "Damn! Wish I'd been so cool!!!". I mean, wouldn't it be awesome for yourself to be remembered for something you weren't actually responsible for, or for capabilties you didn't actually possess? I'm not saying Pazhassi Raja wasn't a great warrior, mind you! But being the best of his kind? Could or couldn't have been...

It's just being born at the right place and at the right time...in this case at a time before the 1800's(!), when historical accounts lose their accuracy. Definitely in this age, it's impossible to pass out with an achievement that isn't truly yours...with scores of organizations ready to test its authenticity, and multitudinous others ready to sue you with plagiarism laws. You have to be what you embody!

For a good read on Pazhassi, check the following blog;
http://malabardays.blogspot.com/2007/08/thomas-babers-account-of-end-of-pyche_12.html

Polite-Tricks!

(This is neither an attempt to increase the no.of hits in this otherwise pretty non-existent blog, nor to increase the probability of me getting hits…this was written far before EyeOfNitc and FakeNitcBlogger, and from a neutral perspective.)

You either die a hero or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain.”
- Harvey Dent, The Dark Knight

A famous quote from one of the best movies ever made. Batman eventually made the harsh decision of taking the responsibility of the murders so that the Joker didn’t win at the end (If you didn’t see The Dark Knight, believe me, it’s a crime and you need to be hunted down!). But most thought “Why did he have to take the blame?” This might be due to the Bollywood mentality that is lodged in our minds right from childhood, that is, many of us can’t stand an unhappy ending for our hero. “He went through all this sh*t, for this?” But I got my answer in scope of a few months experiencing college life…strangely, college does teach you life lessons.
Politics is a scary word. It always comes down to mud-slinging and lobbying. There’s no room for ethics and truth to make any real impact. And social relations turn into political gimmicks when the big ‘equivalent of happiness’ comes into play – money.

“Money, it’s a crime.
Share it fairly but don’t take a slice of my pie.
Money, so they say
Is the root of all evil today.
But if you ask for a raise it’s no surprise that they’re
Giving none away.”

- Pink Floyd

And with money comes power. That’s the basics. Now getting into the real picture –
When you enter college as a first year, all you wanna do is make lots of friends, make yourself prominent in friend circles. You want the circle to become huge, show off your unity to the senior years, thinking that it would stun them or provoke them from ragging you. You give your group a name, print it on t-shirts, store loads of group photos on your comps…terming them as the best moments of your lives. The intention is good; you want the whole year to be united and decisions to be unanimous, in fact, that’s the way how things should be. But does this ideology survive for long?

Think about it. However strong your bonds are with others, you are all different people. Some might be the ones who are really talented and work or don’t work their asses off, others are those who have no particular talent but execute well, some play second fiddle to these people, and then there are many who don’t care and just wanna have fun.

So imagine a situation where a decision is to be made. Different people voice their opinions- it is inevitable that the final decision made is flawed, but the right opinion is in one of the individuals’ minds and he isn’t supported. Chances are so unlikely that he’s gonna walk off citing that people didn’t heed his advice. He will force himself to believe that that’s best for the group and keep mum. For the simple reason he doesn’t want to be left out.

Then when a group is huge, there are gonna be individuals who feel they don’t belong to or play any role in the group’s decision-making process and gradually break-off. They may choose to silently work on their own. Bottom-line – it’s tough to include everyone satisfactorily.
Now comes the case of positions of power and handling money matters. The following sequence of events occur –
1) You choose your leaders and decide among your group who is worthy of the highest posts.
2) But there are people outside the group who seem to be worthy too, but they don’t have an enormous following as your leader. But you find difficulty accepting him just because he’s not a part of your group. Your leader will obviously want the power so dearly (Come on, who doesn’t want the authority of being answerable to no one and money under your control?), that he has to cook up games to run him down.
3) Then starts the saga of mass masquerading – acquaintances forcibly turned to ‘conditional’ friends – I do this favour for you, so you do this for me.
4) Things turn worse, your following starts taking credit for events run in college which couldn’t have been run without others’ help.
5) Then to prove yourselves, you end up sidelining the people who had worked all the while and ‘teach them a lesson’ not to mess with you.
6) Finally, there is a rift, and the election.
7) The ambitious ones will win, while the ethical ones end up cribbing as to why they had wasted their time, which could have been judiciously spent learning a word or two and improving grades.
8) They will, sooner or later, be paid for trying to do anything defaming your group.

Let me paint an even bigger picture. Let those late-realizers who think that something can be done using truth as a weapon and basically vying for lost dignity before they leave college – be the heroes. Let’s assume a Bollywood ending to our story, and due to some impossible magic, the heroes with their honesty win. Now, it is their duty to ensure that such ‘groupism’ doesn’t haunt the college anymore. So they have to discourage the already existing ones in the junior years. What has to happen? Do you possibly think an overnight advice is going to break up their ideology? The heroes too will have to play games, break-up and sideline the junior group…wait, aren’t these the traits of the villain too? How different are the current heroes from the past villains?

Remember Harvey Dent’s quote. If the ethical people lost (die a hero), their idea will remain. An idea won’t die, and will ultimately inspire someone in the later years to stand up to the atrocities in their respective year. But is there a solution to all of this? Try as hard as you can, involve your IITian friends too, but trust me, you would be imagining a perfect world where individuals will get voted with full justice and these individuals too, use their power and money judiciously. If individuals stand for an election, there will be smaller groups supporting them. And to win, there will be campaigning, and politics creeps back into the scenario. Only grace being that it is on a much smaller scale comparatively. Once whosoever is in power, there might be dissatisfaction for others, and rumours, true or false, will circulate.

What do you gain from all of this? Unless you want a post, nothing. Just the ephemeral feeling that your group won, or distraught after losing everything. Logically, it’s best not to be involved in groups. Make some trustworthy friends whom you can bank upon after college life. But this ideology will wither once you want to do something for your college. So concentrate on your academics (That will require some serious concentration! How are you gonna sit simply when people beside you are working, and enjoying getting credited with success of events?). But if you can’t stand up to a small problem in college, how are you gonna face dirtier setbacks in life?

Committees should be headed by those who have worked dearly for it in their junior years and know how things are run and have the capability to take wise decisions. If this is the case, then whosoever is in power is of no concern, that is, he shouldn’t be the one taking decisions and showing favouritism – it’s those who are currently running the show. That will curb most of the problems, at the least. That too is a happy ending. Frankly, Bollywood = real life is an equation that is solved only in ‘Slumdog Millionaire’!

An 'I am Legend' rip-off 4 my cult-fest newsletter

DAY 376, MARCH 2008

TIME: 7 a.m.

The sun’s finally out. I think it’s safe to venture out of my hiding. The infected species must be exhausted, they will be resting now. It’s been like this for the last 375 days. I have lost hope. I feel I am the last survivor in my world.
I walk through the lanes where it all began. A massive crowd had gathered in this structure, called the Open Air Theatre (O.A.T). They were misled by an event called ‘Ragam’ that was supposed to begin that night. I was among the fortunate few not to know about it. When it began, all I remember were these super-charged hyper-energized creatures, every movement of theirs dance-like, running berserk, calling out to those uninfected to experience the ultimate. I shut myself from all the fervor, which was fast spreading into an epidemic. I stepped out only by the next morning, same like today. Out of curiosity (which till today lurks in me) to know what transformed the humans, I walked through these very lanes. The place was breathtaking; every building along the path standing out in its own superb decoration. Capping it all was an astonishing work of art at the Main Block circle. Something seemed to relate them; I guess it was ‘Games of Chance’, getting this idea from a caption on a poster, saying ‘where the die rolls seven’. I remember seeing many stalls strewn here and there, billboards of big-shot sponsors and an ‘Informals’ stage (this was to be noisiest place for the upcoming days). After a couple of hours, all of a sudden I heard voices…announcements regarding the commencement of events, and I noticed a ob approaching from a distance. I fled back to my hiding.
I got out the following morning, and this time I saw beautiful rangolis, striking clay models, classy pencil-sketches and paintings, interesting cartoons, elegant vegetable-carvings amd what not. What drove these people to do all this? That very night, loud music resounded from the O.A.T like never before, as if a high-profile entertainer was on song. I took all precautions to isolate my ears from the sound and save myself from the highly infectious disease. After three days, the activity died down. But afraid of what to expect, I have living like this for all the while. I am tired of this lethargic life. But wait! What do I see now? There’s a new caption hanging here. It says ‘my muse, my canvas’. Oh! The MB circle looks grand with coloured blocks; this whole place has been decorated again. I am mustering up all my courage to conquer my urge to know the truth…I am going to get out tonight and see for it all by myself. I am the last…mankind will ever see.

TIME: 6 p.m.

Here I am in the O.A.T, all ready to face the worst. The music has begun to flow; there are scores of them rushing in. oh my, what’s happening to me? My feet are getting into the groove, my body is moving fanatically. I am freaking out. I know I am infected with the virus. The ‘Ragam’ virus…

Another suicide note!

Now, how to write a suicide note? As it is, I’m fed up of everything that’s come across my life. But I have no alternative, and this is necessary, to avoid any complications by the law.

I had a lot of expectations, I must say, when I first stepped foot into this college. I thought I would reap treasures. A top-notch job, a stupendous bike, a posh apartment, an amazing girl…I studied well. My first bouts of depression began when my first relationship with Rosy (name changed) hit the rocks. The global recession only added salt to my wounds. My plans…and dreams…all were foiled. I was introduced to the drug that many associated with peace and ecstasy. I felt like the bohemian, being able to smoke so freely. I didn’t know there was another side to this exciting feel of self-indulgence. Depression hit harder and faster when I came to my senses, and I had to pine for my next smoke. I’m not simply prone to depression. I’m depressed because I’m unemployed, and had to face an umpteen number of unsuccessful interviews. I’m depressed because my affairs have always been petty compared to my love for Rosy. I’m a chalked-out mess. This drug, which once felt like heaven, has brought only paranoia and contempt into my relationships.

Aaah…this has given ample time for my blood to create a red sea …my eyelids feel like weights, a similar experience when I am too high…

My Last Offering

Ria, I have finally decided.
31 years I have rotted in prison. Today’s the first time I smell the fresh air. Of ‘freedom’.
Health and wealth once existed in my life. Orphaned by birth, I worked hard and bought a farm. The farm grew big. My business reaped profit. Soon I had workers of my own. I erected a cozy house. I loaned six tractors mortgaging my farm. I wed a beautiful girl too, Ria. She was the first whom I called family. Life was heavenly. Until…
My world came crashing down. Ria was found dead in the kitchen. Raped and strangled. The butler named a worker. Needless to say, I went berserk. I took hold of my farm gun. I stormed out and found him. Before he could say a word, I pumped lead into him. Thrice. Each shot satisfying my burning revenge. But as he breathed his last, he pointed to the butler. He tried to flee, but I killed him too. I stood in the midst of the blood, a weak smile appearing on my grieving face.
I was arrested and convicted. For the murder of two innocent employees. With no sufficient proof they were in any way involved with the death of Ria, I was sentenced to Life imprisonment. Justice was bad those days. At first, I didn’t depress. Who else was there to live for, anyway?
The jail term was worse. Day and night, I was immersed in her. I refused to eat or did I read. I grew weak and was driven to insanity. I was sifted for rehabilitation. A few years of treatment and good conduct henceforth earned me enough sympathy to reduce my sentence.
And here I am. I find the new experience rather shocking. I sought change in me once I was freed. But the whole world has changed. A lot. Without me in it. Nothing has been more difficult than recognizing the place I once called home. It looks so different. My land had been confiscated. On my fields stand giant buildings. The sky isn’t blue, there isn’t an inch of greenery around. There’s no peace here. Only endless noise. Smoke blinds my eyes. I was orphaned before, I feel orphaned again, by the world. I was planning to start all over, but what is square one? No, I don’t belong here. Nor am I going back to prison. I want to live in my gleeful memories again. I had thought many a time of ending my chapter. Now the urge is simply throbbing. I apologize to all for the inconvenience caused by my carcass. I look at my only possession, my wedding ring, studded with a precious stone. So tempting, this taste of death…it is going to be my last meal…

January 1978
Jake Philips

The Inescapable Mistake

The morning was chilly. Rain splashed heavily on the windscreen. The air Mr. Mehta breathed was eerie. His son was driving at an unnecessarily high speed. His wife, tired and sickly, slept in the backseat. The car was filled with an awkward silence.

Mr. Mehta moved his broken lips again, “Tell me son, where are you taking us?” in a voice grown hoarse with cold and old age. A grimace answered him.

But it wasn’t long before the car screeched to a halt. “Easy beta…your mom and I don’t possess healthy bones anymore…” retorted Mr. Mehta. He calmed down looking at his unperturbed wife. An umbrella clicked open and his son was out. Mr. Mehta’s senses raced to a halt when his eyes met the board “Xavier’s Old Age Homes Ltd.” He stood there paralyzed, unmindful of the rain trickling down his back, his tears following a similar trail.

A man clad in a spotless white kurta and black pants holding an old-fashioned umbrella approached him. Mr. Mehta had every reason to wish this individual was dumb, as he stepped closer.

“A rather unwelcoming morning sir, I am Andrews Mathew. Don’t get soaked; come quick. We have made all arrangements for you and your wife.” Mr. Mehta mustered whatever voice was left in his lumped throat to mumble,”W…Why?” “Mom and you will be better off here, I will bring all the remaining amenities tomorrow,” he replied blankly. Minutes later he was off. Mr. Mehta gazed on, his hand shaking from the confusion whether he should bid a final goodbye or not. His other hand was around his wife’s shoulders, who rubbed her eyes unaware of what had taken place.

**********

Three days had passed.

Mr. Mehta took the bowl in his hand. He stirred the rice soup gently, and nudged her to have some. She had grown weaker; eating little and sleeping less. He had refused food too; he realized he couldn’t continue doing so, for his wife’s sake at least.

For Andrews, this was a matter of concern. His recent clients were taking things farther than the way they should have. He resorted to console them when the maid returned with an untasted soup.

“Namastey, may I come in, Mehtaji?” There was no reply. Mr. Mehta sat on the bed beside his wife. He drove a chair in front of him and asked “May I sit?” The muteness continued. Andrews sat nonetheless. Before he spoke further, he wished himself luck. It wasn’t the first time he had consoled, but their resilience somewhat thwarted his confidence.

“Sir…err…why don’t you think this way…he must have taken the right decision concerning his family…” Mr. Mehta gritted his teeth, and then shouted with whatever remaining energy he had, “By all means, he could have waited a week after my retirement!!” His wife held his hand, fresh tears flowing from her eyes. Andrews could only nod. “But what can be done now? You will have to respect his decision. Please sir, you must eat.”
“I will relent only if he tells me the exact reason as to why I am HERE!!”
“Be calm sir. I assure you I will talk to him tomorrow but for now please, have this soup.”
“No!”

***********

Andrews checked the address before he got out of his car. The son and his wife were sitting on their verandah. He welcomed him in, but didn’t ask about his parents. He knew it was going to be a long day.

**********

It was nightfall by the time Andrews returned. The moment he stepped in, he only paused to enquire if they had any food. Upon receiving the expected reply, he walked in. In a similar fashion, he drove the chair in front of them, only this time he ceased to ask. A perplexed Mehta looked at him first, and moved his eyes away. After a brief silence, the inevitable question followed, “What did he say?”

“Before I mention any of his confessions, you must answer one question of mine, just one. Here it goes…did you love your son?” Mr. Mehta clenched his fist, but his wife held it, and she spoke first, “Tell me why…is there any reason to pierce a grieving parent’s heart?” “What’s preventing me from holding your throat is the fact that we have no other place to live other than your abode!” yelled Mr. Mehta. “…I carried him in my womb, with him in me I continued teaching for seven months…” “…I worked day in and day out, 18 hours to be precise to feed him, to buy him whatever he wanted, to educate him, to make him what he is today...”

Andrews interrupted their prattle rather calmly “Okay, okay, you have told me everything you have done to provide a human being with; food, shelter and his fancies. Let me rephrase; what have you done to love him?”

He didn’t mean to silence them, but they didn’t speak.

“How was he in school?”

Mrs. Mehta spoke “He was brilliant; we seldom needed to push him. He took care of everything himself. He was…”

“These are what he wanted me to ask you…did you ever take him to a movie, or simply a stroll in the park, in his younger years? Didn’t you always leave him on his own to ‘enjoy’? Did you check how he spent his pocket money? Did you know he was slightly insomnic? You took him for granted because he got the grades you wanted.”

“We did all we could…I had to work overtime throughout…it was at a time when my large family needed me the most…”

“But you forgot your own in that pursuit. This might come shocking to you, but he hated you as a child…” “Noo…” cried Mrs. Mehta. Andrews continued,"…I am not saying that you are wrong on most part. He too has committed the unforgivable, but the biggest blunder is that you didn’t spend enough time to try and understand him as you should have.”

He got up. “I will leave the matter to you for thought tonight. But I demand subtle changes in your attitude from tomorrow.” He then closed the door on Mr. Mehta, who all of a sudden burst into tears.

The next day the Mehtas had their breakfast without ado. Andrews looked on with a smile. The moment they were done, he requested them to get into his car. Mr. Mehta didn’t ask why. Andrews drove through a familiar lane. After a while he stopped. He beckoned someone to open the door. It was their son. “I had talked him into this. Converse heart-to-heart with him. All’s not lost. Renew your lives. Your belongings will be here by tomorrow.” Saying so, he drove off. He looked back to see them in embrace, and thought not about the role he played in bringing them back together, but the irony that a simple loving conversation had ended an extended strife; so long, yet so soon.

Intro

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BBBURRRPPPP!!!!!

Aah! That’s the reminder of a sumptuous breakfast meal of six puris. Here I am, dawdling in a small classroom of 80 odd mates, where a burp (atleast mine) ain’t resounding enough. It’s the current lecture on ‘Electronic circuits’ that has inspired me… to rather stop breaking my (sleep-driven) head and do something worthwhile.

I am another one of those high-aspiring naïve people who seek treasures out of engineering, and end up with a map saying “YOU ARE LOST!”

I dwell at present in the NIT (National Institute Of Technology) Calicut, in God’s Own Country, the U.K., ermm…United Kerala to be precise (Word Of Caution: Occurrences of such PJ’s will be frequent to live up to the name of the blog). I was born, raised and schooled till 12^th grade in the Kingdom of Bahrain (Don’t be astounded by ‘Kingdom’, this place is tough to locate on a decent-sized atlas!). Now, as you brighter ones might have figured, I pursue a B-Tech degree in Electronics and Communication.

COPYRIGHT ACCLAIMER:

This blog is strictly for leisure reading. This ain’t going to be filled with essays of freaky impeccable vocabulary or articles of philosophical or requires-great-thinking importance. If you are looking forward to enlightenment or knowledge, do navigate from this page, sailor! What you WILL find are and stories – some relating to life-experience (however lacking it maybe!), some art and mostly silly anecdotes, certainly few of the myriad happening in the world around the demented me.

Ohh wait...sir's gone! Time to leave…will catch up with y'all later!