Tag Archives: story

Yellow hibiscus

Gopi had these beautiful birds collected in a wired cage. A few trees and flowery bushes, especially the red hibiscus in the background play with the eyes making one forget about the green coloured metal that made the cage. Birds of all colours were visible due to this spectacular arrangement. And this was a definite treat for the eyes whenever I visited Gopi’s place. My belief in freedom for all, won’t let me be to happy at seeing the caged bird, though!

We had this kid of the neighbour’s – Syamili who used to admire these birds. And she used to draw the birds on paper with her pencil colours. And to my fascination, the birds would sit still just so that she could complete her picture. She was very considerate about the birds too, where her drawing would not last for more than 10 minutes at a stretch. And a definite treat awaits the bird which agreed to stand still for this child artist. She would often have some piece of broken fallen fruit, sometimes mango or on other times guava that she picked up on her way from the street.

While me and Gopi would engage in the musings of the teen world viz. Cricket and science, this kid used to enjoy her company with the caged birds. Once, she used to have long conversations with the yellow bird, which was her favourite. She did the talking and to her spoken words apparently the bird was nodding or tweeting. Or was it the kid’s wild imagination! I had to check this out personally. And one day I could do that sacrificing the valuable time normally devoted to perpetual thoughts of the spellbinding universe also known as “nerd” talk.

Syamili was asking her friend, the yellow bird she had named as ‘Appu’. ” Appu, how are you today ?” . To my bewilderment a sober single twirp could be heard in reply.

She continued “Why , are you sad today ?”

Appu : ( no reply)

And I was about to rejoice on the my belief, my thought, that the twirp heard before was faux tympanic simulation

Syamili kept her colour pencils and writing pad on the ground. Some red ants which was searching for its way continued its pursuit from the damp soil onto the writing pad, only to move fast out the pad and back to the damp soil.

She said ” I believe that if I was closed in a cage like you, I would have been happy for a while. Because, I will feel safe and I would be taken care of by Gopi. I would have food and water. And I do not have to worry about finding my food. Or I would not be scared by any cats or bigger birds that may attack me , if I were a bird.”

Appu was nonchalant and seemed to look at a distance in deep thought.

” But , then after a while I would get bored, for I cannot meet any new birds like me. And I would be bored, I guess”

And there was a definite sharp tweet from Appu. Oh boy! It was as if the sound penetrated my bones.

“So I guess, now you are bored, unhappy and sad at the thought that you have no freedom to really fly”

Appu nodded ‘yes’.

“I heard Gopi is going on a tour for a week. I guess this would be a good chance for you to fly around and make new friends. May be you can return from your tour when brother Gopi also returns.”

Appu had turned its head at an angle as if in thought.

” OK ! I will ask Gopi, but I am not sure if he will let you out. You know he loves all the birds here, that is why he takes care of you very well. I am pretty sure that he would like to see you safe here all the time.”

saying this Syamili turned . At the same time Gopi was there with food for the birds, some grains and milk. The eager child wanted to feed the grains to the birds, and Gopi allowed her. Her tiny little hand would be as big as the birds themselves. And Gopi was concerned if the birds beaks would hurt her hand. The birds were delicate and enjoyed their dinner thoroughly, they all made some sound which was like a chorus music.

Syamili requested Gopi to let the birds go away for one week and come back when he returns from his trip. Gopi patted on the child’s head saying ” I am sure they won’t come back even if they try to . This is because Freedom is heavenly pleasure. And no creature would trade freedom for anything else. I feed them and take care of them . These have no meaning compared to them enjoying their own freedom. I appreciate your concern Syamili but I will not let them out. ”

“But then, have can you go on a trip and enjoy your freedom and not let them go ?”

For which Gopi replied ” I like them so much that I don’t want them to leave”.

Meanwhile, some friends had just brought in the news of a new finding of rose apple tree. And a child’s mind is so dynamic Syamili said a quick ‘bye’ to Appu and ran with the folks for her share of rose apples.


Next week, I was sitting at home like a caged bird, with nowhere to go. It was raining very heavily. I had not joined Gopi on his trip because it was his family’s tour. And then I had 2-3  days passing between the 3 teas that I had everyday in the morning , the brunch and the evening. Clouds parted and it was sunny for rest of the holidays. I joined the local group of Cricket gang and went to hangout with them. And the 10 -day school break just got over and I thought I should visit Gopi just before we were busy again.

There was this pleasant smell of from the red hibiscus flowers from Gopi’s garden when I took the turn to the entrance of his house. I could hear Syamili’s giggle as I entered the gate. Gopi was there playing with a puppy dog which was licking Syamili all over. And more giggles followed as the puppy played with her.

After a few exchange of pleasantries regarding the days of raining and his trip and my Cricket and his new puppy, I felt that something was missing in the background. The smell of hibiscus was somewhat stronger inside the plot. I checked to see how big the plant has become and there were undoubtedly lot of flowers ready to join the many others which have fell on the ground. And in the foreground to my surprise the bird’s cage was empty. I could not help wonder and asked Gopi what had happened? I asked if he had let the bird’s embrace their freedom. And then Gopi replied ” The birds were all dead when I returned from the trip.”  I was shocked and asked ” how and why ?”

He explained   ” There was this strip of coconut leaf hanging from a dwarf coconut tree that just about touched the bird’s cage. The ants had initially apparently come for the grains and later consumed the bird’s too. And when I returned the cage had only dead birds. And I cleaned the cage and threw all the remnants at the base of the hibiscus plant.”

I said “that is very sad, If only you had let them out . Atleast the guilt of causing their death, by capturing their freedom could have been avoided”.

With nothing more to say. I hung around with the new puppy. And left in sometime taking with me some of the hibiscus’ smell and the little girl’s innocent giggle. And at the gate when I turned to wave ‘bye’ to Gopi and Syamili , my eyes may have deceived me but I definitely saw a yellow hibiscus flower among the red.


PS: Adapted from True Story by Aneesh

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Posted by on March 15, 2016 in creativity


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I have a girl

This is a story/event as told by my friend Sarath.

There was this day in the middle of some other days. Sarath was travelling in the Delhi Metro. The climate was normal, as normal as Delhi could be. And the time was perfect, just like any other time. The travel was regular, as expected out of any Delhi commuter. Life became pleasant, in memory of this and many other funny incidents. As one may not expect, this was just the same unassuming, uneventful commute in life a Delhite. The train coach was full and still people came in. Occupying whatever space is left. The people quite talented at enterprising to get a foothold on this competitive world. And so there was this constant feel of getting pushed and getting squeezed in the crowded train coach. Pick-pockets create an additional effort to increase the pressure so that their job becomes easier. In middle of this there was this old lady who was quite self aware. She shouted at the boy who was standing next to her. For she was getting pushed. And if it was just the push for which the shout was aimed then again no one can help it. Further, the lady shouted at the boy for being disrespectful to women, and probably she spitted out quite a bit of her thoughts with venomous tongue standing for the collective emotions of womanhood. It is very unfortunate that the boy, whatever his intentions (known or unknown) got a tongue lashing in the public. A man of status in the boy could not bear it anymore. And there was something that he had to do. He had to prove his stand about his self respect and also his respect for the womanhood. What could he do? What reason can convince this lady that of his good upbringing? He needed a good defense shield.

With much courage this guy found a girl of his age next to him. He called out to the lady and said ” I have a girl, why do you think that I should bother you?” Saying so , he put his hand over the girl next to him.  This for sure silenced the lady. As an observer Sarath must have expected some reply from the lady. The crowd must have felt at peace for the defense of the boy and their expectation of an upright society, the boy being a building block of it.

And not a word was spoken later. Until the lady got out of train for her destination, grabbing the hand of the girl.

She was probably the lady’s daughter.


Posted by on November 7, 2015 in Uncategorized


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The Jealous Indian

Kaaviya Thalaivan is an old idea brilliantly shown in  a new way on the big screen. The jealousy of a man , how mystically it could be held for sometime and then shown with the thought of revenge, to kill, his fellow man, a brother equivalent, brought up by the same father, the same guru, the same school of drama, the same stories and incidences, only to grow the jealousy with it, to end one with the other, to end oneself in the end. The story is also projects a point of discussion for the discussion on lack of words in Indian language beautifully differentiated by the ideas of “envy” and “jealousy”.

The jealousy of  a person to another mostly involves a sense of revenge and intimidation that forces that person to hate the subject of jealousy. Why not be envious in the same instance, where there is also a possibility to be happy about the achievements of a person and appreciate it and then think why I could not be like that. This is a softer form of jealousy but without any enmity. It can also be argued that there is mild “Asooya” (jealousy in Samskrtam) that grows on and festers into the revenge-ful savage form that is associated with jealousy.The Hindi word for jealousy “Jalan” is very close to fire or burning and used so.

To be envious is a peaceful act, where one simply wishes to match the quality or skill of another. This helps to promote healthy competition. This in turn benefits both the subject of envy and the envious. This is an ideal form of emotion. But human emotions knows no bounds. There is always a wilder form. And thence comes the jealousy. Why Indian languages do not have an equivalent term form “envy” is mysterious. Are Indians by nature forced to have jealousy rather than envy. If that is so imagine such a large population dragging each other down because of this bad attitude, which later becomes a habit. It is not for joke that the story of Kerala crab (later scaled up and known as story of Indian crab was told). This is also a frequently told story in Indian speeches by teachers and politicians. Here, it is retold in my version for the record.

The story of the Kerala Crab

Kerala crabs are famous as a culinary item. I found a nice photo of one here.


(Image courtesy:

A foreigner from Britain found the crab being loaded in a ship. This was a regularly exported item to Europe. He had come a long way from his land to find how it is that they get fresh crab. The baskets on which the crabs were loaded were not covered. And he was surprised. If it was not covered then the crabs may come out and escape. How then will the basket reach full of crabs, as he has seen in his port-town. Then the loader explained to him. “Sayippe! These are Kerala crabs. It has mindset of Keralites. If one crabs climbs to top of the basket others from inside would pull it down. Like this no crab is allowed to escape beacuse of their behaviour, and you get fresh crabs to eat.”

The British astonishment vanished from the face and now it turned red and laughed.


Jealousy ingrained in this form throughout a sub-continent would be a surprise to a naive mind. This is but a working principle in this beautiful land of variety.


Posted by on February 11, 2015 in Uncategorized


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The rice ball of Morita

On any other day I would have agreed with my friend’s recommendation of getting some extra sleep. But today I felt somewhat odd. I was reading the story of Akio Morita the who made Sony. There was too much news on the media.

Some time back I watched Steve Jobs speech, an excellent speech that someone had shared on internet. Then suddenly the announcement of his death flashed in TV. A lot of people compared him to Einstein and Edison. But what had he done to society. Make some mad people who wait in queue to get some fancy gadget? Here, in my country, I see people standing in queue for water, for ration from ration shops, for voting, for getting tickets and for things that make life happen sustainably. But people out there mourn the death of a person who made a lot of money by making them addicts. Would it be the same if the liquor tycoons died and drinkers, Indians all over the sub-continent mourn their death by drinking more. What a tragedy it would have been! I should not talk bad about dead people let alone leaving ones. But questions and thoughts are one incessant flow without checkdams, until you open it out. My only relation with any apple being related to my digestive system, I ignored the news at first. Of course, my touchscreen phone cover has a bitten apple as logo, but it is considered an insult to give a bitten apple to someone. As far as ‘A for a full apple’ remains the learner’s rule, things are less harmful.

Continuing with the journey of Mr. Morita I could realize how much Japanese had suffered how it was that they , who believed “Made in Japan” to be of low quality item , made the same as one which people admire especially gadget freaks in the third floor of my apartments. They were involved in everything Japan, they didn’t believe in the USA, European or any other electronic merchandise. The thing was that there father had been to Japan and was a 5S guru in his office. The office got some recognition through implementation of 5S strategy. Theirs is an odd case, the two freaks, who may be called friends have their father a Gujarathi businessman and mother a Bengali. Sometimes I feel it is through her that the Japanese link came. She looks like a Japanese than anything else. Of course, I can’t tell the difference between a Japanese and Korean.

These freaks searched a lot for Japanese foods and settled for a Korean cuisine and Chinese if nothing else. They would go to a Korean Spicy chicken restaurant every Saturday after college hours and would learn Japanese from some place which has escaped my local expeditions. The duo would spend half their awake lives in Sony PS2 and both owned Japanese mobile phones. Their General Knowledge is not that sharp in that they didn’t know about the wireless charging mechanism that the Japanese telecom giant had commercialised. The philosophy of the Japanese caught my attention when the brighter of the two explained to me. The Japanese since the devastation during the nuclear attacks never went for war, they never made destructive weapons for themselves or for others. They are through commerce and technology the world leader, even the Western world looks upon them with reverence. So many calamities have struck them, manmade and otherwise. Frequent earthquakes and Tsunami’s are like seeing coconut trees in Kerala, always anytime anywhere. But they survived. They are the best examples of human race on that regard. They may not mingle with other races in mainlands as expected, but with their own language and culture intact they have helped themselves become mighty. “Had it been the Japanese who started conquests before the UK then I would be typing talking and reading in Japanese” sais the second freak. And saying this he lend a book for me to read , and that was about Mr. Morita. As I was engrossed in the reading I saw some rice balls steamed hot, and ready for stomach, (Kozhakatta) on the table. As the hand reached for one, the words I were reading struck me with awe. I read that Japanese eat rice and Mr. Morita was packing up some rice balls to be eaten enroute. I underlined those lines with red ink and bolted upstairs. They had been going to Korean and Chinese restaurant and here was the Japanese corporate leader going to have rice balls under my nose, I was reading with head down. I couldn’t wait to tell them this. I bolted off to meet those guys and announced my discovery. Their facial expressions did not flinch, and I was still wondering. It was lunch time and a sweet smell of something very familiar reached my olfactory senses. I checked my hands and made sure that there was no rice ball in my hand. The Bengali auntie called off loudly to both the boys “lunch is ready come and have it before it cools down, give that game boxes some rest”. With a small gap between the shoulders of the half Japanese boys I could see steam rising from a large transparent glass bowl. It was filled with rice balls.

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Posted by on February 10, 2015 in Uncategorized


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Madman’s wish

The third story is the highlight of the capacity of mad man. Once, as usual he was sitting near a crematorium.
That was his regular place of rest for sleeping. Once it happened that the Ferocious Goddess Chudala BhadraKaali made her appearance before him. The madman very indifferently continued piling up wooden logs for the fire to fight the cold night. He shifted his left leg affected with elephantiasis near the fire.

BhadraKaali said ” Hm! Man, I am impressed by your indifferent confidence to stay at this creepy crematorium, which is my abode regularly. I accept you as my staunch devotee”

The madman listened casually.The Goddess continued “You are a class apart from the normal person who prays and asks for a boon.  Eventhough you have never asked for one even in your dreams I am elated to bless you with a favour. Hence I have made my appearance before you. Wish you well, child. Ask me anything that you want”.

The madman replied unflinchingly at the fierce figure radiating at him ” Who called you here, I am happy the way I am , leave me alone”.

Bhadrakaali said coaxingly ” It is not usual for a man to get to see my vision, may be you are unsure, I will give you sometime think about what you want and then tell me.”

The madman was getting irritated ” I told you to leave me alone!”

An intimidated Bhadrakaali said “Not so fast! Anyway I have made my appearance before you, I am not willing to go without granting you a boon. I will get rid of myself after blessing you for sure. So go ahead and speak your mind”

The madman could not but find some good enough want to satisfy this botheration. After racking his brain he said ” OK! Madam, grant me this boon. I want my elephantiasis removed from my left leg….”

The Goddess was happy about her skills about cajoling this stubborn man to ask a boon. She was happy reading his mind and was ready to remove the disease from the leg. She had her divine hands ready to issue the blessing. But..

“…and shift it to my right leg” the madman concluded his wish.

Bhadrakaali could not but accept his wish. She quickly issued the grant and vanished before feeling  unwantedly intimidated.


The story ends here. The conclusive lesson emphasizes the madman’s message in his first story.

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Posted by on January 29, 2015 in Uncategorized


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Madman and the people-killer

This is the second most famous story of Naranath Bhranthan of Parayi Pettta Panthirukulam that I would like to retell here.

The second story is about the “people-killer”. Once there were three thieves. They had a big loot and reached a quiet secluded place in the forest. They decided to split the loot into three equal parts. One for each. As they were about to split the first person said. “Anyway we have run and reached so far, we are tired to go on further, it is better to have something to eat, and then continue splitting the loot”. All agreed and the first man was busy cooking. Meanwhile the other two silently decided to kill this man after the cooking and then the loot could be split into two. This would increase the per head share. As soon as the first said that the food was ready, the other two stabbed him to death. Happy with the dead body, they proceeded to eat the food. Unfortunate, their stars were on the bad positions. They dropped and fell down dead  as they consumed the food.

Naranath Bhranthan came that way so the three dead bodies and the loot of gold. He ran with wild fear shouting ” People-killer, People-killer”. The village folk went crazy about this announcement. They asked him where it was. The madman showed them the way to the “People-Killer”. The village head came running and saw three dead bodies. The chief was surprised. He feared the presence of ferocious tiger or some other wild creatures that may have caused the death. Shortly, he noticed that one man was stabbed right in the heart and back, two knives, one on each side. The hot pot of rice and leaves of leftovers showed signs of cooking. He noticed that no crow tried to eat the leftover food. He sniffed at the pot to get some hint on any other animal presence. But to his surprise he smelled poison. No wonder the crows avoided it. The two men who had their leaves served with food were poisoned to death. Thus the mad man had taught the village folk that greediness for wealth was a “people-killer”.

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Posted by on January 28, 2015 in Uncategorized


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How he became the madman

There are three famous stories of Naranath Bhranthan that I oft remember and quote whenever I get a chance. The stories appear in the legendary Aithihyamaala, a collection of legends compiled by  Kottarathil Sankunni. The story of the madman of Naranath comes in Parayi Pettta Panthirukulam.

Here I am only retelling the story of that madman; the way I tell.

The first story is the activity of the Bhranthan. Daily he used to roll up a gigantic rock up a hill . If he started in the morning , by noon or so he could make it to the top of the hill. Once he reaches the top without a second thought he would push the rock down. The rock would reach the bottom rolling all the way on the slopes of the hill. Meanwhile, the madman would clap his hand and enjoy the fall of the rock. The myth says that people who looked at this activity perceived it as empty and a purposeless one. Such a futile work could only be done by someone who is mentally derailed. Rightly so the man was called “Bhranthan” (Mad man) and hence his  name. The message of his action could only later be decoded by the onlookers. It said of the actions of human beings which are like rolling the stone up and then pushing it down. How useless the action of humans are. Whatever the crazy mind tries is all for the downfall to reach the same old ground level, only to be repeated again in a cyclical manner again and again. The lesson from the madman reached far and wide and hence his full name. Madman of Naranath.


Posted by on January 27, 2015 in Uncategorized


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A piece of biscuit

I am employed and have all the ego associated with it. I have an ID card that hangs on my neck that flaunts my status in life. I have to push through the crowd and get on a bus and then fight for a hold on the bar to hang on to . The conductor would shout at me for not having change and I would very stubbornly hold on to my IT ego and tell something tit-for-tat. The music in the form of endless honking from vehicles from the four sides of the bus continued till I got down the bus. I actually do not get down. I am pushed down by people who are eager to get out, and pushed up by those who hastily climb on board without any consideration for others. In these tug I may or may not get out depending on my stars. Finally, when I get out, I am welcomed my dust of the recently dug road. Some pipe has been laid down and the covering of the road would happen in near future. I cover my face with towel that I keep handy and try to cross the road. This is because I do not want to climb some 50 steps of the foot-over path and another 50 down to the footpath across the street. I would do it in a pragmatic way. The signal would bring up all the vehicles to halt at red. This was the chance to cross the median. One jump up and one down, 5 strides across and I am at the entrance of my office building. Very recently I started noticing an an old man at the footpath that led to my office.

An old man of his age needs care and food if nothing else. The man was draped in rags. It was torn to the last thread in many places. The number of holes and tear on the bed sheet made it a joke to use it. The man had no option other than this. This was his life. The life on the footpath, sleep by the dark-fall, by the seats on the bus waiting shed. He is used to this life. The life of rags. There was no job that one would trust this man with. He was tired, disoriented and aimless. How could any job possibly come to his hands.

One day he lay at the footpath were the dogs used to be. It was a point of contention between the dogs of the street and himself. The prime spot on the footpath was always fought for. The one who occupies this first wins. There is no physical fight. May be slight pushing and tugging. The marks of such small fights were visible on the rags that the poor man owned. This was his property, this was his life, no dog can take it from him.

Once I had a happenstance to accidentally kick him. He was lying on the footpath and I had not noticed this unusual creature there. A fully grown human being with fragile limbs, white beard and hair. He was not at all shivering, while the cold wind sweeping over the streets chilled my teeth and froze my bones. I could not notice him due to this terrible weather. I said sorry, the moment I realised this. The man did not even budge. A black and white street dog came near the man about this time. I wondered if it was his pet. I could test if the man was alive or dead. I could see through the holes in the torn sheet that he held on tightly and wrapped himself perfectly. There was no point in holding on to such a sheet. Even the dogs would not find another place on it to bite and tear. This was the condition. The dog nudged at the old man. The man moved slightly and pushed the dog cursing and swearing at it. He clasped one end of the blanket on his fist and held it so that he can stand up. I had so much to do, I have to punch in at right time in office and then have breakfast and discuss on project proposal and then send mails and then manage the project and then code and what not! But I was watching the man’s movement rooted on the footpath at a distance from him. I could not understand why I stood there, I also could not reckon the time passed, I could not remember the bearings to office. It was as if the time has stood still. I tried to bring myself back. I was supposed to head to my office in the TIDEL Park. I am an Engineer. I am this and that and why ?

The man got up and searched his pocket for something. Then he called the dog which was irritating him and he gave a piece of biscuit from his pocket to it.

(Image borrowed from Indian Pariah Dog Blog

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Posted by on January 22, 2015 in Uncategorized


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The story of the pineapple

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “A Moment in Time.”

Once upon a time there was  a boy. A boy who dreamed. A boy who believed. He could do things. Whatever he wanted was upto him to do and accomplish. The efforts of the deeds solely rests on him. The results are for the workd to see. The boy was fond of pineapples. At his age he did not need to worry about the troubles of cutting the pineapple. His job was to carry it from the shop, give it to his mother. Get it cut, and eat happily.

Once it so happened that the pineapple was given in its complete form without cutting off the head. The head is the leaf of the pineapple plant that is thorny and pricks and bleeds the skin. People blamed that it was a futile effort. It will not grow. You will not get a Pineapple. It will die. These and other words of pessimism did not drive the boy away from his mission.

With lot of care it was brought home. The home for a new pineapple. The fruit was eaten and the head was separated to be planted. It did hurt his fingers when he handled it. There were tiny drops of blood when it was taken to be planted. It was planted even more carefully on the sandy soil that was leftover of a recent building repair work. For a long time the pineapple leaves grew. They grew in their innate amazing fashion. Water poured on the leaves would swirl around the centre and merge and drain towards the sides to the soil. The feed was regular, and growth was proportionate. Only, the pineapple fruit did not grow up yet. There is time for everything. And it was upto the boy to wait.

A time came when his uncle visited his home. He said ” The pineapple has to be covered or else the crows may have a try at it. The boy was amused. Was it the beginning. Will it be fruitful ? He noted that there was nothing to be shown as a beginning of fruit. The pineapple remained uncovered. When it rained, some adventurous snails climbed and crawled through the leaves. How it remained unhurt was puzzling for the boy. The rain drained its last drop. Days passed without events. At last, after a long wait, there was a fruit which could be called as home-grown.

The fruit was like any other pineapple. The shade somewhat lighter yellow. How sweet it could be? Has it grown to be a fruit ? Is it edible ? Can it be er.. harvested ? All this questions put the further actions and future of pineapple in question. His mother came to rescue. She proclaimed “The pineapple is ready, let’s take it”. And thence it was cut out of the plant. It was a memory of a lifetime. There needed to be a proof of its existence, before it is consumed. There was search for a photogenic location , a seat was righteously discovered and photo was taken. The boy was happy to show it as a proof to people who discouraged his mission. His liking to grow a pineapple at home. And here was the proof in the photo.


Posted by on January 21, 2015 in Uncategorized


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Stochastic determination and judgmental analysis

"First of all, let me wish you all a happy autism day!." Ravan said and then moved on to his rhetoric. I was shocked and surprised. How could one wish someone a happy autism, if it continues like this, it would be happy cancer day, happy AIDS day and so on. I could not stand the gravity of the greeting. I decided to poke him for his casual unassuming greeting of the day.

I asked him my doubts. He was both diabolic and conniving in his answer, as if he was hiding some brutal instinct, with clandestine satisfaction that made his eyes laugh.

He started answering, but in many ways incomprehensible and incoherent. Nevertheless, let me put it out.

He asked me " what is 2+2?". I said " 4."

And he said "that it is what you believe, or better, what you are made to believe. Since, you believe it and propagate it so it stays on as an empirically proven idea. But never it really had any connotation or resemblance to the law of nature that is taken for truth, nor science could substantiate the statement without assumptions. "

"Similarly, you are a person who wants to eat food according to your whims and fancies, you want vada to go with chutney and won’t touch chappathi without without knowing which curry goes with it. You prefer noodles with sauce, not because you like it, but you believe it is to be ate so"

" You judge me, say that I am trying to be different for the sake of it. I am trying to show of, inadvertently or not, you would judge me, my dress, ask me to cut my beard and dress in tighter dresses. You would say I am old-fashioned and not trendy. You would scorn at my frugality and call me a miser. You would grudgingly bicker over a thousand trivial stuff. All knowing that it is not based on the fact or the liking, but justly based on your belief of the world-law. "World -Law" that is such a painstakingly inexplicable. I am too incredulous for that cantankerous rules of the world."

"You would start to persuade me to ameliorate my stance. Only to pronounce yourself an evangelist of the world-law. I would not fall for that sham."

"You are a married woman, let me ask you one thing. You were the dresses for the sake of wearing or for fashion? I believe by this age and maturity you need not search for a mate, why then do you make a fuss about make-up and jewellery. You know all the more well how to dress decently and not get a amorous glance. Lest you really wanted, why would you dress in such a manner , so as to be seductive, when you "really" are satisfied with a happy married life and lovely kids."

This last statements struck me so hard, my head was hanging like a common computing system, I could not make any intelligible sounds, all I perceive I showed was a disappointed silence.

I had this fleeting instance in which I totally agreed to his contentions. I noticed that he had not answered my question on the cruel greeting. I began to question. He caught this even before I could open my mouth.

He began once again. " The question you started was on why I would wish anyone a happy autism. It was not with any cruel intentions that I said so. What I wanted was to convey was that everyday should be happy. Everyone should be happy in their own respect. Your own stochastic determination and judgemental analysis paved way for you to understand the statement better. Now you are convinced about how it could help you in future. The paltry gossiping and random sagacity are two deadly combination for a dissatisfied life. I hope at least for the time being you can accept all things as it is. You can accept that there are autistic people. You know they want a pleasant life. You accept that Happy autism day means nothing more than this. You also come to conclude that there should not be such a thing as good person or bad person, as you get along you know how much freedom you have with one person to comment about him, without any trace of judge-mentality, in a completely non arrogant manner."

I had nothing more to speak. I was dumbfounded in the beginning. Later, I came to terms with the flow of thoughts of this man. He was somewhat arrogant and patronising in the beginning. And later he became a convoluted thoughtbox spitting out in palaver. And in the end it was as if, all these notions were worthless avocation, that I was precariously holding onto. I could rip myself away from this and accept the thoughts and the talker, with no presumptions. I felt free. I could feel the air filling the lungs and a smooth exhalation. I could hear a bee ,which was hanging around in the room, humming its own pastime song.

I opened the door to get out. I turned back and faced Raavan. I told him " Wish you a happy autism day".

PS: The story as told by Lakshmi

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Posted by on April 2, 2014 in Uncategorized


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