tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67489771412638154742024-03-29T15:14:50.308+08:00The Voice Within...A Little Voice..From Deep Within..Chimes Incessantly..About past,present,future...Blue Lotushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14847081762013816131noreply@blogger.comBlogger87125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748977141263815474.post-33878026201775358982013-09-19T21:36:00.002+08:002013-09-22T17:52:37.550+08:00The Conversation<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">The wife urged,
“ We need to talk!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">The husband said,
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">The wife
whispered, “It’s private.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">The husband
smirked, “ There’s just two of us here anyways.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">The wife
sighed, “Of course you can’t see <b><i>them</i></b>!”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP8NnRSfy-YKVirEs_ooBkKBbIbJIyEw4U1Wgp4R4rupyOt5n_hi5LlX6jO6TadV8ghQ-laTKMKHAaFqczhK0tMgMMnEiwwgQuhbAQdoCZQzfYax_0xzLEsnY7nEnUW_9AN4Jl-7PFWuA/s1600/file.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP8NnRSfy-YKVirEs_ooBkKBbIbJIyEw4U1Wgp4R4rupyOt5n_hi5LlX6jO6TadV8ghQ-laTKMKHAaFqczhK0tMgMMnEiwwgQuhbAQdoCZQzfYax_0xzLEsnY7nEnUW_9AN4Jl-7PFWuA/s320/file.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Courtesy : Google.com</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--EndFragment--></div>
Blue Lotushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14847081762013816131noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748977141263815474.post-32484233253357680862013-08-29T00:46:00.000+08:002013-09-22T17:52:13.292+08:00Suyodhana Uvacha - II<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">*Haven't read the first part? Tsk Tsk! Never mind.Here's the <a href="http://abluelotussaid.blogspot.com.au/2013/08/suyodhana-uvacha.html">link</a></span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"><u> </u></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"><u> Rise of a new sun</u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">I remember,
clearly, of those Gurukul days. Days of playful abandon –of running about the
lush green forest meadows, of climbing the trees in Guru’s orchard, of swimming
in the cool waters of the brook, of fighting and learning. Mostly of striving
to excel in studies so that Guru would pat on our back affectionately
murmuring, “Good work my boy, good work!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"> Guru Drona was smitten by Arjuna, by
his skills with bow and arrows. Arjuna’s fingers were magical, they could coax
any arrow to find it’s mark and his sense of timing was unparalleled.
Grudgingly, I accept, I was in awe and secretly disappointed by the absence of
one like him on our side.</span><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style';">Arjuna, for all his faults, is a
spectacle to watch when he stands poised with his strung bow, ready to pluck
the arrow – exuding raw power yet with the grace of a dancer. He shone like a
diamond, like a star, above all of us!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"> When Guru Drona arranged for a
graduation ceremony it was more of a martial exhibition rather than a
competition between the princes. Needless to say Arjuna turned out to be the
star pupil. I can still remember Kunti Ma, covered in the white of widowhood, her eyes sparkling with unspoken pride.</span><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style';">Oh well, the rest of us mortals had to
be satisfied with obligatory claps and cheers from the crowd. As for me, I was
over joyed. I had defeated Bhima in the mace duel. It might have been an a
friendly match, but for me it was far from friendly. I am sure, for once, Bhima
and I felt the same about something. I had vanquished Vrikodhara – the wolf bellied one.
Period. Between, I gave that name, Vrikodhara, to Bhima in loving memory of his
insatiable hunger. No, I have no qualms about it – Vrikodhara that he is!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"> Arjuna had finished dazzling the crowds
with his unmatched skills at archery. A mesmerized crowd was still murmuring
adulations when through the western gates of the Royal Arena a chariot entered.
In the chariot stood a handsome young man adorned in simple white cotton and bright
golden armor. For a moment passing clouds overcast the sky but the arena was
lit by a glow – bright rays emanated from the young man’s radiant earrings.
There he was, a radiant sun, right in the middle of the ground, burning in all
his glory!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"> The young man stepped out of his
chariot and bowed deeply, palms folded in a Namaste, to the King, teachers,
nobles, elders and the crowd. He straightened, face tilted at an angle, defiant
eyes scanning the crowd, a small smile playing on his lips. In a resonant voice
he presented himself,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">“I am Karna,
pupil of Saint Parashurama. Here, in front of this esteemed audience I
challenge myself to display skills at archery better than Savyasachi Arjuna!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"> The crowd went silent, the tension in
the air palpable. People looked each other in disbelief and at this young
nobody of a warrior who claims he can do better than their Prince Arjuna!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">“Prove it!” Dronacharya
thundered, eyes blazing in rage at this vagrant boy’s untimely appearance !<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Well, prove
Karna did and he was not just better than Arjuna, in fact he was the best Hastinapura
had ever seen! Karna’s each move, each arrow, each pluck, each minute detail –
better and more precise than Arjuna’s. This guy was not an amateur – he was a
class apart. Arjuna’s skills simple paled in front of Karna’s. The Pandavas
looked crestfallen - Arjuna devastated and Bhima brimming with indignation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">The crowd
applauded, cheered and praised. Everyone wanted to know who this extraordinary
warrior was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">“That boy is simply too good! What did
he say his name was?”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">“Better than Prince Arjuna”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">“Better than all our Princes.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">“Did you notice his featured? Such
noble features! He does look like an elder brother to Arjuna!”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">“Who is he? Who are his parents?”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">“What? He is a prince from a minor
state of Kalinga?”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">“I bet he is of royal blood!”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Karna bowed
again accepting with much humility all the appreciations coming his way. Before
anyone could ask anything came rushing Athiratha, chief of royal stables and
slapped Karna.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">“How dare you?
You, you worthless ungrateful wretch! Whom do you think you are to match skills
with our beloved Princes!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">An anguished
Athiratha apologized to my blind father, the king “Forgive me and my son Karna,
Your Highness. Forgive us. I will see it that even his shadow does not fall on
the palace walls. Spare him Oh benevolent King for he is all I have!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Murmurs
thickened!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">“Soothaputra – son of a Sootha – son of
a charioteer!”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">“Wasn’t it Athiratha the one who
rescued an infant who had come floating </span></i><i><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style';">in the river </span></i><i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">in a wooden box ?”</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Kripacharya
stood up silencing the crowd instantaneously. “Hey Sootha, Take your son away
from here. Ask him to learn about horses and stables, the trade of his forefathers.”
Throwing a smoldering look at Karna, Kripacharya continued, “ Boy, don’t bother
picking up weapons anymore. That is what Kshatriya’s are here for. Remember who
you are and act accordingly!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Those words
struck like a lighting bolt. Voices barely registered. Everything just seemed
to be happening in a blur.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Athiratha
pulling Karna away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Karna standing
rooted to his spot, head hanging in shame.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Bhima
screaming at the top of his voice, emboldened by Kripacharya’s <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Accusations.
“Now a soothaputra wants to match skills with my brother. He should be
whipped!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">All I saw was
a fine warrior. I saw only Karna. I felt pity not for Karna but for the so-called
wise men who couldn’t see merit over social hierarchies. Here was a warrior who
just proved his worth. People claim he cannot be an archer because he was the
son of a charioteer. Which era are we living in? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">“Silence!” I
commanded, “Karna is a gifted warrior. His bow and arrows have vouched for the
fact.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSGkyLXQS2RONEtNH_JFYgTv3wdb_omj7z-L_ntzwlDlNEfYAPJO5XUyfdBrvhyphenhyphenBrTM6m3B1Bamsy8boE1mNEDkzl950vGVajAOiHcNTb5NLe0IWu9gsd63kw0tYTIMFx6Zzf9pRv4Y1s/s1600/GCV2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSGkyLXQS2RONEtNH_JFYgTv3wdb_omj7z-L_ntzwlDlNEfYAPJO5XUyfdBrvhyphenhyphenBrTM6m3B1Bamsy8boE1mNEDkzl950vGVajAOiHcNTb5NLe0IWu9gsd63kw0tYTIMFx6Zzf9pRv4Y1s/s320/GCV2.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Courtesy : Devdutt Pattnaik</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">An unconvinced
Bhima countered,” Soothaputra, that is who he is! Hey Suyodhana, you don’t need to
blow his skills out of proportion.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">I continued,
never breaking eye contact with Bhima, “ Father, grant Karna the right to rule
Anga so that no dog can ever again question Karna’s right to be a warrior!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">In the
comfortable knowledge that my father would never disagree to my wishes I walked
up to Karna and straightened his slumped shoulders. Smiling at Karna, I
announced “ I, Suyodhana, Son of King Dhritharastra declare you, Karna, Son of
Athiratha the ruler of State of Anga so that you may rule Anga, her subjects
and all that there is as you deem fit!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">The day ended
prematurely with Kunti Ma fainting in the gallery because of the heat. In a way
that was good as I was about to beat up Bhima. I had done one act of impudence
with the coronation of Karna and beating up my cousins would have made my day!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">That day I had
talked for Karna and my voice was heard. Karna had looked at me, his eyes
filled with gratitude and I knew I was the first one to ever have respected him
for who he is. Make no mistakes, I did not feel like some omnipotent God who had showered
blessings on a devotee. I simply felt happy. For the first time I had done
something good for someone and I had not done that to spite Pandavas. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">And as a token
of his unpredictability, Karna hugged me. I knew I had found a true friend – a
kindred spirit!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Swinging back
to present day from the trip down the memory lane, Suyodhana stated, “No, I did
not expect anything from you Karna. I simply loved you more than I loved my family
or my own brothers of blood” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">“Bhanu, did
you know that Karna is an eternal romantic? Behind this tough veneer is a
tender loving heart. I know you wouldn’t believe me. But that, my love, is the
truth. Look at him blush like a girl!” Suyodhana guffawed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style;">“Bhanumathi,
do you know who caught the fancy of this wild horse? Who else? The untamed
spirit of Panchal! Drupada putri Panchali! I was confidant Karna would come
home from the swayamavar with Panchali by his side. I was prepared to welcome
her as my own little sister, the wife of my dear friend!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">“Karna, I can
read your mind as though it were a book! You loved Panchali. You’ve always
loved her. Pure untainted unrequited love that transcends all barriers."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">(to be continued...)</span></div>
<!--EndFragment--></div>
Blue Lotushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14847081762013816131noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748977141263815474.post-20193004155387514622013-08-25T21:45:00.001+08:002013-08-30T12:55:04.408+08:00Suyodhana Uvacha<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Vermillion.
Rust. Flame. Garnet. Ruby. Crimson. Wine. Red. Blood red. The horizon is a
calico of shades of red mirroring the war field of Kurukshetra. The Great War
is over and done. The just and the brave have won. After years of suppression
and tyranny the people of Hastinapura will wake to a new morning – a precursor
to a new world, a world of rights and no wrongs. A land of equality, justice
and happiness. A land ruled by sons of Pandu; the Pandavas! Yet this sunset is
far from beautiful, far from enjoyable.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"> Vultures sweep down in hordes and their
cries fill the otherwise silent war field. The faint distant laments over the
loved ones slowly drift over the lifeless bodies. The stink of carrions hangs
in the listless air. And Suyodhana? “Who Suyodhana?” One might ask brows
knitted in confusions as the brain searches in vain for a face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Suyodhana, the
first-born of the blind regent king Dhritharashtra of Hastinapura and Queen
Gandhari, Princess of Gandhar! Now we
remember, lips curling in much distaste, about the wayward son of Kurus, scion
of Kauravas! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Born
to a regent king, forever shadowed by his glorious cousins who never even
seemed to pause before they stole the limelight at each opportunity, Suyodhana
would’ve unquestionably made it to the Hall Of Fame for the overlooked princes;
if one existed. Ah! The vagaries of life! Born to riches, brought up amidst pomp
and splendor, Suyodhana earnestly believed in his right to be the crown prince
and future king of Hastinapura! Alas! Life dealt him an unfavorable hand
leaving him to a dastardly death, which was now taking its sweet time to arrive
and embrace him. Suyodhana lay half dead, half awake. Unhinged yet aware, life
force ebbing away, slowly. Hallucinating.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4uzgsEqk8_qOOcHXWJZm6IUXBOkRlOUWXQWDWaZiKlza8E8BGTZp12wRctv4JqaBeYdb4uAoj0l9O_xqahfrrSkKcIJHgTaoSMgTG1pj-wiGYRr96wYSC7lrohU0vewtq9-PBx2R1re0/s1600/duryodhaNA.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4uzgsEqk8_qOOcHXWJZm6IUXBOkRlOUWXQWDWaZiKlza8E8BGTZp12wRctv4JqaBeYdb4uAoj0l9O_xqahfrrSkKcIJHgTaoSMgTG1pj-wiGYRr96wYSC7lrohU0vewtq9-PBx2R1re0/s1600/duryodhaNA.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Courtesy:Artist Namboodiri</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"> Suyodhana sighed. He could no longer
feel his arm or legs. For that matter he could barely move his torso. He knew
he was dying. He had accepted his fate with much grace unlike Bhima who chose
to trick him into his downfall. That was Bhima’s karma and Suyodhana had
already forgiven Bhima. At the face of death people behave very differently. In
spite of his weariness, Suyodhana saw very clearly two people walking towards
him. Two people he loved and who loved him unconditionally.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">“O Bhanumathi,
my beloved Bhanu! Love my life, the light of my eyes that was doused too soon.
How I had rejoiced at the prediction of that vagabond astrologer Brahmin! He
had predicted the death of the <i>puthra-vadu</i>
of Kuruvamsa and the future ruler of Hastinapura before the new moon! I knew my
mercenaries would finish off Princess Draupadi and Prince Dharmaputra! Little
did I know that along with you Bhanu, <i>puthra-vadu</i>
of Kuruvamsa I was going to lose our unborn son on that wretched <i>Amavasi</i>! Our son, Bhanu, could’ve been a
king! A King! Our son Bhanu! Our son! “ Suyodhana let Bhanumati wipe away the
uncontrollable tears he had held for years. He watched Karna sit down at his
feet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">“Oh Karna, is
that you my bosom friend? How resplendent you look in your golden armor. Just
like a radiant sun! ” Suyodhana smiled sadly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">“Karna, you
fought for me, died for me. You were one of the Pandavas yet you chose to be by
my side. You chose me over your family.
If you listened to Krishna and joined the Pandavas, you could’ve been
the king of Hastinapura. You could’ve rule over Bharat with the beautiful daughter
of Drupad by your side and your able counsel of brothers standing around you,
heads bowed in respect, awaiting your orders!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">“Karna, Karna,
stop smiling at me like that. And stop shaking your head in playful reproach! I
know you couldn’t, or should I say wouldn’t, have made a different choice. You
fought your brothers for me. The entire world knows that but for your presence
in the Kaurava camp the 18-day war would’ve ended in 8 days. No, for me the war
would’ve been over even before it started if you had left me to join the
Pandavas! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Suyodhana
laughed out aloud coughing up spittle of blood, “ Oh Karna, you are one of a
kind I must say. To stand by a friend when the entire world divided their
allegiances based on obligations and Dharma, you chose me because I was your
friend. When kings and warriors fought for Hastinapura you alone fought for
this Suyodhana!“<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Shaking his
head, Suyodhana continued, “ Friendship over bloodlines! Friendship over
Dharma! Friendship over every single dictate of the world! These noble follies
to this wretched world, my friend, are singularly your contributions! You are
the first one in the history of time to commit them and undoubtedly the last
one too! ”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">“Bhanu, do you
remember the day of our graduation from Guru Dronacharya’s academy? Off course
you don’t! I didn’t even know of your existence then. Surely you remember the
stories I have told you about out Gurukul days and the graduation ceremony.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Suyodhana
closed his eyes reminiscing, blood rushing to his pale face at the memory of
his beloved friend’s public humiliation!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"><a href="http://abluelotussaid.blogspot.com.au/2013/08/suyodhana-uvacha-ii.html">(To becontinued…)</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment--></div>
Blue Lotushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14847081762013816131noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748977141263815474.post-49818138576526056892013-04-21T15:00:00.000+08:002013-05-13T15:58:00.622+08:00The Oonjal Kattil<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">CREEEAK.
CREEEAK. CREEEAK.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">SILENCE.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">CREEEAK.
CREEEAK. CREEEAK.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">SILENCE.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">The
half-awake instant-response-to-stimuli-mother in me tensed and jolted the other sleepy
half of the mother in me. Together we checked the time. 2:13 AM. Blink blink.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br />“By
God! What are the kids doing at this time of the night in the family room?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">The
strict disciplinarian in me bristles while the lets-have-some-fun person in me
tells me to turn over and sleep. Being a mother is not easy. You simply cannot
take the easy way out, ever!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">CREEEAK.
CREEEAK. CREEEAK.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">SILENCE.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">CREEEAK.
CREEEAK. CREEEAK.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">SILENCE.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">That
creaky sound has been part of my existence since infancy. It comes from the <i>Oonjal kattil</i> which hangs in the family
room. This swinging bed fashioned out of a single Burmese teak hangs from brass
chains from the roof. My mother inherited it from her mother and I would
hopefully pass this to future generations (<i>Disclaimer:
If and only if the two monkeys I bore reach adulthood without swinging it to
pieces!)</i>. This <i>Oonjal kattil</i> is
the centre of all the fun, laughter and fights in our family. And if it’s creaking
at 2 AM; it can only be the kids!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">I
tiptoed to the family room. I have to catch them red handed. Little monkeys,
here I come.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">The
room was pitch dark and unusually silent. Did I imagine all this? Ha, may be
they are hiding in the shadows hoping to get away from wrath. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Trapped monster, that’s what
you are!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Amma of this home, that’s who I
am!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">CLICK!
I switched on the lights to reveal an empty room! Everything in its place, </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">just
the way I left it before I retired for the night. Cushions in place, remotes on
the shelf, magazines and newspapers on the rack, the heavy layered curtains
drawn and Mini kutty’s grinning rag doll propped proprietarily on the <i>Oonjal Kattil</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Sigh!
I dragged myself to bed disappointed with my late night adventure and fell in
to a deep slumber.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Even
in the depths of my sleep something disturbed me .Something obscure, something
sinister; something vaguely familiar yet totally strange. Like the misplaced grin
on the face of that doll. Tomorrow, first thing in the morning, I’ll throw that
stupid piece of rag in the dumpster. Tomorrow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"> *****************************************<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">A
sliver of pale moonlight steals in through the curtains lighting up the cheeky grin
on the doll’s face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">From the dark shadows emerge a pair of silhouettes. Their shadows unnaturally long as
they silently climb over the <i>Oonjal
Kattil</i> and sit with the rag doll between them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">A grey
cloud passes over the bright moon drowning the family room in inky black
darkness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">CREEEAK.
CREEEAK. CREEEAK.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">SILENCE.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">CREEEAK.
CREEEAK. CREEEAK.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">SILENCE.</span></div>
</div>
Blue Lotushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14847081762013816131noreply@blogger.com5Tripunithura, Ernakulam, Kerala 682301, India9.9480624 76.3426990000000399.9475739 76.342068500000039 9.948550899999999 76.343329500000038tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748977141263815474.post-35998002764114746292013-04-16T22:30:00.002+08:002013-04-16T23:53:24.040+08:00The Warrior Princess Of Thiru Kochi<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Dawn<o:p></o:p></span></u></i></b><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">I opened my eyes to smile at her beaming face. She smiled back, her large black eyes reflecting my dimpled face. Isn’t it easy to love waking up in the mornings? I simply love waking up to her smiles.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Suddenly her face clouded. At first blood drained from her face, then it turned pink with anguish and then a bright red with an uncontrollable fury of a wounded she-wolf.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“They’ve attacked again, in the dark of the night, against all our defences .They’ve hurt my child again! I will kill them all. One by one!” She hissed as he squeezed my ankles where the wound had reddened into a terrible rash.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Little did I know that I would have to wait the entire morning and afternoon to watch my mother execute her brutal attack!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Evening<o:p></o:p></span></u></i></b></div>
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Every evening I sit, washed, powdered, clothed and fed, snuggling contently against my great-granny (GG). GG’s lips move in a silent prayer whilst her wrinkly leathery bony fingers drum a lost rhythm on my plump thighs. Our eyes meet every now and then. I smile at her baring my toothless gums; she flashes her squirrelly-two-toothed smile at me. I giggle and snuggle closer to her burying myself in the familiar smells of clean starched cotton and cuticura talc. We both sit content, watching the sky turn from a golden yellow to deep orange to a brilliant red and in the end into a star spangled midnight blue blanket. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">This is what we do, the old matriarch and the little me, every evening, day after day. Today we are watching a different show. My mother’s battle against my tormentors! Let the show begin!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Dusk<o:p></o:p></span></u></b><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhgpr7pBHmByvHav5V-KwuL55HiVtUVWgcJDrV6F8vYbwzD3zUzdXea0jLf8a3qv39FD8l1AbsMb2B6KXR5mE7s39pgKm3H8AM-Pj8_7cuNHGchLGpQ4CRXfcujc5dza-Xyndc5ZS01Kc/s1600/depositphotos_9455016-Mosquito-Hunter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhgpr7pBHmByvHav5V-KwuL55HiVtUVWgcJDrV6F8vYbwzD3zUzdXea0jLf8a3qv39FD8l1AbsMb2B6KXR5mE7s39pgKm3H8AM-Pj8_7cuNHGchLGpQ4CRXfcujc5dza-Xyndc5ZS01Kc/s320/depositphotos_9455016-Mosquito-Hunter.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Ma stands in the middle of our garden armed with her orange rimmed electric bat (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">akin to Goddess Shakti’s Trishul but has an uncanny resemblance to a tennis racquet with electricity pulsing through the cords</i>). It looks harmless but can deliver fatal blows. Sparks fly each time one of them falls. Ma is running up and down the garden paths like a crazed all-court tennis player swinging her weapon in precise backhand and applaud-worthy forehand strokes. I have to give her the credit for changing her tactics every now and then.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">She sweeps over the evergreen boxwood hedges ambushing a few guerrillas. She engages our faithful canine, Rosie, as a bait to lure the enemy soldiers into the line of fire <em><strong>err</strong></em> line of bat. No offence meant Rosie, you are pretty crazy yourself.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Wooshie woowie wwoooshh shooww</i>”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">(Stop fighting with Ma over the sparky-thingy Rosie! Ma would send you off to your room!)<o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Ma did exactly what I told Rosie. After getting royally shouted at for her indiscipline and stupidity, Rosie, now sits by our side complaining in whimpers about the injustice meted out to her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Wooshie woo wyu wooo!”</span></i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">(I told you so Rosie! GG stop sshh-sshing me!)<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">In spite of her failure-of-a-partner (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">read Rosie</i>), a content Ma is about to retreat to the safety of our heavily netted home. Just then a lone enemy courses by her, humming a taunting tune in her ear. Ma stiffens forehead crinkled in intense concentration. She shifts her weight positioning her feet in a defensive stance each fibre in body alive and alert.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">The lone attacker flies past her, high above her head. Ma jumps off the ground, her right arm swinging a beautiful arc. <em><strong>Craaackkleee</strong></em>! The blood sucker is down. Ma does a beautiful swirl in mid air, her oiled long plaits snaking around her and lands gracefully on her feet with her lips curved into the most beautiful crooked smile I’ve ever seen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">(<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ma says I have a lot more to see and learn. For me Ma remains the best thing that happened to me</i>)<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">She looks resplendent in the last lights of the day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">My mother, my protector, my warrior princess!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">I clap hands happily and coo energetically.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Just then Ammamma comes along, “Di, thrisandhyakku Wimbledon match kalikandu poyi erunnu namam chellan nokku! Naatukare kondu oronnu parayippikan muttathu odi kalikka pennu!”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">(Girl, Stop playing Wimbledon matches and go pray for a while. Running around the garden to give people a chance to pass opinions on her !)</span></i><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><strong><em>P:S: I am on vacation in Kochi . I accept with much grace the overcrowding of my home town, traffic blocks and power cuts (timely and untimely). Mosquitoes – Good Lord. God Save Kochi and her suburbs.</em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><strong><em>It so happened that after much mosquito hunting on an evening, Amma and I retired for the night. I got up at around 3 AM in the morning half asleep announcing the attack of mosquitoes on me and promptly fell back to an itchy-scratchy sleep. Amma woke up. Battled the mosquitoes and couldn’t sleep any more. This one is for you Amma, my warrior princess!</em></strong></span></div>
</div>
Blue Lotushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14847081762013816131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748977141263815474.post-36647225510354045962013-02-17T21:58:00.000+08:002013-02-17T21:58:03.417+08:00Review:The Book Thief by Markus Zusak<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/19064.The_Book_Thief" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><img alt="The Book Thief" border="0" src="http://d.gr-assets.com/books/1327284520m/19064.jpg" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/19064.The_Book_Thief">The Book Thief</a> by <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/11466.Markus_Zusak">Markus Zusak</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">My rating: <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/533552932">5 of 5 stars</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">When you want to pull out those people from the pages of a book and feel that need to keep them safe till end of world war,II you know one thing for sure - (1)You are reading an awesome book (2)Every single word the author penned has found it's mark.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">Let me say without any doubts that "The Book Thief" by Markus Zusak is one of the very engrossing books I've read in the past afew years.It made me laugh,it made me think and it made me cry bitter tears in the end.Real,salty tears soaking into my pillows,if you insist on knowing.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">Enough about me and how I felt about the book or rather how the book made me feel!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">"The Book Thief" takes you on a journey to the life of Liesel,her foster parents,Rudy-her-best-friend and the jew she befriends,to Himmel Street ,to the life of it's residents,to Munich , to Hitler's Germany,to a world at war.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">Narrated by death himself with a whiff of dark humour,against the backdrop of world war II and Nazi Germany,it is the story of Liesel Meminger.Of innocent people torn apart in the name of a war.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">It is the story of the jew Max Vandenburg. Of people that perished in the name of religion.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">Of Hans and Rosa Hubermann. Of extraordinary people with hearts of gold, who wave feeble flags of humanity in the face of cruel times.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">Of Rudy Steiner.Of friends who make those cruel times survivable.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">Of Ilsa Hermann.Of people who live in memories and at times open their life and book shelf willingly to a certain book thief.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">As readers we live their lives , we watch Liesel and Rudy become best friends. We dread the worst as Hubermann’s hide a Jew in their basement. And against hope wish that bombs don’t fall on Himmel street.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">It is an experience you will not regret.And never once in my life have I read “Death” to be so real and pragmatic.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/list/4573529-sreelekha-menon"><span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">View all my reviews</span></a>
</div>
Blue Lotushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14847081762013816131noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748977141263815474.post-72958575881114734182013-01-16T22:34:00.000+08:002013-01-16T22:34:07.024+08:00Chembakam,Pala and Parukutty<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">It
was just another night without anything special about it. The old stars and constellations,
partially hidden by floating misty clouds, were neither bright nor sparkly. A
sad crescent of the waning moon hung in the background looking thoroughly bored
by the endless cycle of waxing and waning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"> Parukutty
too looked forlorn, her right hand playing with the <i>kuzhiminni</i> * that rested against her soft shapely<span class="apple-converted-space"><b> </b></span>throat and her left hand
loosely lying on her lap. She sat on the veranda of her home or
rather whatever was left out of it, (<i>the last monsoon was harsh on her
modest shelter</i>) her head resting against the decaying wood pillar, and
watched the shifting shadows from the <i>eerumadam</i> across paddy fields in
front of her house. Even in the dim light she could see the swaying paddy their
heads dropping in the weight of the golden bounty they carried. She knew there
were people in the<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>eerumadam, </i>it
was time for harvest and stray cattle are a major threat to small farmers. Well,
as long as those long shadows stayed where they were and did not trouble her,
Parukutty would not trouble them as well. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii_cCZ6d23O41qN3jQw5_QcoBtFj_E2751Hxg9yI0mdXz0_jYffATeTcNrs-TRQipD0gJux7ONZYduZ-2QNBLWxb0X_rSSKqS0i-YnP0UMCDxF-YdKlh4PALpvUJj9IqHgu7qPJvEhDrY/s1600/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii_cCZ6d23O41qN3jQw5_QcoBtFj_E2751Hxg9yI0mdXz0_jYffATeTcNrs-TRQipD0gJux7ONZYduZ-2QNBLWxb0X_rSSKqS0i-YnP0UMCDxF-YdKlh4PALpvUJj9IqHgu7qPJvEhDrY/s1600/download.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Courtesy : Google.com</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"> This
was the house she was born in and before her, her mother was born in and before
her mother, her grandmother was born in. This land was her birth right; from
mothers to daughters till the end of time. It would've been so if she had not
chosen to marry him; braving her people and society. And what did he do to her?
Would any man who loved his woman have done that? May be her people and the
society were indeed right in foreboding her in the first place! But
then what did the society do or for that matter her people do when they found
out about the injustice done to her? Nothing! He left with all her money and
later died a horrendous death with his jugular vein snapped by a beast, life
force ebbing away with each drop of blood. He got away the easy way. A
sarcastic curve flitted above her upper lip.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">After
all she was a woman. A woman is supposed to give birth without screaming in pain,
enter the world as a daughter with only a whimper and live in the shadows rest
of her life whilst serving others. And the whole world turns its back on the
plight of women; as though her life and death was a matter of no consequence.
No one cared if a woman lived, died or was murdered. And she was unfortunate to
be born a woman. An angry crimson hue colored her cheeks and her
hands clenched at the shameful memory. Parukutty closed her eyes and waited
patiently for the anger to subside. Back then it made her wild, violent and mad
at the world. She shook the world around her. She would not heed to
any pleas .She took her own time to calm down. Now it is much simple. Time had
healed her wounds. All she had to do was close her eyes and sit still.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">If
anyone passed by they would've been rooted to the spot by the spectacle that
was Parukutty. With Parukutty, time simply stopped wrecking damage when she turned
thirty. Even after all these years she looked as beautiful as she was at
thirty. Her thick long curls still the color of night sky, her skin like the
pale moon, her brows like the bows of cupid and her lips..Oh! Those lips! Lips juicy
red from betel juices. Well, this was her kingdom, this home and the yard
around it, the chembaka tree on the west corner of her yard and the pala tree
in the south. And she the reigning queen. Trespassers, she did not entertain. Visitors,
she never received. Ah! then there were strangers, travelers on the
highway, who didn't know this was her realm. But then that was a long time ago
she remembers with hunger. Now nobody bothered her. Not even the stray dogs of
the village. She was left out in relative peace.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">She
did not mind the solitude. She walked around her chembaka and pala trees, stringing
those fragrant flowers and humming lost lullabies. She loved the full moon nights
when both the trees bloomed like a girl at the cusp of her womanhood. The
branches drooped with heavy blossoms and the air is filled with its redolence. Some
days she imagined them as two lover boys who vied for her attention. While the pala
tree showered her with the pearly white flowers as she passed under it, the
chambaka tree spread a bed of the fragrant flowers for her to rest on. On
cloudy dark new moon’s they were the resting place of stars. The white flowers
on them looked like soft stars from afar.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">The
night would end soon. Parukutty would have to go back to her shadows. The road
in front of her home would soon hear footfalls. The people in “eerumadam” would
heave a sigh of relief and thank heavens for a peaceful night. After all she
was no longer Parukutty. Parukutty died with her unfaithful husband choking her
unsuspicious self on a moon lit night. He had then hung her limp body from the
pala tree. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">He
cried beating his chest,<i>” She was mad! My poor Parukutty!
She could never become a mother. She simply couldn’t accept it. Now look at her folly! Oh!Paru!! How am I supposed to live now?” </i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, serif;">All
this for the benefit of the villagers who very well knew Parukutty had not committed suicide.
Nevertheless who would want to pick up a row with the </span><i style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif;">deshom adhikari’s</i><span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, serif;"> nephew? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“That was the poor child’s
destiny!”</span></i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"> the
old hags croaked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">It
was not destiny. It was one man’s malice. One human’s selfish act that ended not
one life but two; a mother and an unborn child. Parukutty wouldn’t leave him in
peace. He was her first, in life and after life. This time she watched him writhe
in agony in as her canines found the jugular veins on the familiar territory of
his neck. She was now Yakshi* Paru, the demon who quenched her thirst with the
warm blood of young men. The vengeful spirit who could shake earth and command
the lighting and thunder<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Her
hatred of men waned, her revenge accomplished, she roams the earth without
salvation. As each morning dawns Parukutty recedes to the dark recesses of her
home only to come out at night once again, night after night.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">The
sunlight prickled Parukutty out of her thoughts; she let out a cry filled with
pain and anguish not at the hurting sun but at her plight, for her restless wronged
soul, for the peace that eluded her even in death and at the thought of
injustices that go unpunished.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"> *******************FINIS***********************</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Kuzhiminni</span></i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">: A traditional necklace worn
by women in Kerala</span><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Deshom Adhikari : The title
given to a person who was granted a territory of land<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Yakshi:In Kerala, they are
reputed to waylay men with their beauty and drink their blood.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Eerumadam:The tree house or raised platform.</span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Chembakam: Magnolia Champaka,a tropical flowering plant</span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Pala: Alstonia scholaris</span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></i></div>
</div>
Blue Lotushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14847081762013816131noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748977141263815474.post-35678762187004544232013-01-14T17:11:00.003+08:002013-01-15T13:02:07.964+08:00Winds Of Mischief<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO8LghtCbmshRhpRPWxkaf8qC5NlHamvrty2hIyCziLhgAevTyfyL0H1RZdcG1hOM4ATFbZ1CnIRNrD8hXFEtmf8-fuWssD3r_zT3cxOI4yuugkQNoHaZ-JB9qpOpQW3VDWI_GXXFpmEU/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO8LghtCbmshRhpRPWxkaf8qC5NlHamvrty2hIyCziLhgAevTyfyL0H1RZdcG1hOM4ATFbZ1CnIRNrD8hXFEtmf8-fuWssD3r_zT3cxOI4yuugkQNoHaZ-JB9qpOpQW3VDWI_GXXFpmEU/s1600/images.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Courtesy:Google.com</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<b><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif;">S</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif;">uman has a
love-hate relationship with the </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif;">house they had recently moved into.
"They" included Suman, her husband Sanjay and their 5 year old boy
Rohit. Well, she loved the house for its bright sun soaked interiors and
spacious kitchen. She hated it utterly for its stuffiness and the constant need
to leave all the windows, doors and even the bathroom ventilators wide open to
aerate the house. The constant banging of doors by the wind startled her
invoking an unpleasant stream of mental expletives. The balance of the
love-hate relationship tipped alarmingly after the fiasco on Saturday
afternoon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif;"> *******************************<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif;">S</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif;">uman folded the
creamy flour and sugar muttering, “Trust is something that is very special. And
somehow I cannot say it goes well with my son!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif;">She brimmed with irritation at the thought of Rohit’s tantrum
after lunch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif;">He wanted to go out to play cricket with the neighborhood boys in
the hot son. For few minutes Suman wondered if her child was simply stupid, who
else would want to get fried in the hot summer sun. With each “Howzzzat!” from
the play ground below his stomping the floor grew louder. A furious Suman
banished the whimpering boy to his room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif;">He is only a child who wants to play. Suman understood that. But
she did not agree that he would want to play in hot sun.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif;">She mixed a few drops of vanilla essence and her secret ingredient
the ice cream essence and put the mix for baking.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif;">"Done!" She said triumphantly to herself. It was then
that it struck Suman that Rohit has been silent for a very long time. Tantrum
or no tantrum, Rohit was not one of the quiet boys.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif;">“Up to some mischief for sure!” Suman shook her head opening the
door to Rohit’s room. It was silent but for the thumping of the cupboard door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif;">”Rohit is stuck inside!” Suman panicked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif;">“Rohit, sweetie, Mommy is here honey. Don’t worry!”Suman shouted
trying to keep fear from creeping into her voice. A million bad thoughts
bounced across her mind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<i><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif;">“What if he is
hurt?”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<i><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif;">“What if he chokes?”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<i><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif;">Why is he not
speaking or crying now?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif;">Pushing aside these thoughts Suman pulled at the door. Summer had
made the door tight and Sanjay had procrastinated oiling the hinges. Her terror
struck mind noted the procrastination point and subconsciously added it to the
list of things to confront Sanjay with when things return to normalcy. She
tugged harder and but the door stayed firm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif;">“Security! I should call the security to break open the cupboard”
Suman ran to the balcony as the thumping continued in Rohit’s room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif;">She peered over the balcony and shouted, “Security!” Her voice was
drowned by the screams and war cries of sweat soaked dust coated Lilliputian cricketers.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif;">For a guilt ridden moment Suman felt she should’ve let Rohit out
to play and all this wouldn’t have happened! Tears clouded her eyes and she
paused to regain her poise.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif;">“Rohit!” Suman shouted her voice trembling in relief. There he
was, her little prankster, red as a tomato, running around the hot sun.”He must
have sneaked out when my back was turned!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif;">“Get back here this minute!” Suman yelled and realizing the
futility of her act decided to get down and drag the little Tendulkar back home
by his ears.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif;">“It was the blasted wind all the time! Rattling doors and cupboards!
It gave me such a scare!” Suman thought as she secured the windows and
ventilators.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif;">Suman paused at the front door before going down to bring Rohit
back home ”Not a sound. Wind it was!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif;"> *******************************<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<b><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif;">T</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif;">he click of lock
falling into place filled the house.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif;">Silence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif;">Then the thumping started again. Only this time it was louder, more
violent, accompanied by the mock whimpering of a little boy and followed by a wicked cheeky chuckle!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif;"> **************FINIS***************<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<i><span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, serif;">P: S: Now let me confess, our new home has the same issues. On an
evening back from work the cupboards in a closed room started rattling scaring me.
The scary part is that there was no one in the apartments on my floor. The
husband wouldn't pick up my calls as his phone was resting in the dark dungeons
of a gym locker. I made panic calls to my friends. All this because the bathroom
ventilator was wide open and the wind was playing the prank. Don’t ask, all of
them had a nice laugh at my cost !</span></i></div>
<br /></div>
Blue Lotushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14847081762013816131noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748977141263815474.post-20844933868573032322013-01-06T20:46:00.000+08:002013-01-06T20:48:51.818+08:00An Year That Was<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Too many things happen in a day let alone a year. In 2012 too many
unexpected things happened. Things that made me look back and analyze. Situations
that made me weak and question myself. Experiences that made me stronger and
may be a lot less of a cry baby. I was losing myself yet discovering a new
person. A person I somehow did not know existed.</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt;">It all started on Jan 1st 2012 when I jumped off a cliff in
Oludeniz in Turkey. People call it paragliding and for the first five minutes
of the gliding I called it 'the-biggest-mistake-of-my-life'. I found out I
could flash my brilliant smile with my legs dangling in the air a few thousand
metres above sea level. I conquered my fear of heights.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Then came the shift to Perth. I packed our bags, my two and a half
years and his six years of existence in Singapore into cartons and
suitcases. I said good bye to a city I had come to love. I said farewell to the
pubs which made me drinks at happy hour rates even if I shimmered in past the
hour. With much sorrow I said bye to my friends. I taught myself to deal with
separation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Perth, Sydney and friends. I realized how much certain
people know me. People who go way back to the days of pinafores and pig tails. Friends
without whom school life would've been a bland memory. Friends I met after a
decade. Friends with whom conversations simply don't end. I discovered that
school friendships are like wine. They mature over the years. Rich and fluid, warming
you up from deep inside.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Loss. A personal loss. Ammoomma. The woman who stood by my through
thick and thin, through illness and good health, through my failures and small
victories.I don't know if I would ever be able to love someone like she loved
me. Unconditionally. Sans conditions. Loved me for who I am and not for who I
became. She was in a lot of pain and when she was finally at peace I wanted to
console myself that death was a relief for her. With her life she taught me to
love, to care and to respect. With her death she taught me to cope with
bereavement.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1o6Kvsw8Fend1eUrAmpqcB7M8Flw8yGLh03ZjvRoAenTluVr39sDFENnMO7FGuRSgjfxKui8leD6vAZHfMN1T23ROo7YUeAx9Nb9jSAb5sw3Oo4d1GJL0G107gibCRop7Z0eAH0VeWfw/s1600/119___09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1o6Kvsw8Fend1eUrAmpqcB7M8Flw8yGLh03ZjvRoAenTluVr39sDFENnMO7FGuRSgjfxKui8leD6vAZHfMN1T23ROo7YUeAx9Nb9jSAb5sw3Oo4d1GJL0G107gibCRop7Z0eAH0VeWfw/s320/119___09.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt;">As for reading, it was an awesome year. I devoured 107 books in
2012. Here's my reading list.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/user_challenges/257337"><span style="color: blue;">http://www.goodreads.com/user_challenges/257337</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt;">I concentrated on Christie's Poirot and completed all the novels
featuring him. I was heartbroken when he died of old age in "The
Curtain".That is the magic every author should aspire to concoct. Binding
the readers in the magic weave of your words. Spell binding them to your
characters, making them feel the pains and joys of the characters. Once again I
realized there is no smell better than the smell of paper and no joy greater
than losing yourself in the pages of a book.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt;">We celebrated this new year in Srilanka along with our family. We
spend an excellent week in Kandy eating, shopping, sightseeing and chit
chatting. I picked up a few English books by Srilankan authors and they have
not disappointed me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt;">I hope this year would involve a lot of time with family and
friends, good books, good wines and a whole lot of love.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Wishing all readers a very Happy New Year! May all your dreams
come true and this year mine too!!</span></div>
</div>
Blue Lotushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14847081762013816131noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748977141263815474.post-67696074595810036942012-12-16T23:52:00.000+08:002012-12-17T00:11:37.513+08:00As An Elevator Levitated<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">I am a
stairs person. No, it is not because I am health conscious and I revel in inner
joy of burning a few calories. Instead, the reason is elevators hate me. It may
sound bizarre but it is true. Initially I thought it was just another elevator breaking
down. What if the elevators you use
regularly, at work or at your apartment building, breaks down leaving you at
the mercy of the stairs? Not just in one city but over multiple cities? Then
you know it not just a coincidence but the revolt of the elevators.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Last
week on a Monday I was on the way to work. I took the elevator. The elevator started
making grumbling noises and the passengers collectively commented on the noise.
I was happy that I was on the way out. Anyways on the way back I realized the elevator
is down and I am supposed to take the fire exits. Obviously we were not
provided with the keys to the fire exit at the ground level exit or to the fire
exit at our floor. We spent an hour outside the apartment till a gentleman
going out of the apartment let us in with his keys! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">It was
all fine as our home is on the first floor. Wait, I go to office the next day
to find out that the elevator in the vice-chancellery building of the
university is under repair. Too much of a coincidence eh?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">This was
not the first time the elevators have been nasty to me. It has happened before
when I was in Mysore (<i>and later in Singapore as well</i>). I was this naive, young thing who totally believed that the
monthly pay check and space to call my own is synonymous to independent woman!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">This
was something I wrote sometime in 2008 based on a real-life experience. I’ll
let you get a glimpse of my younger self. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">A mundane weekend in Mysore:<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">I, on
an average Saturday mid day, resemble a walking super market with a minimum of
five bags <i>(filled with assorted things
vegetables, fruits, milk, ironed clothes and anything you can think off…)</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">I get
off from my home with a single task in my mind so that I end up only with a
single bag when I come back. But Women!!!God made them with shopping in their
blood and eyes meticulously trained to read the “<b>SALE</b>” board in any language…And last Saturday I ended up with more
bags than I could handle…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">As I
heaved up to the entrance of my apartment I lavished myself with a triumphant
smile ...Voila I reached home without breaking a single cover and picking up
things from road…:D :D…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">The elevator
in our apartment was a piece from history. It had giant retractable metal doors
and resembled the ones you regularly see in horror movies ..As I waited for the
elevator and I read the instructions on the left hand side wall…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Elevator keys to
be used by authorized personnel only…” <o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Did
you ever know elevators had keys? Even I didn’t…Now that it has been documented
and pasted for public reference those keys should exists…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"> I put my stuff in the elevator’s floor
and hit my floor number..wait wait…and it stopped…Great…I pick my packets and
..EEEEEEEEEEKSSSSSSSS I’m hanging between two floors…The elevator is stuck
between my floor and floor below….I hit the alarm and stop buttons…They blink
at me remorselessly..There is no electricity I realize…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">I keep
my packets down..Do an “<b><i>appadi podu”</i></b> dance feat for 10 seconds…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">(But then I remembered all
stories about people dying in lifts and lifts that crashed when power
came…Brrrr Brrrr.)<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">I
revel..I’m stuck in a lift…for the first time…I call up my mom and my friends
and let them know about my “elevated” situation...My mom suggests that I rock
the grill and scream for help..I tried…I cried HELP!!!!!!!!!!! In all filmy ways and tunes…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">(I wanted to try BACHAAAAAOOOOO
KOI HAI BACHAAAAAOOOOO...then I felt it was a little too dramatic)<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Then I
whistled and my mom scolds me over the phone...”Girls are not supposed to
whistle…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">(I wanted to ask her “Oh Gyaan Devata, are boys allowed to
whistle???”)<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">But 2
secs after my shrilly whistle went out my neighbors daughter came looking for
the source…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Hey..me
stuck here..Can you tell the security guy that I’m here…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">I tell
my mom about the little rescuer girl…Then the Don of our flat (<i>An aunty who runs everything there, a very
helpful being</i>) whom we lovingly call Ground Floor aunty and security guy
comes…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">They
smile at me or are they suppressing a laughter…Hmmm I flash a happy smile and
wave from down under….<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8IbaFPIGR-693azW42FQdumaySVXafLlENnedOXNSwbR5s5qPzggzFcqi6yaGGh7fekrX__oMxxFDM1a1HMlj4zf00vxm-f-2NDyxduCrFcojzHrix7jch1o70nP5kepVGnHk7lvO-zA/s1600/elevator.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8IbaFPIGR-693azW42FQdumaySVXafLlENnedOXNSwbR5s5qPzggzFcqi6yaGGh7fekrX__oMxxFDM1a1HMlj4zf00vxm-f-2NDyxduCrFcojzHrix7jch1o70nP5kepVGnHk7lvO-zA/s320/elevator.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image Courtesy:Google.com</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">There
in the security’s hand is a long thin cylindrical metal rod .I strain my head
to watch my rescuers in action<i>…<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">(“Elevator keys to be used by
authorized personnel only…” the words flash before me like a warning…</span></i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">He
puts it into a key hole in the wall and turns it left and right with little
success…After ten minutes of directions from the lady outside the lift and the
lady inside the lift he quit <i>…”Aagalla
madam..”</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">(It’s not working Madam)<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">GF
aunty opens the outside door to demonstrate the lever in action to him and I
open the inner doors to the lift…They both look at me wondering what this
little monkey is upto…I throw my packets onto my floor..I pray to Aamir khan of
Ghajini for strong arm muscles and hoist myself out of the lift…Phew I’m out…I
smiled at my rescuers who are still struck by the monkey like antics of the girl
next door…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">I
learned two things<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
</div>
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">Elevators do have keys</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">Buy only what you can take home
by stairs</span></li>
</ul>
<!--[if !supportLists]--><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">I only
had two regrets<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
</div>
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;"> </span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, serif;">I wasn't stuck with a handsome
guy with a background music “hum tum ek dibbe mein bandh ho..”</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;"> </span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, serif;">My rescue team didn't include a
Tom Cruise look alike that would’ve stretched his arm to lift me out and said
“Main hoon Na”</span></span></li>
</ul>
<!--[if !supportLists]--><br />
<div style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in; padding: 0in;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">P:S:
My roomies comment :”I thought you go to gym regularly..Then why take the
lift???”<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in; padding: 0in;">
<br />
************************************************<br />
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, serif;">I've</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"> not edited this piece much. I wanted it to be just the way it was when it was
written. It does take me to that era and to the girl I was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Boy, I
did use a lot of full stops and unnecessary emoticons. Nevertheless I think I
like her for her spunky spirit!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Blue Lotushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14847081762013816131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748977141263815474.post-19250644166739629402012-11-10T12:04:00.001+08:002012-11-10T18:51:43.686+08:00New Age English Fiction By Indian Authors : A Commentary.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">I am a
reader, an avid reader. I read all genres of fiction (<i>Except M&B and vampires. Twilight was an exception partly owing to its
novelty of theme. The only other vampire I know is Count Dracula. He might have
been a handsome bloke but is definitely not cut to be a boyfriend.Defintely not mine.)</i>I read
English fiction by English authors, foreign authors and translations from
foreign languages to English. I read Malayalam books. Well, I grew up reading
novels in Malayala Manorma much to the chagrin of my Amma and Ammoomma. <i>(That
was at an age I should’ve been reading Balarama or Chandamama.) </i>Bengali
translations into Malayalam are my favorites. Apart from communism and fish we
Malayali’s share with the Bengali’s a love for literary works par excellence. I
devoured Sunil Gangopadhyay’s and Asha Purna Devi’s with a passion reserved for
T.Padmanabhan and Madhavi Kutty. Translations from Indian languages to
Malayalam have always been a favorite with me. It was my way of knowing my
country of diversity. I read through them to understand the different cultures
to see the differences, to feel the invisible thread that binds us into one in
spite of these differences. Whilst hoping that the beauty of the words in these
pages have not been lost by translation and regretting my inability to read the
books in the they were written in ;I thank DC books from the bottom of my heart
for publishing these translations.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">There!
I have established my right as a reader to comment on books.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">I
totally agree that every book that is published on the face of earth is not
forced upon me. I can use my deliberation to choose the book off the shelf. The
scenario is very similar to that of producers who dish out an apology for a
movie with a take it or leave it attitude. This we call the sad state of Indian
cinema, once renowned for its world class productions and profound story lines.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">The new age English fiction by young
Indian authors genre is in a similar state.I am not sorry to say
what I am going to say. As a reader I have some expectations from a book. Honestly
most of the books that come out in this genre have zero literary value, contain
cheap, under the belt, double entendre jokes and is almost always based on the
author’s shattered pathetic life. Portrayed over a protagonist caught between
his dreams and dreams of his family, it may also involve a romantic interest
that goes for a toss somewhere in the middle of the book. And it is not until
the last chapter of the book that it dawns on our poor protagonist that he/she
was not the one and that sometimes one must choose to rebel for one’s life. It
would’ve saved us the book if the protagonist had some sense right in the
beginning. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLrrLk3ib6_3l6OlRqfsmheCTXwCbfPRR9fqoizhJ295LMh6IUyGhRKVmNVh0u3epkmiVgp0dLlQMuBlBHGEF8HHQAompUeNZLCTBkrwBUxuCZZcpJIhO49nTB74fbbTr_lRCPlrrxmyg/s1600/IMG_2430.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLrrLk3ib6_3l6OlRqfsmheCTXwCbfPRR9fqoizhJ295LMh6IUyGhRKVmNVh0u3epkmiVgp0dLlQMuBlBHGEF8HHQAompUeNZLCTBkrwBUxuCZZcpJIhO49nTB74fbbTr_lRCPlrrxmyg/s320/IMG_2430.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">I am
being harsh, necessarily so. I have read a few promising authors and I am </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">proud
of them.I have been fortunate to discover some new authors of immense potential. After all I was not going to call the above mentioned rubbish genre as
the future of Indian literature.I would’ve wept tears of blood if someone dared
to do that. When I am browsing a book store for Indian fiction I expect books
are at par with the works of Amitav Ghosh, Anita Desai, Vikram Seth and others.
The excerpts from their books have been part of school curriculum in India. It has
become a sample of good writing for a child who steps in to the world of English
language. That is an honor a new age writer should strive to achieve. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">There
is essentially a difference between a journal and a published book. This is
something our publishers have seems to have problems in identifying. But then
somewhere it all boils down to likes on FB, re-tweets on twitter and a whole
lot of marketing gimmicks. All this to sell the first 1000 copies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">I am
not expecting a book to be of Nobel Prize winning standards. Just remember this;
we all have made mistakes in life. We all have had relationships in life that
went tragic. We have all done things we are not proud of. If all of us decide
to publish books about all the above said, would you as a reader want to read
it?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">I am
not a published author. I write simple blog posts that may or may not be
interesting. So I might not understand the pains of writing a book and getting
it published. Now that you are taking all the pain, please make sure that your
book does not fall into the category which would sell only its first 1000
copies and never see a reprint. If you are not bothered, glow in your “five-weeks-of-fame”
and risk being tagged as trash in public. And remember your books are not works
of literature or fiction but a category which is might be labelled as new-age
trash.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Before
someone tells me that it matters only to be published and everything else is a
conspiracy let me share another real life example.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Every Onam the stalwarts of magazine
world in Malayalam publishes a two volume digests called Onapatippu. The pages
are filled with short stories, poems, interviews, essays and commentaries. It
is a literary feast more fulfilling than the Onam sadya. This was so until the
late 90’s.In the 2000’s these digests were devoid of stories. I was thoroughly
disappointed. The whole season of Onam suddenly felt a little less fun. Onam
was always about new dress, feast and the Onapathippu filled with stories! Acha,
Amma and me would reminiscence the golden days of Onapathippu. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Bereaved
Acha would say<i>,” Oru otta katha polum
ilya! Kashtam!” <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Not even a single story! Sad! <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">All of
us felt the pinch of the lack of short stories in Malayalam. We read and
re-read the old masters. When I think about it now, I realize it was not the
drought of stories that prevented the publishers from printing stories. It was
the drought of good stories. I am glad that in the meantime the publishers had
not decided to torture the readers with sub-standard stories. It must have occurred
to them that it is not the number of books that you publish that matters. What
matters is the quality of the content. That definitely is food for thought for
publishing houses that publish without discretion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">I am
proud of the Malayalam publishing industry for their staunch conservative views
on publishing. Publish ones worth reading in print. The rest goes where it is deserves
to stay-<b>Trash</b>!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">P: S:
This year during Onam season midst of all hospital stays, sorrow and pain ,Amma
remembered to tell me about the Onapathippu.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">”<i>Nee kanedetha ee kollathe Mathrubhoomi onapathippu.Assalayitundu!”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">You should see this year’s
Mathrubhoomi magazine’s Onapathippu.It is brilliant!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">It
indeed is.Called “Kathayude Katha” or “The story of the story”,it contains
stories published as part of the weekly from 50’s till date.I includes an
interview with the author of the story on the premises of the story.And the
authors tell us how the story came to be,when it was written and what made them
write that story. Some based on people they have met, incidents they had heard
about or some simply from their fertile imagination. It gives us the glimpse of
their lives at that time and in many a case an overview of the state of things
in general in that era.Needless to say a copy rests on my bedside table!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>
Blue Lotushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14847081762013816131noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748977141263815474.post-52030936992337822212012-10-29T15:56:00.001+08:002012-10-29T16:04:13.883+08:00A Loss And A Hiatus<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">I have
been on a hiatus from everything except reading. I was going through a rough
patch and I simply couldn’t bring myself to write or let alone spend some time
by myself without feeling numb. I lost my grandmother (If you know the Ammoomma
who features very lavishly in my posts) to cancer and old age. A relief from
sufferings for her and a void that will never be filled for me. It is easy to
preach about how death is part of human life until it happens to you. Some
losses are irreplaceable .You will learn to live without the person but you
will always miss their presence always.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">I miss
Ammoomma greatly. She was someone who intuitively knew my state of mind even
when we are miles apart. My sorrow, my pains, my little joys – she knew all of
them. She had no expectations out of me. All she had was pure unconditional
love for her grandchild.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">I am
starting my first job in Australia tomorrow. Today is my last day of freedom. Today
also happens to be the day I finished my Goodreads.com reading challenge
2012.So I decided to celebrate both by doing some pickling. Ammoomma would’ve been
proud of me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">She
was a pickling expert. Except for the most recent Kadumanga pickle, Amma always
made pickles under Ammoomma’s guidance. She would look at the tender mangoes, poke
them around and announce the amount of spices required. Experience is something
that comes with age and actually dishing it out in the kitchen. Aged I have, but
experience? Well, I am working on the building blocks of making pickles, jams, sweets
– A La Kerala Style.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Now, instant
mango pickle is something I love. I don’t have to wait for ages for Amma’s
consent to open the bottles of pickle left for ageing. The best part is we are
done in 15 minutes flat with only one wok and ladle for cleaning up afterwards.
I am the laziest cook on earth and would not give you a recipe that is difficult.
Would I?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, serif;">(I managed to find frozen
sliced raw mangoes in one of Indian stores last week. I am scourging Chinese stores
this week for fresh mangoes.I did see raw bananas and couldn't wait to make
upperi’s out of them :D)<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Ingredients:<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Raw Mangoes (to be cut into
small pieces)– 2 medium size<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Salt
-1-2 tbsp<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Chilly Powder- 2-3 tbsp<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Turmeric Powder –1 tsp<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Fenugreek – 1 tbsp<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Mustard Seeds – 1 tbsp<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Asafoetida - ½ -1 tsp<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Oil -2tbsp +2tbsp<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Pepper powder– ½ tsp<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Boiled Water – ¼ cup<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Secret
Ingredient (Ohh</span></i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">!!!)<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Cooking Procedure:<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Cut the mangoes into small
pieces.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">In a wok heat 2tbsp oil
and splutter mustard seeds. Add Fenugreek. Wait until Fenugreek turns
brown.(Not too brown, mind it!)<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Add Fenugreek powder,
Chilly Powder, Turmeric Powder, and Asafoetida.Throw in the curry leaves.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Add boiled water and wait
for the mixture to thicken<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Add the cut mangoes and
salt.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Once the mixture boils
switch off the gas and leave the pickle to thicken in the heat of the wok.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Transfer the pickle to an
air tight container when sufficiently cool<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Heat 2tbsp oil and pour
into the container. Secure the lid tightly and keep aside for 2-3 days for
the spices to develop their flavor.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<b><u><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Cheat Code:</span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">If you
get bored after all the cutting and slicing.Do not worry. Transfer the salted mangoes in to
an airtight container and keep it aside. When you feel like it continue with
rest of the steps. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicBn32xCRmszKAJsziSYOEnDWl_ujeHRs3q1YCd7vHPDmRlEXVLeoWnONsSFqMzcm4QIO4NmPXX5kWOYTmQuDA7JsUiXNhHTIFx7u6zhciJEqdzfBqt2qQrmMJA662TL4fwahirWVkLfM/s1600/IMG_2379.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicBn32xCRmszKAJsziSYOEnDWl_ujeHRs3q1YCd7vHPDmRlEXVLeoWnONsSFqMzcm4QIO4NmPXX5kWOYTmQuDA7JsUiXNhHTIFx7u6zhciJEqdzfBqt2qQrmMJA662TL4fwahirWVkLfM/s320/IMG_2379.JPG" width="273" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, serif;">Oh!
The secret ingredient! Mine is jaggery. A tiny piece added at Step 5.It gives a
sweet edge to the pickle and is bound to tease the taste buds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">About
the job. It is nothing fancy; just a nine to five contract job with Curtin
University as an associate in their in-house IT department. Well, the salary
would pay for my shopping binges whilst leaving some positive balance in my
bank account much to Amma’s relief. After all I am the wife, I am not expected
to be the breadwinner. My earnings are only to treat myself to the spa, watches,
bags and books. I shouldn’t worry my pretty head about climbing the corporate ladder.
My worry should not be delivering project within the deadline but delivering a
baby before I turn thirty. Did that sound like a rant pregnant with sarcasm? Oh!
Well then it is another commentary delivered successfully. Beep Beep Pun Alert!</span></div>
</div>
Blue Lotushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14847081762013816131noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748977141263815474.post-39375784609393845602012-09-21T15:50:00.000+08:002012-09-22T10:32:26.083+08:00The Story Of A Book<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">I
believe a book holds more stories than is told by its pages. It holds the lives
and times of readers whose world had shrunk, even if for a few hours, to fit
into the pages of the book whilst their imaginations soared over with an
unmatched brilliance. It holds glimpses of the lives of hitherto unknown people
in the notes by the borders. And some books, rarely so, hold within them a moment
of history, a piece of mankind’s eternal search for order in this universe
where in chaos has always been the way of life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Books
happen to be my first love. I should’ve been quite young when it happened and I
have very little memory of when reading had become as natural as breathing to me. It opened a new world for me, a world I could inhabit when I chose to, and
a world where everything fitted my moods. Some would call it dreamy; I prefer
to call it imagination.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">So
there I am, in love with books and a few spare coins in my pockets.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“I am
going to buy all the Poirot’s. I have all the Miss Marple’s!” I declared one
evening to the husband. He looked up quizzically from his TV-trance. “You know
Agatha Christie’s little Belgian detective” I added in case he thought I was
talking about some spice brands!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Really,
what good is it to buy books? Why don’t you borrow from library and read it on
your kindle?”He smiled congenially and went back to his trance.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">I
refused to rise to the bait. After all a successful marriage is not just about
understanding one's partner but also keeping one's mouth zipped when a bait
disguised as an innocent remark comes your way. The husband had mastered the art
of ignoring baits of any size and intensity long back. I am still trying to
learn the ropes of the above mentioned art form, an essential module in the “Art
of happy married life!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">From
that evening I have scourged the second hand shops in the city for Poirot’s.
Some I found in the racks, some under the racks, and some in the boxes behind
the shops. I even know the day of the week each book shop gets a fresh stock. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">When I
started partnering with a local charity shop to create a book corner I kept my
eyes open for Poirot’s.A lovely lady with snow white hair and a laugh like tinkling
of bells, Gwen my shop manager soon found out my panache for Poirot’s. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"> I was sorting out books with Gwen. Keeping
only the books in mint condition and sending back the others when we found a
Poirot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Ah!
Here comes your lover” Gwen said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">It was
a yellowed copy of The Clocks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuiSsJJvz_7NeF4DLDnxYmTzbEbyPSW-f8qT2z9Sch-Nt1hEDIyzXoitO-my8GpOOoHiQ57XqwadRVpCwwhIwdQRBnfkOT72JCkzNqgmmk1N2O6D82RGy0c3BuoGLUNXJJ9gx8ZMdB5nw/s1600/IMG_2044.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuiSsJJvz_7NeF4DLDnxYmTzbEbyPSW-f8qT2z9Sch-Nt1hEDIyzXoitO-my8GpOOoHiQ57XqwadRVpCwwhIwdQRBnfkOT72JCkzNqgmmk1N2O6D82RGy0c3BuoGLUNXJJ9gx8ZMdB5nw/s320/IMG_2044.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“The
Clocks .Gwen, in this one our little Belgian sits in the comfort of his chair
and employs his little grey cells to solve the crime. Neither does he visit the
crime scene nor does he speak to any witnesses.” I gibbered on nonstop. I know
my Poirots’s. “It was first published in 1963 but this one was not the first edition.
Which means it is not a collector’s item. This one is a mere reprint in 1965!”
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"> “Do you have a copy of this one my dear?”Gwen
enquired.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“No darling,
I wish I had!”I said flipping the pages and inhaling the scent of old paper.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Gwen,
can I buy this one from you? You won’t be putting this up on sale. It’s far too
old.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“You
can take it for free if you want. Even if we return this to the centre, they
might just recycle this one.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">I
convinced Gwen that I did not want to take the book without paying and made her
accept a payment before leaving the shop.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">I
leafed through the book. The first page stated boldly,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Pristina; line-height: 115%;"> “John Christopher Cornwell, Feb
1965, W.H Smith, London”<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Pristina; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Wow,
this book came all the way from London. The book has travelled more than I have!”
It was an amusing thought...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">That
evening I had to add the edition of the book to <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/">Good reads</a>. I was unable to
find the book based on the ISBN number behind the book. This was not surprising
as most of the old books got published by several publishers and in multiple
editions over the years. All this was two weeks ago.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Yesterday
I received a very strange call, “Madam, we are calling from Christie’s, United Kingdom.
It has come to our attention that you hold a title of interest to the Christie’s.Hmm...It
is SBN number '1 332 978 31'!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">I
strained to get words out of the strange accent, “You mean ISBN number, and could
you let me know the title?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">The
operator continued,”Madam, it is The Clocks by Agatha Christie. I am talking
about the one with is SBN number '1 332 978 31'!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“ISBN-SBN,
all the same. I have it. What is so important about it? It is not a first edition.
It’s just a reprint anyway!” I said
trying to sound knowledgeable about book market.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">The
operator said, “It being an SBN makes all the difference. I hope you know that
SBN was the first coding for books before ISBN became the accepted norm.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Yes,
I know the story. Gordon Foster,
Emeritus Professor at Trinity College, Dublin created the 9-digit code for the
booksellers and stationers W. H. Smith in 1965.This was later adopted by ISO
into a 10 digit code and more recently in to a 13 digit code to make it
compatible with the Bookland EAN-13s.” A silly girl from UK was not going to
take me for a ride. We do have internet out here and we do know how to access Wikipedia.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">The
silly girl continued, “I am impressed. Let me give you the background of our
interest. Gordon Foster’s SBN code was first introduced to the publishers William
Collins Sons & Co Ltd. They printed about 100 copies each for a few titles.
The books were then sent to the warehouse of W.H Smith group of stores in East London.
Unfortunately before the h books could reach the retail outlets they perished
in a fire in the warehouse. The fire was controlled before lives were lost and
W.H Smith was insured for the loss of books in fire. What you have with you is
one of the books from the original lot.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“How
is it possible? If all the books perished in the fire…You must be mistaken.” I
said trying to curb my rising heart beats.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“It is
possible. We have proofs from warehouse records which ascertain that a
warehouse manager, one hmmm Mr. Cornwell, had bought the book from the
warehouse itself. Employees bought goods off the warehouse as it was cheaper
than from retails outlets. Talk about employee welfare in 1960’s”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Cornwell,
John Christopher Cornwell. My head was whirling. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to
cry. The silly girl was going on and on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Mr.
Cornwell moved out of UK in late 70s and we were unable to trace him. Madam,
are you there?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“I am
listening, it’s just overwhelming, all this information...”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“I
know Madam, now listen to me carefully. What you hold is the only remaining
book which contains the first SBN code of the world. It is in every right a patriarch
of all ISBN books. You are now responsible for a piece of history. We are
sending a team to authenticate the book .It is just a procedure although
everyone in rare books section here is convinced of its authenticity. Christie’s
is ready to pay you for this book.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">She
named a price that silenced me with its enormity while my mind made plans,” A
chunk would be mine, chunk Gwen’s and a chunk the charity’s!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Off
course, this is only an initial judgement.Once it goes under the hammer it is
all speculation.” She said before hanging up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Did I
not tell you in the beginning that every book holds within itself more stories
than the one under the title? I grinned, heady with happiness, “What good did ever
come from buying books? Celebrate a retirement party before you hit thirty in a
villa in Spain?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><i>P:S: </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><i>Attention readers!</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><i>This is the <b><u>"story"</u></b> of a book.All a figment of my imagination.Nevertheless, I do hope something nice like this would happen in my life as well.</i></span></div>
</div>
Blue Lotushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14847081762013816131noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748977141263815474.post-50913810121748225932012-09-09T13:02:00.003+08:002012-09-09T13:02:55.761+08:00A Megh Malhar From Kerala<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Megh Malhar-The Hindustani raga when sung by
Tansen lured the rains from up above. Megh Malhar -the soulful late night raga
that instils the skies to shed their adornment of dark clouds and soak the warm
earth with shower of nectar. Ah the lovely Megh Malhar!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Now you must be wondering about the connection
between this thoroughly north Indian Raga and the very south Indian state of
Kerala. In Kerala when it rains, it rains. Period. Drizzle is only a forerunner
of a heavy rain, soak-to-bone showers!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Whenever it rains in some corner of the world
,there would a malayali watching this rain he can never identify himself with. He
would reminiscence about the Edava pathi
back home; big rain drops pouring down and palm fronds swinging violently in
the winds. He would say, "Oru chai-yum Parippuvada-yum!" and let out
a deep sigh leaving his foreigner colleague wondering what the heck does this
man chant every time it rains!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Yes, parippuvada-chai the constant companion of a
malayali when it rains. It's like Calvin and Hobbes, Like Tom and Jerry, Like Laurel
and Hardy- Parippuvada-chai and the rains. For me it works the other way round,
whenever I make parippuvada it rains. Parippuvada happens to be what Megh
Malhar was to Tansen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Today ,Parippuvada it is.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Ingredients:<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin-left: 39.3pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">1.<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Muttar Dal (Yellow Split peas) - 2
Cups <u><o:p></o:p></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 39.3pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">2.<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Onion - 3/4 cup cut into small pieces<u><o:p></o:p></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 39.3pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">3.<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Green chilli - 2-3 sliced in to small
circlets of fire<u><o:p></o:p></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 39.3pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">4.<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Curry Leaves <u><o:p></o:p></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 39.3pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">5.<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Dry chilli - 2-3<u><o:p></o:p></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 39.3pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">6.<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Ginger - 1 tsp finely chopped
(optional)<u><o:p></o:p></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 39.3pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">7.<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Asafoetida - 1 tsp<u><o:p></o:p></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 39.3pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">8.<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Turmeric powder - A pinch<u><o:p></o:p></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 39.3pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">9.<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Salt<u><o:p></o:p></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: 39.3pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">10.</span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Oil for frying<u><o:p></o:p></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: 39.3pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Preparation</span></u><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">: </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Wash the dal and soak in water for 2 hours. Drain the excess water before
cooking.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Cooking
Procedure</span></u><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: -18pt;">Grind all the ingredients in a mixer
into a coarse mixture. Please take care not to make a paste.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: -18pt;">Shape the mixture into small cutlet
shaped balls.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: -18pt;">Deep fry in oil until the vada turns a
golden brown uniformly.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: -18pt;">Wait till it cools down a bit and sink
your teeth into the crispy crust of the parippu vada. Yummm</span></li>
</ul>
<u><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Cheat
Code:</span></u><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">You may use Tuvar Dal,Masoor dal or a mixture.It
is dal of your choice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We cooked piping hot Parippuvadas last evening. And
it rained in Perth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzyNR-h9N9Ptpe-gtU3C-GUDSyY-H0VUagK2xaZWWZQSS2HPTFU2eO3jGlHBABLim2sFbPpcXkI8tB050eD8pvvn1D6WWMc4XOKKnqQttr59iYZ3D2BsPtCqdnRretqLMa3KrqMARz_VE/s1600/IMG_2032_C.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzyNR-h9N9Ptpe-gtU3C-GUDSyY-H0VUagK2xaZWWZQSS2HPTFU2eO3jGlHBABLim2sFbPpcXkI8tB050eD8pvvn1D6WWMc4XOKKnqQttr59iYZ3D2BsPtCqdnRretqLMa3KrqMARz_VE/s320/IMG_2032_C.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><i><b>P:S:</b> My friend bought a cycle and we took turns
riding it around the park. I was riding a cycle after a very long time. The
feeling of cool wind flowing through your hair, knowing that cycling was
something you taught yourself after the balance wheels broke one by one and
remembering those carefree days of childhood - After many a day I finally felt
quite young and not the grown up aunty I picture myself to be.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><i><b>P:P:S:</b>As I mentioned in the last post, I went for
the volunteer job for "Save The Children". I had to do was set up
their young adult and kids section of books in their shop. And I found this.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh__Svc83OPnGU9smI53WVcIOpauc97ajWG3uCm9sLCEYTPGAm4W28MupMO6EXdPZXv7G64NJOXOmeR4jNYS9sGHC_IddoAIcU_7ptwg-jvx9Q_K7HE1_OLjiylvZkdS9onvVfh3cF_Ftw/s1600/IMG_1989_C.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh__Svc83OPnGU9smI53WVcIOpauc97ajWG3uCm9sLCEYTPGAm4W28MupMO6EXdPZXv7G64NJOXOmeR4jNYS9sGHC_IddoAIcU_7ptwg-jvx9Q_K7HE1_OLjiylvZkdS9onvVfh3cF_Ftw/s320/IMG_1989_C.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><i>Sometime in 1983 a Steve proclaimed his love for a
Katie by gifting her a book. <b>N'est-ce pas romantique?</b></i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Blue Lotushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14847081762013816131noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748977141263815474.post-10173328733613255162012-09-06T17:32:00.000+08:002012-09-06T17:44:15.391+08:00A pickled mind and some pickled Gooseberries...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">With the
prolific nature of postings on the blog, you must have guessed the state of my
mind. I am bored. I never thought I would say this. I miss working. I miss the
deadlines and stale office coffees. I miss bitching over silly people in office
and I miss taking a day off just because I thought I am stressing myself out. I
think more than that, I miss shopping. You know the guilt free unapologetic
shelling out of money for things I believe I need.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Since I really
do not have anything to do I have turned into pickling! Here is a simple recipe
for gooseberry pickle. It is tasty and uses much less oil than the ones you buy
from outside. If it were not easy, I would not even recommend. You can whole-heartedly
trust me on that. Oh yes, for a change, it is my own recipe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Ingredients:<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Gooseberry – 250 grams<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Salt -1-2 tbsp<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Chilly Powder- 2-3 tbsp<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Turmeric Powder – ½ -1 tsp<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Fenugreek – 1 table spoon<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Asafoetida - ½ -1 tsp<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Oil 3-4
tbsp<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Cooking Procedure:<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">In a heavy bottomed pan, boil
water (just enough cover the berried) with salt and gooseberry. Lesser the
water the better it is.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Allow the gooseberries to become
tender.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">In a wok heat the oil and add Fenugreek.
Wait until Fenugreek turns brown.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Add Gooseberry, Chilly Powder, Turmeric
Powder, and Asafoetida.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Once the mixture boils, lower the
heat and wait till mixture thickens and oil separates<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPJoRhp1XxvNvET_O8AiOglk6Lb9nWN7EgeDVQgZ7I-2yETZ7A49xMl9bDrZOh7nPvpW2m0LNRf_bWG8OFd2tyt_NO8p4jAOpQbKKALyJk_cNNTDkHTvvEBMcx41AbbtfixTUI8CdQw8U/s1600/IMG_1974.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPJoRhp1XxvNvET_O8AiOglk6Lb9nWN7EgeDVQgZ7I-2yETZ7A49xMl9bDrZOh7nPvpW2m0LNRf_bWG8OFd2tyt_NO8p4jAOpQbKKALyJk_cNNTDkHTvvEBMcx41AbbtfixTUI8CdQw8U/s320/IMG_1974.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Cheat Code:</span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">You may use Fenugreek powder instead of the seeds. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style';"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style';">If you get
bored after Steps 1 and 2.Do not worry. Transfer the salted Gooseberry in to an
airtight container and keep it aside. When you feel like it continue with rest
of the steps. Please resist the temptation of gobbling the salted berries else,
you will not be able to pickle it. Happened to me couple of times!</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-hTWf9WY7ExCBWSfHeaYhyphenhyphen17Qalajcf0a_0v1yB8ckNslac4buRtAAy7q0UIL2bzf9DL_jX20q9LIvAdcHbtwvf5rtgR35iUdOaFl6gOcoq4MUUDnKY_s0ZvG7MMj4neVmdtX2wLAlZc/s1600/IMG_1983.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-hTWf9WY7ExCBWSfHeaYhyphenhyphen17Qalajcf0a_0v1yB8ckNslac4buRtAAy7q0UIL2bzf9DL_jX20q9LIvAdcHbtwvf5rtgR35iUdOaFl6gOcoq4MUUDnKY_s0ZvG7MMj4neVmdtX2wLAlZc/s320/IMG_1983.JPG" width="247" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Today I had a
very interesting conversation with the better half. After moving to <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Perth</st1:place></st1:city>, the husband
deposits money into my bank account every month so that I get to be independent.
So today, I asked him if he had transferred money to my account.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">“Why don’t you
first spend the money I deposited last month? “ pat came the reply.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">For a moment,
I thought I was in never-never land. When was the last time a husband asked a
wife to spend some money on shopping?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Grinning I said,”
Your wish is my command!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">P: S: From tomorrow,
I start my volunteer work with “Save the Children”. My first assignment is assisting
in the setting up of a children’s bookshop. Fingers crossed!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">P: P: S: This
post was a real potpourri. Sorry about that!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Blue Lotushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14847081762013816131noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748977141263815474.post-1873598005640479842012-09-04T19:42:00.003+08:002012-09-04T19:53:47.565+08:00Nadan Chammanthi Podi and other ramblings<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Dear Reader,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Do not worry.This is not another short
story. It is not that sea of my stories has dried up but I am giving people a break.
I am a very understanding person. I understand the concept of “Threshold Of Patience”.
Now read on.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Love<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">BL<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Some dishes
are extra yummy when a particular person makes it. It could be that extra spice
or the omitted spice or it could be the additional frying one need to do or the
post-cooking garnishing that makes all the difference. In effect, everyone has
a signature dish to his or her credit. Like Ammomma’s Sambhar with a hint of jaggery,
Valliyamma’s Coffee, Amma’s kada-chakka thoran and the list goes on. Some dishes,
ordinary by itself, transforms into culinary delights when they are made by certain
people.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Yes, Nadan
Chammanthi Podi. It’s a spicy mix made of predominantly coconut <i>(yes, thank
you, my malayali genes)</i> and eaten with dosa, idli, rice etc. Considering my
utmost infatuation with Chammanthi Podi, I can have it with anything. Once I
had it with Maggi Noodles. (<i>Maggi kind of
spoilt the taste of my Chammanthi Podi</i>) . <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">When I had to
move to <st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Australia</st1:place></st1:country>,
with a terrible heartache, I realized that none of these Podi’s are allowed in
the baggage by the customs rules. After having lived on the grace of Amma’s
sambhar and dosa podi for years (<i>even in <st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Singapore</st1:place></st1:country></i>),
this news was a shock. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Amma smirked. She
was happy that her prodigal daughter was finally off her apron string albeit a
little late. Undaunted I told her Eastern and Double Horse makes Sambhar and
Dosa podi’s. Amma did not reply. She mentioned something about the Chammanthi
Podi Valliyamma had made.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Oo La La. Nobody
makes Chammanthi Podi in the market. That is how I asked Valliyamma about her recipe
(The one she makes fits my palate). A sweet heart she is she wrote down the
recipe for me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Today, another
jobless boring day dawned. I decided to try Valliyamma’s Recipe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"><b>Nadan Chammanthi
Podi</b><o:p></o:p></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"><u>Ingredients</u><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Shredded Cocunut - 2 cups<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Urad Dal - 5 table
spoons <o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Coriander Seeds - 2 table spoons<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Dry Chilli - 6-8 nos<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Tamarind -Size of a lemon</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style';">Jaggery - 2-3 table
spoons</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style';">Curry Leaves -a few sprigs</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style';">Salt -to
taste </span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style';">Asafoetida - 1/2 teaspoon</span></li>
</ol>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Cooking
Procedure:<o:p></o:p></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Fry the all the ingredients in a
thick bottomed vessel till it turns a dark brown</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Allow it to cool and powder it
using a mixer<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">Store in a dry container.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7pIE2t4eDhOqL-j5RfwwTrUbjwlhu6i0c61H8EM_Y1IBjGzbOkol34vHTqB57z3TdMet-HLFq7YF_hF2Y4e7eBZCtYZsjE3LYZYnlxNOpnfKavo6OoS0QZqHhZ-ZtAnJDGmg1Yj5B1qs/s1600/IMG_1960.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7pIE2t4eDhOqL-j5RfwwTrUbjwlhu6i0c61H8EM_Y1IBjGzbOkol34vHTqB57z3TdMet-HLFq7YF_hF2Y4e7eBZCtYZsjE3LYZYnlxNOpnfKavo6OoS0QZqHhZ-ZtAnJDGmg1Yj5B1qs/s320/IMG_1960.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"><u><u> Cheat Code:</u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">It is not mandatory that you should use the quantities as given.Add more chilli if you want it spicy.A tad more tamarind for the tangy taste.A bit more jaggery for a sweet one if you have kids at home.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipTFXOwkhgRbocTJWhYUbcboqOzrRytDnCj77DVOfc4bREP1P6r6c_iwxliG3JqdUZRssN5XFB2Jh_kyt2phC6bPKO_xfC7nYPnI9ERbfnaPbLJBwmtWNT9k4OlfcMgAawRyKQgKmjpm4/s1600/IMG_1969_C.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipTFXOwkhgRbocTJWhYUbcboqOzrRytDnCj77DVOfc4bREP1P6r6c_iwxliG3JqdUZRssN5XFB2Jh_kyt2phC6bPKO_xfC7nYPnI9ERbfnaPbLJBwmtWNT9k4OlfcMgAawRyKQgKmjpm4/s320/IMG_1969_C.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style';">C'est simple, n'est-ce pas? And it turned out be yummy.</span>
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Blue Lotushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14847081762013816131noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748977141263815474.post-13375113427948120282012-08-31T11:31:00.000+08:002012-08-31T12:23:10.335+08:00Iravan Katha -II<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', sans-serif;">Read Part one <a href="http://abluelotussaid.blogspot.com.au/2012/08/iravan-katha-i.html">here</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', sans-serif;"><b><u><br /></u></b></span>
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', sans-serif;"><b><u>Ninth Night Of The Great Battle Of Kuru-kshetra (contd..)</u></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">Ignoring Arjuna’s trembling, Iravan continued, “I am Iravan, Son of the Naga princess Ulupi of southern frontiers of Himalayas and Son of the madhyama Pandava Arjuna!” An interesting choice of phrasing as though the boy knew who came first for him any day.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">Arjuna stood bewildered, his eyes piercing into Iravan’s. The great warrior was for a moment perplexed, not knowing whether to contest the paternity claim or to simply accept the boy. He knew, Iravan was the sacrifice and Arjuna will not do anything to jeopardize the sacrifice. His brothers depended on him, his army counted on him. In a split second, Arjuna knew what he had to do. He hugged Iravan, burying the boy’s head into his chest and hesitantly murmured,”Son”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">Iravan hugged him back with fervor, with a yearning repressed for long. Washing away the sorrow of having deprived of a parent from birth, Iravan cried,” Father O Father!”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">The camp stood silent with respect as the father-son duo hugged and erased years of bereavement.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">“Father, who will mourn for me when I die? Who will weep and wail in the sorrow of my death? I will be buried and will have no right to funeral offerings as I have no wife.” Iravan stated.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">Iravan wanted a wife. By Lord Ram, how can one arrange for a bride in the middle of night? This is a war camp and not a village fair! More than that who will want to marry a man who has chosen to die? The girl would be choosing to be Iravan’s widow than being Iravan’s bride!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><i>“I would not give my daughter!”</i></span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">“One should be crazy to push a girl to widowhood!”</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">“The war has gone to their heads. That is what it is. How else can one justify this madness?”</span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">The fathers bristled, brothers raged. Iravan will not marry one of their daughters or one of their sisters. No, there is no bride for Iravan in our homes.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">As Arjuna sat hunched in despair, Krishna shimmered in to his tent. Krishna put his arms around Arjuna and said,” Sakhave, why this long face? Is it Iravan’s wish to marry that bothers <i>his father</i>?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">Arjuna remained silent, forcefully ignoring the jibe. Pulling Arjuna closer Krishna smiled,” Well, Sakhave, do not worry. As long as Partha has this Sarathi with him, how can his chariot of life go to dogs? Iravan will have a bride tonight.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">Arjuna looked at his bosom friend slightly irritated,” Krishna! It is not the time for the <i>game of words you so enjoy</i>. Which girl would want to marry Iravan?”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">Smiling congenially, Krishna answered, “Mohini”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">Arjuna straightened,” Mohini? Vishnu avatar Mohini? Mohini who caused the death of the demon Bhasmasura? “</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">“Take a breath, Sakhave. Yes, the very same Mohini.” Krishna replied as he walked out of the tent to transform into Mohini,the temptress.One of the ten avatars of Lord Vishnu.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">So there it was. An unusual wedding. Iravan and Mohini. Mohini and Iravan. A man destined to die and woman who is only a manifestation, a Maya.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">Iravan was bathed in sandal and turmeric, adorned with jewels and new clothes. He looked very resplendent as a groom. His looming death seemed to accentuate his youth. The marriage was a simple ceremony. The young couple were carted off to a make shift bridal chamber decked with wild flowers at the far corner of the Pandava camp.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWDqYtNFpFrRaoa8VwyH-Cd-yXggZUFxpzruwXpaohUQ1AlfTrjIREv_t89R-wV6rZLF2bRpYfOHfzXxw2Dp1-xGHBnzGO_F8bymzlO_98jzBXrwKE7qgUI5lAG9qsgFNzw9dq9QaVc2Q/s1600/Krishnanosering.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWDqYtNFpFrRaoa8VwyH-Cd-yXggZUFxpzruwXpaohUQ1AlfTrjIREv_t89R-wV6rZLF2bRpYfOHfzXxw2Dp1-xGHBnzGO_F8bymzlO_98jzBXrwKE7qgUI5lAG9qsgFNzw9dq9QaVc2Q/s320/Krishnanosering.jpg" width="210" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Courtesy: devdutt.com</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">Iravan was shocked to see his wife. He had never laid his eyes on a woman so beautiful that he was sure that she would give the celestial nymphs a tough competition. Her large kohl lined black eyes, her red full lips curved into a coy smile, her luscious black hair, her dusky skin that smelt of champaka tree in bloom, her wide hips, and taut body like an archer’s bow. No, he had not seen any woman like this.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">Iravan was wrought in despair. No, not for the destiny he chose for himself. Filled with sorrow for his young wife, Iravan asked, “Why O beautiful maiden? Why did you marry me? I will die at sunrise tomorrow and you will be a widow!”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">Mohini replied in calm soothing words,” Veera, why worry about tomorrow when this night is ours? One cannot live in the fear of death. Death happens to everyone. Let us cherish what we have today and forget about what we might not have tomorrow!” </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">With these words, Mohini and Iravan spent their nuptial night as man and wife.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><b><u>Tenth Day Of The Great Battle Of Kuru-kshetra</u></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">At the dawn of the tenth day, Iravan was beheaded. The young warrior had walked to his death smiling. When the news reached Iran’s tent, a wail rose from its interior. A wail so loud, so desperate, so heart wrenching, it moistened the eyes of the entire camp. Mohini wiped away her sindoor, slashed her wrists whilst breaking her gold speckled red bangles. She threw away her jewels. Flowers that adorned her hair licked mud. Her red bridal silk gave way to white of widowhood. Mohini cried, shrieked, wept, and wailed for Iravan. Her eyes were bloodshot and voice hoarse from hours of grief. Her wails could still be heard as the conch shells heralded another day of war. No widow had ever cried for her dead husband as Mohini had for Iravan.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">The sacrifice paid off. Bhishma fell at the hands of Shikhandi. Ha! The Kauravas did not have the great Pitamah to lead. Victory seems nearby.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">In the evening, a relaxed Arjuna said,” He was a good warrior, that boy Iravan. Such a shame we had to sacrifice him.” Clapping Krishna on his back Arjuna added,”Claimed to be my son! Bah! Did us a lot of good! Ha! My son it seems…!” Remorse or guilt were not Arjuna's adornment that night.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">Krishna did not utter a word.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">Was it because Krishna was upset about Arjuna not mourning for his dead son Iravan? Was it because Krishna knew in two days Arjuna would mourn for his son Abhimanyu? Krishna alone knows.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">Krishna walked alone that evening. The embers of Iravan’s funeral pyre were still glowing. Iravan died for his father, for the glory of his family, for the victory of dharma.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">Krishna stood head bowed in reverence,<b><i>” I mourn for thee, O Great Veera, I mourn for thee!”</i></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"> ======================================</span>
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<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><b><i><u>Author’s Note:</u> I have always been intrigued by Iravan and his selfless act even when his father does not recognize him. There are various versions of Iravan’s story and they are available on <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iravan">wiki</a>. However, this version, Iravan Katha, belongs to me.</i></b></span><br />
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Blue Lotushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14847081762013816131noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748977141263815474.post-14282790255516647592012-08-30T14:55:00.002+08:002012-08-31T11:34:30.924+08:00Iravan Katha - I<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><u><b>Eighth Night Of The Great Battle Of Kuru-kshetra</b></u></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">The warrior stood</span><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', sans-serif;">, his long black hair flying around him, his body glowing in the golden light of dusk, his eyes placid with contentment. He looked down at the weapons that he had sharpened until they shone. The night was warm with a hint of breeze. He could overhear strands of conversation around him.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><i>“Give it a day or two and Hastinapuri is ours”</i></span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">“If you ask me, just one day, tomorrow, and Yuvraj Bhima would mash the enemies’ heads like turnips”</span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">There was laughing, merrymaking, and revelry for the imminent victory. There was hope and happiness about returning to one’s family.The war would soon be over, and things would be just fine. Talk of optimism in a war camp.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">“Iravan!” a voice called out in the dark. The young warrior stepped forward and walked away from the congregation attracting attention to him.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5FXiMaTTFAnn63Y0GqcxonrR89WvYKgfJYuL0tBc-qPgTzSeiVtaGiqzvQJ3cGAq1ochGjCQCDVwOBZC2j46Gc7KnmJuqPs9VvqOdEpkovlErYaKWwGBkLrrYPq2mCMLc5wdxkuDk2dc/s1600/randamoozham3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5FXiMaTTFAnn63Y0GqcxonrR89WvYKgfJYuL0tBc-qPgTzSeiVtaGiqzvQJ3cGAq1ochGjCQCDVwOBZC2j46Gc7KnmJuqPs9VvqOdEpkovlErYaKWwGBkLrrYPq2mCMLc5wdxkuDk2dc/s320/randamoozham3.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Courtesy: Artist Namboothiri ,Indulekha.com</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">“<i>Who is this handsome young boy? Whose son is he?”</i></span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">“He is Iravan, son of the Naga princess Ulupi.”</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">“I meant who is his father?”</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">“He says he knows his mother who nurtured him in her womb for nine months, gave birth to him, bathed, and fed him. His mother taught him to swim like a fish and to run like a rabbit. She taught him how string a bow and to shoot an arrow. She did everything a father would do for his son and much more than that. He never mentions his father.”</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">“Looks like the father deserted the poor mother and the unborn child. I am sure of one thing ;he father is not a commoner. His father was definitely a noble.”</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">“True, Iravan has the eyes of a wise ruler, the body of a king and the gait of a monarch! And how he fights. Just like a kshatriya.Just like a Veera!”</span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">Iravan’s friends unable to hide their pride added,” Do you know he has on his body all the 32 marks that are considered sacred?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">Murmurs of appreciation filled the air until the wizened old physician from Panchal croaked, “I know two other men with the 32 sacred marks in this camp.” He paused enjoying the pin drop silence his statement had elicited.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">“The great Krishna of Dwaraka and the might warrior Arjuna of the Pandavas!”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><u><b>Ninth Night Of The Great Battle Of Kuru-kshetra</b></u></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">Last night’s revelry is all but gone. It was Kauravas day on the field. Pitamah Bhishma turned out to be an astute general. He understood the dynamics of a war and the strategy for winning one. As long as Bhishma stood in his chariot, he was a formidable general and victory for Pandavas would be long cry.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPg_ECftUSxjYIA2uPgDvggVCGw3LtjlNNc8hIZhMH2Xd3fd9hIpAkdWN-rfTTcOoRiUUkM1gW7AL99ul5Vx-Tkir8ey05AcVspee4STw0hLAZzd4vB_9veo0avEX9Vn4pZyWd9ia28M0/s1600/randamoozham7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPg_ECftUSxjYIA2uPgDvggVCGw3LtjlNNc8hIZhMH2Xd3fd9hIpAkdWN-rfTTcOoRiUUkM1gW7AL99ul5Vx-Tkir8ey05AcVspee4STw0hLAZzd4vB_9veo0avEX9Vn4pZyWd9ia28M0/s320/randamoozham7.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Courtesy: Artist Namboothiri ,Indulekha.com</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">The five brothers, Drupad, Dhrishtidyumna and other leading warriors sat around in Yudhishitira‘s tent and discussed the strategies for the next day. Whichever way they plotted they knew Pitamah was going to beat them at their own game. Vexed they turned to Krishna.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">In his mellifluous voice, Krishna suggested, “Pray to Kali, the goddess of war. Pray for victory. Get her blessings with a sacrifice. A human sacrifice!”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">One cannot sacrifice any human being to Goddess Kali. The person should be ideal. He should be a man with 32 sacred marks making him a worthy of the sacrifice.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">Yudhishitira cried in horror,” No! We cannot sacrifice Arjuna or Krishna! It will be a disaster!”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">The wise Sahadeva interjected,” Brother, We will lose this war otherwise. We do not have a choice but to sacrifice.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">Arguments were made back and forth. Words flew sharper than arrows. Between much shouting Arjuna volunteered to be sacrificed. This lead to another bout of hues and cries. The whole tent was reverberating with tension. Krishna alone remained calm and smiled at the obsession of humans with material world.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">And then like a bolt of thunder in the middle of a calm night somebody dropped a message,” A warrior from Naga territory claims he was born with the 32 marks. He has volunteered for the sacrifice”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">“Bring him in!” shouted a partially relieved Drupad. His son-in-law was safe.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">Iravan glided in to the tent, his shoulders square and head held high, emerald eyes shining bright in the light of the oil lamps. He bowed to the elders in respect. A fleeting image passed through Arjuna’s mind. A picture obscured by the passage of time. The boy reminded him of someone. He had seen those placid eyes somewhere. Unable to recollect Arjuna brushed the thought away.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">Arjuna got up from his seat and strode up to the young warrior. This young man had volunteered to die for him ;Arjuna the great. Iravan deserved his attention.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">Standing face to face with Iravan, Arjuna placed his brawny arms on the firm square shoulders of Iravan and asked,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">“Tell me O Veera, who are you?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">Iravan lifted his face filled with pride and happiness and said;” I am your son, Iravan!”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><i><a href="http://abluelotussaid.blogspot.com.au/2012/08/iravan-katha-ii.html">(To be continued..)</a></i></span></div>
Blue Lotushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14847081762013816131noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748977141263815474.post-16610940628610072902012-08-24T14:38:00.002+08:002012-08-24T14:40:43.704+08:00A Twist Of Fate<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style,sans-serif;">The Old Man sat, prodding the timber into the fire, with a smile playing on his dry discolored lips. He was old and looked ancient with his tattered blanket and dirty turban. His wrinkled ebony colored skin glistened against the fire. He stroked his grey beard and looked at the children sitting around him in a rough semi-circle. Their eyes filled with excitement and fear. The excitement of being in a deserted cottage with an old man for company .The fear of the dark jungle around them and the creatures that lurked in them – ones that can be seen and more than that the ones that cannot be seen.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPC7esABb0na4eePzjf180lAtF_kyRhCxHuK9E3VPwaZgJxDIsmsNFoIfgsXWrMQA7TfKvSk0YRaPlTLfbI9yp7D7is5eg0l7MruqM6S4BEqWfuZcPxMawEG8_Vh9XjaTZvlH7X42T6AI/s1600/campfire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPC7esABb0na4eePzjf180lAtF_kyRhCxHuK9E3VPwaZgJxDIsmsNFoIfgsXWrMQA7TfKvSk0YRaPlTLfbI9yp7D7is5eg0l7MruqM6S4BEqWfuZcPxMawEG8_Vh9XjaTZvlH7X42T6AI/s320/campfire.jpg" width="227" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Courtesy:Google Images</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style,sans-serif;">The “children” as the old man thought were a group of youngsters who worked in the same office. They had planned a road trip to Coorg. The lovely little town of India nestled in the lap of hills where leaves glowed like emerald and Kaveri flowed with vigor. The coffee from Coorg kept the soldiers of the Empire awake during the cold of the First World War. A picturesque little town of orchards, coffee, nature and bliss.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style,sans-serif;">Unfortunately, late into the afternoon, their jeep broke down in the middle of nowhere. They had walked through the jungle paths to the deserted cottage as the last light of the day gave way to dusk. Now they sat ,satiated by strong Coorg coffee and the reassurance of a warm bed for the night, hanging onto the words pouring out of the Old Man about this land and it’s legends.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style,sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style,sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style,sans-serif;">The girl with lanky brown hair and lovely black eyes </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style,sans-serif;">hiding behind the ugly black frame of a spectacle had asked the Old Man about his story. He smiled and said,” I was born here; behind this cottage in a one room lime-washed servant quarters. I grew up elsewhere. In many cities with many guardians. By the time I was seventeen I could speak eight languages and became a con man. Money from bluffing people and pick –pocketing was just enough to make ends meet. I was destined for bigger crimes. I had the face and body of a hero.” The Old Man paused for the children to finish sniggling,” I am old now. Nevertheless, those days I was a real Dharmendra. With my face and my glib tongue rolling in </span><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', sans-serif;">the multitude of languages I made the perfect assassin. I killed people.For money”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style,sans-serif;">He smiled at the unanimous gasp that surged from the semi-circle around him and waited for the knowledge to sink in. He watched them, as they looked at each other, wary and puzzled.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style,sans-serif;">“I killed for money. A name, a location, and a price. That was all that mattered to me. Along the way, the price became of no consequence. It was the killing. The fear in the eyes of my victim as death loomed in front of them and the sheer smell of blood. I worshipped death.” He stopped to prod the embers in to the fire.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style,sans-serif;">“More Coffee anyone?” the Old Man asked lifting the kettle.” No” they shook their head;eager to listen to the rest of the story.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style,sans-serif;">“Anyways, pride goes before the fall.Fortantely for the police, they caught me after the assassination of a local politician. There was no mercy and I did not ask for any. The court judged that I should be hanged to death.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style,sans-serif;">“And?” the children asked in unison.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style,sans-serif;">“And? They carried out the sentence on 21st July 1984!” He simply stated.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style,sans-serif;">There was a moment of silence followed by a scream so shrilly from one of the girls that the Old Man thought he would become deaf. He raised his head to see the children running away like a flock of birds and only the lanky brown haired girl remaining, her black eyes piercing into him.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style,sans-serif;">The Old Man continued as if nothing happened” That morning just when the noose tightened around my neck, the entire podium along with me, rope and the executioner fell to ground. Loose planks somewhere I believe. You see Indian law does not allow one person to be hanged twice. Twist of fate!” The Old Man smiled at her.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style,sans-serif;">She let out a breath of relief and collapsed to the ground. She laughed thinking about her scaredy-cat friends. She removed her spectacles, cleaned them, and perched them precariously on her nose,” May I have some more coffee”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style,sans-serif;">Heavy pregnant silence met her. The Old Man, the kettle, and the bon fire were all gone. She was alone in front of the deserted cottage with only the unnatural disturbing silence of the night.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>********************************************</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style,sans-serif;">What the Old Man forgot to mention was that on 21st July 1984 when the podium collapsed the prisoner had died of a broken neck just as he would’ve if he had been hung. The executioner escaped with minor scrapes. What a cruel twist of fate!</span></div>
Blue Lotushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14847081762013816131noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748977141263815474.post-44849444778917700172012-08-22T16:28:00.001+08:002012-08-23T10:07:03.985+08:00Man In Technicolor<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', sans-serif;">It was a mild winter evening. The temperature still in two digits with winds of no particular speed to talk about. Yet the night sky was dark. I sat in the porch of my new home. My rudimentary attempts at astronomy met with a resolute black silence from up above. An involuntary chill passed through as I remembered that home viewing last month. I zipped my jacket and hugged myself to stop the shivering that coursed through my body.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">It all happened suddenly. The relocation and the hunt for a new home, we were at our wits end. Sometimes the hall was too small or the balcony too big. Others the rooms were dull or the kitchen too cluttered. I kept telling myself that there are no perfect houses. Still there was something in me that stopped me from compromising on my whims about a beautiful home. I had spent more than decade in cramped hostel rooms, shared accommodations, and dingy 1BHK’s. I did not find a need to reconcile myself to a deficit house. I wanted it all. <i>Oh Dear! After all the living conditions I have been in, don’t you dare call me greedy!</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">The house hunting is the most effective way of knowing a city. There we were at the northern most part of the city at 11 am and at the south east by 12:15pm.We juggled between buses, trains and walking. In those days, I said heartfelt thanks to people who made Google maps and to the ones who made it available on the hand phones. The saga seemed non-ending. I knew the better half was reaching his breaking point. That was when we went to see this beautiful house. From the photos, it was breathtakingly fresh and bright. Kitchen had ample space. The balcony extended over the bedrooms that were in no means of moderate dimensions. As a cherry on the pie, there was a study facing a massive Victorian window .It came with glass topped table and chair. I could almost imagine myself sitting there and writing blogs.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">I skipped hopped my way to the viewing. We were waiting for the house agent to let us when he came walking towards us. Caucasian male, 5’ 7 , striking blue eyes, graying hair, plump, well in to his retirement and in total of a pleasant demeanor. He smiled us and asked,” House viewing?” We nodded our heads in unison. He had a small conversation with my husband as I hung about in the background. On hearing about the rent he said<i>,”Bahoot mehhangha hain!”</i> with a typical white-man accent.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">“Wow, you speak good Hindi for a non-Indian!” I exclaimed unable to hide my joy. He smiled,”Was in India in the 80’s.Bombay it was and then Nagpur for a while. Used to work there.<i>Tamatar kitne ka hain? Aur yeah pyaaj? </i>I still remember there were no color TV’s. Had a black and white one. Oh those were the days!” he recollected, “Good luck to you guys on home hunting! See you soon!” He smiled affectionately.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijzbsUGEZ7IU-io8vuPfOY2pyFmecima2yIVE0GboneAOwDyNxkEXJ_SNtuf6SCaZWCisKkbm1eM1jwiT5dGrcVWKYUztr2TTpye0VytJDUVmaXnZM3Z9kozljBYOrsATOjVlr_0sOns8/s1600/Shadow+of+a+Man.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="http://www.idicollege.org/artwork/display.php?artist=Kristin+Jack&title=Shadow+of+a+Man&src=media/Shadow%20of%20a%20Man.jpg&type=image" border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijzbsUGEZ7IU-io8vuPfOY2pyFmecima2yIVE0GboneAOwDyNxkEXJ_SNtuf6SCaZWCisKkbm1eM1jwiT5dGrcVWKYUztr2TTpye0VytJDUVmaXnZM3Z9kozljBYOrsATOjVlr_0sOns8/s320/Shadow+of+a+Man.jpg" title="" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Copyright , Kristin Jack</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">We liked the house and were eager to do the necessary formalities. We were talking to the agent and walking out of the house when we saw a weathered flyer on the side of the lift. It piqued my curiosity. It ran as follows.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><b>“Man Missing. Since Feb 27th 1999 5pm.” </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;">Along with the writing was a grainy black and white picture. And we had just seen the man in the picture in color, Technicolor !!!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, sans-serif;"><i>P: S: Our apartment’s cleaner Allan is the inspiration. He had been in India of the 80’s and is quite chatty about those times.</i></span><br />
<div>
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Blue Lotushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14847081762013816131noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748977141263815474.post-6037891884996949282012-08-20T15:57:00.000+08:002012-08-20T15:57:39.296+08:00Coffee,Cookies And A Book<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style';">I have found
the perfect pad. I am almost settled. There is the rush to fill the fridge with
vegetables and cupboards with fresh spices. There is a passion for fresh
smelling linen. I did find couple of Indian stores for my masala and dal. I will
not call a city mine until I can make fresh </span><b style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style';"><i>Avial*</i></b><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style';"> and </span><b style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style';"><i>puttu-kadala.</i></b><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style';">
I am yet to get my hands on shredded coconut. My malayali-genes and their
stubborn predilection to coconut based curries - the saga continues!</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">There is a
missing internet connection and I hope to have that fixed by this week.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">In a week or two,
I will be back searching for a job here so that I can do guilt-free shopping.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">There are
cartons yet to be opened and stuff that beckon my attention. But I surrender to
the charms of hot cuppa coffee, yummy cookies and as always a good book.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeplajZslz1GIw8U7NKaDAQQEMu0-wFMkDd0XGse4k7qXrTuCpUHZe9PKwJtXQmNSWBc1e3LwTz3amt5c_E-MRY4OMhq1kHNKE37W3a7rhM2XWwIE4KrCkiNybzGP38F3F0TJoUaCEgQE/s1600/cookie+coffee+and+a+book.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeplajZslz1GIw8U7NKaDAQQEMu0-wFMkDd0XGse4k7qXrTuCpUHZe9PKwJtXQmNSWBc1e3LwTz3amt5c_E-MRY4OMhq1kHNKE37W3a7rhM2XWwIE4KrCkiNybzGP38F3F0TJoUaCEgQE/s400/cookie+coffee+and+a+book.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">P: S: In
Search of Sita : A lovely book I have read and re-read so many times.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">P: P: S: These
thumb drive internet connections drive me nuts. I am sorry I did not reply to
the comment. It was rude.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">*Avial</span></b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">: What? You don't now what Avial is? Hang
your head down in shame! Now! Do some reading <a href="http://abluelotussaid.blogspot.com.au/2011/10/avials-of-my-life.html"><span style="color: blue;">here</span></a>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Blue Lotushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14847081762013816131noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748977141263815474.post-36171962612950427372012-08-01T17:44:00.000+08:002012-08-01T17:44:22.632+08:00From Down Under<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style;">I have been missing.But then I should have told you people that I would be going “Missing-In-Action” for some time.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style;">The husband got a new job with better salary along with a displacement from country and continent. The discussion was over in 5 minutes .We tabulated his new salary against mine. His new career prospects against the prospects in my current job. I promptly quit my job and flew down to India for a vacation. I spent my days eating, sleeping, and doing things of no consequence to anybody. Gained 3 to 4 kilos to my body mass after which I banished the weighing scale from the household. The bloody thing now lies abandoned in under the bathroom sink of our old Singapore home!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style;">I did apply to a business school in between and were royally rejected. The dejected me did not take to alcohol but spent a considerable time in the bathtub contemplating my past and future. I was in a timeless space of my own and was completely ignorant of the gushing shower. The husband promptly imagining the worst was banging on the bathroom door,” Darling, you are getting me worried here! Are you alright?” Sucked out from my world I managed to placate him from my floating position. I was very distraught but half an hour later, I mentally slapped myself for being such a child. Resilience of spirit, isn’t that what makes us Indians. Ah! The wounded tigress will be back in the B-school arena hoping for admissions once the wound-o-rejection is healed</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style;">In between all this, I moved to Perth, West Australia. My most precious possessions; books, Prestige and Hawkins pressure cookers, hindalium wok and Futura cookware, necessarily in that order, are enroute. I am in the midst of home hunting. The kitchens are the size of a hen-pen down here. Here they work only from 9-5.Superb.Wait, it included shopping malls as well! Sigh! The bonus of the city is the presence of my schoolmates and their little boy .I crash in to their place for a decent Indian meal and non-stop entertainment; courtesy their 18 month old son.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style;">I miss Singapore badly. I had friends there who would wake up at 2am in the morning to attend my panic calls. I knew where to shop and they had a wonderful public transport system. And yes, buses and trains did arrive/depart on time. Worst I knew where I could get a decent drink and most of the happy hour deals. I guess in time I learn to love this city as well.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style;">So this is Blue Lotus reporting from Down Under…</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style;"><br /></span><br />
<br /></div>Blue Lotushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14847081762013816131noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748977141263815474.post-20948667706568583822012-06-15T23:30:00.000+08:002012-06-15T23:37:41.655+08:00My Little Satchel Of Dreams<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 11pt;">Have
you ever wanted something badly? So badly that you were ready to genuflect in
front every god mankind worships? And deep down you knew even if you did
genuflect in front of every God, Man, animal and aliens of this universe, your
progenitors would frown upon your dire need and squish it with the distinctive
negation nod of their worldly wise heads. So here I am, racing to the 30-35
checkbox at breakneck speed and mildly bothered about it, with many a dream
squished, squashed and pickled. Most of my “I-so-want-to-have-it-!-<b><i>dramatic
pause</i></b>-NOW!!” dreams did not follow me even to my early teens. But some
dreams stayed back with me to become realities of my present. Some dreams I
promised myself, silently, without making much ado about it and some I swore on
God, my tiny plump fists pointed to sky, (<i>yours truly has always been a drama
queen</i>) “I will have it. If not today, someday!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 11pt;">My
mother-in-law says the happiest place on earth according to me would be a book
shop.Oh!!I simply love them. I truly think they are my heaven on earth. I run
from corner to corner, browsing and re-browsing the shelves. Both my mom’s have
a tough time luring me out of a book shop. It’s like trying to get a kid out of
a patisserie. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 11pt;">As
a kid, I used to wait for the annual day function. It was the day the class
toppers are awarded gift vouchers from <a href="http://www.paicoindia.com/">PAICO</a>.
This was an incentive to study. More A1’s you get bigger the voucher amount
would be. Then would be the well-planned trip to <a href="http://www.paicoindia.com/">PAICO</a>.I would ask my dad a million times
about a free evening. We pick a day, usually a weekday to make the trip. I
would come back home, bouncing all the way from the bus stop. I take out of my
shoes and keep them on the shoe rack instead of throwing them in air. The bag
would find its place on my study table and in less than 15 minutes of entering
the house, I would be at the dining table waiting for my tea all washed and
spruced up. There is no fuss about the evening snack. I would never do anything
to jeopardize my trip to PAICO. Amma adds, sarcastically, “If someone sees my
daughter today they would definitely think you are the best daughter anyone
could have. Little do they know.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 11pt;">I
would ignore the barbs and flash a smile at Amma which I know would melt her. I
would wear my best dress and go over to bring new books home. Some years I
saved my <b><i>Vishu kaineetam* </i></b>money to add to the voucher amount so that I
can buy more books. Even then there were too many books I wanted and too little
money. If I am not wrong, those days, most of the books I wanted were by
foreign publishers. I don’t know how many of you remember the Nancy Drew
3-in-1 series for Rs100.I do. I thought it was the “bestest” deal on earth.Anyways
a trip to PAICO meant that Acha has to shell out some money from his pocket to
pay for my excess shopping (<i>Yeah,I started quite young!</i>).At times Amma
complained how Acha has to pay almost the same amount as my prize money and in
some years even more on my yearly book-shopping binge. In college there were no
prizes to be won and hence no books could be bought. I still browsed book shops
in Trichur even when I had only just enough money for the bus fare back to
hostel. I would open a book, read the covers, slide my fingers over the edges,
and sometimes inhale the smell of paper. That’s the fourth best smell on earth
after the smell of hot piping coffee, of wet earth and of a baby. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEk7RofoJuSZQkzT0H_OdgV81aM482WWtzqYmp6kfJNAAW2rzRQfL2kv6CuwLDOHJJvfsqdmX5etuVuccA5zDKWV902-cKvYc6mHalHYoOHkz3VX6P1C9eHr2lUZK4IhlYipmP41ddwj0/s1600/424353_10150602614265674_1019904_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEk7RofoJuSZQkzT0H_OdgV81aM482WWtzqYmp6kfJNAAW2rzRQfL2kv6CuwLDOHJJvfsqdmX5etuVuccA5zDKWV902-cKvYc6mHalHYoOHkz3VX6P1C9eHr2lUZK4IhlYipmP41ddwj0/s320/424353_10150602614265674_1019904_n.jpg" width="243" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 11pt;">That is my cozy
corner !</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><b>**</b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 11pt;">I
think it was on one of those soulful sad evening of penury that I promised
myself, that I would never ever go to a book shop and come out without a book.
I would always have a spare book in my bag to read. I will never ever run out
of books to read. Even if I run of spare <i>chaddi’s</i>, I’ll live. But I will never
ever ever be without a book.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 11pt;">After
I got my job, I allocated a monthly budget to buy books. Every time I travel to
a <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">new city</st1:city></st1:place> or
country, I buy a book from a book store there. It may sound silly, but I ask
the book seller to stamp their shop’s seal on the book. So every time I come
across the book I would remember my trip and the memories would come flooding
back. It would be my special time capsule. Each time a book is bought, I jot
down the date and name of the book shop I got the book from.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 11pt;">Over
the last few years I have managed to build my own book collection.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 11pt;">It
has fairy tale from 1980’s by <a href="http://www.dreamlandpublications.com/">Dreamland publication</a> to Calvin and Hobbes, Tintin,
LOR, Poirot, Miss Marple, Mr. Holmes and many more. I am happy about my book
collection and very passionate about my dream of having a personal library.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 11pt;">Some
day I will have a home. It will be a Colonial bungalow look alike with red
terracotta tiles, cool white walls and blue windows. There will be billowing
curtains in pastels with sunlight streaming through them; washing the rooms in
a soft golden hue. There will be trees around the house and the garden will be
alive with bright blooming pink and white bougainvilleas. And in that bungalow
will be a room with high ceiling and red chettinad floor tiles. It will have
wall to wall book shelves in deep brown polished wood (anti-termite ones).And
in these shelves would reside my lifetime collection of books. Each carefully
picked over from multitude countries over the years. The room will have a plush
seats to curl in and coffee tables to rest the coffees. There will be large
windows overlooking the garden. I will watch the sunset, I will watch it rain
and I will read my books while sipping my cup of coffee.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 11pt;">And
someday as I am leafing through a thriller, it will drizzle. I will put the
book down and take a sip of my coffee. Just then, at that exact moment, sun
will peep out of the dark clouds. The rain would seize and a beautiful rainbow
would crown the sky. In that golden yellow light, dragonflies would fly over
the green grass of my lawn. I will close my eyes, smile, and exclaim,” This is
my heaven on earth!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 11pt;">P:
S: <st1:place w:st="on"><i>Paradise</i></st1:place><i> is a library with free flow of drinks,
chocolate fountain and pani poor stall and only Sundays ~ Blue Lotus</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 11pt;">*Vishu kaineetam</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 11pt;">: Vishu is a Hindu
festival celebrated in Kerala marking the New Year in accordance with the
Malayalam calendar. On the day of the festival (usually on April 14), elders of
the family gift money to children.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 11pt;"> ** That is my cozy corner: </span></b><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 11pt;">This photo won the “BOOKSHELF
Contest</span>” conducted by <b><a href="http://www.theyouthexpress.com/">Youth Express</a></b>.<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 11pt;">I won a signed copy of <span class="MsoHyperlink"><b><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Durjoy_datta">Durjoy Datta's</a></b></span>
Latest Book and CCD's Coffee Mug!!</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<br />
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<br /></div>
</div>Blue Lotushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14847081762013816131noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748977141263815474.post-51577684689055981822012-05-10T14:26:00.002+08:002012-05-10T14:28:31.398+08:00The Dethronement II<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua"; font-size: 11pt;"> (Not read the <a href="http://abluelotussaid.blogspot.com/2012/05/authors-note-there-is-lot-of.html">first part</a>?Shame shame!!)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua"; font-size: 11pt;">What
is it with mother’s and their obsession to pamper their sons? To portray them
as poor waifs incapable of taking care of themselves? If the boy leaves his
sock on the dining table he is careless, if he leaves his room looking like a
war zone; he is messy and if he does not bother to put on a fresh shirt to
office, he is too cool to care about his looks. Bull shit! That is what it is. My
mother would’ve socked my ears for that careless sock and she would’ve given me
a good dressing down for the messy room. Oh well! If I did choose to wear dirty
clothes for work, all hell will break loose. Now Al’s mother has no qualms
about her child like perfect son. Her concerns were pointedly at my presence in
her son’s home.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua"; font-size: 11pt;">She
complained and complained about almost everything. She said the curtains were
not of the right colour and cushions were not classy enough. She did not like
the way the bed was made and the closet was kept. She even counted the wine
glasses to see if I had broken any without her “poor little boy’s” knowledge. I
did not respond. She had the right to know. I had a good mind to show her the
door but I did not. She is Al’s mother and there was nothing I could do about
that fact. That fact kind of sealed my fate and my future looked very bleak in
lieu with Al.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua"; font-size: 11pt;">I
was able to survive the torture of being commanded every single moment waking
moment of those days only because of Al. Nothing had changed with Al even
though I overheard his mother advising him to get rid of me. The discussion was
loud enough for me to hear too, as though I was an intended audience too. At
least I did not feel like I were eaves dropping.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua"; font-size: 11pt;">“Al,
you have given her a free reign in this house. What is wrong with you? What is
that she cooks everyday? It is not healthy and it does not even taste good. Gosh!
You are just letting that woman rule over you!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua"; font-size: 11pt;">Al
had replied without taking his eyes off the TV screen, “I do not know Mother, I
like the way she cooks and she uses perfectly healthy way of cooking food,” (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I beamed from behind the pillars in the
dining hall</i>) .He pressed the pause button of the remote leaving Sheldon and
Leonard of Bing Bang Theory frozen in mid of an argument, “Mother, she is a darling.
I think you are being unnecessarily harsh on her. She is quite unlike other
women you have seen in this house. She has made this a home and not just an
apartment I return to after work. You should try being friends with her.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua"; font-size: 11pt;">I
was speechless at Al’s reply. Not that anyone was expecting an opinion to be flung
at them from the shadows of the pillar. Well Al had me speechless, what his
mother said gave me asphyxiation!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua"; font-size: 11pt;">“Friends
with that tramp! Are you out of your mind?” She stood up and towered over Al,
blocking his view of the television, her eyes blazing with fury of a thousand hot springs. I jumped at
the sudden outburst and barely suppressed the squeal that came out my throat.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua"; font-size: 11pt;">“Son,
it is your money she is after. The moment you tighten your purse strings you’ll
see her true colors. Now she lives in luxury befitting the Queen of England and
all you have to do it is cut down on her luxurious life.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua"; font-size: 11pt;">Oh!
The witch! That is what she thought I was all about. Few thousand dollars! Did
she even know I have a heart and that actually I might have love for her son in
that heart? And then it dawned on me. Probably she did. That was exactly the
issue. I’m taking care of her son and his home much better than she ever did! Lady
Volcano was not yet done. Mrs. Rizweigh was still fuming and spurting lava at
Junior Rizweigh.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua"; font-size: 11pt;">“Get
rid of her Al.I’ll bring in someone better for you in a week’s time. Listen
son, I understand these kinds better than you. Give it to my age or the fact
that I am a woman. Let me handle this for you.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua"; font-size: 11pt;">This
is the point when in a movie, the accused comes out of the shadows of the
pillar , hair billowing behind, eyes turned to slits of rage and gives the
accuser the “Die-Fiend-Die” stare and continues to deliver a monologue intended
to relieve the emotional audience of a few paltry sniffles and a flurry of
applause at the best. I did no such thing. I simply turned and walked back to
the kitchen. I had vegetables to julienne for the salad. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua"; font-size: 11pt;">I
basked in the glory of my wisdom. I had controlled my natural tendency to snap
in defense at accusations hurled at me. Pride goes before the fall. And I fell
right of out Al’s heart and home in exactly one week.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua"; font-size: 11pt;">(To be continued...)</span></div>
</div>Blue Lotushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14847081762013816131noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748977141263815474.post-28226008565192836522012-05-07T00:03:00.001+08:002012-05-10T14:28:23.824+08:00The Dethronement - I<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 11pt;"><i>(<b>Authors Note:</b>There is a lot of anticipation that goes with this post.I have not written anything in the past one month.I have my reasons.I promise (No,I won't break this one) I </i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style';"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">will tell you what kept me off from my second favorite (first being the worn out faux leather couch on which I read) space on earth.I feel like a student who comes to his class with out a leave </span><span style="font-size: 15px;">letter</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> after being absent for a long long time.)</span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 11pt;">I
hated her the moment I saw her at the door. She was tall, lean, and young. She
was dressed in a pale pink chiffon top, white pants and matching white sandals.
Her thick black hair, carefully brushed slung over her right shoulder in a low
pony. I eyed her carefully in a careless manner. Ah! The cheap perfume! Nothing
misses my eye or, in this case, my nose. I could smell the flashy thing a mile
away. I flashed a polite smile whilst battling my urge to strangle her at the
threshold itself. I smirked inwardly.” She is going to replace me. What a pity
Al!” I ushered her in and quietly returned to my room to pack my trivial
belongings of a few clothes and, well, a truckload of memories. The luggage
charges are going to be paid by Al and for the memories, I have to pay with
whatever love I have for Al and our home. That is going to be some heavy
baggage charges!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnG-7pTDgvxrZB2KczmoANOyZpQjyqSrrfFV29X6hgpgPmdc5JtK-nZ7VsM38qpjbHePPq8HmEbB0DJe_oRnO0K6HDx8h9cGAQ-3w2o4Po0zaiTwuihYsbVbdS8yTBcgEEJqmcMvF-10k/s1600/IMG_1574.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnG-7pTDgvxrZB2KczmoANOyZpQjyqSrrfFV29X6hgpgPmdc5JtK-nZ7VsM38qpjbHePPq8HmEbB0DJe_oRnO0K6HDx8h9cGAQ-3w2o4Po0zaiTwuihYsbVbdS8yTBcgEEJqmcMvF-10k/s320/IMG_1574.JPG" width="271" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 11pt;">It was not my idea to move in here. It was
Al’s idea. I was happy coming in on week day evenings and keeping the weekends
for myself. Al suggested I move in to this house so that I can be around
always. George Albert Rizweigh is a spoilt young man. He cannot find his socks
in the mornings and cannot make himself a toast without burning it. Therefore,
he needed me for everything, all the time and I have no qualms in being his
right hand man err woman. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 11pt;">Everything about the arrangement was perfect. Al
leaves at 8:30 am sharp. All I need to do in the morning is wake him up at 6:00
am for his daily workout, which lasts an hour. Then keep his clothes ready and
his toast crisp by 7:30 am. Once he leaves, the house is mine to rule. Though
he has never said anything, I know he silently appreciated my tastes in keeping
our home. I made sure the house is neat and there are fresh flowers in every
room. I cooked what he liked, making special effort in finding out what he
likes. For his age, I should say, he is reticent and fails to communicate his
needs. You should have seen the happiness on his face when I baked that
mango-chocolate layered cake for his birthday. He squealed and hugged me like a
kid. That was the first time he said it aloud in his British baritone,” Susie
my sweetheart, I love you so much and I do not know what I will do without you!
Promise me, Susie; promise me, that you’ll never ever leave me and our home!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 11pt;">I was touched; he had said “our home” and not
“my home”. I held his hands and solemnly promised. Now he is pushing me away
for this minion that has come knocking on the front door of our home. Promises,
I always believed were made to be kept. Now I have learnt that some promises
you make get broken not because of your fault but because in the first place you
had no right to make such a promise. You are an underdog, an orderly of fate!
And orderlies never make promises they just suck up to the lowly life laid out
to them by their master, Destiny!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 11pt;">My perfect world ended with the arrival of
Mrs. </span>
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 15px;">Rizweigh</span><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 11pt;">, Al’s mother. She took the house by a storm and my perfect world
turned in to the movie set of a village with a wild elephant running amuck. I
had one in my house too and this one had no control over what she did or what
she said. At least wild elephants do not speak!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 11pt;"><a href="http://abluelotussaid.blogspot.com/2012/05/dethronement-ii.html">(To be continued...)</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>Blue Lotushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14847081762013816131noreply@blogger.com1