Back to books

It has been quite a long time since I posted something. Even worse, it has been months since I have had some serious reading. The last book I read was the English translation of Feluda by Satyajit Ray. Also apart from thrillers and classic detective novels I had no other food for thought. I guess it is time to wake up from the hibernation.

Internet is addictive; much more than I had presumed. Sitting before this idiot box and browsing through pages at random has been the only pass time since I bought a laptop. And yes, I did pay the price for it in many ways. So dear blog, it is time to be “back with you”; back to my home in the virtual world and stop fooling around aimlessly.

Now in the real world I finally won the battle to get back to the self. Thanks to Tinni for the marvellous books. I really treasure them and more than anything you just gave me what I needed badly. The smell of fresh printed pages, the feel of home and a lot of care.

Here are my gifts (and the current reading list)

• The Argumentative Indian. Writings on Indian Culture, History and Identity by Amartya Sen.
• Science and Society. A Collection of Essays by Sushil Kumar Mukherjee.
• Perilous Passage. Mankind and the Global Ascendancy of Capital by Amiya Kumar Bagchi.
• Why I am Not a Christian by Bertrand Russel.

Three Bongs and a Briton as authors (Calcutta and the Raj legacy). Out of the four, two (Sen and Bagchi) are economists (and Bongs!) and both educated at Trinity college, Cambridge with academic interest in developmental economics. A mathematician cum philosopher (Russel) and another scientist (S. K. Mukherjee) talking about scientific thinking and two Nobel laureates (Russel and Sen) also known for being vocal atheists speaking out. Altogether it is really a treat for the variety of topics and the repute of the authors.

So thanks again Tinni. I will get back here with the reviews .

The Confession from a Disabled self …

A bit more than two years ago, I said something I always wanted to tell ……. It was when I was in Chennai, with Mayukh, Yohan, Ashu, Puneet, Kapish, Sajith and others …

I don’t know who all exactly where with me then; it was a tea session in the afternoon at the Taramani gate, Adayar. The context was a coversation about the ‘first love’……….. I replied in a way, my logical self would not have permitted , but still couldn’t help so ….. I belive that it is true as far as I see it ………. So this is a conversation from the past; the time when I started bogging ….

[Mr. X] : So you have not told her, despite many years of liking her you just were beating arround the bushes out of cowardness and still claim you have had a first crush (call it love) that you love…!!!!! What is it man? Just bust it! Get the reply and if yes, go ahead (if that is what you like) or else ‘catch another bird‘  (the Hindi translation)…….

[Me] : …. Have you seen the movie ‘Bruce Almigthy’?

[Mr. X] : Yes of course, I have …… !

[Me] : Well ,then there is one dialogue of Bruce (Jim Carry) which I remember to convey you what I felt.

[Mr. X] : Come on ….

[Me] : When the ‘God’ (Morgan Freeman) asked Bruce is there something he wished at last he said “I want her (his girl friend) to be happy ….”. Then God said “happy…..! ???” … And Bruce replied, ” yes happy, whatever it means ………”. God continued asking, “whatever it means???”. Bruce was stren in the reply-”WHATEVER IT MEANS…”

[Mr. X] :  ………… (silence) .. .That was a good story .. romantic …. hmm… But I don’t know you would ….

[Me] : Reach an “end”, isn’t it? I don’t know… I love to reach ….. But even when it happens to be a no, I mean it

[Mr. X] : What?

[Me] : That, “whatever it means ………..” … Although, I am not Bruce or Almighty to claim it……
……………… …… ……
… …..  …

After almost an year in the mid April, I made that confession to that ‘person concerned‘….

Even after another busy year at this point, that first denial  never made me forget the conversation (and obviously never her) ……
I know, I told what I felt true …… I know what it meant and  it means….. So there it stand.

It means, you need not feel to be reciprocated always or to be identified; all you need to live with love, is to LOVE…. WHATEVER IT MEANS ……….  Whereever she is, however she is, whether or not she could consider me as that (lover), I love her and want her to be happy; the best she could be for her; whatever it means  (to me)………….

Human beings are not always logical. Somethings need not be logical at all too……..  But we can appreciate the illogicals, the aburdities at times ….. May be that strength propels us to live with the pain, pleasure and silence of our lives (well I agree that in the absolute sence these are are unlinked with “logic”, still in the more human sense)……… Yes, the illogical in me still find it happy when I see my first love happy and feel too uneasy when I hear she happens to be not ….. whether or not she love me or not …… I just want to see her happy!

Any medicines ….?

About “I want to do with you what spring does with cherry trees….”

This strictly is not a poem… I am breaking rules …….

“I want to do with you what spring does with cherry trees…. ”

-  Pablo Neruda , “Every Day You Play” (Juegas Todos las Días), from Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair [ Viente Poemas de Amor y una Cancion Desperada] (1924)

When I heard these words first, I did not know what spring meant or how a cherry tree will look like.  …….
I was just a kid, and like any kid wanted to see through words …..
When I asked my mother she said, “trees blossom in spring ….”
I imagined the finest time in our place when plants blossom and there is exist an aura of nature at best.
I liked the beauty of of spring in my unlimited space and time; enjoyed and admired it.

She was my best friend in my innocent days …..
Why she was, was unrepresentable and unknown; perhaps by some  more to be known chemistry of life’s molecules . ….
She was my best company for all childhood games.
When we played ‘the little hut’, I told her a few words,
Some unformatted sentence like, “I love to be with you and feel to make this place something that onam does to our garden plants ….”
She smiled and for a moment imagined …….
She granted me a kiss and told me that she found in me then something cute and lovable as her little new born sister; something she loved to be with ……..
For a moment all imposed structures that ruled life broke and melted down ….
We, two 4 year olds found more meaning about life which then we could not comprehend ……
And a year after we parted for ever …. …………..

Years later when this was what I wanted to tell somebody,
All barriers played with mind in their turns,
And I had long broken most but one for ever …..
My eduction restricted me to spell it the way I wanted- that education that we are not just men and women,
But a thousand invented rules about what to express exist;
That if not, I am being uncouth ……….

Now, when I see through those cultured mannerisms we ought to follow,
I wonder about the hypocrisy.
About life and its eternal force I shouldn’t talk;
About why we are here, I can’t utter;
And about that yet-to-be-known chemistry of love, it still lies as the forbidden fruit;
And in each of our expressions that inlined phrase is not beauty, but a taboo …..
I wonder about world …!
But still I say to love is that unknown urge to see a tree blossom;
The urge to be the spring which would bring smiles
With emotions, with words and with the body ………..

To say “I want to do with you what spring does with cherry trees…. ”
And we do not end there too ……….

Why Crack a Mirror?

Of late, I stepped across the broken pieces of a mirror
The plane that reflected truth of images uncountable
Lay shattered by the punch of denial; by the fist of vanity.
Who did it and why?
Questions pounced mind distracting every rationale to look closely.
But to look I must……
I saw no one but myself in those fragmented pieces,
Rough and crude those seemed, but reflected just what others saw as me.
I saw nothing unfamiliar, nothing ugly too.
Long enough to be conditioned to believe us as our images, I longed to cry.
I cried.
I saw my tears through the silvered glass fragments,
Then I saw my smile, thinking about the futile tears I wasted.
I saw my calm expression from the part of the whole
……..
The whole was expressed in parts, but only when I looked closer.
The whole lives as life of cracked pieces,
To find the eternal jigsaw puzzle that assimilate the meaning of meanings …..
So live,
To show the mirror the smile, the calmness and occasional tears.
But not to crack it;
Live to put the fragments together………

Oddities

Before the heat consumes you
Draining every life drop of water and salt
Extinguishing the splinters that once burned undettered
Before you fade into a shadow of self,
Unfeatured and fuzzy in appearance
And before you conclude and surrender with dismay
Cursing inevitabilities while locking your pulses in cold freezers
Take a minute to look around.
Ponder the golden smiles of red hot summer
The halos of life around every dried falling leaves
Poignant thirst deepening the shallow roots;
So why let drudgeries shape destinies
For life’s beauty are its oddities

Desperate Times

There are times of desperation.
Times, so consuming that you hardly know
The soil under your feet withdrawing.
Times, so realistic that the rusting fasteners
Which bound you to hope, breaks abruptly.
Times, so disturbing that you feel to shatter
All clarity in thoughts.
And then stick to the times and burn in heat.
Without shying away from the unbearable pain and torture,
Not for the pleasure from pains or eternal promises
But for those reminiscent scars.
For only they will remain with you forever.
For only they will teach you to hope for life in the face of death
And to love for the sake of nothingness.
After uncountable seconds that pass like aeons
Someday when bruises heal and life proceeds,
A juncture might turn so for people to wish for a journey to past,
To those desperate times you treaded alone.
Then for many repentence might fill,
But my friend, you will smile looking at your scars.
And the scar never made you ugly ……….

A Chat About Freedom

It is a common tendency to avoid difficult questions labelling them to be “intellectual mambo-jumbo”. That is the easiest way too. I feel that even the people who argues vehemently for freedom tries to escape from other dimensions of it. In fact, the escape from freedom is a central characteristic of many a people born and brought up in symbiotic and withdrawing families (Ref: Eric Fromm’s theory). And especially in India most people come into that category.

Let us look at the case of many a typical Indian women. A girl is usually brought up to be an image her mother itself. The mannerisms, dressing and even so called sense of modesty is rather imposed up on her from the childhood itself. Once I happened to have a chat with a friend of mine. Let us call her Chaithanya (not her actual name). Brought up in a traditional family she got educated in Bombay and I happened to see her after ten long years. She was complaining about the extreme chauvinistic attitude of Keralite men and rightly so. Even the movies made is Malayalam reflects how the male and female stereotype in Kerala are. But when I asked her. Some distant cousin of her had apparently boasted about immodest dressing of women which “provocates” men and she felt irritated. But she had to smile and sit there being a young woman who should be “modest”. I asked her why did not she retort and she replied “all though I do not like it, it is a reality that we girls need to act a lot and keep quite in such situations or else it is considered as impudence”

“Well, then you don’t approve it ,right. So why not at least speak about that in a casual conversation at home avoiding a heated debate. See Chaithanya, how can you conclude that people won’t approve until you try it first and take the freedom that you know you possess.” I said.

She replied, “Perhaps,you are right…. But I simply can’t. You have to be a woman to understand that…”

“I cannot be a woman which is a fact. But you miss the point here. Nobody can make you free. There is nothing like a person being emancipated by other at the intellectual level. Only you can make you free. And for that you need to be convinced about your freedom and be prepared to take the freedom and its responsibilities… You know I rmember Balachandran Chullikkad’s lines

Oru daiva puthranum ninte rakshaykkini

Varikilla kaathirikkendaa.

Neemaathrameeyullu ninte mukthikku nin

Neethi boodham thanne sharanam “

“I can appreciate your thoughts but some how I miss out in action……….  I mean most girls do … We are helpless. “

“Dear Chaithanya, you are an old school friend and playmate of mine. We have known each other from very early ages. And you know that we both were just enacting the role our parents and society gave till the time when we began to think by our own.  I remember that you had to be near home with other girls when we played football and cricket in the field. And at times you used to ask us whether you could join it. Usually the big boys there had the say and response is typical. A girl cannot possibly play football with boys. We both accepted it then and now I think it as absolute stupidity. If you had been with us on the ground regularly you would have turned a sturdy girl. But then, that is a deviation from the female stereotype that our society has. That fear makes your parents dictate you to be that stereotype girl in all aspects. Of course, I do not see anything wrong in being a ‘chocolate loving’, ‘emotional’, ‘chaterbox’, ‘well dressed’, ‘good looking’ and ‘modest’ girl that you see everywhere. Only that they have taken refuge under authority to escape from freedom. I tell you that freedom is not a chocolate. It is sweet but burns like a fire.  All I am telling is there is no point in this blame game alone. The conditions are not desirable, that is a fact. But what is the point in complaining without challenging those powers-that-be. “

There was a moment of pause. Then she continued.

“…… Das, I accept what you said. In fact, these had been the thoughts that dominated me, while doing my graduation at Bombay. Once back, I feel that I am automatically returning to that old self…. And you are one of my good friends, so nothing to hide. You see, we are by design made more earthly creatures…… The menstural cycle itself reminds every women her so called limitations, each month…. You know, the feel is different.  I admire women who were really able to challenge all those limits…. I mean they are really something….. But can I be one of them … is a big question …..”

Again a moment of pause.

“Yeah, I understand. At least intellectually, if not with its full emotional strength. Still, those are not answers too. Don’t you realize it? …….. Within a few months you will have to enact your part as the heroine of the age old drama of ‘pennu kaanal’ …. And I could never imagine a more stupid way to for a couple to know each other. The script of the dialogues that goes on is predecided. Directed by a ‘vivaha dellal’. It was an issue of  ‘big fight’ in my home once. I had categorically said that I am not in favour of those nonsenses and don’t expect me to be an actor in it. And at some point they might press me for it and I will have to deny it…….. It will be painful, I know. But this is a ground rule here, when I do something which I believe to be ‘right’, the responsibility is mine. I cannot shy away from it. If you cannot justify something others impose upon you by any means, then you need to stick to your freedom. Also never impose your rules up on others too. Other than granted freedoms which comes with love and which should not go to the extend of making a person uncomfortable, we have to fight in order to be free…..  it is not lack of love or respect if you stick to your freedom. In fact when you grant the same freedom to others you are loving then and being more loveable by any yardstick……

… or at least, I will not be considering you a ‘impudent’ girl, if all you demand is your genuine freedom. I will only have more respect for you. …. Think and convince that decisions in your personal life is your freedom at first. Then be prepared to demand it. ……….”

She was staring at me, reflecting up on our conversation. She replied with a difficult smile….

“Perhaps I need to. I need to amass the courage for that first. I don’t know if I will succeed. Wish me good luck….. But then don’t just stare up on me, if after two years,you see me with a kid rushing to kitchen to prepare the breakfast for my husband while he shouts at me…….. “

“Well, I have seen enough contradictions to not to be shocked by something like this, which is least among them….. At least, I have not made you moody by a chat, I suppose.”

“No way …. Good to have some of such grilling sessions. They are quite reflective. I thank you for being honest and brutally frank as always you are…. “

“Nice compliments it is… Anyway, if the chat with a beautiful ‘balyakaala sakhi’ after years didnot turn into a disaster, I am relieved …. “

Aldus Huxley made me confused after his “Brave New World” and Orwell blew the discomfort to the verge of outburst with “1984″. Later Alvin Toffler’s “Power Shift” and Eric Fromm’s “Sane Society” give some reflective inputs. But it was “The Matrix” and “I-Robot” which made some speculations into a vague yet clearer picture. Yes, our basic urge is to define our freedom.

The question of freedom is too wide to be contained by a single example. It has dimensions which spans through the structure and nature of power and humanity’s destiny itself. World have seen enough experimentation and evolutions in the social arena. Aristocracy, Democracy, Theocracy, Feudalism, Capitalism, Communism etc. The fundamental question remains unanswered as yet. Do we need to be ruled? How can we define freedom in the light of what we have seen till this day? There are ardent conservatives on one side and liberals on the other side and the battle is always on. The questions are umpty and new ones are added each passing moment. What about the freedom of sexual orientation? Freedom of mobility?Well, could nudity be described as the freedom of expression? …. Endless … But we need answers. Escaping from difficult questions cannot not take us anywhere.

Hey, Teachers! Leave us kids alone

Pink Floyd does have a song that could be associated with a thought. This time it was not his song which provocked me to write this. I was about to complete the book Genius (the biography of Richard P Feynman) and the central image of a natural genius that Feynman was, made me think a lot. Especially his comments about the Brazilian education system which according to him defines learning as mere memorizing than understanding. The best joke in this regard came from Prof. Balakrishanan of IIT Madras in his forward to the Indian edition of Lectures in Physics by Feynman, Sands and Leighton: “Give examples of Quantum Mechanics” and the answer from an Indian university student turns out to be, 1) Hydrogen Atom 2) Particle in a Box 3) Harmonic oscillator 3) Tunnelling Electron 5) Schrodingers Cat! And when asked why five, we have the stereotype answer- “because it is a five marks question!”

Much deeper beyond the jokes, have we ever thought whether our general education system has served any better than an institution to systematically kill the genius inside every child? Have we ever given emphasis to understand things than mere textbook swallow and vomit? And more importantly, this process of curbing the diverse streams of thoughts and creativity happens in our very social instiutions; the moment a child is made to follow a religion or practise without ever allowing questioning it. Do we give any choice to our children- the very fundamental choices to decide his/her religious, social and political outlook without indoctrinating them, the freedom to speak his/her convictions aloud, and lately towards the end of youth even the decision about choosing a partner? As far as the general Indian society goes it is a big no. We want our children to be our dumb photocopies and we are not ashamed but rather boasting it as a great cultural tradition.

It is high time remould education. But first we need to challenge the traditional parental outlook and pedagogy followed. I had an experience recently which has made me convinced about its need.
My uncle’s son Vaisakh, fondly called Appu (9th standard in Dubai Indian School), asked a question to me. “Kannan chettan (he calls me by this name), why don’t cars and bikes run on water?”. The question seemed too trivial until I thought more deeply about how to explain it. The issue is that if I try to introduce terms like ‘calorific value’ in whatever simple language all I will be doing is reframing the whole question; old wine in new bottle. That is it. If I want to make him understand, I need to refresh my understanding, than memories of jargons and explanations. I should not tell him pedagogic thermodynamics or thermal engineering. But we have been trained to do just that. Or worse, just like what my aunty (or even my mother) does: “don’t you have any other business than pestering me with questions”.

“Alright Appu”, I said, “as far as I know bikes and cars can’t run on water. But let us try to find out why. We can’t possibly fill your Unni Kunnjachan’s bike with water and try. We will be in trouble.”
I drew the diagram of the internal combustion engine. The cylinder, the piston, the valves etc. I explained him in the simplest language, the way we get mechanical energy out of it. He listened to it with great interest and occassionally asking doubts

“Now tell me”, I said, “if I fill this tank with water, spray it inside the cylinder and give a spark, what will possibly happen”. He thought and said, “But Kannan Chettan, water can’t burn. When we pour water over fire it extinguishes…. Now why is that first”. I asked him to try sand, milk, etc too. Even they will work that way! Then I tried to explain, why it was so.

“So”, I continued, “you got the point, young genius and I’ll now tell why water doesn’t burn with this temperature.” It went on and finally I explained the diseal engine mechanism and worked out the pressure to be applied to compress water to the volume required by the engine and what might happen once released. We proceeded our discussion to steam engines, turbines etc.

Once we completed the whole thing, he had a glow in his eyes and complimented me, “Kannan Chettan, you truly know a great deal. How could you do such great calculations. I dislike maths.” I replied, “come on Appu, there is nothing great in those or the greatness lies in people who found those methods. The important point is that, don’t you realize that you got some picture of why we did not have water engines so far and I am sure a lot of more doubts. But do not stop with this, pursue more and perhaps you could even develop one water engine. Also when you have a question search for answers and when people just avoid you, experiment with available resources whatever others have to say. Haven’t you heard about Edison? And do not hate maths, just believe me, if you find it boring it just because you were taught in a very bad manner. When we get time I will tell you the interesting mathematics.”

Then came the call from home. “Appu, come back. You naughty kid. You need to know everything on earth other than your textbooks”. As usual it was aunty. I replied, “that is how geniuses are, Priya aunty” and winked back to Appu.

I remember that even I was pretty much like Appu, except that I did not dislike maths. I used to ask the same question. But I was replied with a sentence- “you can’t run an engine with water because it is impossible”. Now I realize the cruelty people did to me by those stupid replies, the dicouraging attitude in our families and even colleges where free thinking is never a virtue.

Isn’t it high time to think about alternatives? Or I’ll be singing this song ever more vocally- “we don’t need your education ….”

Indian Marriage System

“We have some rights up on you and therefore your marriage happens to be our privilage although you will get enough freedom to make the final decision.“

This might well be a stereotype dialogue from an Indian parent to a young son or daughter. My parents too made the statement recently. I wanted to rebel but then the thought that a debate about this with old parents is a futile exercise revocked me. I did not answer, which to them probably meant that although I might not like it, I neither protested, while for me it was a silent but outright disagreement. Still, it made me think about the whole institution of Indian marriage and love. The following are some of the conclusions.

• Indian arranged marriage system by theory and practice puts sex (and therefore procreation) as a ritual to be performed and marriage as an institution to keep it under control. (we are yet to get out of the hangover of the “original sin”)
• It revolves more arround the familes of people bounded by the wedding knot and therefore synonymous with the matrimonial-political deals of the ancient kings.
• The whole practice is conducted as if the aspect of love – both mental and physical – has just a secondary role and presenting themselves as “happily married” cheerful couple before the society is more important.
• It always lack a romantic touch.
• All anachronous identities like religion, caste and subcaste are perpetuated (or procreated)till eternity by this system with a seemingly logical argument (an outright blunder or sophistry) of cultural coherence between the wedded pairs (yet another form of old racial purity theories).
• The contempt or displeasure towards “self found mate” emerges from an appalling adherence to a status quo which most disagrees at heart. (for the parents never enjoyed that freedom and so they convince themselves that it need not be granted to off springs)
• The system might work well apparently in very many cases(more because couples never let their displeasures be known to the world), but essentially kills the basic urge for freedom and hence progressive thinking by and large, for we are yet to reconcile with the concept that freedom of choice maynot essentially give you an everlasting happiness but only the pleasure that you are free.
• By and large, an arranged marriage couple (because of the very process) never enjoys a great sex life. But this fact is kept as a taboo which ought not be uttered at any cause.
• The openness of society is curbed and debates between diverse perspectives are never encouraged even inside familes due to this process.
• The people to be married need to be really good actors to bear with the drama of meeting the prospective bride, marriage ceremony etc. The process tames an individual (a usual common man) to be a lesser individual by following certain dictums rather than expressing own genuine feelings.
• The process encourages conservatism, religious power structures and patriarchial system.
• Women are more oppressed and tamed as to be projected as wife of Mr X. rather than being a genuine Ms Y.

Well, I know that this is a really contravertial subject. Also, I agree that all the above mentioned things need not happen in all arranged marriages as a rule but more important is the general impact it has over society. I would rather advocate young people to go for self found mates at any stage. My other argument for it is that you can be responsible human being only when you take responsibilities into your hands without waiting for the time to deliver a solution.

Unfortunately, large many of us (men) were conditioned to look only through a traditional frame of thought. Thus alternative processes like dating happens to be an emberassment. This might change with time, although I do not expect a radical change among all communities. Caught in this ghost of past conditioning, I see myself in an awkward position. But one thing that I do believe is that it is not a rule that you should marry, but if it is to be done let it not be a sacrificial ritual to please the GODs of society (or even family).

Another Page From Life’s Diary

He will have to tell it. There is no other go. After 23 years of earthly life, there are rare chances left for him to tell it any time after. He knew it well. Perhaps, his friends knew it better. This is the strangest aspect of romance. The one fully intoxicated by it rarely feel the social circumstances from what is called a realistic sense. Their opinions mattered for him too. And when he is drunk, he usually gave more ear to their thoughts. It happened so that their words bruised his eternal heaven of illusions once again. He fell down from the could nine of happy hours to the universe of chaos- real world. He was wounded. The heart piercing prospects of his inactivity, the height of cowardice, was in front of him lying stripped bare. He felt his nudity. The filth of the life wasted by abstinence and hallucinations about love.

The idealism in love is at times dangerous. Especially if it devours the self of an individual to extend of being overwhelmed by the narcissist pleasure in the feel of a loving somebody. He was probably at an extreme of it. May be there is some time when most men get into such an addiction. Most overcome from it quite easily. But for him it has been dragging him for the past five years. It was a dreadful period which might cost some other aspects of his later life.

We not going into his future. Let us go through his present state alone. “I know exactly what you think now. I have been through this phase. You will feel a sudden chill, like the whole throat getting dry and heart getting frozen, when you hear her voice after this long and because of the consciousness about your proposal. I used to call my first love despite getting rejected just to feel that chill. And still, I feel it whenever I call or talk with her. May be, its intensity has subdued a bit because of time.

You have to get over it. Maaan, you need to and think if there is something positive. You will have new dreams. We need our dreams to live. We desperately need.” – the advice from the wisest man came through. The words had such a power that he had to yield. He got into a sense which never occurred to him so intensely. The feel for expressing his love- come whatever may.

The day chosen was April 14th. The ‘Meeda Sankranti‘, the festival of Vishu in Kerala and new year according to the regional calendar. The day in which the length of day and night becomes equal. It was ‘Good Friday’ all over the world. The day on which physical torture to death of Jesus Christ began and ended in the Crucifixion- the death of yet another prophet. Or will it be for him too? He is never someone resembling the prophetic charisma nor the revolutionary who could arise from the ashes of his perish. Just mortal. There was something else too. For the first time in his life, he will be eating non-vegetarian food on a Vishu day and that too prepared in that bachelors apartment. An experimental ‘Chicken Biriyani‘! The day came up. He could hardly sleep even hour after getting to bed early morning 4:30.

The preparation of Chicken biriyani was in full swing. Hectic activities around and a tense hero. He is preparing to delivering the message. What words should I choose? How should I tell her? A lot questions are nagging his thoughts. Those questions comes like waves of a sea-they approach and recede but never lets the shore to be calm. So is his mind- turbulent with words and phrases.

Next question is her number. He did not possess it. “But there is somebody who can help”. The thought became fruitful. The number was right front of him in. Now it was the time to taste the food. Wow, it tasted great. A satisfaction about own (combined) culinary skills! But his taste buds were too doped by the thoughts that it rarely occurred to him then. The tension was mounting up. He need to overcome it- that moment. He need to dial the number and tell her out. Can he? Yes, he said to himself. And the mobile phone connected his voice to her home phone.

He calls her. The deadly moment of silence although quite brief was an eternity for him. “Hello” from the other end gave a chill inside his heart. He was totally frozen for an instant. Still, he could regain the senses and initiate a conversation- a casual one. It was time for the words he prepared for that moment. The most shocking moment in life so far and also the most intimate. “I have been haunted by something since more than four years as I told you and its a new year resolution to solve it. The next thing I say might be a shock to you ….. I AM IN LOVE WITH YOU EVER SINCE. ………..(silence) ….. I felt so and this is not to convince you to respond now. But I think it will be a great injustice to me and you, if I continue to hide it from you. So I tell you with all sincerity I possess.” Those were just a few sentences but he told it almost in a breath, especially the words “I AM IN LOVE WITH YOU”. He felt a pleasure of having released a huge burden from heart. …….

There was a brief silence.A killing pause when the whole world appeared to have gone stand still. Then she replied . She was shocked but regained the senses to act with normalcy. Calm words poured out in a stammering voic. “It is ok that you felt it and said it …… well, ….. just ignore ….. and …. may be we shalll stop here …… ………..”

A bomb dropped was in a house mourning the Crucifixion of Jesus! May be just for her and even that too might be quite a momentary shock. He do not know, what she might have thought . Perhaps that it was a misconduct or over expected remarks; perhaps that he wasn’t worth her love or that the barriers of religions make even the thought a taboo.

Or was it that he just wasn’t the person she could think about being a life partner…… I can’t tell ….. The mystery surrounding a woman ’s thoughts make even such an analysis impossible…… The next moment after the phone call he remembered the quote- “you have to overcome your first love to be free in life.” Husky voices from inside camouflaged the rustle of dust in the wind.

He should have thought about Balachandran Chullikkad’s words about the nostalgia of the girl who teared his words of love written with blood. No he did not. Perhaps he must have grown above the teen age’s intense reverberation of love to a more ‘mature’ concept. So he did not weep and was calm outside. The coal that burned inside glowed as a flame. Flame has its beauty and visibility while the burning coal will only make bruises inside unseen by other yet dying from inside. He still isn’t free. May be never will he be. Or may be after years he might be smiling at the most sapping moment in his life. Perhaps then writing about it with a philosopher’s smile of having seen the life. Who knows, Isn’t it? But yes, he love her and doesn’t know why!