The Birth

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In a cold night in December, 22nd to be exact, in the year 1982, a child was born. Just like any other human child. Of course, there were things peculiar (the way I feel it!). May be also because every second in life is unique. 1982 is the year in which Asian Games was held in India (New Delhi), when Indira Gandhi was ruling- the come back after her misadventureous emergency declaration and the after impact it had in Indian Politics. The emblem of the ‘82 Asian Games was a little elephant – Appu (the pet name by which the child was called by his maternal uncles!). And December night; the time when winter could really be felt by an average keralite- shivering with cold and resorting to “kattan kappi” (black coffee).

The delivery of the child happened to be out of a caesarian operation; cutting the stomach of his birth giver (mother)- Girija Devi. She must have undergone unexplainable pain, which no MAN could imagine. But still, the child also came to know about a man (later in his life) who loitered through out the crowded lane beside the operation theatre; walking frantically, confused and deeply pained. It was his father -Rajan Kannedath. A person who endured unexplainable mental torture while he signed the official document from the hospital stating “they could take responsibility only for the mother to the limit of medical science and not the child”. I cannot express it from myself …. neither can you, if you haven’t went through that same ordeal…. Still, I thank and admire him for his love for his wife, the mother of the about to be born child.
Ultimately, he was born. But did not cry! Doctors resorted to an oxygen mask to ensure that primitive yet “absolute” symbol of life- a cry. So do we, when our dear ones go to the graveyard ……………

The first grand child in his maternal family…….. Every one loved and cared him. His smile was precious for them. So was his cry. It attracted the attention of the whole family.

Well, that was me Ayyappadas A. M.- the first grand child of Arakkal Madathipatt Bhaskaran Nambiar (my grand father- “muthachan”). They called the child as “kannan”. The pet name. The same one as of Lord Shree Krishna! Born at “Kucheeladinam” (the day Sudhama or Kucheela went to meet his old friend Krishna) and also just a two days and a few more hours before Christmas!

Like every child, he did not know how he was born. Neither does he remember his first thoughts, if any, at this point. A naive, still a marvel of out of flesh and blood with all the innocence and perfection in this world. That shouldn’t be amazing. But just think for a moment- we all had the very same state to begin with. The perfection in a newborn child and at the end of the dawn a greater perfection- the perfection in death. But he did have had an experience in life, which was indeed rare. After 20 years he saw the bioloical cradle, which kept him safe, unaware of the vulgarities in this world and innocent, in those nine months inside the womb- the uterus of his mother. A little biological organ inside a plastic bottle was shown to him and his father who were waiting outside the operation theatre. He did not know how to react. Certainly did not break down. He couldn’t cry. Neither was it an occasion suiting a philosophical smile. Many a times in life, we could just behave like naive bruts governed only by instincts; thoughts come at a second stage. So silence prevailed …….. Yes, the strongest language of nature; the language that communicates as our heart beats, as the acknowledgement of noise from the outside, as the rustle of leaves and finally the graveyard ………………………………

A strange feeling pervaded in his mind then. It haunted and invaded his thoughts for months. Afterwards when he read “Parudeesa Nastam” (short stories- malayalam) by Subhash Chandran, in which a similar story was narrated, he realized that after all human life is the same everywhere within all its apparent diversities, pretentions, show offs and facades. We live, we learn through diverse experiences, we share emotions but then we all die. Just a simple story. The meaning of those words which he heard from his malayalam lecturer during his pre-degree classes – “sloka (poetry) comes from shoka (pain) and hence there is one and only one language that we all share alike- the language of pain”.

Every saga begins with the learning of new things. Also, unlearning certain things. He learned how he was born (rather all of us) after 12 years of life. In his 7th standard through the science text book and also through the half baked informations shared by his friends, he learned the biology behind the birth. As interesting tid bits- but devoid of its subtleties and sublimities. And the age of 19 he felt the binding thread between biology and the eternal flow of life; love. At the age of 20 he unlearned all that he had learned about his or any body’s birth. And then he came to the coherent explanation that birth, as is death, is only a mere point in the long journey of LIFE. Nothing is indispensable. Nothing is absolute. There are no destinies but only journeys …………

Well, then he lived …… As a dear grand child in his fathers’ and mothers’ ancestral homes. As a cute little piece of life that brought smile to the faces of his relatives, the servants and friends of his father, mother and uncles. Now it is a wonder that all of us had been such a one. So comes socialism!!!

That which brings a smile to the face of every human being with a heart; a kid- naive, innocent and open. No wonder so did even Jesus said in Bible- to acquire the innocence of a child. But I remember another story too. The one about Michael Angelo, if I’m not mistaken.

The great sculpturer wanted to a carve a sculpture depicting the story of the new testament- pages from Bible. He wanted models for each character. He could get models for all except the little Jesus and Judas. Finally he could find a little child, which resembled the picture in his mind. He sculpted little Jesus taking the kid as the model. But Judas was still missing. He could do the whole of Bible new testament except Judas. After some 20 long years while he continued his search to find the image in his mind, he met a person in a wine shop. A scoundrel by all means. It suited Judas. So he asked him to be his model and promised some money. The man accepted and the work began……. But, the great sculpturer was broken down when he realized that it was the same kid who was his model for little Jesus standing before him taking the role of Judas……… Well, this story is not about morals. But, about contradictions in life. Presently living at the age of 22 past, who knows what will the role of the kid in our story be……. After all is there a pure Jesus or Judas? If at all, was Judas the symbol of all evil and Jesus all virtues ? Things which the kid in our story isn’t yet clear about ………….

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