Sri Lanka: Greetings to my Neighbour

Sri Lanka, my neighbor country, closer to us even more than many parts of my native land, had been present at many parts of my life even without my recognition.

Lanka, the golden city of Ravana always fascinated me through the bedtime stories of my grandmother. She used to narrate Ramayana in elaborate details and the Lanka, with its opulent palaces, rich gardens like 'Ashoka Vani', and golden coastlines poured many colors in my imagination. I often travelled to the country in the wings of imaginary "Pushpaka Vimana." (Flying Chariot of Ravana)

The devoted followers of RSS (Rashtriya Swaymasevaka Sangh) in my village, later enlightened me that the Adam’s Bridge in the Indian Ocean is none other than the 'Sethhu Bandha' constructed by Lord Rama. Even when my logical mind argued against them, my imaginary mind agreed with them. I often dreamt on crossing the ocean to Lanka as a drop on that naturally built Limestone Bridge.

Even before I could grow out of these childhood fantasies, Lanka broke its appeal with a severe bomb blast in my country. We lost our then Prime Minister along with many innocent lives in an attack by LTTE. I was not at an age to realize the difference between LTTE and the Sri Lankans and my innocent attractions towards the country started to fade away with the event.

 Sri Lanka, later came back to my life with its lion like warriors in the cricket field. Arjuna Ranathunge, Muthaiah Muraleedharan, and Sanat Jayasurya challenged our cricket heroes. They became our rivals as well as heroes at the same time.  When Sri Lanka claimed the victory against us in the 1999 World cup Cricket Semifinals, I despised and admired them at the same time.

Life took me away from my country to join the global community.  People from many countries and races became part of my life too. It stopped to surprise me when they greeted me as Sri Lankan owing to my name. In a foreign land, I thus started to represent many of neighboring countries too.

It was at this time that our friend Naveen started his visits to Sri Lanka. He sketched the beauty of the country and its friendly people in vivid words. The re-readings of Ramayana presented altered version of the epic where Ravana was portrayed as the mighty King, who loved his people and Sri Lanka as a Dravidian country who had resisted the Aryan invasion.  To top it all, the Mani Ratnam movie Kannathil Muthamittal melted my heart even toward the LTTE militants. The feather touch of empathy and tolerance swiped over my life.

Sri Lanka, once again came into my life, this time with powerful attractions. The golden coastlines of the country entranced my sister during a vacation and she got into a zealous search for her retirement home at the coastlines of Kerala. She maintains that she hasn’t yet found a location that matches the heavenly coastline at Sri Lanka.

I am a person who believes in godsends in life. It might have been a sheer chance that our publisher asked me to visit a Roadshow by Sri Lankan Tourism Board at Bahrain. The event revealed a land reflecting my own land in many ways. More than that, I woke up in the next morning with the insight me that Sri Lanka had a silent call for me all through my life.

Sooner, I will be visiting the country and until then Ayubowan to a great country.

What Should be My Religion?

Let Each man take the path according to his capacity,understanding and temeperament. His true guru will meet him along the path.

                                                                          Sivanadnda Saraswati

"Amma, what’s my religion? Am I a Hindu?" Stuti was agitated as I opened the door for her.

"Mmm-Hmm" I could just nod at the unforeseen query. Her expression was as if I had hidden an important secret from her for so long.

"Are all Hindus liars? Are all Hindus bad? Will I get burnt in Hell?" The questions seemed to take an uglier side.

"Who told you all these?"

"Enaam told me, when we returned from school.  She told me that only Muslims are pure in the world and others will get burnt in the hell."

Ah…. The never ending propaganda and the fitting spark to light up a wildfire. It can heat up even the sleeping Hindu in me. Stuti’s face is red as if in frustration for being born as Hindu.

"No, not all Hindus are bad. Enaam is not telling the truth." I consoled her. I wanted to tell her that some people will have bad influence on us despite their religion. But, before I could mention that, Stuti reached her conclusion.

"Ah… I knew that. I don’t like Muslims."

"Stop, Stop right there…" I panicked at her conclusion.

"Don’t you like Nadeer uncle, Shehnaz Aunt, Ayan & Duaa?" I brought her loved ones into the scene.

"Yes!!!!" Stuti beamed!

"Don’t you like Haseena aunty and Tanu?"

"Yes, I love them." Stuti’s face lit up, "When can I play with Tanu?"

"Well, all of them are Muslims and practice their religion. Do being Muslims make them bad?"

"No…." Stuti asserted it in a long note as if I had suggested an impossible.

"So, what Amma says is that being Hindu, Muslim or Christian doesn’t make a person good or bad. You shouldn’t like or dislike a person based on their religion. You might feel more comfortable with some people and may be rejected by some others. Keep your focus on your loved ones not on people who talk nonsense based on religion."

Stuti contemplated a bit before continuing, "Amma, Enaam is going to attend a school where they will teach only Quran. So that, when she will die, she will have a golden crown on her head when she reaches Heaven. I also want a golden crown and sit in the Heaven and not in the Hell. I want to learn Quran."

Here begins, Stuti’s new fascination...

My little girl has invented all kinds of excuses to avoid the evening prayers. After learning the basic Mantras of Hinduism, she has decided that she has mastered all Vedas and Puranas and no need to waste time for any rituals. Now, she wants to learn Quran, even when the language, in which it is written is strange to her.

"But you never like prayers, right?" I smiled at her.

"I don’t like prayers, yes…but Enaam told me that if I learn Quran and pray accordingly, I will have the whole knowledge in this world. There will be no mysteries or doubts for me after that."

Enaam can really influence her peers. I sighed! But at the same time, I wondered on why I am getting so jittery about Stuti’s new interest. Decades ago, there was a little girl who took efforts to learn Psalms from the Bible so earnestly than her Catholic friends. She never used to miss the chances to attend prayers at the Church even when she missed the prayers at the temple.

I smiled at the memories.  I realized that, till now lighting the candles in the altar gives me the same solace as I stand with folded hands during my evening prayers. Even today, I feel the excitement and happiness in the air with arrival of the Christmas as I feel with the arrival of the Hindu festivals.

However, why am I panicking now at the very idea of my little girl’s attraction towards another holy text? Is it because she’s attracted to another belief thatI wish her not to believe in?

I recalled a similar discussion with Enaam’s mother. She had come upon to meet us as she shifted to this new apartment. She exclaimed as she was about to leave, "When I heard that the new tenants are Hindus, I was a little bit worried. Just for you to know, the Hindus in Saudi Arabia don’t have such modern thinking. They confine to themselves. But you are so different."

I was surprised by her comments and wanted to let her know that even I felt the same about Muslims. But I kept my silence and hid the thoughts under a fake smile. She had then glanced around the room and commented, "Ah, you have a liking for books. Have you read Quran?" She didn’t wait for my answer and continued, "I have an extra copy, and I will give it you. It’s always good to read books from other religions too. It’ll open your eyes and you may even see a new light." She took a copy of Quran from the Plastic bag she had carried and elaborately put it on my table.

"Yes, you are absolutely true!" I had beamed then, "One should read books from all religions. Thank you for offering me Quran and I will take it with pleasure. Also, I can give you copies of Holy Bible and Bhagawad Gita. Please wait for a month. My shipment hasn’t reached yet."

I had hardly met my neighbour after that episode.

During the years that followed in Saudi, I have gone through many such experiences. None of the people who had offered me the Quran were rude, but on the other hand were the most gentle and kind people I have met. I never retaliated to them as I did against Enaam’s mother. Whoever had approached me with the Holy text had a serene appearance and positive aura around them. They treated me as a way lost child, whom they were trying lead into the right path in love and kindness.

When I was working at a school, some of my students stopped me after one such Book delivery.

 "You don’t have to be so nice and forthcoming with these tactics. Do you know what they are trying to do with you?"

I smiled, "Trying to convert me into Islam."

"Yes, or so called revert you back to Islam. Let us tell you. We’re Muslims, but don’t believe in such conversions. You have to believe in what you believe and not in other’s words. Miss, there is no comment in our Holy Quran to convert others into our religion. If someone is interested in our religion they are welcome to do so. But we believe that if God has decided that you should be born in a particular religion, you are born in that religion. You don’t have to do anything against it. Please don’t listen to anyone who tries to convert you into our religion.

If you had given us your religious text to read, we would have been so much upset and offended."

"Don’t worry, I’m not upset and offended with them. They find peace in what they believe. That’s why they took upon themselves to make everyone like them. I don’t feel trouble in reading other religious texts as I find them preach ideas to improve myself and spread happiness around me.

Also, be assured that I’m not going to convert myself into any religion. I am happy with how I live, and I really appreciate your concern.""

I was equally amused and admired by their thoughts. Here is the new generation of the Arab world who think about religion in a much more appreciative manner than their elders.

I now wonder, what had hold me back against loving Islam as I loved Christianity. There were ardent believers too who had hoped that I will convert myself as a Christian. There are pious Hindus who are inherently unhappy about languor attitude in my religion. I stand somewhere in the middle still searching for answers. Why am I scared of Stuti’s inclination towards Islam as my parents were never worried about my inclination about Christianity?

My parents must have realized the secret behind my childhood prayers for the selfish purposes. My attraction to all such rituals were a childish desire for powerful and more immediate success in exams, positions and popularity. Little did I understand the meaning of those prayers.

I believed then that there was an omnipresent, omniscient and omnipotent man residing in the sky keeping a close watch of my actions on every minute of the day. I was eager to please him for my benefits but dubious about his religion. I have played many steps in the tunes of different religions over the years. I loved some tunes while I rejected many others. I had addicted to some them and overcame the passion in the later years. 

Now, I have overcome my passion to that mysterious man and realize that no religion owns that supreme power. But my questions are still unanswered… While I still experiment with them, I cannot forbid Stuti from taking her own routes.

Stuti now believes that the study of Quran will reserve a seat for her in Heaven and save her from burns in the afterlife. She also wishes that it will save her from the worldly traumas. Little does she understands the implications and the magnanimity of the religious texts.

I decide that I shouldn’t interfere in my little one’s fascination for knowledge unless or until it doesn’t hurt anyone. After all, no religion puts a barrier for the seeker who is in search of knowledge. As the great teachers had said, a teacher who doesn’t let the disciples to follow another teacher is not a true teacher at all.  One day, Stuti will develop the wisdom to choose her own path for salvation. Until then, I can hold her hand and take steps along with her.

In that evening, I sat together with Stuti to turn the pages of Quran for her…

Tribute to ONV Kurup-Another Leaf Sheds from My Childhood…

ONV Kurup, passed away... As everyone mourned the death of the great Kerala Poet, I wasn’t shocked at first with the news. The poet was aged, and had a peaceful last journey. In a way, I felt content for him that he left his blissful worldly life in a peaceful way.

The night has a magic enchantment to draw you to your consciousness. Memories associated with ONV Kurup started to seep into my mind as I took a relaxing shower in the night. I am not sure if it was the hot water or the end of a peaceful day that had eased my nerves at that time. It dawned upon me with a shock that another leaf in my childhood memory has shed forever. Tears started to roll down for a person, whom I have never met, never idolized or never even followed up in the recent years. It dawned upon me that  how he had his silent part to develop my interest in the poetry in the previous years and the years to come.

My first memory of listening to ONV Kurup’s poem is of Anu reciting "Bhoomikkoru Charamageetham" (A Elegy for Earth) in her mellifluous and confident voice on a well lit platform.A commonly referred name along with his contemporaries at my grandmother’s house, he was never a starlit celebrity in my mind. ONV, Sugathakumari, Vyloppilli, G. Sankarakuruppu, they were household names and in childhood childishness, I never really gathered their greatness.

Amma always favoured the poems of ONV to his contemporaries. In her arduous attempt to teach me poetry, she always enrolled Anu and me to competitions in poetry recitations at school. Amma’s attempts to teach Anu succeeded as she had planned while I proved to be incurable.  I never really understood the meanings of lyrics, neither did I realize how my coarse recitation troubled the audience.

The first poem I recited was ONV Kurup’s "Gothambu Manikal" (Wheat Grains). In the following years, I recited "Muthiyum Chozhiyum", "Muthassan", and "Amma." Among these I never understood and felt the soul of the lyrics except for "Muthassan" (Grandfather). The lyrics of "Muthassan was etched in my mind ever since, since it published in Mathrubhumi Weekly-Onam edition, just weeks after the death of my Muthassan.

I moved over to recite the poems of Prof. Madhusudanan Nair in my later years at school and after the school years, saved others from the trouble of listening to my coarse renderings. I enjoyed reading and dreaming about the poems and listened to them whenever I got time.

The destiny in my life later coursed and led me to the wide realm of English literature to where I went ravenous to guzzle up whatever came on my way. Robert Frost, Keats, Eliot, Shelly, Coleridge, Sylvia Plath, Robert Lowell, Ezra Pound, Khalil Gibran, Aurobindo…I still have a never ending list to complete. In my unsatiating urge to master world of English literature, I conveniently put my Malayalam and those who initiated me into the literature on the back row of the shelf.

ONV Kurup’s death awakes me to the realization that another leaf sheds forever from the many blissful childhood memories spent at my grandmother’s house. I will never recite a poem for an audience in this life but I pray that I will never cease to admire them.

Let me pay my humble tribute to the great poet who led me to the world of poetry, until we meet again.

As long as my conscience remains at least

 as a drop of moonlight in my memory,

As the one who got inspired and moulded by you,

Your memories will remain in me 

ബോധാമാം നിറനിലാവൊരു തുള്ളിയെങ്കിലും

ചേതനയിൽ ശേഷിക്കുവോളം

നിന്നിൽ നിന്നുറവായി നിന്നിൽ നിന്നുയിരാ-

-ർന്നോരെന്നിൽ    നിന്നോർമകൾ മാത്രം

                                                                (Bhoomikkoru Charamageetham)

Totally in Tune with Myself, I Set You Free

I set you free from my journey,

Where you had the mandate call.

Here, the new phase begins

Guided by the invisible codes of my own grasp,

Neither to the paradise as a roaming soul;

 Nor to the burning fire or the poisonous fangs.

You gave me dreams, and you gave me hope

Preached by your Sons to  sustain me far.

Beyond the star studded superstitious tales,

I have awaken to the grounds of reality;

Where there isn’t any hope, dreams and need of sustenance,

To grow my own wings to fly by.

The ghosts may travel with me a bit longer,

Than you were allowed to.

Whenever they choke me, I will have your reminiscences

With the music of temple bells,

The fragrance of burning incense;

And the radiance of altar lights.

Here, when I bleed away from your omnipresence,

I realize, life is void and vain as it should be.

Totally in tune with myself, I set you free.

I melt my desire into intuition and ride it as my horse,

The road won’t end where I complete my journey,

From there another life will resume the journey.

Unlike You

Unlike You,

I foster deleterious pangs in my mind.

I tear up at the loss of my dreams

To toss and turn in sleepless nights,

In vain lamentation of the spilled milk.

Unlike You,

I sing in tune to the vehement gusts.

I bellow out the frustrations;

Before they could toss my sanity,

And cry them into eager chinwags.

Unlike You,

I bewitch the fate into my custody.

I avert unsolicited companies;

To eradicate futile matches of wave lengths

In malleable smiles and mawkish words.

Unlike You,

I brood on darker corners.

I regret the walk of perfidious;

To the extent to be inconspicuous

In a life treaded by them.

Unlike You,

I plot for callous carnage.

I lead a one man army for many

In tolerance with all my negativity;

To ensure our right to live the lives in peace.

Survivor

An ant climbed to my right thigh

While on bath.

Plumped in the bubbles of bathing herbs,

Out of the green patches of hibiscus shampoo,

Shaking antennas, it clinked onto my legs in vain.

Green residue and white dusts of my

Natural invigoration twirled into the drain.

The bath water whizzed under it

As a threatening whirlpool.

I tossed the black creeper down with

A mug of cold water.

It slided on the tiled floor in frantic search

For my legs.

I shook my drying hair at the little fighter,

In assurance of a soon dried up floor.

I walked out of the bathroom

All freshened and new when,

The ant waved its antennas at me,

Like the last survivor of Titanic.

Desert’s Rain in Winter

A whisper of rain

Dashed across my windowpane

With cold steps

Untying the brown clouds

To bare the furtive

Dark blanket

That brazed

With untold glum

On the Sandy day

Of the winter desert.