Janani Janmabhoomi

 

Janani Janmabhoomi

Happy 80th birthday to My Bharath, India, Hindustan . As We celebrate our freedom. I still feel moved by Our National Anthem & Vande Mataram. Yet, there’s  a lurking fear that patriotism is gradually taking on  shades of  an organized cult & showing   parochial. narrowness .  My idea of expressing  love for my country seems to be grossly  outdated  &  weak today.

Performative, aggressive acts of national devotion seem to be   replacing genuine civic responsibility..Instead of supporting the country’s laws, welfare, and constitutional values, it relies on loud symbolic, mob behavior like

:1. Posting  various profile frames,  melodramatic nationalist rhetoric, on Social Media without addressing real local issues & chanting slogans in public spaces as a  show Patriotism

2.Treating national flags or anthems as tools of moral superiority rather than respecting them as shared cultural history

3.Taking the law into one's own hands under the banner of protecting national or cultural pride, which often harms community safety.

:4. Praising armed forces  loudly online while completely ignoring the actual welfare of soldiers, Martyrs’ family veterans,

5.Shirking basic responsibilities like paying taxes, following traffic laws, protecting Historically relevant  Monuments  while professing  extreme love for the country.

. Even so, I still love my country.. Here are the patriotic things I did early in my life:

Learning the national anthem at school and the national pledge a little later was one of my foremost patriotic acts. I can still sing  the anthem fluently and recite portions of the pledge without referring. On this Independence day I make the following simple Resolutions to help me “grow” personally while honoring my country.

1.I pledge to keep my  neighborhood clean, respect civic rules, practice kindness, and build daily habits that support a stronger, greener society.

2. Stop littering and carry my trash until I find a bin.

3.Follow traffic and safety rules on every single ride or walk.

4.Save water and electricity at home to conserve national resources.

5.Plant a sapling  at every opportunity and take care of it as it grows.

6.Treat people from all backgrounds with same respect and kindness.

7 support a child's education.

8.Focus on honest work and continuous self-improvement.

9.Try to recite our National Pledge in its entirety without help .

10. And seek God almighty’s blessings to fulfill the Resolutions

 

      जननी     जन्मभूमिश्च    स्वर्गादपि    गरीयसी

 

 

Wilderness, greenery ,comedy, fiasco

 

Wilderness, greenery ,comedy, fiasco 

When four old college day friends met after decades, the memories came rushing back.and the years melted away. Reliving those times again brought a warm and bittersweet feeling, especially while reflecting on the dear friend who passed away, the ludicrous road trips made in the distant  past , the  silly moments becoming  the most treasured topics. Every shared memory brought back the joy of the  simpler time in life as if it happened yesterday

If you don’t speak Malayalam, the opening line of our trip will sound like a broken mantra: "Let’s just buy an audio  CD Kanro !" Imagine hearing that 100 times in a row. By the 20th time, I was ready to drive the car straight into the Arabian Sea and by the 60th, I was even ready to make a CD out of my own eardrums. Other than the wretched unpredictable monsoon turning the road towards the  Coast  into a car swimming-pool the traffic entering Gods Own Country and the "rural" resort that was basically a waking nightmare forced us to  deeply confront the unsettling reality of our  own mortality,

To combat the traffic K invented a game: Kollywood Medley. It turned  out, you can ruin any timeless melody by changing the lyrics to absolute gibberish We were screaming inanities at top volume, purely for "mental health" reasons. It’ had to be  either that or committing violent offences  in the middle of a traffic jam, right?

Still, I’d say it was the perfect Holiday. Pure rest, Kulukki Sharbath, Sulemani Chaya, fluffy aappam , Chenda Melam , and we had nature (teeming with Humanity)  all to ourselves. But let’s talk about how we handled the chaos, because we were clearly nervy.

 There was this "authentic" nature resort. When we booked, we were dreaming like, "Yes! Let’s be one with nature ! Rawness! Local Culture!  and all " Turned out, we are total city snobs who recoil at the slightest hint of ‘minor’ inconveniences .Yes that place was a nightmare—a total stampede, and the service was just a petite Hostess ‘Checchi’  laughing at us from time to time. As wise friend P pointed out, it was less “peaceful getaway" and more " Natural Disaster refugee crisis." We hit the road in a flash and made a hasty retreat from the much acclaimed Retreat. That resort will never see these five faces again for sure. So much about  the nightmare.

Now, let's talk about what I am  best at  naturally: “Award winning” Cynicism. We had planned a surprise party for V, and I happened to be the nominated  lead Character in orchestrating the deception. My friends always  trusted  my bluffing skills way too much—I don’t know if I should be proud or terrified that they know I’m such a crafty Mastermind. Be that  as it may , I did my  best to ruin a perfectly good surprise with my excessive Drama(edy)

Why the Other Side Prefers Gowns

 

Why the Other Side Prefers Gowns

When you think of ghosts, it’s always a white-robed , long-haired creature screaming  “why did I inherit this soul?!” Recently, I was watching a  horror movie in Telugu  (why? No idea, probably needed to feel alive), and the apparition was—no surprises —a vengeful woman.

 Hiding under the dining table, a thought hit me: Why are all ghosts in movies only women? And why are men always the ones in Lungis running around with a vermilion smeared coconut in hand  chanting prayers incoherently

Here are my 2:00 AM thoughts on why men make terrible ghosts:

Male ghosts would show up in  faded  T-shirt and shorts. That’s not a haunting, that’s just friend  who hasn't paid even once for a routine coffee meet  in three months. A vengeful ghost needs a flowing saree   or nightgown (normally white)to float. That’s  proper  etiquette. Further,a male ghost in a white saree would at best be a Beautiful catastrophe     

 Movie Directors know a high-pitched girl scream ripping through Atmos spatial Audio sends shivers down the spine of even the stout hearted- it hits different. A male ghost would just stand in the corner complaining about not getting his tea on time or asking if anyone saw where he left the remote.

 People generally agree that horror is just real life with ghosts. Are they saying women are devilish in real life? (not me..not me..) ..just kidding!

Honestly, if a chap dies, he’s not going to haunt a house. I suspect that in the beginning all ghosts were men, but they were too busy getting lost, so they just became lost souls asking the Angels for directions.to Afterlife: "Is this exit A-21" ?

 Female ghosts are preferred by movie-goers  because they are vindictive. A male  ghost would get distracted easily, haunting the fridge, looking for a snack. A woman ghost? She’s waiting 22 1/2 years to kill you for taking her charger.

Trivia: Wrote this at 2:30 AM.. in eerie silence Only the whispering hiss of a light breeze and the pitter-patter of raindrops was audible. .(but posted at a more “Civilised” hour).  Wasn’t scary, coz I was already thinking of  Breakfast ideas for the morning  

Dedicated: To all the male ghosts (who are NOT woman) ,probably just haunting the TV, trying to figure out how to watch  re- telecasts of the Football World cup and IPL

 

What are your thoughts on this cinematic mystery ?

 

When the World Was Small ……………& beautiful

 

When the World Was Small

                                  ……………& beautiful

The steady, rhythmic clop-clop-clop of hooves against the asphalt always brings it back. Long before the city was swallowed by the relentless sputtering of auto-rickshaws and the impatient honking of cars, our family’s ultimate weekend luxury was a ride in a Mysore tonga.

It was the mid 1960s, and the world moved at a slower, gentler pace. Going to the movies or visiting the old bustling bazaar wasn't just about reaching a destination; it was about the journey itself. The anticipation would build the moment father summoned the  tongawala our family’s Royal Court, Papaiah .We siblings would peek from behind the gates, eyes wide in expectation , waiting for  him to negotiate  horse & carriage  through  the gates.

When the wooden carriage finally pulled up, it felt like royalty had arrived. The tonga was a marvel of simple engineering—large wooden spoked wheels with Hard Rubber rims, a curved waterproof fabric hood that smelled of age and rain, and the unmistakable, earthy scent of semi dried green grass and horse sweat.

Climbing in was an art form. Father occupied  the front-facing seat beside the “Driver” while mother and elder sis & I claimed  the backward-facing rear seat . This was the prime spot., legs dangling over the edge, & feet struggling to reach the wooden footboard the world unfolding  before us in reverse.  Younger Sis & Kid Brother were usually   hoisted & squeezed in between the front and backward facing passengers. where they had to do with sitting cross legged. Grandfather, always dressed immaculately for the occasion followed on his precious “Made in England” BSA Bicycle. We didn't see where we were going instead  watched where we had just been, witnessing the city slowly drift away backwards

 Tongawala Papaiah would flick the leather reins, make a sharp, clicking noise with his tongue , and with a sudden, delightful jolt, we were off.

The ride was anything but smooth. Every pothole and cobblestone sent a vibration through the wooden frame, tossing us slightly in our seats. We  giggled uncontrollably with every big bump, holding onto the iron  railings for dear life while  mother nervously warned us to sit still.

As the horse trotted along the tree-lined avenues, a cool breeze  hit our faces, filtering through the massive canopy of old banyan and gulmohar trees.lining the streets. Along the way, the tongawala  occasionally brushed  the thin bamboo stick handle of the horse whip  against the side  into the wooden spokes of the carriage wheel to produce a clear clattering “tiky-taky-tiky-taky” noise —warning pedestrians to make way. It was a sound of sheer joy.

We would get down at the entrance of the Movie hall ( invariably Rajkamal, Prabha or Lakshmi ) . father would instruct Papaiah to pick us after the movie  ended,  On certain occasions we would  take a detour to Hotel Dasprakash on our return journey where we would be treated with  Jamoon & masala Dosa. Moving at a leisurely four miles per hour,after enjoying the snacks , listening to our parents’ reviews of the movie, & reminisces about their own childhoods, created a capsule of pure security and happiness.

By the time we reached home after the outing, hair  wind-tossed by the breeze, our stomachs & hearts were completely full.

Today, the Tongas have vanished from city streets, replaced by clatter of the Ubiquitous“Autos”,cabs, Buses & other forms of rapid transit. The old wooden carriages have mostly transitioned into historical relics or novelty rides at heritage sites like the palace,museum and Zoo. Yet, whenever life feels overwhelmingly fast, I close my eyes and listen closely. Somewhere in the quiet corners of my memory, the clop-clop of the horse's hooves,,Papaiah’s unique tongue clicking noise & the rhythmic clatter of bamboo stick striking against wheels  echoes on, a timeless reminder of a beautiful, simpler yesterday.