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From the Sunday Express of 19.12.2010 published from Thiruvananthapuram, Kerala, India. The article was written by Aswin J Kumar, ENS
Coach Nelson delighted with Sreenith’s show
Sreenith Mohan is a happy lad. He now holds the new state record of 1.98 metres in junior high jump at the state school meet, breaking the old record of 1.91 metres. But there is a happier person, C.M.Nelson, the coach of Sreenith and physical education teacher of Guruvayoor Devaswom Sreekrishna Higher Secondary School.
Nelson watched his ward so closely as he went on to break the record and set a new one at the state school athletics. He let out a wild cheer when the new record was set. It was something special for him.
Six months before when there was not a jumping bed for Sreenith to practice, his coach did something unusual for him. Nelson went around collecting used up beds from Devaswom lodges and prepared a jumping bed for his student. When the cover of the pit kept tearing apart under the impact of spikes, he went to Chennai and scourged the markets to find a tarpaulin that was tough and durable.
Whenever Sreenith, who comes from a humble background, needed quality spikes and sports kit, the coach did not wait for school management’s aid. He spared a portion of his salary to ensure Sreenith did not lack anything. On Saturday, Sreenith repaid his coach by performing impressively. Not only did he come first in the event, he also set a new state record and made his coach proud.
“I knew that he could go a long way. Last year he had won a silver in the same event. He was also the individual champion at the sub-district level this year,” said Nelson, who lives in a rented home in Guruvayoor. Despite his financial hurdles, Nelson along with Raghu have been supporting Sreenith in every possible way.
“I have a family to look after. But Sreenith is like my son. I am sure that he is going to wear the tricolour(national flag) soon. I am now looking for a sponsor who can support him,” said Nelson.
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Comment
Kerala is on the west coast at the southern tip of India. Though small the state has high literacy and is ahead of other states of India in Human Development Index. In fact the HDI compares well with that of advanced and developed countries. The major event in the sports calendar of the schools in Kerala is the state school athletics meet. Talent is aplenty. The story dwells on how talent is nurtured. At Christmas time, Coach Nelson shows how he fulfils the message of Christmas.
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Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Saturday, October 16, 2010
WAY OF THE WILL - INFRASTRUCTURE IMPROVEMENT KEY TO DEVELOPMENT
WAY OF THE WILL
(Developing backward areas is not the job of the Government alone. The people can take up development programmes in a simple manner. A blueprint by ABRAHAM JACOB
FROM THE HINDU ‘METRO’ OF 31ST JANUARY 2000 FROM TRIVANDRUM)
Thembamood is fascinating place. The area east of M.C Road is a vast expanse of undeveloped or underdeveloped land. The potential is unlimited. But little seems to have been done for its progress.
The people here are mostly illiterate or semi-literate. The difficult terrain inhibits people from seeking education, let alone higher education. The few schools here offer education upto SSLC. Dropouts are legion. After acquiring little education the people migrate. Unfortunately the inadequacy in qualification forces them to go for menial jobs. They toil hard, but the income they generate is meager, just enough for sustenance.
How do we improve the scenario?
Dr. Mahatir Mohammed, the Prime Minister of Malaysia, found that his country was doomed to remain poor. He turned a few sheets of history. He found that the phenomenal growth of Germany and USA was due to the wide roads – the autobahn in Germany is a showpiece even today. Mahatir initiated historic steps. Today, Malaysia is different.
TWELVE LANE ROAD IN DUBAI - SIX EACH IN BOTH DIRECTIONS
We have to emulate the great. Let us have four lane roads with four-lane traffic. Develop the roads east of M.C Road to Ndumangad to such a specification. This can be done on a build operate, transfer (BOT) basis. Let the people who use the roads pay the toll till the cost is realized. Let the people whose property appreciates in value pay for the roads. The investment can be recovered within a short time.
It is time that we stopped sending out brilliant citizens as labourers. They must go out as brilliant technical personnel and rub shoulders with the best in the world.
Pullampara Panchayat can take the lead. It must set up technical institutions within the Panchayat – Engineering College, Polytechnic, Nursing College, Medical College and a higher – grade college exclusively for courses such as Computer Science, Biotechnology, Agriculture etc.
Resources cause the major headache. Where do we have the money? The best option is to go for an apolitical body similar to the NDDB of Anand in Gujarat – a Co- operative for the comprehensive development of the place. The head load workers, tappers, traders, planters, landlords and NRIs would be the share holders. Each can take shares according to his/her financial capacity.
Huge amounts can be collected from abroad in large dozes. Even if on an average, the remittance is pegged at Rs.30000.00 per day, per year the money that comes in is an astronomical sum of Rs.90,00,000.00 plus. This is a very conservative estimate. If the sources are duly exploited, crores and crores could be collected. The money has not been put to use creatively.
Dreams take a man to the impossible. We must have dreams. We must transform the dreams to reality.
---------------------------------------------------
Addendum on 16th October 2010
----------------------------------
Expansion of infrastructure ensures establishment of large industries in any locality. Educational institutions of higher learning ensure supply of man power required by the industries. Other southern states in India , Andhra Pradesh, Tamil Nadu and Karnataka realised this well. They had set up educational institutions of higher learning across the states liberally right since independence. See where they are now and what they have achieved.
Thembamood is a village on the outskirts of Trivandrum. I had worked there during 1996 – 1999. I really liked the villagers. They were simple souls. I wanted to do something to better the lives of the people. I knew I could do nothing on my own. I had discussed the ideas I have put forth here with a few representatives of the people. They expressed their helplessness as the prevalent top down system gave them no leeway whatsoever to go for dynamic initiatives. As I was leaving Thembamood after my tenure there, I wrote down the ideas expressed and had sent it to ‘The Hindu’. I never believed it would be accepted for publication in the news paper. To my surprise I found that it was published in ‘Metro’ on 31.01.2000. Nothing came of the blue print for development. Though I had forwarded a copy of the article to a few people who mattered it was never even acknowledged.
Development probably has to seep down from the top down structure and Thembamood occupied the least priority in the developmental concerns of the state and the authorities. Thembamood remains where it had always been that is at the bottom of the pyramid.
There has been a whiff of development in the neighbouring Panchayats. An Engineering college, a Dental College and two Medical Colleges have been set up in the private sector. There is the University Institute of Technology set up by Kerala University. These are not enough. People are supreme in a democracy. The much neglected interior of Trivandrum cries for development. All round development of a region relieves pressure on other developed areas of the state.
Kerala is now looking for avenues to develop Vizhinjam port. There has to be a people’s movement. The company to set up the port can sell shares to the common man across the state at rates affordable to the common man. The money is available in Kerala. It can be done. Malayalam Communications had done exactly this once. We can do this repeatedly to find resources to make Kerala a better place.
------------------------
Saturday, October 2, 2010
A WALK THROUGH THE RAIN
There, the light shone
It was dark
The rain came down
Heavily
The young lad tread
Alone
He was lonely
All the time
Scared
Afraid of the dark
Yet he trode
The roads were slushy
Slippery
Pot-holes abounded
Pieces of rock
Strewn around.
Was it the dogs
Or the snakes
Or the animals
Wild
He feared most
No
He was afraid
Of the dark
Pitch black
The lad was lean
Twelve years
There was no one
At home to keep
Him company
The mother at home
So sweet and loving
Awaited anxiously
The apple of her eye
The rains beat against
The roof and the windows
Lightning and thunder
In quick succession
She peered out
She was alone at the house
Flash floods instilled
Fear in her
The light shone all the time
To seek out the lad
To show him the way
Tell him his mother
Waited for him
The wind swept wild
The trees swayed
The river in spate
Roared
The boulders invisible
Yet invincible
The foam flew on
The road high above
The boy drenched
There was mist
He couldn’t see ahead
A lad of his age ought
Not to have been on
The road at that hour
He had set out
When the Sun was around
A bright sunny day
It was three miles
He loved to read
The library opened its’ doors late
Planters’ library
A big crowd assembled
The exchange cumbersome
It took long
The lights went off
Night, darkest ever
Abrupt the rain lashed
The lad set off for home
The books held close
Wind tried its best
To sweep the umbrella
The boy strained to keep
The books dry
Books meant a lot to him
A loner,
No companions, he had
Found solace in his books
An open window to the world
Where a stranger
He remained.
Learning by rot, detested he
Anathema a life structured
It poured amidst
The dance of fire and thunder
The tall peak in silhouette
The green bushes
Bed softest ever
Angry falls in numbers
On the slopes
The swaying trees
Tall and mighty
Indeed scary
Trout sought haven
In vain
The water rolled on
Vehemence imbibed.
Pity the one in the open
Face the fury
Lo! The beacon
Not far, he urged
The spirit sagging
There were tears in her eyes
Of joy
She held him in embrace
Him she loved most
The flashes lingered
Thunder, the worst
The downpour submerged
All in wake
The mother and the son
In the warmth of the shelter
------------------------------
It was dark
The rain came down
Heavily
The young lad tread
Alone
He was lonely
All the time
Scared
Afraid of the dark
Yet he trode
The roads were slushy
Slippery
Pot-holes abounded
Pieces of rock
Strewn around.
Was it the dogs
Or the snakes
Or the animals
Wild
He feared most
No
He was afraid
Of the dark
Pitch black
The lad was lean
Twelve years
There was no one
At home to keep
Him company
The mother at home
So sweet and loving
Awaited anxiously
The apple of her eye
The rains beat against
The roof and the windows
Lightning and thunder
In quick succession
She peered out
She was alone at the house
Flash floods instilled
Fear in her
The light shone all the time
To seek out the lad
To show him the way
Tell him his mother
Waited for him
The wind swept wild
The trees swayed
The river in spate
Roared
The boulders invisible
Yet invincible
The foam flew on
The road high above
The boy drenched
There was mist
He couldn’t see ahead
A lad of his age ought
Not to have been on
The road at that hour
He had set out
When the Sun was around
A bright sunny day
It was three miles
He loved to read
The library opened its’ doors late
Planters’ library
A big crowd assembled
The exchange cumbersome
It took long
The lights went off
Night, darkest ever
Abrupt the rain lashed
The lad set off for home
The books held close
Wind tried its best
To sweep the umbrella
The boy strained to keep
The books dry
Books meant a lot to him
A loner,
No companions, he had
Found solace in his books
An open window to the world
Where a stranger
He remained.
Learning by rot, detested he
Anathema a life structured
It poured amidst
The dance of fire and thunder
The tall peak in silhouette
The green bushes
Bed softest ever
Angry falls in numbers
On the slopes
The swaying trees
Tall and mighty
Indeed scary
Trout sought haven
In vain
The water rolled on
Vehemence imbibed.
Pity the one in the open
Face the fury
Lo! The beacon
Not far, he urged
The spirit sagging
There were tears in her eyes
Of joy
She held him in embrace
Him she loved most
The flashes lingered
Thunder, the worst
The downpour submerged
All in wake
The mother and the son
In the warmth of the shelter
------------------------------
Friday, July 16, 2010
ROBIN
Robin passed away today. Saturday, March 16, 2002 at 3.12 PM. Death was peaceful. He was completely laid up the past week. Paralysis, Meningitis and an illness that resembled Parkinson’s syndrome all of which attacked him simultaneously as he was recuperating from a bout of Pneumonia had done him in. We watched helplessly as his condition deteriorated during the week. The pain must have been unbearable for him. We were helpless when he was crying out. Since he could not be shifted to the hospital, we had the Doctor attend to him at home. Manitol through IV was administered for three consecutive days. There was visible improvement when Manitol was given initially.
It just gave us false hopes. The third day it was evident that the system was failing him. Bedsores appeared from nowhere. Sensing the dance of death fleas descended on him in their multitude. He cried out day and night as the fleas bit him. We kept him covered with a sheet to keep off the fleas. He suffered quietly when the fleas did not irritate him.
On his final day, in the morning, I found him with his head down. The message was transparent. He cared no longer. Life was slowly ebbing away. The machinations of the world affected him no more. He was past caring about anything. When I went to him he tried to lift his head with great difficulty. Mute eyes looked at me pleadingly to make him well. He longed to be up on his feet. The eyes were telling me that he was not well. Just as I stroked his head, he moved it desiring me to stroke him at different spots, which I did. The touch was soothing him. Both of us remained silent. Through telepathy I tried to tell him that I was sad he was suffering and that the misery would not prolong. I hoped he understood.
Robin was only a dog. But he was our Robin. He had been with us for the past eleven years. Our late Aniappachayan gifted him to us. Aniappachayan was a lover of animals. He owned a farm. It was a real farmhouse. He was full of ideas. All he lacked was capital. He left behind his wife and two children penniless when a cardiac arrest stole him without any notice.
Aniappachayan toiled hard in his farm. The whole family toiled along with him for survival. Aniappachayan reared the animals, sold the products and made a living. For him, puppies were nothing but a produce of the farm. He sold them whenever they came along.
Lila, on one of our visits to Aniappachayan, had expressed a desire to own a good dog. Aniappachayan assured at once that Lila could have a puppy the next time he had a litter. We forgot the promise.
One day, while I was leaving for the office at Edathua, Aniappachayan met me. He told me that the Labrador had given birth to a few puppies. He had already had a large number of enquiries for them. He was selling them at Rupees Two Thousand each and he asked me to take possession of one of them. He wanted no money. It was a gift. I was really moved. Aniappachayan was not rich at all. He had no job or a permanent income. He had a family to care for. The wants of the family always exceeded whatever little he had. Their requirements always were minimal.
When I returned that evening, the puppy was at home bawling. Aniappachayan had taken upon himself the task of bringing him over to my place.
Pappa, fetched a cardboard carton and reinforced it with wire. There was a slit covered with a piece of wire net. The mobile cage was ready for the puppy.
I took the Venad Express in the evening next day to Trivandrum from Tiruvalla with the puppy. From my place to Tiruvalla, it was the State Transport Bus. The puppy was a fare-paying passenger in both the bus and the train. He was very confident and had announced his presence with vehemence during the whole of the journey. At home, no one had expected me that evening. Telecom services were not extensive and were yet to assume the latter day range, strength and gigantic proportion. The singular contribution and simple reforms of Sam Pitroda were yet to make their dent. The faithful Post Office remained the sole recourse to transmit messages. Reaching a message home was still medieval.
Lila and the children were a surprised lot. Such unannounced visits were a rarity. And I was holding a small carton that bawled at a high pitch. They welcomed the puppy gleefully.
A search was on. The puppy could not remain a puppy forever. He was in need of a name. Several names were floated which were met with instant disapproval. Ashwin, the creative genius, came up with the wonderful name ‘ Robin’. It found acceptance. All of us loved it and the puppy assumed an identity of his own.
There was a jostling crowd waiting at the gate to extend a warm welcome as I reached home every Saturday. The crowd grew in strength with the advent of Robin. He was all over me the moment I stepped in.
Dogs have a unique feature. Though they love all the people at home and are affectionate to all, they have a one master character that stands out. They recognise one person only as the true master. To Robin, I was his real master. He loved, respected and obeyed me more than any one else.
In a very short time, Robin grew up. He was big in size. All black, he was the off spring of a German shepherd father and a Labrador mother. He towered over me when he stood on his hind legs. It was a beautiful sight when he galloped at full steam. It was poetry in black when the white teeth sparkled at night. Visitors made certain he was secured fast before stepping in.
The cats, the rats and the crows were his enemies. Cats scurried to safety the moment he was let free. He would catch and kill rats every night and the children had a job on their hands each morning. The dead rats had to be disposed off. The crows mocked him when he was on the leash. An angry loud burst was his reply. The game went on and we loved it every moment.
He enjoyed most when we gave him a bath. Initially it was the hose linked to the pump. When water pumped at such heavy force caused infection in his ears we discontinued it. The vet who attended him rebuked us.
The bath became an affair of celebration for him. There we were with several buckets filled with water. We were very gentle with mug, brush, soap and all and each session consumed at least half an hour, a ritual minimum twice a week.
Robin liked meat but he loved fish more. Even on his last day, paralysed as he was, he devoured the fish Lila put into his mouth. He moved his head with great difficulty. He would eat only when food was placed very close. He did not take much. Lila was in tears when she fed him.
When he was laid up all the four of us ensured that we would spend some time with him before we left in the morning. We went straight to him as soon as we returned in the evening. He would lick us and invite us to stroke him as he lay there in pain.
We let him roam free when he became ill. The leash was put away for good. We hated to shackle him anymore.
Omana, our help, took good care of him when we were away during the day. She would feed him, drive the mosquitoes and fleas away and ensured that he did not suffer in our absence. She seemed to love him like her own son, a son whom she longed to have and did not have. She could not hold back when Robin breathed his last. She wept without restraint.
Robin always toyed with Ammachi. He would take the opposite route whenever she sought him. She fed him with vitamins when he was a puppy. She brought medicines whenever he was in need of it. Ammachi had seen to it he was in his prime all the time.
When it became apparent that he would go, our hearts went out to him. Medicines, food or Physiotherapy were to no avail. The creator was adamant that Robin had had his day. The progressive deterioration was much more than we could absorb. During nights, when he cried out in pain, we would wake up, stay close and stroke him to provide succour.
The sores and the fleas that appeared out of nowhere were too much to bear. The sun bore down on him mercilessly. Lila and the children managed to provide him shade with a makeshift shamiana. Sheets were tied over the place where he lay critically ill. When the sky was overcast and an outpour was imminent plastic sheets were clipped to the cotton sheets. Blissfully, in reply to our prayers, the rains skipped the Asramam Road.
Finally, on that fateful day, we chose euthanasia. The misery had to end. We had little choice. Otherwise he would have suffered prolonged agony till the end came naturally.
Vijayan came along with us from the SPCA. As I touched Robin one last time, he turned his head and lifted it with great difficulty. The eyes were on to me. They tried to convey so much in that brief moment. The good and the bad we had together. I stroked him. Tears rolled down my cheeks. The past years came very much alive.
Vijayan wanted him on the leash as he administered the medicine. He wished to avoid a violent backlash.
Ashwin had dug a grave for Robin in anticipation of euthanasia. Robin was so dear to him and he could not forgive himself the dark deed. He had locked himself in his room.
Giving vent to her emotions aloud, Lila kept aloof. Anoop who had fought lonely yet successful battles for Robin when he had fallen ill on earlier occasions had wisely stayed away this time. He too could not bear it.
The mantle fell on me. Someone had to help Vijayan. Fighting the tears in my eyes, with trembling hands, I held the leash as the medicine went in. I did not want my Robin to go while on the leash. Much against Vijayan’s admonishment, I took the leash off as soon as the needle was withdrawn. Aware of my feelings, which were intense, Vijayan advised me to go away while the medicine did its job. I went in and broke down. I cried unashamedly for our Robin who had by then become a part of all of us, in fact an inseparable part of our whole family.
It did not take too long. Robin passed away into eternity and became history. Death was quick. He did not suffer at all. Ashwin and I stood there silently. We watched him, as he lay there freed from the turmoil and the agony. Nothing would ensnare him anymore. Vijayan and Ashwin wrapped a sheet around Robin. They carried him to the grave. I stood there as they lowered him. Tears rolled down again when they put earth over him. Lila could not bear to stay close and watch. She watched from afar.
The rains that came down heavily in other parts of the city never made its mark in our locality when Robin lay seriously ill. It was as if nature suffered with him and did not wish to add insult to injury. It was an outpour the moment Robin was buried. Nature was shedding an avalanche of tears for the sake of Robin who must have been dear to it.
Robin had almost been lost to us on a few occasions earlier.
Ashwin did not lock the gate perfectly one night. The next day there was no trace of Robin in the morning. He had managed to sneak away and explore the world through the yawning gap. Anoop and I took the car and went in search. We covered the roads up to Oruvathilkotta, Chakka,Pettah and Pattoor but in vain. Ashwin bore the combined ire of the family. He went around on his bicycle through the by lanes. It was pitch dark. Ashwin finally managed to find Robin in a vacant compound. Robin leapt in joy when he saw Ashwin and followed him home. We still see him lying down sheepishly at our feet with remorse for the transgression.
The infection in the ear and the relative attack by worms had almost killed him. Timely intervention by Dr.Sreekala at the initiative of Anoop and continued nursing care brought him back to life. Dr.Sreekala is indeed an exemplary personality, a doctor who has imbibed the objectives and traditions of her profession so thoroughly well. Assisted by Vijayan she gave off her very best for Robin. They were simply superb.
We fought for him again when he had fallen ill for the last time. We did not wish to give him up without a fight. We were sad when we lost. But laws of creation are alike for all living beings. Robin was no exception. We were happy that we could fight the battle with the limited resources available. Nature’s laws are inviolable. We learned it to our dismay when Robin finally went.
A dog is a dumb animal. One may wonder why so much time and space is devoted to it. Man’s best friend, it has an intelligence that surpass our imagination. When an animal ingrains and endears itself into our lives, it becomes a part of us. When it departs life becomes shallow.
Robin came into our lives eleven years ago. In the short span he was allowed on earth, he became a symbol of love and affection for all of us. He made us love him. He was grateful for the affection we had showered upon him. He was so playful that the trail he left behind whenever he entered the house resembled a tornado in action. I still see him at the place where he lay sick on his final days. When I look intensely I donot see him. At night, when I wake up, I continue to look out through the window in search of Robin. One who loved his master most, he would lie down close to my window. He would stand erect whenever I stood up. He was attentive to the needs of his master. He would lie down when I hit the bed again. A light interruption at the gate or anywhere, Robin would be there though he had been fast asleep till that moment. He would scare the wits out of any, would be intruder through his growl.
Robin, we are grateful to you for enlivening our lives all these years. We are grateful to you for keeping watch and protecting us. We are grateful for the love and affection and the obedience. It was fun when you were around. We miss you. You will remain etched in our minds forever.
-------------------
It just gave us false hopes. The third day it was evident that the system was failing him. Bedsores appeared from nowhere. Sensing the dance of death fleas descended on him in their multitude. He cried out day and night as the fleas bit him. We kept him covered with a sheet to keep off the fleas. He suffered quietly when the fleas did not irritate him.
On his final day, in the morning, I found him with his head down. The message was transparent. He cared no longer. Life was slowly ebbing away. The machinations of the world affected him no more. He was past caring about anything. When I went to him he tried to lift his head with great difficulty. Mute eyes looked at me pleadingly to make him well. He longed to be up on his feet. The eyes were telling me that he was not well. Just as I stroked his head, he moved it desiring me to stroke him at different spots, which I did. The touch was soothing him. Both of us remained silent. Through telepathy I tried to tell him that I was sad he was suffering and that the misery would not prolong. I hoped he understood.
Robin was only a dog. But he was our Robin. He had been with us for the past eleven years. Our late Aniappachayan gifted him to us. Aniappachayan was a lover of animals. He owned a farm. It was a real farmhouse. He was full of ideas. All he lacked was capital. He left behind his wife and two children penniless when a cardiac arrest stole him without any notice.
Aniappachayan toiled hard in his farm. The whole family toiled along with him for survival. Aniappachayan reared the animals, sold the products and made a living. For him, puppies were nothing but a produce of the farm. He sold them whenever they came along.
Lila, on one of our visits to Aniappachayan, had expressed a desire to own a good dog. Aniappachayan assured at once that Lila could have a puppy the next time he had a litter. We forgot the promise.
One day, while I was leaving for the office at Edathua, Aniappachayan met me. He told me that the Labrador had given birth to a few puppies. He had already had a large number of enquiries for them. He was selling them at Rupees Two Thousand each and he asked me to take possession of one of them. He wanted no money. It was a gift. I was really moved. Aniappachayan was not rich at all. He had no job or a permanent income. He had a family to care for. The wants of the family always exceeded whatever little he had. Their requirements always were minimal.
When I returned that evening, the puppy was at home bawling. Aniappachayan had taken upon himself the task of bringing him over to my place.
Pappa, fetched a cardboard carton and reinforced it with wire. There was a slit covered with a piece of wire net. The mobile cage was ready for the puppy.
I took the Venad Express in the evening next day to Trivandrum from Tiruvalla with the puppy. From my place to Tiruvalla, it was the State Transport Bus. The puppy was a fare-paying passenger in both the bus and the train. He was very confident and had announced his presence with vehemence during the whole of the journey. At home, no one had expected me that evening. Telecom services were not extensive and were yet to assume the latter day range, strength and gigantic proportion. The singular contribution and simple reforms of Sam Pitroda were yet to make their dent. The faithful Post Office remained the sole recourse to transmit messages. Reaching a message home was still medieval.
Lila and the children were a surprised lot. Such unannounced visits were a rarity. And I was holding a small carton that bawled at a high pitch. They welcomed the puppy gleefully.
A search was on. The puppy could not remain a puppy forever. He was in need of a name. Several names were floated which were met with instant disapproval. Ashwin, the creative genius, came up with the wonderful name ‘ Robin’. It found acceptance. All of us loved it and the puppy assumed an identity of his own.
There was a jostling crowd waiting at the gate to extend a warm welcome as I reached home every Saturday. The crowd grew in strength with the advent of Robin. He was all over me the moment I stepped in.
Dogs have a unique feature. Though they love all the people at home and are affectionate to all, they have a one master character that stands out. They recognise one person only as the true master. To Robin, I was his real master. He loved, respected and obeyed me more than any one else.
In a very short time, Robin grew up. He was big in size. All black, he was the off spring of a German shepherd father and a Labrador mother. He towered over me when he stood on his hind legs. It was a beautiful sight when he galloped at full steam. It was poetry in black when the white teeth sparkled at night. Visitors made certain he was secured fast before stepping in.
The cats, the rats and the crows were his enemies. Cats scurried to safety the moment he was let free. He would catch and kill rats every night and the children had a job on their hands each morning. The dead rats had to be disposed off. The crows mocked him when he was on the leash. An angry loud burst was his reply. The game went on and we loved it every moment.
He enjoyed most when we gave him a bath. Initially it was the hose linked to the pump. When water pumped at such heavy force caused infection in his ears we discontinued it. The vet who attended him rebuked us.
The bath became an affair of celebration for him. There we were with several buckets filled with water. We were very gentle with mug, brush, soap and all and each session consumed at least half an hour, a ritual minimum twice a week.
Robin liked meat but he loved fish more. Even on his last day, paralysed as he was, he devoured the fish Lila put into his mouth. He moved his head with great difficulty. He would eat only when food was placed very close. He did not take much. Lila was in tears when she fed him.
When he was laid up all the four of us ensured that we would spend some time with him before we left in the morning. We went straight to him as soon as we returned in the evening. He would lick us and invite us to stroke him as he lay there in pain.
We let him roam free when he became ill. The leash was put away for good. We hated to shackle him anymore.
Omana, our help, took good care of him when we were away during the day. She would feed him, drive the mosquitoes and fleas away and ensured that he did not suffer in our absence. She seemed to love him like her own son, a son whom she longed to have and did not have. She could not hold back when Robin breathed his last. She wept without restraint.
Robin always toyed with Ammachi. He would take the opposite route whenever she sought him. She fed him with vitamins when he was a puppy. She brought medicines whenever he was in need of it. Ammachi had seen to it he was in his prime all the time.
When it became apparent that he would go, our hearts went out to him. Medicines, food or Physiotherapy were to no avail. The creator was adamant that Robin had had his day. The progressive deterioration was much more than we could absorb. During nights, when he cried out in pain, we would wake up, stay close and stroke him to provide succour.
The sores and the fleas that appeared out of nowhere were too much to bear. The sun bore down on him mercilessly. Lila and the children managed to provide him shade with a makeshift shamiana. Sheets were tied over the place where he lay critically ill. When the sky was overcast and an outpour was imminent plastic sheets were clipped to the cotton sheets. Blissfully, in reply to our prayers, the rains skipped the Asramam Road.
Finally, on that fateful day, we chose euthanasia. The misery had to end. We had little choice. Otherwise he would have suffered prolonged agony till the end came naturally.
Vijayan came along with us from the SPCA. As I touched Robin one last time, he turned his head and lifted it with great difficulty. The eyes were on to me. They tried to convey so much in that brief moment. The good and the bad we had together. I stroked him. Tears rolled down my cheeks. The past years came very much alive.
Vijayan wanted him on the leash as he administered the medicine. He wished to avoid a violent backlash.
Ashwin had dug a grave for Robin in anticipation of euthanasia. Robin was so dear to him and he could not forgive himself the dark deed. He had locked himself in his room.
Giving vent to her emotions aloud, Lila kept aloof. Anoop who had fought lonely yet successful battles for Robin when he had fallen ill on earlier occasions had wisely stayed away this time. He too could not bear it.
The mantle fell on me. Someone had to help Vijayan. Fighting the tears in my eyes, with trembling hands, I held the leash as the medicine went in. I did not want my Robin to go while on the leash. Much against Vijayan’s admonishment, I took the leash off as soon as the needle was withdrawn. Aware of my feelings, which were intense, Vijayan advised me to go away while the medicine did its job. I went in and broke down. I cried unashamedly for our Robin who had by then become a part of all of us, in fact an inseparable part of our whole family.
It did not take too long. Robin passed away into eternity and became history. Death was quick. He did not suffer at all. Ashwin and I stood there silently. We watched him, as he lay there freed from the turmoil and the agony. Nothing would ensnare him anymore. Vijayan and Ashwin wrapped a sheet around Robin. They carried him to the grave. I stood there as they lowered him. Tears rolled down again when they put earth over him. Lila could not bear to stay close and watch. She watched from afar.
The rains that came down heavily in other parts of the city never made its mark in our locality when Robin lay seriously ill. It was as if nature suffered with him and did not wish to add insult to injury. It was an outpour the moment Robin was buried. Nature was shedding an avalanche of tears for the sake of Robin who must have been dear to it.
Robin had almost been lost to us on a few occasions earlier.
Ashwin did not lock the gate perfectly one night. The next day there was no trace of Robin in the morning. He had managed to sneak away and explore the world through the yawning gap. Anoop and I took the car and went in search. We covered the roads up to Oruvathilkotta, Chakka,Pettah and Pattoor but in vain. Ashwin bore the combined ire of the family. He went around on his bicycle through the by lanes. It was pitch dark. Ashwin finally managed to find Robin in a vacant compound. Robin leapt in joy when he saw Ashwin and followed him home. We still see him lying down sheepishly at our feet with remorse for the transgression.
The infection in the ear and the relative attack by worms had almost killed him. Timely intervention by Dr.Sreekala at the initiative of Anoop and continued nursing care brought him back to life. Dr.Sreekala is indeed an exemplary personality, a doctor who has imbibed the objectives and traditions of her profession so thoroughly well. Assisted by Vijayan she gave off her very best for Robin. They were simply superb.
We fought for him again when he had fallen ill for the last time. We did not wish to give him up without a fight. We were sad when we lost. But laws of creation are alike for all living beings. Robin was no exception. We were happy that we could fight the battle with the limited resources available. Nature’s laws are inviolable. We learned it to our dismay when Robin finally went.
A dog is a dumb animal. One may wonder why so much time and space is devoted to it. Man’s best friend, it has an intelligence that surpass our imagination. When an animal ingrains and endears itself into our lives, it becomes a part of us. When it departs life becomes shallow.
Robin came into our lives eleven years ago. In the short span he was allowed on earth, he became a symbol of love and affection for all of us. He made us love him. He was grateful for the affection we had showered upon him. He was so playful that the trail he left behind whenever he entered the house resembled a tornado in action. I still see him at the place where he lay sick on his final days. When I look intensely I donot see him. At night, when I wake up, I continue to look out through the window in search of Robin. One who loved his master most, he would lie down close to my window. He would stand erect whenever I stood up. He was attentive to the needs of his master. He would lie down when I hit the bed again. A light interruption at the gate or anywhere, Robin would be there though he had been fast asleep till that moment. He would scare the wits out of any, would be intruder through his growl.
Robin, we are grateful to you for enlivening our lives all these years. We are grateful to you for keeping watch and protecting us. We are grateful for the love and affection and the obedience. It was fun when you were around. We miss you. You will remain etched in our minds forever.
-------------------
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
YORKED
Your kind attention please.
“Train No 2345- Hyderabad –Cochin Sagar Express is expected to leave at 7.15 pm from platform No 9”. It went on unhindered in Hindi,English as well as Telugu. It is a great mercy that the announcements are only trilingual and not multilingual, imbibing all the languages we have.
The train was still playing truant even when there were hardly fifteen minutes for its departure.
The platform was crowded. There were more people than the passengers. In India each journey by train is a big event A whole tribe descends to see off a passenger. The passenger finds it a Herculean task to wade through the sea of humanity juggling around on the platform and locate his seat.
“Hi Tony!”
The tall boy with thick glasses blinked.
“Good Morning”
He blinked again.
“Have you forgotten us? We are your class-mates.” the girls giggled,” I’m Preetha.I’m Neetu.”
The boy was dumbfounded.
“Where are you off now?”
“Kottayam”, self conscious, Tony replied with a reddened face. Though he had been studying in a Co-ed school for the past ten years, this was the first word he had ever spoken to a girl. Orthodox parents had brought him up. The upbringing was conservative. The unspoken message had ever been, “It’s a great sin to look at a girl, let alone converse with her.”
Tony was on his way to Kottayam to visit his relatives. Rohan, his elder brother, James, his dad and Sarasu, his mother were with him.
A whole year’s planning had gone into this trip. It has been a ritual every year.
James and Sarasu were teachers in a higher secondary school at Kirandul, a God forsaken place in the outskirts of Hyderabad. They were at once teachers and wardens. It had been a tough task to keep the girls off from their own talented boys. They knew their boys would find their own girls. But they didn’t want the girls to distract their sons from their studies. They had lots of unfulfilled dreams. How are they going to realize their dreams through their children, if they are allowed to lead their life as they liked, following the footsteps of their parents.
For James and Sarasu, it had been a courtship that had lasted whole through their school and college. As cupid had grown strong, they could not concentrate on their studies. Talent had given way to mediocrity. It was with great difficulty they could land a job after two children. Life had been difficult and the story might have been different but for the job in the school.
Tony sat there quietly. Across him sat Preetha and Neetu. They were smiling at each other whispering in conspirational tones.
“We have to teach him manners. Why, hasn’t he come across girls before?”
Preetha looked 15 years and was as tall as Tony. Neetu was shorter; but she too seemed of similar age.
Preetha began, “Hey Tony, you haven’t spoken yet. Pity, you don’t recognize us. We’re from the same school and same class.”
Silence, Tony decided, was golden. He got up quietly, walked over to his parents and apprised them of the difficult situation.
“ I’ll go and assess the situation”, said James. He went over. Both the girls got up at once and wished him in unison, “Good Morning Mr. James. How’s ma’m?”
The girls were in slacks and jeans. They looked familiar. James returned to Sarasu. “Why don’t you have a look?” he added, “The girls are our students.”
“Good Morning ma’m,”the girls cried out with respect as soon as Sarasu made her mark. Sarasu was in two minds. “Were the girls really their students or were they bluffing?”
The train started moving. She went back to her seat and asked Tony to go back to his seat. “Be careful, girls are full of venom”, she advised.
Finding solace from nowhere, Tony returned to his seat, grim faced. He took up the textbook for Geography - his mother’s subject, there will be hell to pay if he is not proficient in it – and tried to immerse himself in it.
How can he divert his attention when he has two beautiful girls across, smiling at him. But he held on and kept the book open. Preetha won’t let go. She opened up. “Tony, you are scared of Mrs. Sarasu and Geography. Aren’t you? We too are.”
“ The vacation has given us a well earned respite from Geography,” said Neetu.
Tony went straight to Sarasu.”The girls are from my class. They are scared of
Mrs. Sarasu and Geography.”
“Forget them,” said Sarasu, “Enjoy the journey watching the countryside flash by.”
“What kind of a person are you?” James scolded Sarasu. “You have always been like this. You don’t know anyone anywhere. You do not even know your students,” he added. Sarasu fumed but kept quiet.
“Come Tony, have a bite” Preetha offered part of a samosa she was devouring.
Tony fumbled, looked around and as no one was watching took the samosa and devoured it. He loved samosas.
“Why don’t you buy us a coke, Tony at the next station?” prodded Neetu.
“I’ve no money,” said Tony.
“They are both strict and stingy”, blurted out Preetha glancing furtively in
the direction of James and Sarasu. “We’ll put up the money if you would share
the coke with us”, she added.
Coke had always been Tony’s weakness.
“Dad, Tony is on the platform. He’s buying a coke,” Rohan blurted out
“He must have saved his pocket money. If you had, you could have joined
him.” Sarasu admonished him. Rohan remained passive.
“Thank you very much. You are so sweet.” The girls were in chorus.
“Please open the bottle. We’ll drink from it in turn. There are no cups.”
Though it sounded unhygienic, it seemed not a bad idea to Tony.
Tony, Preetha and Neetu took their own time in sharing the coke.
A day and a night went by. The train passed through several stations
stopping at a few of them. Tony, Preetha and Neetu were having a fine time
They had become very friendly and were cracking a lot of jokes and enjoying
them .
‘Girls are after all good companions,” Tony told himself.
The train thundered into Ernakulam South station.
Preetha and Neetu were preparing to detrain.
They said, “Bye, Mr. James
Bye, Mrs. Sarasu
Bye, Rohan
Bye, Tony, have a nice time”
“Hey, Tony, We’re not your classmates” said Preetha and Neetu in unison as they stepped out of the train.
Tony blinked.
------------------------------------------------------------
“Train No 2345- Hyderabad –Cochin Sagar Express is expected to leave at 7.15 pm from platform No 9”. It went on unhindered in Hindi,English as well as Telugu. It is a great mercy that the announcements are only trilingual and not multilingual, imbibing all the languages we have.
The train was still playing truant even when there were hardly fifteen minutes for its departure.
The platform was crowded. There were more people than the passengers. In India each journey by train is a big event A whole tribe descends to see off a passenger. The passenger finds it a Herculean task to wade through the sea of humanity juggling around on the platform and locate his seat.
“Hi Tony!”
The tall boy with thick glasses blinked.
“Good Morning”
He blinked again.
“Have you forgotten us? We are your class-mates.” the girls giggled,” I’m Preetha.I’m Neetu.”
The boy was dumbfounded.
“Where are you off now?”
“Kottayam”, self conscious, Tony replied with a reddened face. Though he had been studying in a Co-ed school for the past ten years, this was the first word he had ever spoken to a girl. Orthodox parents had brought him up. The upbringing was conservative. The unspoken message had ever been, “It’s a great sin to look at a girl, let alone converse with her.”
Tony was on his way to Kottayam to visit his relatives. Rohan, his elder brother, James, his dad and Sarasu, his mother were with him.
A whole year’s planning had gone into this trip. It has been a ritual every year.
James and Sarasu were teachers in a higher secondary school at Kirandul, a God forsaken place in the outskirts of Hyderabad. They were at once teachers and wardens. It had been a tough task to keep the girls off from their own talented boys. They knew their boys would find their own girls. But they didn’t want the girls to distract their sons from their studies. They had lots of unfulfilled dreams. How are they going to realize their dreams through their children, if they are allowed to lead their life as they liked, following the footsteps of their parents.
For James and Sarasu, it had been a courtship that had lasted whole through their school and college. As cupid had grown strong, they could not concentrate on their studies. Talent had given way to mediocrity. It was with great difficulty they could land a job after two children. Life had been difficult and the story might have been different but for the job in the school.
Tony sat there quietly. Across him sat Preetha and Neetu. They were smiling at each other whispering in conspirational tones.
“We have to teach him manners. Why, hasn’t he come across girls before?”
Preetha looked 15 years and was as tall as Tony. Neetu was shorter; but she too seemed of similar age.
Preetha began, “Hey Tony, you haven’t spoken yet. Pity, you don’t recognize us. We’re from the same school and same class.”
Silence, Tony decided, was golden. He got up quietly, walked over to his parents and apprised them of the difficult situation.
“ I’ll go and assess the situation”, said James. He went over. Both the girls got up at once and wished him in unison, “Good Morning Mr. James. How’s ma’m?”
The girls were in slacks and jeans. They looked familiar. James returned to Sarasu. “Why don’t you have a look?” he added, “The girls are our students.”
“Good Morning ma’m,”the girls cried out with respect as soon as Sarasu made her mark. Sarasu was in two minds. “Were the girls really their students or were they bluffing?”
The train started moving. She went back to her seat and asked Tony to go back to his seat. “Be careful, girls are full of venom”, she advised.
Finding solace from nowhere, Tony returned to his seat, grim faced. He took up the textbook for Geography - his mother’s subject, there will be hell to pay if he is not proficient in it – and tried to immerse himself in it.
How can he divert his attention when he has two beautiful girls across, smiling at him. But he held on and kept the book open. Preetha won’t let go. She opened up. “Tony, you are scared of Mrs. Sarasu and Geography. Aren’t you? We too are.”
“ The vacation has given us a well earned respite from Geography,” said Neetu.
Tony went straight to Sarasu.”The girls are from my class. They are scared of
Mrs. Sarasu and Geography.”
“Forget them,” said Sarasu, “Enjoy the journey watching the countryside flash by.”
“What kind of a person are you?” James scolded Sarasu. “You have always been like this. You don’t know anyone anywhere. You do not even know your students,” he added. Sarasu fumed but kept quiet.
“Come Tony, have a bite” Preetha offered part of a samosa she was devouring.
Tony fumbled, looked around and as no one was watching took the samosa and devoured it. He loved samosas.
“Why don’t you buy us a coke, Tony at the next station?” prodded Neetu.
“I’ve no money,” said Tony.
“They are both strict and stingy”, blurted out Preetha glancing furtively in
the direction of James and Sarasu. “We’ll put up the money if you would share
the coke with us”, she added.
Coke had always been Tony’s weakness.
“Dad, Tony is on the platform. He’s buying a coke,” Rohan blurted out
“He must have saved his pocket money. If you had, you could have joined
him.” Sarasu admonished him. Rohan remained passive.
“Thank you very much. You are so sweet.” The girls were in chorus.
“Please open the bottle. We’ll drink from it in turn. There are no cups.”
Though it sounded unhygienic, it seemed not a bad idea to Tony.
Tony, Preetha and Neetu took their own time in sharing the coke.
A day and a night went by. The train passed through several stations
stopping at a few of them. Tony, Preetha and Neetu were having a fine time
They had become very friendly and were cracking a lot of jokes and enjoying
them .
‘Girls are after all good companions,” Tony told himself.
The train thundered into Ernakulam South station.
Preetha and Neetu were preparing to detrain.
They said, “Bye, Mr. James
Bye, Mrs. Sarasu
Bye, Rohan
Bye, Tony, have a nice time”
“Hey, Tony, We’re not your classmates” said Preetha and Neetu in unison as they stepped out of the train.
Tony blinked.
------------------------------------------------------------
PARAPLEGIC FIGHTS TO SURVIVE
Johny, Mollykutty, Shibi and Shiji make a family. They are desperate. They have been fighting to survive all along. They are at their wits’ end at the moment. They have a house alright, but the facilities available leave much to be desired. The poorest of the poor of the day have better living conditions than the family before us. The house is built on the slope of a hill near Methuvukunnel at Enathu, a village 15 minutes from Kottarakkara, Kerala,India. The village thrives on agrarian economy. Though the family cultivates the land, the fillip in agriculture is not visible on the plot as farming has limitations on such plots.
What has gone wrong?
Everything from the beginning has not gone right for Johny. Born to parents who were poor and with little education, his schooling had been a mess. If he had studied well he would not have been in the mess he finds himself in at the moment. He tried his hands at tailoring for a while. Later he drove an autoriksha. With failure at the venture he has gone into tapping a few rubber trees of the agriculturists of the area, a job that provide him very little. The family survives on the pittance.
Johny looked for some kind of assistance from the welfare schemes of the Government. What he tells is that he is ineligible to draw from the welfare schemes as his plot is 50 cents in area and as he has a house. The plot is arable but cannot produce food for more than two months an year. It is a dilapidated house with dilapidated furniture. The four share two cots among themselves. According to the present valuations Johny and his family cannot belong to the levels of poverty eligible for assistance through welfare schemes. To cap it all he belongs to the forward caste.
Of the two daughters Shiji, 23 , is paraplegic. She crawls on the floor with her hands. She cannot stand on her feet as her spine does not permit it. Johny carried her to the school up to her 7th standard. He stopped taking her to the School after the 7th since he himself had to carry her to the toilets whenever the need arose. Since the physically challenged girl cannot be left alone at the house, the mother, Mollykutty is unable to go out for work. Shibi, the elder girl, 26, is studying for M.Com through private registration. Johny cannot fund her education. But a few people who know them are helping the girl in her quest for knowledge.
Johny certainly is at fault for not grabbing the opportunities that came his way right from the beginning. The family could have done better if they had fought it out like several others who had nothing at all and yet had made it good.
But the condition of Shiji disheartened Johny to the hilt. He had taken her to several hospitals. There was no cure. A large share of whatever little he had earned had gone into the treatment. The only assistance Shiji gets is Rs.200/- every month as disability allowance from the Government. She does not receive the amount on a regular basis either.
Shiji is definitely a question mark on the conscience of the society, the state, the government, the people, the media, the relatives, welfare organizations that abound and her church(Pentecostal).
Up against a wall, Johny is available at (91)(0)9288001881.
-------------------------
What has gone wrong?
Everything from the beginning has not gone right for Johny. Born to parents who were poor and with little education, his schooling had been a mess. If he had studied well he would not have been in the mess he finds himself in at the moment. He tried his hands at tailoring for a while. Later he drove an autoriksha. With failure at the venture he has gone into tapping a few rubber trees of the agriculturists of the area, a job that provide him very little. The family survives on the pittance.
Johny looked for some kind of assistance from the welfare schemes of the Government. What he tells is that he is ineligible to draw from the welfare schemes as his plot is 50 cents in area and as he has a house. The plot is arable but cannot produce food for more than two months an year. It is a dilapidated house with dilapidated furniture. The four share two cots among themselves. According to the present valuations Johny and his family cannot belong to the levels of poverty eligible for assistance through welfare schemes. To cap it all he belongs to the forward caste.
Of the two daughters Shiji, 23 , is paraplegic. She crawls on the floor with her hands. She cannot stand on her feet as her spine does not permit it. Johny carried her to the school up to her 7th standard. He stopped taking her to the School after the 7th since he himself had to carry her to the toilets whenever the need arose. Since the physically challenged girl cannot be left alone at the house, the mother, Mollykutty is unable to go out for work. Shibi, the elder girl, 26, is studying for M.Com through private registration. Johny cannot fund her education. But a few people who know them are helping the girl in her quest for knowledge.
Johny certainly is at fault for not grabbing the opportunities that came his way right from the beginning. The family could have done better if they had fought it out like several others who had nothing at all and yet had made it good.
But the condition of Shiji disheartened Johny to the hilt. He had taken her to several hospitals. There was no cure. A large share of whatever little he had earned had gone into the treatment. The only assistance Shiji gets is Rs.200/- every month as disability allowance from the Government. She does not receive the amount on a regular basis either.
Shiji is definitely a question mark on the conscience of the society, the state, the government, the people, the media, the relatives, welfare organizations that abound and her church(Pentecostal).
Up against a wall, Johny is available at (91)(0)9288001881.
-------------------------
INFRASTRUCTURE IN KERALA
Palestine is a nascent state. The nation was born surmounting heavy odds stacked against it. The Palestinians had been in an unending conflict with Israel over their right to their land. Even today no one knows when an armed conflict is going to explode there. The nation is poor. The Government is struggling to raise resources to develop the nation. The roads there resemble roads of Kerala. Gutters, pot holes, sewage flowing onto the roads, bumpy rides and dust everywhere as a vehicle passes all resemble the roads in Kerala. To be precise the roads have close similarity with the roads in Trivandrum, the capital city of God’s own country. The only difference is that Kerala has resources that are poorly deployed. Reality in Kerala means corruption, dirty roads, pollution and inadequate power supply. There is no imagination. There is no forethought. Impractical ideals rule over practical solutions. Arm chair officials are content in scribbling notes never struggling out of their seats to see the reality. We are in the process of a never ending debate over the need for good roads in Kerala. It may be that debate over non issues stimulates the average Keralite. Palestine is in dire straits because they cannot help it. We are in a precarious state because we prefer to be in it. In the words of NRNarayana Murty, “ego, vanity and contempt for other people have clouded our minds for thousands of years and impeded our progress.” Al Berouni, the famous Persian writer on his visit to India in the eleventh century had stressed on this tendency.
When one travels through Jordan, Israel, Palestine and Egypt what catches the eye is the manner in which Israel has converted deserts and barren lands into green belts through green house farming as well as conventional farming. Palestine came into being mostly through transfer of the West Bank and Gaza. What surprises a keen observer is that while green house farming and normal farming flourish in Israel, farming is not actively pursued as Israel had been doing in the land handed over to Palestine or Jordan.
If one travels the length and breadth of Kerala we find abandoned farms where agriculture had been the prime activity bringing prosperity all around. No one tills the land any more. There is no one to harvest the ripe coconuts. Let me quote a real story. The names are changed. Thomas Varghese has more than an acre of dry land where multi cropping is adopted. He has around forty coconut trees. There is no one to climb the trees and harvest the coconuts. With great difficulty he managed to locate Chellappan who was traditionally a coconut tree climber. When Thomas requested Chellappan to help him tide over the crisis, Chellapan told him that even though he liked to do the job his grown up children had barred him from carrying on with the traditional activity. When Thomas pleaded Chellappan finally relented and gave him his Cell Phone number. What Chellappan said while handing over the phone number was quite interesting. “Normally when the phone rings it is answered by someone at home as I am not there all the time. Never tell them you are asking for me to harvest the coconuts. They will never let me do it. Just tell them you wish to see me and nothing more. I will try to come to your place at my convenience. “As agreed to Thomas made the phone call and conveyed the message. After a few days on one fine afternoon Thomas found Chellappan knocking at the door. Chellappan said,” I did receive your message in time. However it was only today that I had felt that I needed some money in my hand and I would do the harvesting for you today.” Agriculture has no future in Kerala.
What we need today is infrastructure. Developed roads play a great role in the development of infrastructure. If we care to visit Beijing we would find world class roads there. Vehicles ply on five and six lanes one way and on identical lanes the other way. If the traffic is heavy there are flyovers to regulate traffic. There are over bridges, some of them with escalators, for the pedestrians to cross the roads everywhere. At the Zebra lines vehicles stop by themselves and allow the pedestrians to cross over. Reality in Beijing means clean roads, no pollution, enough power and good airports. With China a role model for many a prominent Keralite I feel it is time for us to adopt what China has adopted to develop their country barring the authoritarian rule.
The Chinese example was quoted because the ruling front in Kerala today admires China for the giant strides it has made and its wonderful accomplishments. The Chinese are hard working people and they strive to better their lives. I wonder whether we in Kerala are working as hard as the Chinese. But one thing I am certain. We are exceptionally good in debating over any issue endlessly to ensure that no development ever takes place in our state.
The roads in Jordan, Israel, Egypt, Dubai, Abu Dhabi, Hong Kong, Singapore and Malaysia are all superb and tell no different story. We had a head start over them at one point in history. They have all overtaken us. We gaze at them wonder struck. The usual refrain is that in Kerala’s special conditions what happens in the world cannot be replicated here. But Beijing is in China. The population in Beijing is as huge as any major city in the world. We come across large crowds of people everywhere. The development of Beijing into a world class city astounds an onlooker. Nothing is impossible there. They had the will. They wanted it. They have attained what Kerala will never achieve in the near future.
My dream for Kerala is that we have very good and wide roads where one can travel fast without any hindrance and without the persisting fear of something untoward happening each time one is on the road. I dream of a day when I can be a pedestrian with the full confidence that the vehicles on the road are not my enemies out to finish me off at the first opportunity.
Agriculture thrives where infrastructure excels. Road development is an integral part of infrastructure development. I dream of a day the Keralite turns back to agriculture in a big way. I dream of a day our state rich in natural resources makes the best of its potential. I dream of a day when the whole world focuses its attention on Kerala for its spectacular transformation in all parameters.
Dreams are for real. Dreams make the unattainable the attainable. I dream of a day the average Keralite realizes that his state is at the bottom rung of economically successful states or countries, accepts the fact, makes an effort to respect people better than him for their achievements, learns from them and improves his own economic status. I dream of a day when the Keralite (courtesy NR Narayana Murty) asks himself,
“What can I do so that people will miss me if I disappear tomorrow?” and creates a lasting legacy of decent leadership
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When one travels through Jordan, Israel, Palestine and Egypt what catches the eye is the manner in which Israel has converted deserts and barren lands into green belts through green house farming as well as conventional farming. Palestine came into being mostly through transfer of the West Bank and Gaza. What surprises a keen observer is that while green house farming and normal farming flourish in Israel, farming is not actively pursued as Israel had been doing in the land handed over to Palestine or Jordan.
If one travels the length and breadth of Kerala we find abandoned farms where agriculture had been the prime activity bringing prosperity all around. No one tills the land any more. There is no one to harvest the ripe coconuts. Let me quote a real story. The names are changed. Thomas Varghese has more than an acre of dry land where multi cropping is adopted. He has around forty coconut trees. There is no one to climb the trees and harvest the coconuts. With great difficulty he managed to locate Chellappan who was traditionally a coconut tree climber. When Thomas requested Chellappan to help him tide over the crisis, Chellapan told him that even though he liked to do the job his grown up children had barred him from carrying on with the traditional activity. When Thomas pleaded Chellappan finally relented and gave him his Cell Phone number. What Chellappan said while handing over the phone number was quite interesting. “Normally when the phone rings it is answered by someone at home as I am not there all the time. Never tell them you are asking for me to harvest the coconuts. They will never let me do it. Just tell them you wish to see me and nothing more. I will try to come to your place at my convenience. “As agreed to Thomas made the phone call and conveyed the message. After a few days on one fine afternoon Thomas found Chellappan knocking at the door. Chellappan said,” I did receive your message in time. However it was only today that I had felt that I needed some money in my hand and I would do the harvesting for you today.” Agriculture has no future in Kerala.
What we need today is infrastructure. Developed roads play a great role in the development of infrastructure. If we care to visit Beijing we would find world class roads there. Vehicles ply on five and six lanes one way and on identical lanes the other way. If the traffic is heavy there are flyovers to regulate traffic. There are over bridges, some of them with escalators, for the pedestrians to cross the roads everywhere. At the Zebra lines vehicles stop by themselves and allow the pedestrians to cross over. Reality in Beijing means clean roads, no pollution, enough power and good airports. With China a role model for many a prominent Keralite I feel it is time for us to adopt what China has adopted to develop their country barring the authoritarian rule.
The Chinese example was quoted because the ruling front in Kerala today admires China for the giant strides it has made and its wonderful accomplishments. The Chinese are hard working people and they strive to better their lives. I wonder whether we in Kerala are working as hard as the Chinese. But one thing I am certain. We are exceptionally good in debating over any issue endlessly to ensure that no development ever takes place in our state.
The roads in Jordan, Israel, Egypt, Dubai, Abu Dhabi, Hong Kong, Singapore and Malaysia are all superb and tell no different story. We had a head start over them at one point in history. They have all overtaken us. We gaze at them wonder struck. The usual refrain is that in Kerala’s special conditions what happens in the world cannot be replicated here. But Beijing is in China. The population in Beijing is as huge as any major city in the world. We come across large crowds of people everywhere. The development of Beijing into a world class city astounds an onlooker. Nothing is impossible there. They had the will. They wanted it. They have attained what Kerala will never achieve in the near future.
My dream for Kerala is that we have very good and wide roads where one can travel fast without any hindrance and without the persisting fear of something untoward happening each time one is on the road. I dream of a day when I can be a pedestrian with the full confidence that the vehicles on the road are not my enemies out to finish me off at the first opportunity.
Agriculture thrives where infrastructure excels. Road development is an integral part of infrastructure development. I dream of a day the Keralite turns back to agriculture in a big way. I dream of a day our state rich in natural resources makes the best of its potential. I dream of a day when the whole world focuses its attention on Kerala for its spectacular transformation in all parameters.
Dreams are for real. Dreams make the unattainable the attainable. I dream of a day the average Keralite realizes that his state is at the bottom rung of economically successful states or countries, accepts the fact, makes an effort to respect people better than him for their achievements, learns from them and improves his own economic status. I dream of a day when the Keralite (courtesy NR Narayana Murty) asks himself,
“What can I do so that people will miss me if I disappear tomorrow?” and creates a lasting legacy of decent leadership
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DEDICATED TO COUPLES WHO YEARN FOR CHILDREN
Flowers sparkle. Yes, flowers in their full bloom make us smile. We draw inspiration from them. They make us laugh, see life from a perspective that differs from an introvert. Flowers spread good cheer around all the time. Life is pleasant. We have something to look to all the time.
Family life becomes wholesome when we have children around. Unfortunately not every one is blessed with children. At times the longing for a child remains unfulfilled. We run into depression. We are filled with a fear that we are destined to go issueless. The fear of failure that drives us crazy is as common as the desire for success. It can be the energy that drives the wheel if harnessed well. But for most it is debilitating.
Family life should never be marred by fear of failure. When two people, a handsome man and a beautiful woman, chose to be united in marriage and thereby become one entity, marriage ought to be driven by love, respect, affection, care and definitely passion. One should be passionately in love and yet there ought to be love, affection and mutual respect. Performance should never be the criteria for a successful marriage. One can be a great actor and at once an abject failure.
You cannot go into a marriage for ensuring succession. Children are the greatest blessing one begets from marriage. But children are not the be all and end all of marriage. You cannot be like robots, performing in bed to beget an offspring. Man is an animal. The animal is a thinking animal. It is not flesh and blood alone. It will never be.
Planning is a word that rings loudly as you go into a marriage. In the initial euphoria, one wishes to savour the passion and delay the child. Once the euphoria wears off the harsh reality stares at you. Try as much as you dare you feel that you have to go issueless. Medicines and medical assistance do not alter the situation. You tend to believe that everything works against you. Desperation sets in. You blame planning. You blame your own thoughtlessness in savouring passion delaying conception.
There is nothing to be self deprecating. There are events in life you cannot control. Nature can be contained, but cannot be destroyed. One has to realize that whether with children or without children the greatest blessing that has come your way is the fact marriage has united you.
As you keep at it for a child never be anxious and never feel guilty. You will have your child at the appointed time. Trying for a child sounds mechanical. One cannot build a child in a factory.
Feel free, talk to each other and never refrain from foreplay, for sex is to be enjoyed. You have to be passionately in love. Sex is not a number game or a special purpose vehicle. Sex is the culmination of intense love, deep affection and mutual respect.
Tell yourself on each occasion, “If we have children it will be great. If we do not have children it does not alter us even a bit. We will still be the same. Our love will remain forever. The affection we have for each other will further be cemented. We will understand each other better and the mutual respect we have for each other will only grow as the days go by. We are having a great time. We will go on having a great time all through our life.”
Flowers bloom. Flowers sparkle. Children light up our life. Children or no children we can make our life sparkle if we have a sound and sensible mind where we think less of ourselves and more of the needs of our brethren.
--------------------------------------
Family life becomes wholesome when we have children around. Unfortunately not every one is blessed with children. At times the longing for a child remains unfulfilled. We run into depression. We are filled with a fear that we are destined to go issueless. The fear of failure that drives us crazy is as common as the desire for success. It can be the energy that drives the wheel if harnessed well. But for most it is debilitating.
Family life should never be marred by fear of failure. When two people, a handsome man and a beautiful woman, chose to be united in marriage and thereby become one entity, marriage ought to be driven by love, respect, affection, care and definitely passion. One should be passionately in love and yet there ought to be love, affection and mutual respect. Performance should never be the criteria for a successful marriage. One can be a great actor and at once an abject failure.
You cannot go into a marriage for ensuring succession. Children are the greatest blessing one begets from marriage. But children are not the be all and end all of marriage. You cannot be like robots, performing in bed to beget an offspring. Man is an animal. The animal is a thinking animal. It is not flesh and blood alone. It will never be.
Planning is a word that rings loudly as you go into a marriage. In the initial euphoria, one wishes to savour the passion and delay the child. Once the euphoria wears off the harsh reality stares at you. Try as much as you dare you feel that you have to go issueless. Medicines and medical assistance do not alter the situation. You tend to believe that everything works against you. Desperation sets in. You blame planning. You blame your own thoughtlessness in savouring passion delaying conception.
There is nothing to be self deprecating. There are events in life you cannot control. Nature can be contained, but cannot be destroyed. One has to realize that whether with children or without children the greatest blessing that has come your way is the fact marriage has united you.
As you keep at it for a child never be anxious and never feel guilty. You will have your child at the appointed time. Trying for a child sounds mechanical. One cannot build a child in a factory.
Feel free, talk to each other and never refrain from foreplay, for sex is to be enjoyed. You have to be passionately in love. Sex is not a number game or a special purpose vehicle. Sex is the culmination of intense love, deep affection and mutual respect.
Tell yourself on each occasion, “If we have children it will be great. If we do not have children it does not alter us even a bit. We will still be the same. Our love will remain forever. The affection we have for each other will further be cemented. We will understand each other better and the mutual respect we have for each other will only grow as the days go by. We are having a great time. We will go on having a great time all through our life.”
Flowers bloom. Flowers sparkle. Children light up our life. Children or no children we can make our life sparkle if we have a sound and sensible mind where we think less of ourselves and more of the needs of our brethren.
--------------------------------------
CANCER CHASES SPINAL INJURY - A RUNNING BATTLE WITH ADVERSITIES
Elsy Jacob is the wife of Mr.Laji Jacob, Deputy Manager,SBT, Arthisserry, Alleppey Dist. She is a UDC at the AEO office, Thalavady. They are members of the Kunthirical CSI Church, Thalavady. While Elsy belongs to the Plamthottathil and Panavelil families of Mallappally,Laji is from the Cholakathu family of Thalavady.
A firm believer in Jesus Christ, the past few years had been very trying for her. In 1998 a major road accident had almost crippled her. She and her husband with their two children were proceeding to the church on the first Sunday of December. They were hit by a speeding car which came on the wrong track and Elsy was thrown several feet high into the air. The resulting fall presented her with a spinal injury. The car was driven by a son of the former sexton of the same church who was not exactly in his normal senses. He was inebriated. Well, the injury had put her under traction for one month and bed rest for almost six months. It was quite surprising that in those trying moments she was praising the Lord with all her might. One of those days Bishop Chrisostom was delivering the convention speeches at the CSI Church Kunthirical. A devout Christian who never missed any of the functions at the church Elsy wanted to listen to the messages of the Bishop. As she was confined to the bed she wrote to the Bishop that she wanted to listen to him but could not do it due to her disability. The Bishop took time off to visit her and said, "If I had not visited her God would never allow me to enter heaven."
Just as she was getting back to normal life a lump in the breast required her to undergo mastectomy. She is under the treatment of CMC, Vellore. The depressing verdict that she had to battle Carcinoma didnot deter her from her faith. We found a whole congregation and even people of different faiths praying for her. The prayers have been answered and a miracle has taken place. The Doctors at the CMC have advised her to go back to her normal life and to get back to them for periodical check up. The way she prayed to God we could feel that she was communicating to a God who listened to her, a God who stood straight in front of her.
People invite her to speak at different christian gatherings. She has given messages at the Mavelikkara, Mallappally CSI churches and a few other churches. Wherever she goes she draws the picture of a living and caring God who is good for her and who is good for the whole world.
She has superb command over Malayalam. She refers to the bible verses, the songs from the Hymns, Lyrics and other songs of worship without referring to any notes. She reels out stories which she relates to true Christian living. God speaks and acts through her.
Elsy is 42. She has an M.Sc in Chemistry with a B.Ed. She studied upto SSLC at the CMS High School, Mallappally. She was at the CMS College upto her M.Sc and the B.Ed was at the Peet Memorial at Mavelikkara. She was a member of the Choir at Mallappally. Her father Mr.P.J.Koshy of Plamthottathil was the HM of the CSI High School, Mallappally at the time of his retirement. Her mother from the Panavelil family is the sister of Rev.P.O.Varghese and Rev.P.O.Ninan, two well known priests of the CSI Central Kerala Diocese.
Elsy has a son and a daughter who are in the school. Both of them along with their father escaped with minor injuries when they had met with the accident that had almost crippled Elsy in 1998.
-----------------------------------------------
01.03.2010
Time has rolled on.
It is more than ten years since this was composed. Elsy and Laji visit CMC Vellore every year religiously for periodical check up. After extensive evaluation on each occasion the Doctors have concluded that she is alright. God has looked after Elsy well all these days, months and years. She continues with her service of the Lord with vigour despite her difficulties and discomfort.
Laji is at present manager of the Naranganam Branch of SBT. Sandeep, after completion of M.Com from Madras Christian College with a first class works as an Upadesi/Probationer of CSI that is the route to BD and priesthood in CSI. Anjaly is in her 1st B.Com.
--------------------------------
A firm believer in Jesus Christ, the past few years had been very trying for her. In 1998 a major road accident had almost crippled her. She and her husband with their two children were proceeding to the church on the first Sunday of December. They were hit by a speeding car which came on the wrong track and Elsy was thrown several feet high into the air. The resulting fall presented her with a spinal injury. The car was driven by a son of the former sexton of the same church who was not exactly in his normal senses. He was inebriated. Well, the injury had put her under traction for one month and bed rest for almost six months. It was quite surprising that in those trying moments she was praising the Lord with all her might. One of those days Bishop Chrisostom was delivering the convention speeches at the CSI Church Kunthirical. A devout Christian who never missed any of the functions at the church Elsy wanted to listen to the messages of the Bishop. As she was confined to the bed she wrote to the Bishop that she wanted to listen to him but could not do it due to her disability. The Bishop took time off to visit her and said, "If I had not visited her God would never allow me to enter heaven."
Just as she was getting back to normal life a lump in the breast required her to undergo mastectomy. She is under the treatment of CMC, Vellore. The depressing verdict that she had to battle Carcinoma didnot deter her from her faith. We found a whole congregation and even people of different faiths praying for her. The prayers have been answered and a miracle has taken place. The Doctors at the CMC have advised her to go back to her normal life and to get back to them for periodical check up. The way she prayed to God we could feel that she was communicating to a God who listened to her, a God who stood straight in front of her.
People invite her to speak at different christian gatherings. She has given messages at the Mavelikkara, Mallappally CSI churches and a few other churches. Wherever she goes she draws the picture of a living and caring God who is good for her and who is good for the whole world.
She has superb command over Malayalam. She refers to the bible verses, the songs from the Hymns, Lyrics and other songs of worship without referring to any notes. She reels out stories which she relates to true Christian living. God speaks and acts through her.
Elsy is 42. She has an M.Sc in Chemistry with a B.Ed. She studied upto SSLC at the CMS High School, Mallappally. She was at the CMS College upto her M.Sc and the B.Ed was at the Peet Memorial at Mavelikkara. She was a member of the Choir at Mallappally. Her father Mr.P.J.Koshy of Plamthottathil was the HM of the CSI High School, Mallappally at the time of his retirement. Her mother from the Panavelil family is the sister of Rev.P.O.Varghese and Rev.P.O.Ninan, two well known priests of the CSI Central Kerala Diocese.
Elsy has a son and a daughter who are in the school. Both of them along with their father escaped with minor injuries when they had met with the accident that had almost crippled Elsy in 1998.
-----------------------------------------------
01.03.2010
Time has rolled on.
It is more than ten years since this was composed. Elsy and Laji visit CMC Vellore every year religiously for periodical check up. After extensive evaluation on each occasion the Doctors have concluded that she is alright. God has looked after Elsy well all these days, months and years. She continues with her service of the Lord with vigour despite her difficulties and discomfort.
Laji is at present manager of the Naranganam Branch of SBT. Sandeep, after completion of M.Com from Madras Christian College with a first class works as an Upadesi/Probationer of CSI that is the route to BD and priesthood in CSI. Anjaly is in her 1st B.Com.
--------------------------------
GROWING OLD IS NO CRIME
The plight of the aged today is pathetic. As we move across the country we find a large number of aged people who are left to fend for themselves. Totally neglected and devoid of health as well as wealth they lead a miserable life with no one to take care of them. No one lends a helping hand. Even if they have wealth it puts them in a quandary as it is their wealth people are after.
Take for instance the story of Kanaka, a great grand mother. Kanaka was born in the year 1902. She had seen two world wars roll by. She had dutifully cared for her family in her younger and middle years. Life was difficult in those days of penury and upheaval. India was subjected to brutalities by the colonial power. Kanaka saw her countrymen unite and throw out the British. She saw partition and the relentless and yet thoughtless massacre that ensued. She never had a job. Naturally she is not eligible for any kind of pension from anywhere. She has outlived her sons. Her daughter is alive and Nimi, her great grand daughter looks after her along with her own mother. But what can a single woman do burdened as she is with her own family.
Recently Kanaka had a fall from her bed while asleep. It broke her hips. Nimi took her to the finest orthopedic surgeon in town. Assessing the damage the surgeon suggested surgery to set right the damage and explained that the surgery would cost Rs.60, 000.00. Aghast Nimi told the surgeon that she has no means to raise the amount and opted to take the old lady home. She had no answer to the Surgeon’s poser on what she was going to do with such a patient at home. But what can Nimmi do except pass the sentence of death on her great grand mother and wait stoically for the arrival of Yama?
Nimmi at least had the sense to take Kanaka home and look after her till her last breath. But what happened to Mahalingam would haunt us for ever. Mahalingam was a school teacher. Seethalakshmi, his wife was not employed. They brought up Chandrasekaran with high expectations. Chandra was exceptionally brilliant. There were no siblings as the parents had adopted the single child norm. Educated in premier institutions Chandra was a high achiever. He went on to study further in an American University. Just as he took his doctorate, he was absorbed by a top corporate in the States with a package that was the envy of his peers.
Mahalingam had retired by now. He and Seethalakshmi were leading a quiet life. They were happy at the achievements of their son. It was a jolt to Seethalakshmi when Mahalingam suffered a stroke. He was paralysed. Soon the condition worsened and Mahalingam lay in a semi-comatose state. The doctors had gracefully given one more week for the patient. Though Chandra was a very busy official who could not afford to stay away from the job, the corporation allowed him to go on leave for a month. Chandra came home to look after his ailing father. Seethalakshmi was much relieved. A week passed. Soon it was the third week. Mahalingam refused to fade away. Though unconscious and fed by tubes the proximity of his son must have kept him alive. Chandra was in a dilemma. He felt that Mahalingam would linger on and he would have to go back without performing the last rites for his father. It was a difficult decision yet very cruel. Without the knowledge of anyone Chandra blocked the tubes for a while. Devoid of the support system Mahalingam passed away. Chandra performed the last rites and barely managed to retain his job. Seethalakshmi was left alone in the big house.
It was retirement from the job for Idiculla at the age of fifty eight. He took the family to his native village and settled there. As a young boy in search of greener pastures he had left the village when he was eighteen. He could not fathom the transformation at the village in the past forty years. He wanted time to stand still and was longing for the past. The adjustment was a difficult process.
Idiculla had traveled far and wide. He had worked at different places. Though he had a decent job, whatever he had earned went towards the bringing up of his children. At the time of his retirement none of the five were employed. Three of them were still at college. He did not even have a good house to stay. The family had to stay in a shack. He drew no pension. Soon after retirement, his wife, Rahel fell terminally ill. Whatever was left of his retirement benefits and more was spent for the treatment. Leaving the entire family in grief and in debt Rahel passed away. Had Rahel fallen ill before the retirement Idiculla’s employer would have met a substantial part of the expenses for the treatment. As Idiculla was no longer an employee he was ineligible for any assistance from anywhere.
Fortunately Rajan, one of his sons found employment and the family depended on the limited income for survival. Idiculla in the meantime fell ill. He required hospitalization and surgical intervention. Rajan managed to look after his father and nursed him back to health. Idiculla is now ninety two. He has no income. Today he requires a good sum for his medicines and treatment. Fortunately all his children are now employed and they look after him well.
Perhaps what has been narrated might have happened somewhere in our country of one billion plus. Perhaps not. There are several Kanakas, Mahalingams and Idicullas who linger on among our midst. What are we doing for them? They have lived their life well. They have partaken in nation building at their prime. Are we throwing them to the wolves? Haven’t we heard stories where the aged are pushed in front of speeding trains and vehicles as their kith and kin do not wish to look after them?
In the past life expectancy was short. It has slowly risen from the age of forty to fifty, fifty to sixty, sixty to seventy and now seventy to even ninety and beyond. Life expectancy has gone up consistently. People do not die from poverty or epidemics or even malnutrition any more. Improvement of facilities in general has improved the general health of the populace.
We have enshrined in our constitution universal suffrage. Successive legislations have ensured free education to our children. The initiatives by the Government have arrested the birth rate. A series of welfare measures have succeeded in curbing the death rate. Geriatric care assumes significance in the wake of rising population of the aged. Today we have old age homes where a minuscule segment of the elderly is taken care of depending on their propensity to pay. But are the elderly to be discarded in such homes. They too have self respect. They too have rights. But a materialistic world shuts its eyes and refuses to even recognize that they exist. Where are our values?
It is only logical that as the Government has brought in measures to improve life expectancy to such dizzy levels the Government effectively addresses the predicament the aged are faced with such as loneliness, inadequate medical care and above all insufficient income to sustain them in their old age. The aged beyond seventy needs special care. They have to be placed under a social security net. Medical care has to be free for them from all government and private hospitals. Hospitals or Doctors who extort money from them in any form should have their licenses cancelled or barred. Just as we have fundamental rights we have to establish that the elders too have fundamental rights. Our constitution needs amendment through which a minimum pension of Rs.4000.00 is available to every citizen beyond seventy so that our elders do not have to beg or look to others for financial support as they grow in age.
Looking after the aged may sound unfashionable and seem an unnecessary drain on the exchequer to most. However the resources for the massive welfare initiative need not emanate from the Government in these days of globalization and profitability. The Government is of the people for the people by the people. Living up to the ripe old age of seventy and beyond is not a crime. The elders have brought us up to what we are and where we are. None of us would have been alive but for them. Society cannot just wish them away. The people have to look after the aged and the infirm and not look at them as non performing assets. We have the road cess, educational cess, profession tax, VAT and so many such impediments in our life to slow us down. One more is not going to harm us at all. But it will make a world of difference to the lives of the aged. It will put a smile on their faces. We have to look after them. We have to fight for their cause. Their right for existence is as good as ours. Ignore them at our own peril. For today’s young are tomorrow’s aged.
-------------------------------------------------
Take for instance the story of Kanaka, a great grand mother. Kanaka was born in the year 1902. She had seen two world wars roll by. She had dutifully cared for her family in her younger and middle years. Life was difficult in those days of penury and upheaval. India was subjected to brutalities by the colonial power. Kanaka saw her countrymen unite and throw out the British. She saw partition and the relentless and yet thoughtless massacre that ensued. She never had a job. Naturally she is not eligible for any kind of pension from anywhere. She has outlived her sons. Her daughter is alive and Nimi, her great grand daughter looks after her along with her own mother. But what can a single woman do burdened as she is with her own family.
Recently Kanaka had a fall from her bed while asleep. It broke her hips. Nimi took her to the finest orthopedic surgeon in town. Assessing the damage the surgeon suggested surgery to set right the damage and explained that the surgery would cost Rs.60, 000.00. Aghast Nimi told the surgeon that she has no means to raise the amount and opted to take the old lady home. She had no answer to the Surgeon’s poser on what she was going to do with such a patient at home. But what can Nimmi do except pass the sentence of death on her great grand mother and wait stoically for the arrival of Yama?
Nimmi at least had the sense to take Kanaka home and look after her till her last breath. But what happened to Mahalingam would haunt us for ever. Mahalingam was a school teacher. Seethalakshmi, his wife was not employed. They brought up Chandrasekaran with high expectations. Chandra was exceptionally brilliant. There were no siblings as the parents had adopted the single child norm. Educated in premier institutions Chandra was a high achiever. He went on to study further in an American University. Just as he took his doctorate, he was absorbed by a top corporate in the States with a package that was the envy of his peers.
Mahalingam had retired by now. He and Seethalakshmi were leading a quiet life. They were happy at the achievements of their son. It was a jolt to Seethalakshmi when Mahalingam suffered a stroke. He was paralysed. Soon the condition worsened and Mahalingam lay in a semi-comatose state. The doctors had gracefully given one more week for the patient. Though Chandra was a very busy official who could not afford to stay away from the job, the corporation allowed him to go on leave for a month. Chandra came home to look after his ailing father. Seethalakshmi was much relieved. A week passed. Soon it was the third week. Mahalingam refused to fade away. Though unconscious and fed by tubes the proximity of his son must have kept him alive. Chandra was in a dilemma. He felt that Mahalingam would linger on and he would have to go back without performing the last rites for his father. It was a difficult decision yet very cruel. Without the knowledge of anyone Chandra blocked the tubes for a while. Devoid of the support system Mahalingam passed away. Chandra performed the last rites and barely managed to retain his job. Seethalakshmi was left alone in the big house.
It was retirement from the job for Idiculla at the age of fifty eight. He took the family to his native village and settled there. As a young boy in search of greener pastures he had left the village when he was eighteen. He could not fathom the transformation at the village in the past forty years. He wanted time to stand still and was longing for the past. The adjustment was a difficult process.
Idiculla had traveled far and wide. He had worked at different places. Though he had a decent job, whatever he had earned went towards the bringing up of his children. At the time of his retirement none of the five were employed. Three of them were still at college. He did not even have a good house to stay. The family had to stay in a shack. He drew no pension. Soon after retirement, his wife, Rahel fell terminally ill. Whatever was left of his retirement benefits and more was spent for the treatment. Leaving the entire family in grief and in debt Rahel passed away. Had Rahel fallen ill before the retirement Idiculla’s employer would have met a substantial part of the expenses for the treatment. As Idiculla was no longer an employee he was ineligible for any assistance from anywhere.
Fortunately Rajan, one of his sons found employment and the family depended on the limited income for survival. Idiculla in the meantime fell ill. He required hospitalization and surgical intervention. Rajan managed to look after his father and nursed him back to health. Idiculla is now ninety two. He has no income. Today he requires a good sum for his medicines and treatment. Fortunately all his children are now employed and they look after him well.
Perhaps what has been narrated might have happened somewhere in our country of one billion plus. Perhaps not. There are several Kanakas, Mahalingams and Idicullas who linger on among our midst. What are we doing for them? They have lived their life well. They have partaken in nation building at their prime. Are we throwing them to the wolves? Haven’t we heard stories where the aged are pushed in front of speeding trains and vehicles as their kith and kin do not wish to look after them?
In the past life expectancy was short. It has slowly risen from the age of forty to fifty, fifty to sixty, sixty to seventy and now seventy to even ninety and beyond. Life expectancy has gone up consistently. People do not die from poverty or epidemics or even malnutrition any more. Improvement of facilities in general has improved the general health of the populace.
We have enshrined in our constitution universal suffrage. Successive legislations have ensured free education to our children. The initiatives by the Government have arrested the birth rate. A series of welfare measures have succeeded in curbing the death rate. Geriatric care assumes significance in the wake of rising population of the aged. Today we have old age homes where a minuscule segment of the elderly is taken care of depending on their propensity to pay. But are the elderly to be discarded in such homes. They too have self respect. They too have rights. But a materialistic world shuts its eyes and refuses to even recognize that they exist. Where are our values?
It is only logical that as the Government has brought in measures to improve life expectancy to such dizzy levels the Government effectively addresses the predicament the aged are faced with such as loneliness, inadequate medical care and above all insufficient income to sustain them in their old age. The aged beyond seventy needs special care. They have to be placed under a social security net. Medical care has to be free for them from all government and private hospitals. Hospitals or Doctors who extort money from them in any form should have their licenses cancelled or barred. Just as we have fundamental rights we have to establish that the elders too have fundamental rights. Our constitution needs amendment through which a minimum pension of Rs.4000.00 is available to every citizen beyond seventy so that our elders do not have to beg or look to others for financial support as they grow in age.
Looking after the aged may sound unfashionable and seem an unnecessary drain on the exchequer to most. However the resources for the massive welfare initiative need not emanate from the Government in these days of globalization and profitability. The Government is of the people for the people by the people. Living up to the ripe old age of seventy and beyond is not a crime. The elders have brought us up to what we are and where we are. None of us would have been alive but for them. Society cannot just wish them away. The people have to look after the aged and the infirm and not look at them as non performing assets. We have the road cess, educational cess, profession tax, VAT and so many such impediments in our life to slow us down. One more is not going to harm us at all. But it will make a world of difference to the lives of the aged. It will put a smile on their faces. We have to look after them. We have to fight for their cause. Their right for existence is as good as ours. Ignore them at our own peril. For today’s young are tomorrow’s aged.
-------------------------------------------------
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
THE ELEXIR OF LIFE
Whoever believed that water would invite raging controversies? Water has been the only resource available to living beings plentiful in nature from time immemorial. It may aptly be termed the elixir of life on earth. For mankind it determines prosperity or disaster. Civilizations flourish with its magical presence and perish as it fades. Perhaps no other substance exercises its influence on life on earth as H2O does.
The planet Mars has always excited the imagination of man. Scores of tales abound on the lost civilization of Mars and the oceans and rivers that had vanished from its surface. It reiterates that life is solely dependant on free accessibility of water. Back on earth we have the mythical Saraswathy that had disappeared into oblivion. The Thar desert is nowhere else but in India and throws a finger at the probable desertification of our country if the resources are frittered away injudiciously. Fatehpur Sikri, the beautiful city that Akbar had built, was abandoned when the populace found the supply of the essential resource drying up. Deserted, it stands alone as a monument to improper management of natural resources.
The world’s growing thirst for water has the potential to trigger major wars. The risk is accentuated by global warming. The sharing of water in the rivers that flow across different nations remains vexed threatening the very existence of mankind. Fierce national rivalries over water resources could contain seeds of violent conflict. In the prehistoric times wars were fought over fire. Current tensions among nations over the precious resource are indicative of water wars in future. When the demands of a surging population exceed the supply from lakes, rivers and all known sources, the resultant water crunch may arouse passions to a peak the world has never experienced before.
India is no stranger to the phenomenon. Cauvery arouses passions. Non-natural borders segregate people to artificial segments. Karnataka ignores the ruling of the apex court. The people of Tamil Nadu rear for action. Indus remains a flash point between India and Pakistan. Bangladesh feels threatened over Ganges and Brahmaputra flowing in from India. Narmada has remained in the focus for decades. Periyar and Bharathapuzha have suddenly become topics of animated discussion in Kerala. What happens if our rivers are sold away? Perhaps the day is not far off when we are made to pay for water for our daily necessities through the nose as we are doing at present for bottled mineral water.
Chhattisgarh shows us what we have in store. A 22-year renewable concession by the authorities has ceded 23.6 km stretch of the semi- perennial Sheonath River to an entrepreneur, through a build-own-operate-transfer (BOOT) agreement, signalling India’s first ever-private water supply scheme, in Chhattisgarh’s Durg area. Everybody is happy over the arrangement since private entrepreneurship in water supply is proving to be financially viable, cost-effective and environment friendly. The entrepreneur makes money. The industrialists are happy that perennial supply of water is assured at an unimaginably low cost. The state of Chhattisgarh is happy because it is able to attract industry through availability of water and power in plenty. Only a few thousands of poor villagers scattered along the banks of the river are affected. Who cares for them?
The villagers have carried on with their lives beside the semi perennial Sheonath River for centuries through droughts and floods. The river has nurtured them, watering their crops and supplying them with fish in plenty. They were washing their clothes and bathing in the river. They believed that the river belonged to everybody. But not any more. The ghats used by them still dot the banks of the river. They however can now access the river only at the pleasure of the entrepreneur. Fishing is an unauthorized activity. Diversion of water from the river to irrigate fields is illegal. The entrepreneur has the right to cruise in the river in his boat. The villagers are at the wrong end of the law when their expensive nylon nets are entangled in its outboard engine. Law cannot be flouted. They have placed the nets in the monsoon-swollen river that is privately owned. The right to catch the fish swept downstream during monsoon is not theirs any longer.
The entrepreneur’s agreement with the authorities covers ground water as well. Meters have been installed on tube wells supplying water to local industries that have to pay for it. Look at the hurdles to cross if you wish to utilize the only resource Mother Nature has bestowed upon her inhabitants in abundance.
Bolivia had a chastening experience when it had privatized the water supply in 1999. The water concession covered reservoirs, ponds and other water bodies and even collected rainwater. The rates spiralled with the supply and distribution firmly in private sector. Water became expensive than food. The middle class could not afford it. The World Bank blocked the government’s effort to subsidise the supply of water to the poor. Bolivia was on the verge of a bloody revolution. The reversal of privatisation finally saved that country from chaos and anarchy.
Privatisation of water may ensure supply of clean water to the middle class at affordable rates. But how can the poor be alienated from even water? Water is a natural resource. Its privatisation will create a frightening situation where bulk of the population loses its natural right to water. It will disrupt the age-old relationship between land-use and water-use. The entry of profit-motivated firms into this sector will only hurt the society. Water must remain a community resource. The elixir of life shall never be a tradable commodity.
The simile is revealing. Just as man cannot manage his life on earth without water, he needs money for his sustenance. Money certainly is precious. And banks are the vehicles that manage money for man. When banking was mostly in the private sector it had excluded all but the rich from its ambit. Poverty was endemic. The management of money, if left to the private sector in its entirety would lead to a situation identical to the disastrous policy on water. Privatisation of banks and thereby money is the precursor to the revival of the dark ages where the majority had been enslaved by a very few.
A time was in our country when money belonged to very few. Banks that were the custodians of money were accessible to them only. They had enslaved the people and lorded over them. From the heady days of Bank nationalization till the dawn of LPG it had been the people who had mattered. It was the even flow of money to the people that had ensured equality to our people to a great extent and resulted in alleviation of poverty in the country at least to a little.
We face a terrifying predicament. We are bombarded with the exhortation that Liberlisation, Privatisation and Globalisation are essential for the survival of banks and financial institutions. In fact it is drummed into us each day that privatisation is the lone solace for the travails of the banks in India. The sad truth is that banks are slowly shifting the focus away from the common man. He is no longer welcome. Mergers and closures evince a keen desire for profit alone and not development of the society. In the global village nations have to build up huge reserves of US Dollars or Euros for strengthening their own currencies. We can never forget for even a moment that global trading in currencies has the potential to sweep away all the economic gains a country achieves by hard work. The Barings Bank disaster is still vivid. If LPG eradicates galloping unemployment and rural poverty it must be endorsed. The economic advancement of a country has to benefit its people. The riches of a country belong to its people Riches are not the exclusive preserve of the chosen and fortunate few alone. Banks are no exception. Money like water must never be the monopoly of a few.
---------------------------------------------------------------
written sometime in 2005/06
The planet Mars has always excited the imagination of man. Scores of tales abound on the lost civilization of Mars and the oceans and rivers that had vanished from its surface. It reiterates that life is solely dependant on free accessibility of water. Back on earth we have the mythical Saraswathy that had disappeared into oblivion. The Thar desert is nowhere else but in India and throws a finger at the probable desertification of our country if the resources are frittered away injudiciously. Fatehpur Sikri, the beautiful city that Akbar had built, was abandoned when the populace found the supply of the essential resource drying up. Deserted, it stands alone as a monument to improper management of natural resources.
The world’s growing thirst for water has the potential to trigger major wars. The risk is accentuated by global warming. The sharing of water in the rivers that flow across different nations remains vexed threatening the very existence of mankind. Fierce national rivalries over water resources could contain seeds of violent conflict. In the prehistoric times wars were fought over fire. Current tensions among nations over the precious resource are indicative of water wars in future. When the demands of a surging population exceed the supply from lakes, rivers and all known sources, the resultant water crunch may arouse passions to a peak the world has never experienced before.
India is no stranger to the phenomenon. Cauvery arouses passions. Non-natural borders segregate people to artificial segments. Karnataka ignores the ruling of the apex court. The people of Tamil Nadu rear for action. Indus remains a flash point between India and Pakistan. Bangladesh feels threatened over Ganges and Brahmaputra flowing in from India. Narmada has remained in the focus for decades. Periyar and Bharathapuzha have suddenly become topics of animated discussion in Kerala. What happens if our rivers are sold away? Perhaps the day is not far off when we are made to pay for water for our daily necessities through the nose as we are doing at present for bottled mineral water.
Chhattisgarh shows us what we have in store. A 22-year renewable concession by the authorities has ceded 23.6 km stretch of the semi- perennial Sheonath River to an entrepreneur, through a build-own-operate-transfer (BOOT) agreement, signalling India’s first ever-private water supply scheme, in Chhattisgarh’s Durg area. Everybody is happy over the arrangement since private entrepreneurship in water supply is proving to be financially viable, cost-effective and environment friendly. The entrepreneur makes money. The industrialists are happy that perennial supply of water is assured at an unimaginably low cost. The state of Chhattisgarh is happy because it is able to attract industry through availability of water and power in plenty. Only a few thousands of poor villagers scattered along the banks of the river are affected. Who cares for them?
The villagers have carried on with their lives beside the semi perennial Sheonath River for centuries through droughts and floods. The river has nurtured them, watering their crops and supplying them with fish in plenty. They were washing their clothes and bathing in the river. They believed that the river belonged to everybody. But not any more. The ghats used by them still dot the banks of the river. They however can now access the river only at the pleasure of the entrepreneur. Fishing is an unauthorized activity. Diversion of water from the river to irrigate fields is illegal. The entrepreneur has the right to cruise in the river in his boat. The villagers are at the wrong end of the law when their expensive nylon nets are entangled in its outboard engine. Law cannot be flouted. They have placed the nets in the monsoon-swollen river that is privately owned. The right to catch the fish swept downstream during monsoon is not theirs any longer.
The entrepreneur’s agreement with the authorities covers ground water as well. Meters have been installed on tube wells supplying water to local industries that have to pay for it. Look at the hurdles to cross if you wish to utilize the only resource Mother Nature has bestowed upon her inhabitants in abundance.
Bolivia had a chastening experience when it had privatized the water supply in 1999. The water concession covered reservoirs, ponds and other water bodies and even collected rainwater. The rates spiralled with the supply and distribution firmly in private sector. Water became expensive than food. The middle class could not afford it. The World Bank blocked the government’s effort to subsidise the supply of water to the poor. Bolivia was on the verge of a bloody revolution. The reversal of privatisation finally saved that country from chaos and anarchy.
Privatisation of water may ensure supply of clean water to the middle class at affordable rates. But how can the poor be alienated from even water? Water is a natural resource. Its privatisation will create a frightening situation where bulk of the population loses its natural right to water. It will disrupt the age-old relationship between land-use and water-use. The entry of profit-motivated firms into this sector will only hurt the society. Water must remain a community resource. The elixir of life shall never be a tradable commodity.
The simile is revealing. Just as man cannot manage his life on earth without water, he needs money for his sustenance. Money certainly is precious. And banks are the vehicles that manage money for man. When banking was mostly in the private sector it had excluded all but the rich from its ambit. Poverty was endemic. The management of money, if left to the private sector in its entirety would lead to a situation identical to the disastrous policy on water. Privatisation of banks and thereby money is the precursor to the revival of the dark ages where the majority had been enslaved by a very few.
A time was in our country when money belonged to very few. Banks that were the custodians of money were accessible to them only. They had enslaved the people and lorded over them. From the heady days of Bank nationalization till the dawn of LPG it had been the people who had mattered. It was the even flow of money to the people that had ensured equality to our people to a great extent and resulted in alleviation of poverty in the country at least to a little.
We face a terrifying predicament. We are bombarded with the exhortation that Liberlisation, Privatisation and Globalisation are essential for the survival of banks and financial institutions. In fact it is drummed into us each day that privatisation is the lone solace for the travails of the banks in India. The sad truth is that banks are slowly shifting the focus away from the common man. He is no longer welcome. Mergers and closures evince a keen desire for profit alone and not development of the society. In the global village nations have to build up huge reserves of US Dollars or Euros for strengthening their own currencies. We can never forget for even a moment that global trading in currencies has the potential to sweep away all the economic gains a country achieves by hard work. The Barings Bank disaster is still vivid. If LPG eradicates galloping unemployment and rural poverty it must be endorsed. The economic advancement of a country has to benefit its people. The riches of a country belong to its people Riches are not the exclusive preserve of the chosen and fortunate few alone. Banks are no exception. Money like water must never be the monopoly of a few.
---------------------------------------------------------------
written sometime in 2005/06
THE ABOMINABLE NO-MEN
Have you come across the abominable no-men ever in your life? I hope none ever does. I have had the rare fortune or rather misfortune to be in touch with such personalities on several occasions. The experience had been frustrating. I did not go mad because I managed to draw from a vast reservoir of patience, which God had blessed me with. There were times when I thought I would go crazy and unleash the fury held in check. Fortunately, it did not happen.
Who are the abominable no-men?
They are the negativists we find everywhere. Negativism must be distinguished from pessimism, defeatism or realism. Negativism has the ingrained habit of instantly saying,” It will not work” or “It cannot be done”. The action is reflex and not the outcome of reasoned deliberation.
The pessimist fixes his eye at the empty half of a half full glass of water. Defeatism stems out of diffidence in confronting a crisis. The realist rationally weighs the pros and cons to come to a conclusion. While I could manage the three kinds with ease, I had found it extremely difficult to get the better of the negativists. For, they have a mindset to deny everything to everyone. It may be that they had a very unsettled childhood where everything had been denied to them by a very unkind world around them. It must be their way of getting even with the world.
The negativist is prompt in denouncing a suggestion. He goes out of his way to ensure that no one is allowed to try out the suggestion. He blocks its progress or stalls it. He has a single motive. He wants to prove that he is right. The rights or wrongs of a given situation does not matter to him at all. He believes that he is infallible. He believes that his interpretations alone have sanctity. He has a tubular vision and expects everyone to see what he sees. He is a great manipulator. He exults in wielding power of the negative sort. He sounds very authoritative even if he is wrong. In his stentorian voice he makes mincemeat of the meek opposition, which though it knows it is right, is unable to withstand the irrepressible
Mr. Negativist. He quotes from circulars and statutes, which are at times ambiguous. He refuses to acknowledge that the ambiguity was deliberately put in place by the lawmaker. His pro employer stance makes him indispensable to the employer. For, a clever employer knows how best to get the better of the employees through a few negativists at their command. The negativist does not realize that the employer is only using him and that the moment the utility is over, he will be dropped like a hot potato.
The negativist in a work place vitiates the entire atmosphere by hampering performance. He sets the stage for personality conflicts. He stymies creativity and innovation. Professional approach to problems is anathema to him. The competitive spirit is extinguished. He cramps everybody’s style and curbs everybody’s enthusiasm. Nothing ever moves.
Imagine the chaos when the negativist holds leadership positions. Innovation and experimentation are out. There is a stumbling block to ideas and proposals. Business never prospers because even reasonable risks have no place in the rulebook, the negativist flaunts with exuberance.
How do we resolve the dilemma?
The chief can definitely help. He has to call the person and have a frank conversation helping him to see himself as others see him. The negativist has to be encouraged to cultivate a positive attitude to life, persons and situations. His associates may take the initiative themselves by holding a mirror to him. Another method is to depute the negativist to corrective training so that the defect is overcome and he becomes a better person responsive to the aspirations of the society of which he himself is an inseparable part..
Do we not see the negativist in action in the work place?
Instances are innumerable.If it is financial institution, there is the poor borrower requesting for an enhancement, which never takes place. There is the depositor who has to wait endlessly to encash his own cheque. There are the hapless dependents of the diseased constituents who are forced to wait pretty long for the settlement. There is the clerk from a Government office who is ridiculed and turned away for daring to seek a vehicle loan because he happens to be a clerk. There is the depositor who has no idea when he will receive his ATM card for which he has put in his application months earlier. If we care to take a look at any Government Office the scenario will be no different.
Then we have the specialists, the passive negativists. They always mean well. They often promise the moon. But they refrain from action. They climb up the ladder doing nothing. They know very well that they will be caught napping if only they initiate action of any sort. They manage without ever affixing their signature anywhere. They ensure that they remain non-controversial. They will always say ‘yes’ when they mean ‘no’. Hypocrisy pays. The agenda is simple, completion of the tenure never harming the interests of the self. Performance is for mere mortals.
Apart from all these, what happens to countless requests from their own brethren?
The wheels grind very slow. Genuine requests are attended to at a lazy pace. Whatever is possible takes a very long time to happen. Whatever is not possible is not conveyed at once. Queries are raised for the sake of queries alone knowing fully well the decision will never be in the affirmative. Even verdicts from the court are ignored and casually dealt with, denying justice. Experience tells that it is not the people in command who are the pain in the neck. The people down the line are creating hell though they are at liberty to create heaven. Many are the occasions when notes go up highlighting all the negative features with a cursory glance at the positive. The intention of the one who puts up the note is crystal clear. He hates his own brethren for disturbing his peace and wishes to teach them the lesson of their life. Faced with the rubbish heap of nonsense before them the men at the summit are helpless. How can they take care of the needy when those who could have taken care are wielding the sword with a vengeance and have a score to settle? No one dares to revolt. The confidential reports take care of that. And if they do not do that there are always means to destroy those who dare to differ from the conventional. The negativists survive forever with impunity.
Negativism is akin to cancer. It not only debilitates, but also destroys the spirit. The abominable no-men in our midst have to be shown the door in case they refuse to mend. The world will become a better place when we finally manage to rid them from our midst. The earlier we do that the better for us and the better for the interests of the society at large.
--------------------------------------------
Who are the abominable no-men?
They are the negativists we find everywhere. Negativism must be distinguished from pessimism, defeatism or realism. Negativism has the ingrained habit of instantly saying,” It will not work” or “It cannot be done”. The action is reflex and not the outcome of reasoned deliberation.
The pessimist fixes his eye at the empty half of a half full glass of water. Defeatism stems out of diffidence in confronting a crisis. The realist rationally weighs the pros and cons to come to a conclusion. While I could manage the three kinds with ease, I had found it extremely difficult to get the better of the negativists. For, they have a mindset to deny everything to everyone. It may be that they had a very unsettled childhood where everything had been denied to them by a very unkind world around them. It must be their way of getting even with the world.
The negativist is prompt in denouncing a suggestion. He goes out of his way to ensure that no one is allowed to try out the suggestion. He blocks its progress or stalls it. He has a single motive. He wants to prove that he is right. The rights or wrongs of a given situation does not matter to him at all. He believes that he is infallible. He believes that his interpretations alone have sanctity. He has a tubular vision and expects everyone to see what he sees. He is a great manipulator. He exults in wielding power of the negative sort. He sounds very authoritative even if he is wrong. In his stentorian voice he makes mincemeat of the meek opposition, which though it knows it is right, is unable to withstand the irrepressible
Mr. Negativist. He quotes from circulars and statutes, which are at times ambiguous. He refuses to acknowledge that the ambiguity was deliberately put in place by the lawmaker. His pro employer stance makes him indispensable to the employer. For, a clever employer knows how best to get the better of the employees through a few negativists at their command. The negativist does not realize that the employer is only using him and that the moment the utility is over, he will be dropped like a hot potato.
The negativist in a work place vitiates the entire atmosphere by hampering performance. He sets the stage for personality conflicts. He stymies creativity and innovation. Professional approach to problems is anathema to him. The competitive spirit is extinguished. He cramps everybody’s style and curbs everybody’s enthusiasm. Nothing ever moves.
Imagine the chaos when the negativist holds leadership positions. Innovation and experimentation are out. There is a stumbling block to ideas and proposals. Business never prospers because even reasonable risks have no place in the rulebook, the negativist flaunts with exuberance.
How do we resolve the dilemma?
The chief can definitely help. He has to call the person and have a frank conversation helping him to see himself as others see him. The negativist has to be encouraged to cultivate a positive attitude to life, persons and situations. His associates may take the initiative themselves by holding a mirror to him. Another method is to depute the negativist to corrective training so that the defect is overcome and he becomes a better person responsive to the aspirations of the society of which he himself is an inseparable part..
Do we not see the negativist in action in the work place?
Instances are innumerable.If it is financial institution, there is the poor borrower requesting for an enhancement, which never takes place. There is the depositor who has to wait endlessly to encash his own cheque. There are the hapless dependents of the diseased constituents who are forced to wait pretty long for the settlement. There is the clerk from a Government office who is ridiculed and turned away for daring to seek a vehicle loan because he happens to be a clerk. There is the depositor who has no idea when he will receive his ATM card for which he has put in his application months earlier. If we care to take a look at any Government Office the scenario will be no different.
Then we have the specialists, the passive negativists. They always mean well. They often promise the moon. But they refrain from action. They climb up the ladder doing nothing. They know very well that they will be caught napping if only they initiate action of any sort. They manage without ever affixing their signature anywhere. They ensure that they remain non-controversial. They will always say ‘yes’ when they mean ‘no’. Hypocrisy pays. The agenda is simple, completion of the tenure never harming the interests of the self. Performance is for mere mortals.
Apart from all these, what happens to countless requests from their own brethren?
The wheels grind very slow. Genuine requests are attended to at a lazy pace. Whatever is possible takes a very long time to happen. Whatever is not possible is not conveyed at once. Queries are raised for the sake of queries alone knowing fully well the decision will never be in the affirmative. Even verdicts from the court are ignored and casually dealt with, denying justice. Experience tells that it is not the people in command who are the pain in the neck. The people down the line are creating hell though they are at liberty to create heaven. Many are the occasions when notes go up highlighting all the negative features with a cursory glance at the positive. The intention of the one who puts up the note is crystal clear. He hates his own brethren for disturbing his peace and wishes to teach them the lesson of their life. Faced with the rubbish heap of nonsense before them the men at the summit are helpless. How can they take care of the needy when those who could have taken care are wielding the sword with a vengeance and have a score to settle? No one dares to revolt. The confidential reports take care of that. And if they do not do that there are always means to destroy those who dare to differ from the conventional. The negativists survive forever with impunity.
Negativism is akin to cancer. It not only debilitates, but also destroys the spirit. The abominable no-men in our midst have to be shown the door in case they refuse to mend. The world will become a better place when we finally manage to rid them from our midst. The earlier we do that the better for us and the better for the interests of the society at large.
--------------------------------------------
BUMPY ROADS OF KERALA
This is an adaptation from one of the Malayalam dailies published in Kerala. I am unable to recollect which daily it was and the date. The attempt is to translate the idea to English.
Except for the national highways most of the roads that criss cross the small state are in a bad shape. Maintenance of the roads is an ongoing affair. Even the national highways in a few stretches have no comparison with the well maintained highways in the neighboring states.
Kerala is showcased as God’s own country. Attracted by its charm an American family, husband and wife with their eight year old son Michael visited the state. They enjoyed their stay in the houseboats. The backwaters were a revelation. They roamed the misty mountains and the tea plantations inhaling the fresh air. Kovalam beach was a pleasant surprise. The travel was in a hired car.
On their journey from one tourist spot to another they traversed one of the state roads. The driver was carefully maneuvering the vehicle. Pot holes were aplenty. There was no alternative for the driver to circumvent them. The vehicle was falling into the pot holes one after the other. The passengers were lifted out of their seats consistently as the vehicle negotiated the pot holes. Whenever the vehicle fell into the pot holes the driver heard Michael calling out one, two, three….. in progression.
The vehicle had to stop at a toll gate on the way. The driver handed over Rs.3.00 as the fare. A receipt was issued. Michael had a look at the receipt out of curiosity. The trip continued. Michael went on calling out the numbers.
It was a great relief when they reached the destination. The view was panoramic. Michael blurted out, “3 DOLLARS FOR 135 JUMPS IS VERY CHEAP.”
Except for the national highways most of the roads that criss cross the small state are in a bad shape. Maintenance of the roads is an ongoing affair. Even the national highways in a few stretches have no comparison with the well maintained highways in the neighboring states.
Kerala is showcased as God’s own country. Attracted by its charm an American family, husband and wife with their eight year old son Michael visited the state. They enjoyed their stay in the houseboats. The backwaters were a revelation. They roamed the misty mountains and the tea plantations inhaling the fresh air. Kovalam beach was a pleasant surprise. The travel was in a hired car.
On their journey from one tourist spot to another they traversed one of the state roads. The driver was carefully maneuvering the vehicle. Pot holes were aplenty. There was no alternative for the driver to circumvent them. The vehicle was falling into the pot holes one after the other. The passengers were lifted out of their seats consistently as the vehicle negotiated the pot holes. Whenever the vehicle fell into the pot holes the driver heard Michael calling out one, two, three….. in progression.
The vehicle had to stop at a toll gate on the way. The driver handed over Rs.3.00 as the fare. A receipt was issued. Michael had a look at the receipt out of curiosity. The trip continued. Michael went on calling out the numbers.
It was a great relief when they reached the destination. The view was panoramic. Michael blurted out, “3 DOLLARS FOR 135 JUMPS IS VERY CHEAP.”
RENDEZVOUS - When death grazed and left me to live
RENDEZVOUS - When death grazed and left me to live
It was Tuesday, the 26th March 2002. The time was 6.55 PM. Christ Church, Palayam, Trivandrum which usually overflow with worshippers each time a worship is on, was unusually thin in attendance. Perhaps it was a working day that had turned the believers off. Or perhaps the fact that it was a special service in the Passion Week and that it was in the evening determined that it did not draw the usual crowd. The Choir was notable with its absence. Even the organist was not there to provide the familiar ambience. The Priest (Achen) stood at the top of the aisle and not at the altar. The previous Sunday was Palm Sunday. Achen had announced the programme for the Passion Week. When I heard that there would be Services in the evening on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Maundy Thursday, I had made up my mind to attend the service on Maundy Thursday and leave aside the services on the other days, as it was difficult to attend both the office and the church on all those days.
Ashwin, my younger son, as we had been passing by the church in the evening on Monday asked me what was happening in the church that day. The lights were on. I replied that as it was the Passion Week, the church would have special worships all through the week. The next day as I was about to leave for the office, Ashwin asked me about the worships on Passion Week and its significance. Reversing my earlier decision not to attend the church I told him that we would all go together to the church that day. We agreed to converge there in the evening.
Lila, my wife, was waiting for me at the church as I reached there. We were too early. We shared a few biscuits she had with her. The church was vacant when we made our entry. We were the sole occupants. Taking aisle seats at the head of adjacent rows for men and women we positioned ourselves at the middle. The aisle kept us apart. It was quite unusual as we had never taken those seats ever before. Later, we found to our surprise that both of us had a look at the tombs in the cemetery there as we entered the church. It crossed our minds that here was where we would end up one day. Further, during the course of the worship I had a cursory glance at all the fans in the church and it passed through my mind that the church had a mix of ancient and modern fans. Lila revealed that she had experienced apprehensions and dark forebodings with ominous designs welling up in her mind that evening as the worship progressed. She recollected that she had noticed a fan wobbling as it revolved the previous Sunday.
Christ Church and the Achens are well known for punctuality. The worship always begins at the appointed time, no matter the attendance. Rev. Shajan Idiculla began the worship at 6.30 PM sharp. The sequence of songs, prayers and readings from the Bible went on. Despite the thin attendance, I counted around one hundred worshippers in the church. The gentleman in front, Mr. Koshy Abraham was leading the songs. It was
6.55 PM. The congregation was on its feet singing together.
It all happened in a flash. There was a big bang. It was louder than several fireworks put together. I felt I had been severely hit on my head. The pain was intense. I put the book down and cupped the head with hands. I moved over to the aisle. Movement was slow. Lila ran to me. She held me tight. I heard her calling out, “Lalcha”. I did not realize that there was blood. Alarmed, she covered my head with her hands. I could not speak. I thought I would faint. In the normal run I could not withstand even a jab by the pin. Jacob Thomas, rushed towards us, held me and suggested that we moved on. As we reached the door, we found a chair. He helped me on to it. I felt blood trickling out when I took the hands off. Lila later told me that blood was gushing from several spots at once. I took out the hanky and covered the wound. I pressed the hanky firmly down hoping it would arrest the flow of blood. Suddenly, I had become the cynosure of all eyes. We had ten to fifteen members of the congregation around us. I asked Lila to retrieve my books and the glasses. She ran in and fetched them at once. Jacob sourced a piece of cotton to cover the wound. I placed it on top of the handkerchief and kept on pressing the wound down. The hand stayed there till I reached the safety of a hospital.
There was deliberation on the hospital to approach. A few of our friends and some members of the congregation offered their vehicles to shift me to a hospital. Lila was grateful for the offer of assistance. But she informed that our car was available and that she could drive me to the hospital.
Kuruvilla Kurien offered to drive the car. Lila said she would do it, as she did not wish to inconvenience anyone else. Jacob objected and advised Lila not to drive at that critical juncture. I told Lila to pay heed and let Kuruvilla drive.
Ashwin had not reached the church till then. When we had trooped out of the church to the car, I told Jacob that we were expecting our son to join us at the church. Jacob told us not to bother and promised that he would take care of Ashwin.
As I sat on the chair at the rear of the church I had tried to recap what really had happened. An old GEC fan, a heavy one at that, weighing around 30/40 Kgs, had broken free. It was revolving at full speed when it hurtled down on its own. It rested on the bench next to where I stood. When I looked into the church I could see the rod hanging there sans the fan. What must have happened, it was construed, was that either the dome or the blade had grazed the top of the head, slicing off the skin of one and a half inch in diameter before it had skidded on to the bench. The wound was superficial in general and was slightly deep at odd spots.
While we were about to board the car – it was past 7.00PM – I saw Ashwin coming in. Even at that time I had been wondering what was delaying him. The moment I saw him I raised my hand and called out. He did not know what had happened. He thought perhaps
the worship was over fast and that we were on our way back home. He felt something amiss when he found a stranger at the wheel. Lila quietly explained the strange happenings of the evening to him on the short ride. Cool boy he was, he took it calmly.
Kuruvilla as he started did not seem to know where to seek medical assistance. We presumed he was proceeding to Cosmopolitan Hospitals. When he did not take the left turn to Barton Hill, Lila said we had missed the Cosmopolitan turn off. Kuruvilla said we could either proceed to SUT or Cosmopolitan which ever was our preference. “Let it be Cosmopolitan”, Lila concurred.
Kuruvilla drove up to Pattom, turned and proceeded to Cosmopolitan. The traffic was heavy and slow. He manoeuvred the vehicle with great difficulty – he had to ensure that he did no further damage to the injured person - and managed to reach the ‘Emergency’ of Cosmopolitan with a liberal display of the high beam and the horn.
At the Cosmopolitan the sisters and the doctors on call were very kind and of great help. They dressed up the wound efficiently, gave me a shot of serum anti tetanus and kept me under observation for more than an hour. They found me stable and advised us to go home. We were cautioned to be careful and to return at once to the hospital in case we had observed anything out of the ordinary.
The doctors had a feeling that a skin graft might be necessary. Suturing was not possible, as the skin had been ripped off. They advised us to consult Dr.P.A.Thomas, the Plastic Surgeon in the morning next day.
Kuruvilla was of great assistance at the hospital. He ran around like an errand man.
The worship at the church, which had broken off with the big bang and subsequent developments, was resumed soon after we had stepped out. I heard Achen calling out to the congregation to pray for the speedy recovery of the injured as we left.
The phone started ringing the moment we reached home. People who were at the church and those who had heard of the mishap tried their best to cheer us up.
Lila is absolutely shy and diffident in expressing her feelings in public. I was quite surprised when she ran to me and held me tight when I had moved out to the aisle at the church. Reeling in pain I was disoriented to the hilt. The single act of love and concern when she held me must have prevented me from a fall. It could have been disastrous in that condition.
Lila kept her composure all through. She broke down for a while only after she got me home safe.
Dr.P.A.Thomas at the Cosmopolitan Hospitals examined the wound the next day. He ruled out skin graft.
Achen who had phoned up in the morning paid us a visit soon after our return from the hospital.
28th March 2002, Maundy Thursday
It has been phone calls and visitors for two days now. It has opened our eyes to the affection and concern people have for us. The phone keeps on ringing. People keep on visiting us. The goodness in man soothes us and spirits away the depression and the trauma within us.
God is just great. Miracles do happen. Here am I, the living example. I have no complaints. I praise the Lord for putting me through the ordeal and yet protecting me. On that fateful day, anything could have happened. But nothing untoward occurred. I am perfectly alright but for the bandage that covers my head. In the midst of an oncoming and unstoppable tragedy God’s hands worked miraculously and kept me safe. His dynamics had shifted me to a different dimension for a fraction in time to keep me out of virtual danger. God certainly is mysterious and an enigma.
I shudder at the thought in case I had absorbed the full impact. Death just grazed me and had left me to live.
-------------------------
Abraham Jacob, T.C 30/211 HNo.28, NSSKarayogam Road, Anayara PO,
Trivandrum 695029, Kerala, India
Phone: Cell 09447253532
Res 04712740722
It was Tuesday, the 26th March 2002. The time was 6.55 PM. Christ Church, Palayam, Trivandrum which usually overflow with worshippers each time a worship is on, was unusually thin in attendance. Perhaps it was a working day that had turned the believers off. Or perhaps the fact that it was a special service in the Passion Week and that it was in the evening determined that it did not draw the usual crowd. The Choir was notable with its absence. Even the organist was not there to provide the familiar ambience. The Priest (Achen) stood at the top of the aisle and not at the altar. The previous Sunday was Palm Sunday. Achen had announced the programme for the Passion Week. When I heard that there would be Services in the evening on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Maundy Thursday, I had made up my mind to attend the service on Maundy Thursday and leave aside the services on the other days, as it was difficult to attend both the office and the church on all those days.
Ashwin, my younger son, as we had been passing by the church in the evening on Monday asked me what was happening in the church that day. The lights were on. I replied that as it was the Passion Week, the church would have special worships all through the week. The next day as I was about to leave for the office, Ashwin asked me about the worships on Passion Week and its significance. Reversing my earlier decision not to attend the church I told him that we would all go together to the church that day. We agreed to converge there in the evening.
Lila, my wife, was waiting for me at the church as I reached there. We were too early. We shared a few biscuits she had with her. The church was vacant when we made our entry. We were the sole occupants. Taking aisle seats at the head of adjacent rows for men and women we positioned ourselves at the middle. The aisle kept us apart. It was quite unusual as we had never taken those seats ever before. Later, we found to our surprise that both of us had a look at the tombs in the cemetery there as we entered the church. It crossed our minds that here was where we would end up one day. Further, during the course of the worship I had a cursory glance at all the fans in the church and it passed through my mind that the church had a mix of ancient and modern fans. Lila revealed that she had experienced apprehensions and dark forebodings with ominous designs welling up in her mind that evening as the worship progressed. She recollected that she had noticed a fan wobbling as it revolved the previous Sunday.
Christ Church and the Achens are well known for punctuality. The worship always begins at the appointed time, no matter the attendance. Rev. Shajan Idiculla began the worship at 6.30 PM sharp. The sequence of songs, prayers and readings from the Bible went on. Despite the thin attendance, I counted around one hundred worshippers in the church. The gentleman in front, Mr. Koshy Abraham was leading the songs. It was
6.55 PM. The congregation was on its feet singing together.
It all happened in a flash. There was a big bang. It was louder than several fireworks put together. I felt I had been severely hit on my head. The pain was intense. I put the book down and cupped the head with hands. I moved over to the aisle. Movement was slow. Lila ran to me. She held me tight. I heard her calling out, “Lalcha”. I did not realize that there was blood. Alarmed, she covered my head with her hands. I could not speak. I thought I would faint. In the normal run I could not withstand even a jab by the pin. Jacob Thomas, rushed towards us, held me and suggested that we moved on. As we reached the door, we found a chair. He helped me on to it. I felt blood trickling out when I took the hands off. Lila later told me that blood was gushing from several spots at once. I took out the hanky and covered the wound. I pressed the hanky firmly down hoping it would arrest the flow of blood. Suddenly, I had become the cynosure of all eyes. We had ten to fifteen members of the congregation around us. I asked Lila to retrieve my books and the glasses. She ran in and fetched them at once. Jacob sourced a piece of cotton to cover the wound. I placed it on top of the handkerchief and kept on pressing the wound down. The hand stayed there till I reached the safety of a hospital.
There was deliberation on the hospital to approach. A few of our friends and some members of the congregation offered their vehicles to shift me to a hospital. Lila was grateful for the offer of assistance. But she informed that our car was available and that she could drive me to the hospital.
Kuruvilla Kurien offered to drive the car. Lila said she would do it, as she did not wish to inconvenience anyone else. Jacob objected and advised Lila not to drive at that critical juncture. I told Lila to pay heed and let Kuruvilla drive.
Ashwin had not reached the church till then. When we had trooped out of the church to the car, I told Jacob that we were expecting our son to join us at the church. Jacob told us not to bother and promised that he would take care of Ashwin.
As I sat on the chair at the rear of the church I had tried to recap what really had happened. An old GEC fan, a heavy one at that, weighing around 30/40 Kgs, had broken free. It was revolving at full speed when it hurtled down on its own. It rested on the bench next to where I stood. When I looked into the church I could see the rod hanging there sans the fan. What must have happened, it was construed, was that either the dome or the blade had grazed the top of the head, slicing off the skin of one and a half inch in diameter before it had skidded on to the bench. The wound was superficial in general and was slightly deep at odd spots.
While we were about to board the car – it was past 7.00PM – I saw Ashwin coming in. Even at that time I had been wondering what was delaying him. The moment I saw him I raised my hand and called out. He did not know what had happened. He thought perhaps
the worship was over fast and that we were on our way back home. He felt something amiss when he found a stranger at the wheel. Lila quietly explained the strange happenings of the evening to him on the short ride. Cool boy he was, he took it calmly.
Kuruvilla as he started did not seem to know where to seek medical assistance. We presumed he was proceeding to Cosmopolitan Hospitals. When he did not take the left turn to Barton Hill, Lila said we had missed the Cosmopolitan turn off. Kuruvilla said we could either proceed to SUT or Cosmopolitan which ever was our preference. “Let it be Cosmopolitan”, Lila concurred.
Kuruvilla drove up to Pattom, turned and proceeded to Cosmopolitan. The traffic was heavy and slow. He manoeuvred the vehicle with great difficulty – he had to ensure that he did no further damage to the injured person - and managed to reach the ‘Emergency’ of Cosmopolitan with a liberal display of the high beam and the horn.
At the Cosmopolitan the sisters and the doctors on call were very kind and of great help. They dressed up the wound efficiently, gave me a shot of serum anti tetanus and kept me under observation for more than an hour. They found me stable and advised us to go home. We were cautioned to be careful and to return at once to the hospital in case we had observed anything out of the ordinary.
The doctors had a feeling that a skin graft might be necessary. Suturing was not possible, as the skin had been ripped off. They advised us to consult Dr.P.A.Thomas, the Plastic Surgeon in the morning next day.
Kuruvilla was of great assistance at the hospital. He ran around like an errand man.
The worship at the church, which had broken off with the big bang and subsequent developments, was resumed soon after we had stepped out. I heard Achen calling out to the congregation to pray for the speedy recovery of the injured as we left.
The phone started ringing the moment we reached home. People who were at the church and those who had heard of the mishap tried their best to cheer us up.
Lila is absolutely shy and diffident in expressing her feelings in public. I was quite surprised when she ran to me and held me tight when I had moved out to the aisle at the church. Reeling in pain I was disoriented to the hilt. The single act of love and concern when she held me must have prevented me from a fall. It could have been disastrous in that condition.
Lila kept her composure all through. She broke down for a while only after she got me home safe.
Dr.P.A.Thomas at the Cosmopolitan Hospitals examined the wound the next day. He ruled out skin graft.
Achen who had phoned up in the morning paid us a visit soon after our return from the hospital.
28th March 2002, Maundy Thursday
It has been phone calls and visitors for two days now. It has opened our eyes to the affection and concern people have for us. The phone keeps on ringing. People keep on visiting us. The goodness in man soothes us and spirits away the depression and the trauma within us.
God is just great. Miracles do happen. Here am I, the living example. I have no complaints. I praise the Lord for putting me through the ordeal and yet protecting me. On that fateful day, anything could have happened. But nothing untoward occurred. I am perfectly alright but for the bandage that covers my head. In the midst of an oncoming and unstoppable tragedy God’s hands worked miraculously and kept me safe. His dynamics had shifted me to a different dimension for a fraction in time to keep me out of virtual danger. God certainly is mysterious and an enigma.
I shudder at the thought in case I had absorbed the full impact. Death just grazed me and had left me to live.
-------------------------
Abraham Jacob, T.C 30/211 HNo.28, NSSKarayogam Road, Anayara PO,
Trivandrum 695029, Kerala, India
Phone: Cell 09447253532
Res 04712740722
Friday, July 2, 2010
SUNDALE ACADEMY
The fat head of Sundale Academy was very blunt. “Your son has failed in the 9th Class. We will issue a transfer certificate with the inscription ‘promoted’ if you are taking him out.”
“Where will we take him now?” the disconsolate mother, pleaded. It was the penultimate day of the academic year.
“That is not my look out. I do not have time to waste,” the fat man was at his brilliant best. He was the true follower of the one who had sacrificed himself for his fellow brethren. The tears that rolled out from Hazel did not move the tough man. The rotund man was the head of Sundale Academy responsible for churning out children in the most orderly manner. The children had to learn to conform. The mass production venture could little afford to have feelings for the individuals. The master had once scolded his followers when they prevented the children move up to him.
“Let the children not be denied. They are pure.” The master wanted his followers to love children, attend to their needs and take good care of them.
“Why should we think of a lonely child? We have such a large number of children to cater to.” True, the master had once narrated a parable where the shepherd had gone in search of a missing lamb leaving ninety nine of them behind. The shepherd went on searching till he could save the missing one. “But that is only a parable,” the fat man strongly believed.
Basil, Hazel’s husband had joined her by now. They sat there holding each other without knowing what had hit them. There were tears. The fat man looked on. He was unimpressed. He was impatient. For him it was another dismissal, another day. For him it was another mission accomplished. Somehow he had to protect the honour of his institution. He could not allow a drop of poison vitiate the hundred percent track record of his institution.
“Let the jarring notes go to hell. I’ll have an all distinction or at the worst distinction cum first class outcome. I’ll never allow anyone to mar the image of my precious institution. People flock to us solely on account of our impressive track record. It is the way of the world that a few must suffer for the common good of the majority.”
Sundale Academy had been sending two hundred and eighty students for the past two decades consistently for the HSC examination. As money making was the prime motive, Sundale Academy had been carefully splitting the large number into four batches of seventy each. More batches meant more teachers. More teachers meant depletion in profits. That the teachers were not paid exactly well was an open secret. The brilliant fat man encouraged the teachers to hold private tuitions at home or at the institution itself where they could mint money. Finding the prospects bright some of them had even given up their jobs and were into full time private tuitions that had offered the finest tax breaks. For, if the batches at the fabled Sundale Academy held seventy each, the tuition centres had more than a hundred per session. Admissions to the tuition centres were based on merit, the conditions for admission stringent than the conditions for admission to Sundale Academy. When the results were announced Sundale Academy was always at the top. It held a monopoly for top honours. There were no failures. Structuring was perfect. Distinctions were ninety percent with the lowly rest making up with first classes.
The fat man was totally justified in his action. Schools were only for the fittest. The fittest alone would survive. The world is no place for the weak. People longed to make their children doctors or engineers. One had to go by the market and not by the scriptures. It was money that mattered. A stand alone performance meant a healthy rush for admissions that ensured a heavy inflow of cash. It was cash that mattered in the market, not sentiments, not scriptures.
Though Basil and Hazel could not comprehend what had hit them or their dear child Noel, it was Dyslexia they were confronted with.
Dyslexia or Learning Disorder (LD) unknown to the early civilization was discovered only in the year 1888. It is a glitch in the ability to combine pictures or letters. The term took yet another five decades to be commonly used in the West. Although learning disability’s effects were hardly unknown to Asians it took a lot more time for the Asians to recognize it as a malady. Recent studies reveal that one out of five or twenty percent of the population is affected by dyslexia. However, experienced doctors indicate that dyslexia affects twenty five percent or one of four of the population. The enormity or magnitude of the problem is such that it requires to be addressed vehemently. Even though dyslexia is universal it does not affect every culture or language group uniformly. Its incidence is lower among the Chinese and the Japanese.
The dyslexics encounter trouble comprehending and writing characters. They confuse or transpose elements or concentrate on only one, missing the character’s real meaning. They encounter difficulty in catching up with their peers in the class room who are fast learners. They misspell. Their handwriting often is atrocious. They are slow learners. They need a little more time to grasp. In Noel’s class of seventy, the teacher never had the time or patience to attend to each one, let alone provide special support to the weak. The teacher normally moves ahead when she feels that seventy five percent of the students have grasped what she tries to convey. She brands the remaining twenty five percent as lazy. Neither she nor her institution is aware that dyslexia exists in the world and that almost twenty five percent of the population is under its grip. Where corrective measures are urgently required it is indeed very unfortunate that the dyslexics are branded as no good and in turn treated badly by the society. When dyslexia is diagnosed, what the afflicted needs is love, affection and understanding and not scorn or ridicule. The society fails to realize that except for the glitch that makes them slow learners, there is nothing wrong with the dyslexics. They are highly intelligent with capabilities that surpass the brilliant. Treat them badly and we make them traverse the wrong path. No wonder, prison population the world over abounds with dyslexics.
Dr.Akino Uno, Japan’s foremost expert on dyslexia states, “You can’t fix poor eyesight, but you can wear glasses. We can’t get rid of a disability. But we can teach people to compensate for it.” Dyslexia did not stop Thomas Edison, inventor of the light bulb and the phonograph, from achieving greatness. It had fuelled the creative fire in him. He is among a long list of well known personalities who were afflicted with dyslexia.
It was providence that his parents decided to consult a child psychologist after managing an admission for Noel in another school with great difficulty. It meant frantic visits to all the schools in the vicinity and a considerable sum as donation. Dr. Saira Mohan held a few sessions with them as well as Noel. She disclosed to them that it was dyslexia they were up against. She advised restraint. Noel needed support, love and affection and not negative criticism and the unbridled ambition of the parents to realize their lost dreams through him. He could only be Noel and could never be what the fat man of Sundale Academy had ordained. Noel did very well in his HSC examination the next year passing it with a first class. He has gone for higher studies where he is doing well at present. He has practical wisdom and does everything so well that he is admired by all he comes into contact with. He is grateful to his parents for supporting him at the most critical phase of his life. He is grateful to them for their love and affection when he needed it most.
A child at home who does not perform at the level expected is not a disaster. It may be dyslexia one has to content with. The disheartened parents normally tend to blame or brand the child. But the child is never at fault. He is born with dyslexia. He has not acquired it. Help the child overcome the glitches. Life will certainly be exciting.
-------------------------
“Where will we take him now?” the disconsolate mother, pleaded. It was the penultimate day of the academic year.
“That is not my look out. I do not have time to waste,” the fat man was at his brilliant best. He was the true follower of the one who had sacrificed himself for his fellow brethren. The tears that rolled out from Hazel did not move the tough man. The rotund man was the head of Sundale Academy responsible for churning out children in the most orderly manner. The children had to learn to conform. The mass production venture could little afford to have feelings for the individuals. The master had once scolded his followers when they prevented the children move up to him.
“Let the children not be denied. They are pure.” The master wanted his followers to love children, attend to their needs and take good care of them.
“Why should we think of a lonely child? We have such a large number of children to cater to.” True, the master had once narrated a parable where the shepherd had gone in search of a missing lamb leaving ninety nine of them behind. The shepherd went on searching till he could save the missing one. “But that is only a parable,” the fat man strongly believed.
Basil, Hazel’s husband had joined her by now. They sat there holding each other without knowing what had hit them. There were tears. The fat man looked on. He was unimpressed. He was impatient. For him it was another dismissal, another day. For him it was another mission accomplished. Somehow he had to protect the honour of his institution. He could not allow a drop of poison vitiate the hundred percent track record of his institution.
“Let the jarring notes go to hell. I’ll have an all distinction or at the worst distinction cum first class outcome. I’ll never allow anyone to mar the image of my precious institution. People flock to us solely on account of our impressive track record. It is the way of the world that a few must suffer for the common good of the majority.”
Sundale Academy had been sending two hundred and eighty students for the past two decades consistently for the HSC examination. As money making was the prime motive, Sundale Academy had been carefully splitting the large number into four batches of seventy each. More batches meant more teachers. More teachers meant depletion in profits. That the teachers were not paid exactly well was an open secret. The brilliant fat man encouraged the teachers to hold private tuitions at home or at the institution itself where they could mint money. Finding the prospects bright some of them had even given up their jobs and were into full time private tuitions that had offered the finest tax breaks. For, if the batches at the fabled Sundale Academy held seventy each, the tuition centres had more than a hundred per session. Admissions to the tuition centres were based on merit, the conditions for admission stringent than the conditions for admission to Sundale Academy. When the results were announced Sundale Academy was always at the top. It held a monopoly for top honours. There were no failures. Structuring was perfect. Distinctions were ninety percent with the lowly rest making up with first classes.
The fat man was totally justified in his action. Schools were only for the fittest. The fittest alone would survive. The world is no place for the weak. People longed to make their children doctors or engineers. One had to go by the market and not by the scriptures. It was money that mattered. A stand alone performance meant a healthy rush for admissions that ensured a heavy inflow of cash. It was cash that mattered in the market, not sentiments, not scriptures.
Though Basil and Hazel could not comprehend what had hit them or their dear child Noel, it was Dyslexia they were confronted with.
Dyslexia or Learning Disorder (LD) unknown to the early civilization was discovered only in the year 1888. It is a glitch in the ability to combine pictures or letters. The term took yet another five decades to be commonly used in the West. Although learning disability’s effects were hardly unknown to Asians it took a lot more time for the Asians to recognize it as a malady. Recent studies reveal that one out of five or twenty percent of the population is affected by dyslexia. However, experienced doctors indicate that dyslexia affects twenty five percent or one of four of the population. The enormity or magnitude of the problem is such that it requires to be addressed vehemently. Even though dyslexia is universal it does not affect every culture or language group uniformly. Its incidence is lower among the Chinese and the Japanese.
The dyslexics encounter trouble comprehending and writing characters. They confuse or transpose elements or concentrate on only one, missing the character’s real meaning. They encounter difficulty in catching up with their peers in the class room who are fast learners. They misspell. Their handwriting often is atrocious. They are slow learners. They need a little more time to grasp. In Noel’s class of seventy, the teacher never had the time or patience to attend to each one, let alone provide special support to the weak. The teacher normally moves ahead when she feels that seventy five percent of the students have grasped what she tries to convey. She brands the remaining twenty five percent as lazy. Neither she nor her institution is aware that dyslexia exists in the world and that almost twenty five percent of the population is under its grip. Where corrective measures are urgently required it is indeed very unfortunate that the dyslexics are branded as no good and in turn treated badly by the society. When dyslexia is diagnosed, what the afflicted needs is love, affection and understanding and not scorn or ridicule. The society fails to realize that except for the glitch that makes them slow learners, there is nothing wrong with the dyslexics. They are highly intelligent with capabilities that surpass the brilliant. Treat them badly and we make them traverse the wrong path. No wonder, prison population the world over abounds with dyslexics.
Dr.Akino Uno, Japan’s foremost expert on dyslexia states, “You can’t fix poor eyesight, but you can wear glasses. We can’t get rid of a disability. But we can teach people to compensate for it.” Dyslexia did not stop Thomas Edison, inventor of the light bulb and the phonograph, from achieving greatness. It had fuelled the creative fire in him. He is among a long list of well known personalities who were afflicted with dyslexia.
It was providence that his parents decided to consult a child psychologist after managing an admission for Noel in another school with great difficulty. It meant frantic visits to all the schools in the vicinity and a considerable sum as donation. Dr. Saira Mohan held a few sessions with them as well as Noel. She disclosed to them that it was dyslexia they were up against. She advised restraint. Noel needed support, love and affection and not negative criticism and the unbridled ambition of the parents to realize their lost dreams through him. He could only be Noel and could never be what the fat man of Sundale Academy had ordained. Noel did very well in his HSC examination the next year passing it with a first class. He has gone for higher studies where he is doing well at present. He has practical wisdom and does everything so well that he is admired by all he comes into contact with. He is grateful to his parents for supporting him at the most critical phase of his life. He is grateful to them for their love and affection when he needed it most.
A child at home who does not perform at the level expected is not a disaster. It may be dyslexia one has to content with. The disheartened parents normally tend to blame or brand the child. But the child is never at fault. He is born with dyslexia. He has not acquired it. Help the child overcome the glitches. Life will certainly be exciting.
-------------------------
FOCUS ON OTHERS FOR A WHILE THROUGH SHARING
Do you really feel that you have a difficult child?
Do you really feel that you are at your wits end in handling the child?
Do you really feel that your child is doing very badly in his studies?
Do you really feel that everything that you cherish is lost forever?
Take heart and realize that nothing is wrong with the child.
It is a question of managing an intricate situation well.
Would you like to share the issue with someone who has been through the fire and has fought it, doused it and has come out triumphant?
Reach us through childisprecious@gmail.com
This is not an invitation to any specific group or society.
What is intended is to let you spend some time away from focusing on yourself and focus on others through sharing.
It will alter your own perceptions and transform you forever.
Do you really feel that you are at your wits end in handling the child?
Do you really feel that your child is doing very badly in his studies?
Do you really feel that everything that you cherish is lost forever?
Take heart and realize that nothing is wrong with the child.
It is a question of managing an intricate situation well.
Would you like to share the issue with someone who has been through the fire and has fought it, doused it and has come out triumphant?
Reach us through childisprecious@gmail.com
This is not an invitation to any specific group or society.
What is intended is to let you spend some time away from focusing on yourself and focus on others through sharing.
It will alter your own perceptions and transform you forever.
SMITHA DYES HER HAIR
Smitha was concerned. In fact she was deeply concerned. The ever increasing grey strands of hair gave her no peace of mind. She was afraid her friends would classify her old very soon. It is high time she paid a visit to her beauty parlour, she felt. Smitha had a mind of her own. She was quick to put into effect her thoughts. She walked into ‘Reva’ the busy beauty parlour on the Duncan Road. It was 12.00 noon. She was already late by half an hour even by her own standards. Though the office functions in the morning from 9.30 to 5.30 in the evening, she had made it a practice to report at the office at 11.30 AM every day. She was a senior officer of the dreaded OWD, Organisation for Welfare and Development. OWD was all pervasive with its arms extended throughout the state.
OWD was established on 1st September 1953 when Kadukka State was carved out of Kudagu. After the people of Kudagu threw out the Greek and gained independence in the year 1940 the idea had been in the air for very long and it assumed formal shape only in 1953. The functions of OWD had been the subject of great debate. It was finally resolved that OWD will be responsible for all welfare and development activities in the state and that its Head Quarters will be in the capital, Kadukka City with branches in all the villages and towns. It was also resolved that any project or any business proposal or even any matter of significance in Kadukka State will have to be vetted by OWD. Nothing escaped its long arm. Nothing took place in the state without its sanction or approval. In the preamble it had been specifically stated that the objective of the OWD is to scuttle everything that came before it. The people of Kadukka jumped with joy and were proud when OWD set a world record for applications, schemes and proposals turned away or rejected in its first year. It was a stupendous achievement. Unparalleled. OWD was staffed by brilliant men and women who were recruited after an elaborate selection process that culminated with a final assessment in obstinacy followed by a rigorous interview where the candidate’s ability to procrastinate indefinitely was the sole criterion for success.
With her Ph.D in both English and Kadu, the native language and first rank in ML (Master of Law) Smitha had been recruited by the OWD as they found in her a great ability to exceed its avowed objective.
The receptionist at Reva received Smitha courteously.
“Good afternoon Ma’m. What can we do for you?”
“My hair is in a mess. It needs henna badly. Will you be able to help me out?”
“Of course we will. But you will have to wait for half an hour. The girls are all busy.”
Suddenly it struck Smitha that full scale henna takes at least two hours and that she will not be able to attend the office if she underwent the beauty treatment. She was a good soul and was particular that the office should not miss her any day. Indeed, very conscientious.
“I cannot wait for long. I have a busy schedule at the office. I’ll be happy if you’ll hand me the paste. I’ll carry it to the office and then take it home. I’ll apply the paste on my hair in the evening.”
“No. We don’t do such a thing. It tarnishes our reputation.”
“Maya, have I ever sought such a favour before. I’ve been your regular customer for the past nine years. Please, for God’s sake, for once.”
The beautician was stunned. It was the strangest request she had ever faced. But Smitha had been an excellent customer in all the past nine years.
“Okay, as you please. But we’ve no containers.”
“That’s no problem.” Smitha had always been resourceful. She came up with a winner. She quickly emptied her lunch box into the waste bin. She smartly cleaned the box herself and handed it over to Maya. The beautician suppressing the laughter filled the lunch box.
“That’s one hundred and fifty Rupees.”
The moment Smitha handed her the money Maya ran into the ante room where she let out her laughter loudly.
Smitha, in the meantime smartly proceeded to the office. She had quite a lot of things to attend to at the office. There were a number of people to be turned away. Applications and proposals to be rejected or kept pending without any salvation were mounting. Her bosses at the OWD were proud of their senior officer. Smitha went on with her job of annihilation.
“Oh! It’s 4.00 PM. The henna paste’s in the lunch box.” Smitha was worried that if she delayed any further the paste’ll go waste. She gathered her belongings and quickly walked out of the office passing the people she still had to turn away.
At home, Smitha started hennaing her hair. She was very careful. She treated each grey strand with respect. It was a special treatment those girls at Reva had no time for. Three hours, it took. Smitha was happy that all her hair had finally turned black. Unfortunately there was a big problem on hand. Half the henna paste was still there in the lunch box.
“My,” she thought, “So much money going waste.”
The decision was instant. “Let the face, hands and the feet too have the henna.”
Smitha was happy that at last the lunch box was wiped clean of the henna paste.
Nandan, who reached home, after a tiring day at the project office, in the evening, had the shock of his life. Smitha was all smiles when she opened the door for him. She was black all over.
******************
OWD was established on 1st September 1953 when Kadukka State was carved out of Kudagu. After the people of Kudagu threw out the Greek and gained independence in the year 1940 the idea had been in the air for very long and it assumed formal shape only in 1953. The functions of OWD had been the subject of great debate. It was finally resolved that OWD will be responsible for all welfare and development activities in the state and that its Head Quarters will be in the capital, Kadukka City with branches in all the villages and towns. It was also resolved that any project or any business proposal or even any matter of significance in Kadukka State will have to be vetted by OWD. Nothing escaped its long arm. Nothing took place in the state without its sanction or approval. In the preamble it had been specifically stated that the objective of the OWD is to scuttle everything that came before it. The people of Kadukka jumped with joy and were proud when OWD set a world record for applications, schemes and proposals turned away or rejected in its first year. It was a stupendous achievement. Unparalleled. OWD was staffed by brilliant men and women who were recruited after an elaborate selection process that culminated with a final assessment in obstinacy followed by a rigorous interview where the candidate’s ability to procrastinate indefinitely was the sole criterion for success.
With her Ph.D in both English and Kadu, the native language and first rank in ML (Master of Law) Smitha had been recruited by the OWD as they found in her a great ability to exceed its avowed objective.
The receptionist at Reva received Smitha courteously.
“Good afternoon Ma’m. What can we do for you?”
“My hair is in a mess. It needs henna badly. Will you be able to help me out?”
“Of course we will. But you will have to wait for half an hour. The girls are all busy.”
Suddenly it struck Smitha that full scale henna takes at least two hours and that she will not be able to attend the office if she underwent the beauty treatment. She was a good soul and was particular that the office should not miss her any day. Indeed, very conscientious.
“I cannot wait for long. I have a busy schedule at the office. I’ll be happy if you’ll hand me the paste. I’ll carry it to the office and then take it home. I’ll apply the paste on my hair in the evening.”
“No. We don’t do such a thing. It tarnishes our reputation.”
“Maya, have I ever sought such a favour before. I’ve been your regular customer for the past nine years. Please, for God’s sake, for once.”
The beautician was stunned. It was the strangest request she had ever faced. But Smitha had been an excellent customer in all the past nine years.
“Okay, as you please. But we’ve no containers.”
“That’s no problem.” Smitha had always been resourceful. She came up with a winner. She quickly emptied her lunch box into the waste bin. She smartly cleaned the box herself and handed it over to Maya. The beautician suppressing the laughter filled the lunch box.
“That’s one hundred and fifty Rupees.”
The moment Smitha handed her the money Maya ran into the ante room where she let out her laughter loudly.
Smitha, in the meantime smartly proceeded to the office. She had quite a lot of things to attend to at the office. There were a number of people to be turned away. Applications and proposals to be rejected or kept pending without any salvation were mounting. Her bosses at the OWD were proud of their senior officer. Smitha went on with her job of annihilation.
“Oh! It’s 4.00 PM. The henna paste’s in the lunch box.” Smitha was worried that if she delayed any further the paste’ll go waste. She gathered her belongings and quickly walked out of the office passing the people she still had to turn away.
At home, Smitha started hennaing her hair. She was very careful. She treated each grey strand with respect. It was a special treatment those girls at Reva had no time for. Three hours, it took. Smitha was happy that all her hair had finally turned black. Unfortunately there was a big problem on hand. Half the henna paste was still there in the lunch box.
“My,” she thought, “So much money going waste.”
The decision was instant. “Let the face, hands and the feet too have the henna.”
Smitha was happy that at last the lunch box was wiped clean of the henna paste.
Nandan, who reached home, after a tiring day at the project office, in the evening, had the shock of his life. Smitha was all smiles when she opened the door for him. She was black all over.
******************
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