Mukundan Finds a Purpose to Live – Chapter-7

When Mukundan got up the next morning, he had a clear idea in his mind in terms of what he wanted to do. After a bath and breakfast, he went to the place where Sumithra used to sell fruits. She was there, he spoke to her and conveyed the previous day’s events. She was happy to hear that the two women were safe.

Mukundan then said that he was leaving for Chennai and would be back soon. He handed Sumithra some money and said. Let it be there, it will be helpful. Once I am back, there’s a lot to speak.

Mukundan took the passenger train to Coimbatore and from there boarded a bus. By 10 PM he was back to his house. He looked at the house its belongings, the framed photo of Alfred, the gramophone record player, the library, there were a lot of memories associated with this house.

The next morning he visited his school, the principal was surprised. Mukundan narrated a brief summary of all that had transpired, he said, “I would like to spend the rest of my life in Kerala with my stepmother and sister, I would like to be relieved from my role.” The principal understood Mukundan’s request and said, “We are losing a good teacher, but family comes first, submit the letter, I will handle the paper-work, good luck Mukundan!”

Mukundan then called up Rajesh. After the initial pleasantries, Mukundan said, “Rajesh, I am going to relocate to Kannur, can you get me the help of a house-broker and arrange a house for me in the town, if it is closer to Sheelu’s college, even better?” Rajesh replied, “Yes, will get it done, I will keep you informed.”

A week later

It was an independent house, spacious with a garden at the front, coconut and guava trees, and a bunch of flowering plants, there was a well and a dedicated washing area as well. Mukundan had transferred the advance amount and asked Rajesh to collect the house keys. Then he reached Kannur and facilitated the shifting of his mother and sister’s meagre belongings and set up the house. His mother and sister were immensely happy.

Mukundan then told his mother about Sumithra and Lekha. He explained to her that he wanted to marry Sumithra and secure her and Lekha’s future as well. His mother agreed wholeheartedly. A week later, there was a simple wedding at the Vilvadrinathan Temple in Thiruvilvamamla, Gangadharan, some neighbours of Sumithra, Rajesh, and Mukundan’s mother and sister were in attendance. When Mukundan had asked Sumithra to marry him, she had broken into tears, the tears gave way to relief, and she hugged him. It was young Lekha who was the cynosure of all eyes as she saw her mother getting married to the new uncle who had got her toys and dresses. She was also happy.

They all lived together in the new house in Kannur. Mukundan found a job as a teacher in a school run by the Franciscan brothers, his stellar academic records, and letter of recommendation from the principal of his previous school secured the job for him. Thus Mukundan, the boy who ran away, returned as a man, took control of his life, found his lost family-members, found the love of his life, and began to live life with happiness and joy!

Purpose and meaning in life are strange terms, one may find it by chance, one may already have found it and never know, or one may keep searching for it and never find it. Like Mukundan, your time may also come, find a reason to be happy, do good, it comes back to you manifold.

Image by Freepik

Let there be light and bloom where you are planted!

The Beginning…….

Mukundan Returns to His Village – 2

Image by jeswin on Freepik

Once the lawyer had conveyed this news to Mukundan, he felt a strange sense of despair. After many years, he felt uncomfortable and unsure about what to do. The years spent with Alfred had given him security, hope, and lot of love and affection. He in turn by taking good care of his students was admired and respected by his colleagues at the school. He had led a simple and uncomplicated life in the company of Alfred, their library, and collection of old gramophone records. Alfred had been a free thinker and never imposed his religious choices on his ward. He had let Mukundan be and find his own path in his spiritual quest. Mukundan would often vist the Vallalar Sabhai meetings that used to take place in Egmore. He was influenced by the teachings of Vallalar Swamigal and believed that a bit of God existed in every living creature, and one should not harm any living creature big or small. Now that Alfred had also left and there was a generous sum of money in his name, Mukundan took a decision, he wanted to take a break from school, and travel, perhaps visit his village and see if his parents were still there. He spoke to the school management, they gave him a month’s leave. Mukundan gladly accepted the offer and booked a train ticket.

That evening as he walked into Madras Central Station that was now renamed to Chennai Central, he stared with wonder. In the last few years, there had been a rapid growth with the Metro station making connectivity even better. But inside the main station, the things still looked similar, the hustle and bustle, the stray dogs running about, the porters with their sly smiles, some destitute elders and beggars looking for alms, the irate passengers looking at the digital announcement board, the new food court with its enticing fragrances; Mukundan felt a strange sense of peace within him as he stood in the waiting hall and awaited his train.

Train 22639 – Alleppey Express – what a twist of fate – a similar onward train had brought him to this city that had been home for all these years. This city had made him a man. The love of a father that he had craved, he had found here. As the train arrived, Mukundan picked his bag and walked slowly towards his coach. How things had changed. From coming in that unreserved coach that night, the small and scared boy, in a half-shirt and his school’s khaki pants. Here he was now clad in a white half-shirt and a kaavi veshti boarding his seat in the 3AC coach. He had packed a simple dinner of idlies and molagaipodi wrapped in a banana leaf. His co-passengers were an elderly couple. They smiled at him. They said they were going to Kalpathi for a wedding. On the other side, there were a group of NCC cadets going to Alleppey. The train picked up speed as it crossed the city limits. Mukundan exchanged his lower berth seat for the elderly lady and lay down in the upper berth. The lights were switched off. The blue night-light glowed gently as the train picked up pace and hurtled into the darkness of the night.

Mukundan’s Return – Part-1

Mukundan set foot in the village after 22 long years. He had left home in a fit of rage after his father had chided him for getting 0 in his Maths test. He had wandered moving from city to city. The overnight express had taken him to Ernakulam. From there he had reached Madras Central Station. That night he had left home with just Rs 50 in coins that he had saved up. He had felt no remorse or love lost for his family. He was tired of his father’s beatings. He sometimes wondered about his mother. His actual mother had died during child-birth of his younger sister. His father had remarried and his step-mother tried her best to be a good caretaker, but after she gave birth to her own child, there was no time to dedicate to Mukundan.

He had reached Madras. The TTE had caught him as he tried to exit the station. Mukundan had said that he was an orphan. The TTE, an elderly man nearing retirement took pity on the boy. He was a chronic bachelor and lived in the Railway Quarters in Perambur. In Mr. Alfred Devasahayam, young Mukundan found a genuinely caring father-figure. Alfred, gave Mukundan a good education. He introduced a love of books and music in Mukundan and Mukundan gave him the love and affection that the elderly man had never got in his life. By the time, Alfred died because of a sudden cardiac arrest, Mukundan had completed his college degree and secured a job as a Physics teacher in a school nearby in Kilpauk. For some reason, Mukundan had never pursued any woman. His life with Alfred who had been a chronic bachleor all through and the bitter experiences of some of his classmates in college had led him to the conclusion that staying single was the best way to maintain one’s inner peace.

Once Alfred died, he arranged for the funeral. Some of Alfred’s colleagues from the Railways came and offered their condolences. Seetharaman the lawyer came and handed over Alfred’s will to Mukundan. He had left the small flat in Kilpauk in his name along with about 3 lakhs held in a deposit in a bank.

Six Months in Bengaluru

I was born in Calcutta, lived in Pune, moved to Calcutta, then again was uprooted from the City of Joy and brought to a town called Thiruvallur near Chennai. The town and the city nearby became a part of the identity, seeing me mature into a man way before I should have become one. The responsibilities to care for my mother, giving her a better life, were the only concerns. School, college, multiple jobs, a house for Amma to live, tied to a long loan that still has about 8 more years to go. A bunch of close friends, some beautiful moments, some sad moments, losing my mother, immersing her ashes in the ocean, the city took a part of my soul with it. The house in the village still remains, locked up, books packed tightly in cupboards and boxes. The swami shelf, with portraits and metallic figurines, inevitably will be covered by dust and cobwebs along with the rest of the house. Memories are tied to the house there.

Now having spent six months in this city, life has been a rollercoaster ride of emotions. What do I say? A rented house again. I am married now. Understanding the better half, her mother, navigating the complexities of being responsible for one more person now, they all bring a steep learning curve. I am trying to be a better person, understanding others, being accepting of this city, its people, the language, the weather, the traffic that saps one’s energy out. A job, a good workplace, supportive colleagues and superiors, this city is now ‘home’. How long will I be here? Or will I permanently become a resident here? I don’t know what adventures lie ahead? I just want to lead a happy and purposeful life, here, there, where, no one knows.. Thankful to God, thankful to the spirits of the elders, thankful to friends and family for every lesson taught and learnt.

The journey continues…

The Unbearable Weight of Grief

In another month and a few days, it will be four years since Amma’s demise.

In this gap, I have changed a fair bit both internally and externally.

My own brush with an illness and a close oncological scare later, I am still trying to process what happened. With the support of friends, medical insurance through the employer, and some personal savings, I have sailed through. At the back of my mind, there is this constant dread that something extremely bad is going to happen, and I am going to end up a wreck physically and emotionally. It is just a nagging fear that seems to have found a permanent place in the head.

Coming to terms with my mother’s loss is an ongoing process. Grief never ends. It ebbs and flows. There are days when one questions the very premise for living. There are nights when one is pained by the decisions taken in the past. One is only able to remember the painful memories. There are days when one remembers the happy memories with great fondness and love.

When I walk and look at elderly ladies, I am reminded of my mother in them. When I visit the temples in the vicinity and see the elderly ladies offering prayers for their loved ones, I see a bit of my mother in them.

I got married last year and I thought I found a mother in my wife’s mother. But sometimes what we think is uni-dimensional and our thoughts are not reciprocated. No anger or malice, one just moves on, trying to find inner peace. It is foolish to expect an individual to change for the sake of another. Similarly, no one should expect you to change for their own sake.

In this journey of life and death, I have cremated, buried, and bid farewell to my share of loved ones. Somewhere, someday, I know, I will get the dreaded call, that my father is no more, and again I will have to perform the last rites. The process of overcoming grief at the end of the day is just futile. Somedays, we laugh, most days, we cry, we wear a mask, and try to go on with our lives.

I have decided to now stop explaining myself to people. Be it a loved one, family, or friend, what is the point? I have already been judged through the lens of their heart and mind. A preconceived notion has been set deep into their minds, and I can’t persuade them to change it. Forgive, forget, and move on, hopefully at some point grief too finds a way to break into smaller portions in the heart. Perhaps, someday, when I am no more, someone, somewhere, will sit, think, perhaps shed a tear, and write about me. Who knows…what is the measure of this life that has been lived? Did I do anything worthy? Who knows….

Ela Veezha Poonchira – Passion, Crime, Guilt, Masculinity, Infidelity, and Justifying Killing

“Ela Veezha Poonchira” a Malayalam film starring Soubin Shahir and Sudhi Koppa in key roles and written by Nidhish G and Shaaji Maraad is directed skillfully by Shahi Kabir.

We are shown a remote police wireless outpost atop a hill. The location that has been beautifully created, the police outpost, and the surrounding areas add a strange element of mystery and melancholy.

You know right from the outset that there is going to be something unsettling that’s going to take place. It is a feeling of dread that one is not able to shake.

We are shown the lives of people/cops handling this remote location. The distant location far away from the crowds and busy nature of the nearest town. The solitude of the forest and the hills, the wind and the rains, and the lightning that strikes at its own free will, they all add a touch of mystery to the tale.

A case of the body parts of a woman found in different places of the nearby city and then one of the cops on duty discovering a hand that the dogs have dug out is when the story gathers pace. What follows next is an interesting mind-game that has been brought out with great skill and care by the two primary actors on screen. Sudhi has been making appearances in movies in roles big and small for over a decade now. Soubin has carved out a niche for himself with similar offbeat roles and this is one more feather to his cap.

Who is the mysterious lady who has been killed? How did a hand of a dead body turn up so far away in the hills? What secrets are the two men hiding from each other? Is a man’s masculinity defined by his ability to hold an erection and satisfy his woman? Can passion justify infidelity? Can infidelity justify crime? Is suicide the answer to an unwanted pregnancy? What is the definition of honour? Why can’t one accept one’s shortcomings? A lot of questions remain. The movie is available to stream on Amazon Prime Video.

This is not everyone’s cup of tea. Watch at your discretion.

Here’s the director speaking about the movie.

April – A Memory

I wanted to visit mama and mami for Vishu this year. Our last phone call was to that effect. In a cruel twist of fate, I reached Kalpathy a week before Vishu to participate in mama’s last rites. It was a peaceful and painless demise. May his soul attain moksham.

Over the course of the week spent in Kalpathy a lot of thoughts plagued me. It is been over a decade, close to 12 or 13 years now since Appa walked out of the house. Barring one meeting, late one night at Avadi Railway Station, where he begged me for money saying his wallet had been stolen, we have not met each other. In this interim, so many changes have taken place, I lost Amma, I think both my father’s parents, (my paternal grandparents) are no more. I don’t know where he resides or what he does with his hefty naval pension either. I am dreading the day or night when I receive a phone call from an unknown number stating that my father is no more and I need to rush post-haste to wherever he breathed his last and to perform the requisite rites.

Yesterday was Amma’s third “thithi”, at the mutt, there was a small boy, perhaps four years old. He was performing shraddham for his father. The child was innocent and was guided by his grandparents as the priest conducted the rituals slowly and the little child managed to recite the requisite slokas under his grandfather’s guidance. It was the little child’s “kartavyam”, which the boy performed dutifully.

As a son what are my duties towards my father? There has never been any kind of affection towards him, barring the earliest years of my childhood in Pune, where we were a happy family. I have had absolutely no contact with him. I don’t even know if he is alive. Though my intuition tells me that if something were to have happened to him, the network of far-flung relatives from my father’s side would have striven to convey the news to me by some means or the other.

I am in a deep moral dilemma. For someone who abandoned his family multiple times and took advantage of the goodwill of his brothers-in-law and the innocence of his wife, where do I stand in the larger scheme of things?? Would it be a sin on my part to refuse to participate in anything associated with him??? No answers. Only more troubling questions.

Sundara Mama – Joins his Sister Sharada in Heaven

I received the phone call late in the afternoon. My cousin was calling from Salem. His message was short and direct – “Appa poyita, chair la okandhirundha, Amma kanji aeduthutu pona, respond panalay, pulse, BP aedhuvum irukalai, doctor pathutu, uyir poghi 10 nimisham aachu sonanga.” “Appa is no more. He was sitting on the chair. Amma took kanji for him to drink. He did not respond. Doctor came and checked. No pulse or Bp. Doctor said he had died about 10 minutes ago.”

My mother had two elder brothers and one younger sister. MY chitthi passed away when I was yet a toddler and I do not have any memories of her barring for some old black and white photos where she holds me with pride and joy. I grew up in the care and affection of my elder maternal uncle Sundara Mama. He had left a village in Kerala to land in Calcutta and work as a house-help to his maternal uncle who was a Customs Officer. He decided to make his own living, did odd jobs, learnt typing and shorthand, went to evening college, he truly worked hard. He was fond of reading and an absolute whiz with Mathematics. He joined Chemplast as a young man and rose to a pretty senior position by the time he left.

I owe my love for reading, cricket, and collecting stamps to him. He was also a keen listener of Carnatic music and had a huge collection of audio cassettes. Growing up, I was scared of him too because he demanded perfection and total commitment to one’s deeds. Getting the signature on the report card was what I hated the most as invariably my scores in Maths and Science were horrible. In the absence of my father, whose only contribution to my life to a large level was my birth and nothing beyond it; it was my mamas – Sundareswaran and Raman who supported my mother and I. I would often wonder, where would have I ended up, if I did not have two such beautiful people who took such good care of us, helped provide a good education, food, shelter, clothing, love and affection, and guidance in the critical years of childhood!

As the wheel of time, played its tricks, we all had to separate, mama had his own family. They joined together after a separation of almost two decades. Amma and I joined Appa, who by some weird twist of fate felt he could make things work again.

I have so many memories of Sundara Mama, traveling down South with Akka and Amma to visit Tirupati and Chennai, visiting our ancestral temple in Thiruvilvamala, visiting Madras, VGP Golden Beach, the family dosa, watching a movie at Devi theatre, drinking Bovonto and rose milk, traveling to Pichavaram, a lot of memories of Madras are inter-linked with him. Coming down to Madras to buy jewels at GRT for Akka’s wedding, purchasing silk sarees, traveling to Kanchipuram, meeting Mahaperiyavaa, these are all moments that are stuck firmly in my mind.

In Calcutta, our visits to the Boi Mela – Book Fair, finding second-hand books from pavement shops and old book shops in Mirza Ghalib Street, getting up early to watch the World Cup that happened in New Zealand. Dissecting and analyzing team selections in cricket and the fierce rivalry between East Bengal and Mohun Bagan, the love for masala peanuts, jhaal murri, and mishti doi. So much of my present is inter-linked to his benevolence.

It took me a long time to get over the sorrow of losing Amma. But this passing away of Sundara Mama will sting deeply in more ways than one. As age catches up with the elders in the family, my worry increases too, and I keep everyone in my prayers. His time had come, he left in the most painless way possible.

Om Shanthi mama.

Say hello to Amma, when you meet her in heaven.

From Here to Where Next?

Wishing all the readers and algorithmic page crawlers a Happy New Year 2022. Hopefully we begin to learn to live with the plague that is finding new forms to enslave us.

After about 3 plus years of living in a rented flat in the city am returning to the village. Does not make any more sense to continue bleeding from a depleting bank account and paying an EMI and rent and maintenance for two separate places. At Happinest, I tried to find happiness, all I found was pain, which compounded further, as I lost my mother after a long battle. Every time I hoped that I would save Amma and bring her back home; but this last time, I had resigned to my fate. I knew that the end was near. If I were to look back at this period here; I could only gain lessons in the mortality of us humans. I underwent hospitalization for a critical illness, got operated, and for more than a year; there was a constant fear that the tumor would return with a malignant curse. At this juncture, I am safe. Am happy to be alive and hold a job. The city has given a lot and also taken a lot. Memories are mixed. Little brother’s wedding, celebrating festivals, traveling in the rains for a friend’s daughter’s first birthday celebrations; small vestiges of happiness, which will be stored in a corner of the brain.

From the village, a few months further down the year, I will again move somewhere else. I don’t know yet. Maybe Thiruvanamalai, or Kashi, or Rishikesh; far away from the madness that keeps rearing up within. Some kind of clarity or purpose in life, which keeps remaining hidden. How long do I keep wandering? It is said that the disciple only finds the Master when he/she is destined to meet the Enlightened One. Perhaps, this year, I will find my Master. Who knows…?

In a month’s time, I will hit 40. How quickly have the last five years flown by. Everything is just a blurry kaleidoscope of emotions. As the clock keeps ticking, it is a reminder of my own mortality, the limited time that’s left. Hopefully the year brings joy and clarity of purpose and I am able to execute my thoughts and ideas into action.

Till we meet again, be safe, stay happy, God bless!

A Year After

It is a year since my surgery. The doctor said that healing time varies from person to person and presence of blood in saliva and mucous may remain for anywhere up to two years from the date of surgery. As stated in the original blog post, the biopsy report had turned out negative. But at the back of the mind there is this vague suspicion that there is something dark and gloomy that will rear its head and I will go into a long-drawn hospital routine, all over again. I can’t help it. People like me have are deeply pessimistic with a deep rooting in reality, knowing that nothing is permanent, and all it takes is a second or a moment for life to come crashing down.

I have been thinking a lot about death in the last couple of months. Several people whom I have known have departed to the “next dimension” – some due to old age and some due to Corona. The most painful news was of a former colleague. A young man in his thirties who had been married only in early 2019. He had been blessed with a child as well recently; but he passed away due to Corona. He leaves behind a wife and child, a younger sister and nephew (separated from her husband and living with her brother for four years), and an elderly mother. How strange are the cards dealt by Destiny?

Till a few years ago, the sound of a distinct bell implied only a few things – cotton candy or the kulfi-seller was in the vicinity. In the last two years, with unfailing regularity the strange bell rings along with the blowing of the conch to indicate yet another person making their final journey to the crematorium. Despite being vaccinated with two doses, I am petrified of contracting the virus, one of my deepest fears is meeting with an accident and lying down in a pool of blood with no one to help. It is a dream that often repeats itself, I watch myself bleed to death; and the sound of an approaching ambulance and its horn wake me up from disturbing dream.

If I were to pass away tonight in my sleep; how long would my neighbours wait till they break open the door? Perhaps two days. Because the milkman will notice the unused milk packets and the newspapers piling up outside the door may raise queries. These are deeply disturbing thoughts. What will happen to all my books once I depart? What about the house in the village? The loan is still in place with monthly installments being debited. What if I die before the loan ends? What will the bank do?

About five months to go before I hit 40. Career-wise, a lot of wrong choices that are no use regretting now. The bills get paid and in these testing times it is a privilege to get salary on time, however meagre it might be. Once in a while the red speck of blood scares me. I have to meet the doctor again. Perhaps there will be another scan and biopsy. The clock keeps ticking. Hopefully, I get to read all the books that I have before I depart.

Should I Be….?

Should I be happy,
That you could depart,
Before this plague arrived?

Should I be happy,
That you are free,
From all forms of pain and suffering?

Should I be happy,
That I am alive,
And live with your memories?

A life-time of memories,
Compressed within a clay pot.
Reduced to just ashes.

Poured into the sea,
The waves lapping the pot up.
Taking away your physical remains.

Will this pain never end?
Will this empty space;
Never again be filled?

What am I supposed to do?
Day in and day out;
Wearing that familiar false smile;

I go about my tasks,
Like a mechanical being;
Where will I find my salvation?

I have no answers,
Only questions remain.
From here to where?

At times, I feel, I am just,
One step away from leaping,
Into the darkness that calls me.

What is it that keeps me,
Still alive and ticking?
What is my purpose?

Why am I still alive?
What roles remain to be played?
For whom should I live?

As I look into the mirror,
I see a broken reflection,
A failure by all accounts.

Trying to make sense,
Of this joke called life;
Waiting for the end.

Not celebrating nor stopping,
To smell the proverbial roses,
Just wallowing in self-pity.

Writing lines that no one reads,
Postponing the inevitable,
By yet one more day.

Should I be happy?
Should I be sad?
Should I be writing?