OF MEN AND MICE

Walking down a posh locality I see a middle-aged man walking a well-fed pedigreed dog. His attire; Designer jeans, T-shirt and a big gold Rolex on his wrist. French perfume wafting strongly as I walk past him. He looked at me almost with a contempt that he would give to a stray dog. I was wearing simple pants and shirt no perfume to counter his, a non-descriptive wristwatch on my wrist. However I could take him on any day on a Sidharth Basu Quiz contest and win hands down! What I cannot fathom is why one has to wear a designer jean when an ordinary jean does the same function or ordinary wristwatch does the same as a gold Rolex. What I am arriving at is why indulge in accesses?

 Many a times I had gone to five star hotels and resorts (not out of my choice but out of family or official compulsion) I always felt the odd man out. The food, too stylized and unpalatable for me. Believe me whenever I sat in front of such a spread the specter of rag picking children scourging for food in the public garbage bin arise in front of me. The spread in front of me could feed ten such children for ten days! Then why do we indulge in such a colossal self-gratification?

Not that I am an incorrigible Marxist or a die hard anti capitalist. It is this deep-rooted feeling of gigantic disparity between men that bothers me. On the one side the lobster guzzling moneybag and the other side the innocent rag picking little boy with a morsel of stinking, stale bread from the garbage bin pushed into his mouth. Why for god sake why?

But who am I to say all this. Is it the case of MEN AND MICE?

   K.V. Radhakrishnan

The Minister and me

The Minister and Me

On his way to a bigger function, the minister had come to inaugurate our village Balawadi. Pooja was performed no speeches were to be there since we had agreed on a quick affair. The minister distributed sweets to the ‘tiny tots’, more of caricatures, with protruded belly and matchstick legs. They cupped their hands and ran to a corner to revel in the sweet they got.

     The minister got ready to go but unfortunately torrential rains started and he had to wait in our katcha walled Balawadi. He was uncomfortable in the rickety chair. There was not much to do, so I started gingerly. “Sir, this is the International year of the child isn’t it, Sir?” I asked the minister. “Yes, but why do you ask such an obvious question?” I moved a bit in the chair, looking straight in the bulbous face I posed, “What does it do to the third world Sir?” “Third World! What third world, press walas coin words. What I know is about India, which is Hamara Bharath.” I interrupted, Manoj Kumar’s Bharath, Sir.  The minister was infuriated. Nostrils dilated. I sensed his mood and braced up.” Sir, do we need an international year to improve our children’s lot?” “Yes, yes the minister said with an air of supreme authority, because, it is a global phenomenon.”

            “But then, Sir,” I said, “American children are well fed and well clothed they don’t need an international year.” The minister crossed his hands over his belly and said,” “NO, it is not the feeding or clothing. It is the awareness about children; see would you talk about children otherwise?” Minister added with a smile. I swallowed a lump, but kept on “Sir, are we not aware of our children otherwise and what about protein gap of our children?” I looked at those starved faces sucking the sweet. The minister was a bit puzzled. He said, “What is this gap you are talking about? I have heard about generation gap. To tell you frankly, of course confidentially, all our children need is a spank on their buttocks, they are demanding too much these days” (The minister was oblivious of the surroundings).

             I swallowed a bigger lump this time. I still held my fire. “Sir”, I said, “that aside what are we really doing for our poor children?” With a look of indignation the minister said, “Why? all our cities are conducting ‘On the Spot Painting Competition’. We have a whole ‘Traffic Week’ for children. Don’t you see the posters? All carry pictures of children”. I thought I was really ignorant. Wisdom was slowly seeping in to me. This time I looked at the children with a smile. They tried to smile back. I probed on. “Sir, our poor children….” Before I could finish my sentence, the minister shot back “Poor? what poor children? Don’t you know poor men will always have poor children?” The minister said with finality and belched.

            I was overwhelmed. True wisdom dawned on me. Like the Budha under the Bodhivriksha I was exalted. In exaltation I shouted fist up “Poor men will always have poor children!” All those eyes stared at me jaws open. It thundered suddenly and the rain stopped.

K.V.Radhakrishnan

Neeru Dosa

The Paradox of Neeru Dosa

When I heard of neeru dosa for the first time, I was flabbergasted. How can any one convert neeru or water into dosa? May be it is reality and hence the key to Dakshina Kannada’s prosperity!

Science attempts to define the nature of reality. Reality however presents itself in variety of forms; physical, mental, psychological, linguistic, and mathematical reality and now digital reality. But science is yet to conclusively define physical reality-hence the quest continues.

I went in search of reality of neeru dosa. I walked into a restaurant near the Kadri Park and asked for neeru dosa. Presto- the dosa arrived, soft to touch slightly slippery. I put a morsel into my mouth; I realized it was akki (rice) dosa. I called the boy who served me.

I said, “I asked for neeru dosa and you have given me akki dosa where is neeru in it and hence how is it neeru dosa and not akki dosa.” The boy said, “Ankke gottuji induve neeru dosa, bodanda dhani-da- kenle.”(Idon’t know, this only is neeru dosa, if you want ask the owner.) I got up and walked to the counter, there sat a young fellow in dark blue shirt with a gold chain around his rather thick neck. I told him; I asked for neeru dosa I was given akki dosa so how is it neeru dosa? He said, “ Induve neeru dosa.” I said, “But where is neeru in it, it is all akki and so it should be akki dosa and not neeru dosa. He was visibly irritated. He said, “ Eer olterdu battar maraya, enna tare tinnoduchi.”(Where, have you come from don’t eat my head). I said, “How can I eat your head, am I to eat it raw or boiled. He said, “Tare tinoduchi panda tare tinpinnathe!”(Don’t eat my head doesn’t really mean eat my head). He added-Aye eer pole erna kaasla bodchi. (He said “you just go I don’t want your money”) I realized that he was Bhant of the Nair kind so I did the vanishing trick.

But the thought still bothered me why is neeru dosa neeru dosa and not akki dosa? With in the seed of this question I realized I was asking myself as to who I am, for that matter who we all are? In fact we are nothing but a collection of identities collected over the years. I am indeed a different person to you, you and you on your perception of me.

Then who am I? Am I the neeru of the akki dosa or akki of the neeru dosa? In the Kathopanishad Nachiketa requests Jamaraja “please give me knowledge of the self.” I am sure neeru dosa itself will be asking why am I neeru dosa? The paradox continues.

 

K.V.RADHAKRISHNAN

            

Sand in my shoes

Sand in my Shoes

Walking on the beach
gathered fist full of sand
in my shoes
Pensive I walked on
This sand is what scattered
virgin laughter of tiny tots
Sand in which toes wriggled
receiving her first kiss
The sand that soaked blood of
many a men of valour
The sand that received the foot prints of
Rabindranath Tagore
this beloved beach of his
Foot prints of my wife
looking for faunal diversity
Sand form the fields of toiling farmers
washed in from the run off
May be granules of Dinosaurs
May be star dust from
million light years
May be molecules of our
beloved departed
I walk back
Orange Sun dipping
into the sea
Micro seconds before
The Sun said
“Son keep the sand”



K.V. Radhakrishnan

Our Perception of God

I was born in a village of coastal Malabar. To be specific, Tallacherry in “God’s own country” Kerala. This bit of land has people who are very reactive, left inclined, however rational and strangely God fearing mind you not God loving.

Almost all of us have our own perception of God. To some he/she is a great benefactor all prevailing, loving, and all knowing, despite the fact that none of us have seen him in embodiment. To some he is a fearsome, punishing, ritual loving, bribable, give and take type of a persona.

One may ask what about you? Well I was born into a believer’s family and continued to be so. However at a point of time I would have flipped and badly so and got stuck in a quagmire of no return. I lost my son in a bizarre accident at a sport meet when a javelin

thrown out of turn pierced my son’s head. What I could not understand is why my son, what was his fault? (not that it should have been some one else oh God no). The issue is my son was walking, javelin was traveling in air freely and it picked my son. How do science explain it? (I happen to be a scientist). I have no answer. Call it destiny, call it fate, what? Then it truly dawned to me that there are things beyond we mortals some how what has to happen happens. Lot many things have no answer and this incident was one of those. I took recourse to be God loving in the knowledge that my son Krishna is with Him and hence loved and safe. Thus I believe God is not ritual loving, bribable. You don’t have to go to places of worship give offerings etc. I feel since we all are his children all we need to do is look after his children and He will look after us.

K,V.Radhakrishnan             

Morning Walk

Morning walk

One day I was chatting with some young students talking about the need to keep fit. No I am not a fitness trainer. Suddenly one lass told me that she is stronger and fitter than me. Back in my lab I kept thinking on that comment. I decided to be stronger and fitter. With that I decided to walk in the morning.

I have walked the streets of many a towns in India. Each has its own system and flavour.

Walking the street of Delhi early morning the attire you see would depend on the season. Summer presents white kurtas and pajamas of men and kurtas and Patialas of women. Younger generation in Jeans and tops. Winter would add a shawl or sweater on it. No dhoti or lungi here. Stray dogs and cows are much less in New Delhi than the walled city. This part being the commercial hub presents a different picture. You see hand carts cycle rickshaws getting ready to haul the early morning arrivals of flowers, vegetables and other goods. There is smell of hot milk being boiled in the Halwai shops. Samosas being readied smell of flowers mixing with smell of over flowing gutter. Packs of dogs fighting for scraps cows munching at what ever they get.

Temple towns down south wake up early. You could find ladies of the house putting rangoli out side the main door of their houses. Men in saffron or white dhotis and angavastras. Smell of incense sticks and flowers is every where, the temple bells chime chants of slokas and mantras reverberate forcing you into spiritual mood.

I remember walking with my grand dad as a young boy in my village in North Malabar to the temple tank to learn swimming. In my hand I used to carry a ‘Tondera’ two green coconuts tied together with coir rope, this acting as a float. I can still feel the smell of coconut leaf burning, smell of tea wafting in, the smell of blooming Parijat and sacred Champak flowers and burning coconut oil in the large multi tiered bronze lamps. No stray dogs no stray cows.  

Presently I live in the northern most town of coastal northern Karnataka. I leave my house early in the morning. First 500 meters or so on the road I have to do a kind of step dance in semi darkness to avoid cow dung, cows, dog shit, dogs and garbage. I hear a rare swish, swish of broom some one cleaning their veranda. No smell of tea or coffee wafting by no rangoli being put out side the house. Finishing my five K brisk walk I return home ready to face the day. One day on my way back an old man walked close to me said, “Paaoos na, paaoos na re” (no rain no rain) I was carrying an umbrella! Two days latter I had hardly walked half the distance a strong wind  blue a thunder clap and it came down I had no umbrella I was drenched to say the least. That much for the old man’s paaoose na re!!

This State of ours a leader in Science, Space Science, Technology, IT and Higher education also is over run by stray dogs, cows on the road and over flowing gutters. The great Indian paradox of coexistence ultra modern and medieval.

K.V. Radhakrishnan