Faith, Forest and Filth (A Drive to the Shrine)

This particular post is not intended to outrage religious feelings or any class or group of people. There is no malice in my intentions. All I wish to do is to share my visions to the small group of my readers by celebrating the rights that our democratic constitution grants us.

“Waka Waka” The sweet Shakira sounded again on my mobile. It is the same number that created my hangover more last night, now it’s again interrupting me between the second twist of Baccardi.

“Hello, Da, start to take Vratham (follow certain austerities), we are going to Sabarimala.” squealed my childhood friend - a physician who is going to pursue his super speciality degree.

What the ‘four letter word’? Yes, I also had a vague plan of visiting the second largest pilgrimage centre in the world which has over 50 million devotees visiting every year. But this is cruel.

“It’s ok. 7 days is enough, it’s not the Mandala season, so no need to sob over the 41 days Vratham.” 

With half a mind I kept my glass, and poured one last Bacardi before the so called Vratham. Gulped and without touching the hot BFC chicken, announced my holy visit to Sabarimala Shrine chewing some warm groundnuts.

Those 7 days were very hard for me but I fought against my good loving friends, who were wooing me with bottles and freshly prepared cuisines of four-legged and two legged living beings.

 

Back in Kerala, the rains were pouring like anything, one pot per drop? Whatever! The mode of travel was next on the discussion board and we settled the travel, in my car as the taxis were INR 1500 more when calculated. Though my friend and me were multi-millionaires, we were against wasting money. Dad was in his high mood of tension and even gave me an option of shifting my holy visit to two or three months later. But I didn’t want to lose the precious 7 days of Vratham. He also gave me a PowerPoint presentation describing the pros and cons of using a taxi. The main point which struck me was the wear and tear on the engine if we use our car. We settled with my car and my friend’s driver.

 

All went well and we had our ‘Kettu-nara’ at a nearby Ayyappa temple on 14.06.2010, 8AM. The atmosphere was as romantic as in the tropical rainforests. I could see the faces of the people who had come to see us off, turn like tomatoes when our drenched buttocks plunghed the cozy back seat of my car.  Our journey started with a devotional bajan, “Swamiyee! Sharanam Ayyappa!” around 8.30AM, to the Western Ghat Mountain Ranges of Pathanamthitta District in Kerala.

 

We reached the foot of the Sabarimala hills around 5.00 in the evening after visiting Chottanikara temple, Vaikkom Mahadeva temple and Ettumannur Mahadeva temple on the way. We also went to the Mosque of Vavar (The Muslim friend of Ayyappa, they say) and could see people worship both, with the same fervour, symbolising Hindu-Muslims unity. The river Pamba, where we had to holy dip ourselves was flowing as if the water molecules were in a race to reach the sea first. We bought a pair of raincoats as the rains were not having any idea to impede. It was a sheer waste, as I tore it with my finger nails while trying to put it on. Three dips in the holy river Pamba, and we started our climb with the Irumudi Kettu on our heads, to the Sabarimala Shrine, situated among  18 hills, covered with thick dense forest and a total distance of 5kms traversing through three high-ceilinged mountains Azhutha, Karimala, Neelimala and varying from 3000 to 6000 feet. The rains was pouring cats and dogs and we had to stop every half hour, as the path was very slippery and we lacked the normal exercise of walking, and here we are talking about climbing.  

After around three and a half hours, we stood in front of the last 18 golden steps (Pathinettam padi). Jokes apart, my eyes over flowed with tears and couldn’t speak for some time. The sight evoked a fullthroated refrain “Swamiyee Sharanam Ayyappa” Straight ahead was the image of the Lord, Dharma Sastha resplendent in all his glory. We moved around the temple in a clock-wise direction and came right in front of the shrine. There, sitting in the Yogasana/meditative pose, with a band around his folded legs, a cloth crown on his head, the forefinger of his right hand touching the thumb indicating That Thou Art (Tht Tvam Asi) was the deity. The ‘Dharshanam’ was spectacular and heart-filling. The crowd was pushing us from behind but we got enough time to absorb the positive energy radiating from inside. 

 

We had our own and family member’s offerings in the form of Ghee, Rice, incense sticks, coconuts, money, camphor etc. We offered the ghee from the ghee filled coconuts and it also fused as part of the hundreds of litres that was overflowing from the collecting vessels kept at the corners. We sat there and started to appreciate the temple beauty. Thanks to Dr. Vijay Malaya, the Alcohol king of India, for covering the whole temple roof in gold. As decided before we planned to stay there and headed towards the accommodation office to rent a room, for the night, without touching the wild boars grazing on the ghee smeared coconut pieces here and there. Most of the direction boards were covered with Devosom political posters asking for a serious inquiry into the case of a missing office employee.

 

We got a room paying 400 Indian Rupees, on the third floor of a newly constructed Guest House. The door opened smoother than the 450 years old Amber Fort of Pink City, Jaipur. We also got two straw mats for 15 rupees plus five rupees caution deposit each. The room gave the impression of a museum preserving the black dhothis and VIP underwears, spreading the nostalgic thoughts of the previous devotees. The walls and floors were perfectly maintained and designed, using natural pan spitting and cigarette buds.  The beauty of the room increased when the light, coming from the one and only yellow bulb, reflected on the broken window glass panes on the floor. We both had to unload out our stomachs and we checked out the bathrooms. It was so well maintained, that none of the earlier residues was cleant. The water coming out of the pipes had a great competition with the black filter coffee in colour and Vaseline in viscosity. No prize for those who don’t ask me how I met the nature’s call. UGH!!!!!!

 

We changed our schedule a little, decided to leave the Sanidanam. We went locking the door behind us, straight to the Accommodation office. I stopped talking about the greatness of the room and the methods to maintain it like that, when I realized the concerned person was looking at a lizard which was about to catch a fly, rather than listening to me. With the caution deposit of 100 INR we started descending. We took our own sweet time in climbing down as we didn’t want a straight flight hurling down towards the car and surprise the driver. We stopped in between as hunger pangs struck.  Paratta (kerala porotta) and Kadala (Black Bengal gram) curry. The Kadala was cooked so well that it would bounce 7 times if dropped on a hard floor. We also had a big forest butterfly to eat with us. 

On the way up and down we met so many people on the pilgrimage to Sabarimala. Some of those characters are jotted below. No prize for guessing who had more Bhakthi.

·         Two persons in their religious ‘attires’ (Designer T-shirts, Shorts, Sneakers and even caps)-branded, munching on big ‘Lays’ packets’.  They didn’t even stop in trying the ‘trolleys’. (A chair fastened on two bamboo poles carried by 4 persons to carry old and physically challenged people.)

·         A family- A father looking like golf player (the golf club was the only thing missing), the mother chanting ‘yes you can do, only 3 kms more, come on.. yes.. Ahh’ (God knows what she was expecting up there), the two teenagers carrying a PSP and a Discman.

·         A person carrying two gas cylinders to the top without any hardships on his face. I could count his ribs. Hope he gets a three figured amount after he delivers it.

·         A group with a high-end mobile playing “Uff teri adaa, Uff teri badan, I like the way you move”

·         An old man with crunches walking slowly up chanting ‘Swamiyee’ at the top of his voice.

 

We sat dipping our throbbing feet in the cold Pamba for more than half an hour and came back in the car, back to square one thinking of when the Lord himself will get fed-up sitting at the top. Hope the positive energy would pertain there.

Swamiyee Sharanam Ayyappa.

 

Tail Piece: Ropeways and Railways to Sabarimala Sanidhanam? Hope they won’t bring the mountains down. The days when a Multiplex will be opened there is not very far.

© www.aksphere.blogspot.com

The Hunt for the Saffron Chaddi

Statutory Warning!

The characters depicted in this particular blog are the property of aksphere.blogspot.com. These characters and events are fictional and any resemblance to persons living, dead, or fictional or situations past, present, or fictional is purely and completely coincidental or mentally developed by the readers.

Recently, I found myself living next door to ParamShivmani-Sena Supremo Balan Track-curry and Udupi Track-curry. We were undergoing a coaching, training on how to start kicking people and burn the Nation. They had a suite; I had a room, as I couldn’t afford those kinds of prices even though I had 854.75 INR. We met only when we were sanctioned out of our luxurious bunkers for our daily classes.

I was about to sign out from my Facebook account when my eyes stuck on a recent status message of a friend, a senior which read “I am a Malayalee and I am not a chauvinist...Inspiration...My name is Khan and I am not a Terrorist” Did he wanted to corroborate that, Chauvinism was there in all Malayalees or Chauvinism is the active one of mallu persona. I believed chauvinism was hidden in the testosterone hormone and it is not a private property of Mallus. I was disturbed from the thought when the accountant asked me to pay the coaching fee.

From the date the founders of the two countries, Mahatma Gandhi and Quaid-i-Azam Mohammad Ali Jinnah divided the Indian subcontinent, there had been smoke and fire though they put in the picture not to mix religion with politics. Partition is matured by 62 years. Neither the pressure cooker has switched off, nor has the content cooked fully. Anti-Pakistan feeling in India or anti-India feeling in Pakistan was there, still there and will...

A Chalk hit hard on my forehead.

“Once more you day dream and you are out of the class”. The Trainer growled.

I pretended not to see the T-currys mock at me.

"India wants to see itself as a modern economic power. We should give birth to communal conflicts... take the law in your hands and whip up a frenzy by playing on divisive and communal sentiments " The trainer continued and we started to take notes.

An office boy briskly came into the class and conveyed the message that Bollywood Big B couldn’t give his talk to the class by audio conference because of no range on his Blackberry as he was on his way to Ahmedabad to show his new movie to Chief Minister Narendran 'Makan' Jayakanthan on the Gujarat carnage.

I was a bit proud to get a chance to study with them. Balan Track-curry in India was like Lashkar-i-Taiba chief Hafiz Sayeed. The only difference I could make out was the sunglasses, Saffron colours, Rudrakshas on one side whereas Plain glasses, white colours and turban on the other. ParamShivmani-Sena is one such organisation which feels superior in disseminating the seeds of separation. Its followers are like the Taliban, less violent but equally fanatical.

Balan and Udupi would hang out together in the hall exchanging notes and cell phone numbers of their ‘Sena’ members and important sports and movie stardoms whom they want to kick and punch. As I had no notes or phone numbers worth their great talents, they excluded me from their intimate moments. I had missed the earlier coaching classes and thought that I should find out what had happened in the missed ones. They were wary of this newcomer as they obviously did not recognize me from my photographs. Admittedly, their faces were seen in Newspapers, Magazines, Internet and on TV. Mine were all just in the Orkut and Facebook.

“So guys, tell me what happens in the coaching classes?  Does the trainer show you a photograph of a person and teach you when and how to climb on his shoulder and eat the brains and wriggle him with high static electricity?”

“What do you think of us?” They snarled. “We are the Track-currys. Look at the Rudrakshas, my beard and his Moustache.” I wanted to appreciate that coir beard and the Moustache that looked like a Godzilla had defecated before disappearing into his nose, but kept quiet.

“Ya Balan Babu” Udupi snapped. “Orkut and Facebook may do things for you but does zero for guys like us. We get to see the real stuff. Marathi Manush! We experiment on great personalities to test their self control. Make them nude too, and if we pass we get silky saffron chaddies.”

“What if you don’t pass the test? What if the personalities don’t react?” I asked without a hesitation.

“If they do react, then they are defying the orders of the Sena chief so they would be made to go to Pakistan. If they don't react then they are traitors.” Udupi read from the small note-pad where he made important notes. “We will get the chaddis for sure.”

I wanted to take a Xerox of their notes and passing the test would be just cake walk and I dreamt of wearing that silky saffron chaddi.

"This is not Shahrukh, but the Khan in him that's saying all this, Khan – an Indian Muslim – has to move to Pakistan, There will be dire consequences if SRK defies the orders of Balan Babu.” I was turned on by the sweet talk I overheard of Udupi on phone. He was giggling while asking SRK, to apologise for supporting Pakistani cricket players. I came to know that SRK had regretted on Pak player's absence from the Indian Premier League and wished they be in his KKR. I even got goosebumps in my armpits when he meowed to Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar not be an Indian but a Marathi. I wanted to kiss his moustache when he asked to change the colour of his Ferrari from Red to Saffron and change the horse symbol to a ferocious tiger face.   

I walked past the swimming pool and saw Balan Babu drying his beard. I hid behind the showering room to hear the notes he was preparing. He was dictating notes to the speech recogniser in his high-end Sony Vaio (written in Marathi); born with Rudraksha garland in his hands he cannot write. But he did not show any bit of pride on that.

• “Aussie players should not be allowed to play in Maharashtra.” He snarled like a toy gun.
•  “The tomatoes and Ladies Finger produced in Maharashtra should be Saffron in colour from March 2010.” I tried my level best to copy the notes as fast as I can but Balu was very fast in speaking.
• “How to make Mukesh Ambani drink 3 liters of reliance petrol and eat 3 fried CDMA phones because  he quoted that Mumbai belonged to all.”
• “How to ban the screening of SRK's newest film, My Name is Khan, in all theatres in Maharashtra.”
• “32 ways to tear movie posters and threaten theatre owners.”
• “53 different demonstration types outside any houses in Mumbai.”
• “101 supremo quotes” (Eg:"2 idiots").
• "Sachin’s Ferrari Horse to be changed to a Tiger face.” I was confused whether Balu Mama had copied this from Uddup or viceversa.
• “Cows should be given the post of Maharashtra state Animal.”
• “Mumbai should be changed to ‘Umbaah’ with respect to the sound of the cows.”

 A hand rested on my shoulders.

“Balan Babu! He is overhearing you and copying your notes.”Udupi growled like a gigolo. He took my Play-Boy magazine in which I was scribbling the notes. “He should be tickled or stripped down Balan Babu?”

“You read too many adult magazines?” Babu asked me. “ I dunno about Udupi but everyone knows am leading a Sages's life, which gives me utmost control. Come on! I will give you a lesson on how to curb the ecstasy feelings using some Rudrakshas and a satin cloth."“No, Thank you Babu. I have to study hard to get the chaddi, The exams are round the corner.” I stood with my dreamy eyes and chewing some finger skins.

Balan Track-curry studied me while Udupi caressed me up and down, “You sure don’t look like a person to fit this course to me, I mean you are kinda young for the chaddi, it will not fit you, What’s your hobby? Theen pathi?”

“I am a Mallu.”

“Mallu!!!” They both fell on the floor catching each others thighs and tongues, laughing frantically.

Balu Baba being the only one who had seen parts other than Maharashtra on the map of India knew Kerala, the state where I was from. “Times have changed sweetheart. The more terror and hatred and illiteracy you make, the more famous you become, the more people fall on your feet to lick and suck”

I walked toward my bunker passing the office corridors. i was ashamed of the 120% literacy of my state.

With busy schedules filled with training lessons, lectures, practicals, the course days flew smoothly like a cadaver in the holy Ganges.

I came out of the final exam hall. I was devastated. I looked again and again into the question paper. I felt the whole world was crashing upon me. Two salty pearls rolled down from my forehead onto the question.

Time:1 hour 53 Minutes
Max Marks: 100

1. Explain briefly not exceeding 1341 words based on the statement given below. “Is the film industry paying for political party goons in getting some hype for their films?” Explain your views with examples if any.

I am back in Kerala, scribbling on MS Word, FB and Orkut smearing some more coconut oil on my hair thinking of the Chaddi. The Silky Saffron Chaddi.
Poor old Mallu. 

© www.aksphere.blogspot.com

Chal...Chayya! Chayya!

The visual perspective when we are working and when we are not are utterly different. Working and not working should be sorted out as ‘with Job’ and ‘Jobless’ correspondingly, to remove the confusion of people who have a Job but not working.

 My friendship with trains started with the local trains in Mumbai. I was not that much into long distance train journeys. You can catch mid-night aircrafts (the Indian ones coming from Sand Dunes in the Middle East to Kerala via Mumbai); when you are drawing a salary.

It was a great experience in understanding and learning by-heart;

-Where to stand to penetrate the IInd class coaches,

-Which door side to descend, How to move inside and outside the train with the mob in 15 seconds,

-How to enter the train without falling between the tracks (Falling on the platform is not considered),

-How to run in the station to catch the particular train, -How to hang on without hitting your head on the electric and signal posts,

-How to keep your eyes off the Shiv Linga of those acting and non-acting ‘Hijdas’,

-How to keep the mind cool while seeing a part of a human body or the whole of it on tracks,

-How to tackle the TTR,

-How to make use of a 3 centimetre square area and stand like a crane,

-How to dodge the pan spitting etcetera, etcetera.

Moving from India’s Functional capital to the IT-City made me closer to my native. I became a frequent traveller to Kerala every weekend. Thanks to the Low Floor Multi Axle Volvos operating. But it didn't take me long in changing to an Ordinary Volvo passenger, then to an A/C Bus, to an Airbus, then to ordinary state permit buses. When that also was making my pockets light, I became a Train ‘ami’. Thanks to the online booking services and offerings (Even a low class Toddy shop has a more user-friendly website.)

The trains are superb than their website. I think only Keralites take ticket; Any type of reservation is enough. A bottle of ‘coloured’ mineral water would help you off. Half Kilo of Onion would also aid you in getting a sleeper from any type of ticket as it costs more than an average bribe. The coaches are so beautiful except they are allergic to water. Carry some newspapers if you are in a non-A/C coach if you don’t want to drench yourself in your sweat or other’s. Be careful if the fan is working as you can get your hair or fingers inside it.

The meal in Southern Railway is a million-dollar business. Please give priority and preference to the chai-wallas waiting outside the urinals, as they have to make tea inside, on time. Carry a stick or at least an Air-gun to shoot the ferocious fish jumping out of fish curries. Don’t panic if you see a family standing up and offering prayers, most of the people give respect to the old chickens in the biriyani.  

The urinals should never be washed as everyone love to see the previous meal inside that and vomit. You could be penalized if you use the urinals when the train moving, so use when the train stops at a station. Time moves so fast as you enjoy the daily state meetings of mosquitoes inside. It’s not in the railway dictionary of the workers to wash the compartment floors. Your luck if some beggars singing the latest movie songs do the sweeping. 

One station to another, slower than the slowest snail, from there to another;

‘Subh Yathra’

Tail Piece: Kerala is getting a railway coach factory? Great! All the Coaches would go to the North. Good for the Buffalos, Farming tools in the first class, and sacrosanct cows in A/C.

© www.aksphere@blogspot.com

Putrid Fresh Digits

2010: Happy New Year

Was that something great? Every year the message comes in the form of SMS, Personal mails, Spam mails, Forwards, Attachments; Happy New-Year! Huh! The only thing I noticed or came into my mind was that the last two digits have changed. It struck me hard; I was only considered about the last digit that has to be changed under my sign every year. (I started to sign authentically just Ten years before), now the Zero has to be altered into Numero Uno.

What had happened with the transformation from ’09 to ‘10. Any routine change? Any drastic or dramatic change? The sun rises in the West or the crow grew breasts to feed its siblings? No! The sun comes from the East and the crow carries a dirty earthworm. ’10 never stopped the people to slow down their pace unless it increased a bit. The Psychology of the society hasn't changed much. 

The aroma that carried over from the last pages of ’09 was the immorality drama of a politician. The jackals won’t allow a politician to spend a night with his lady cadre, but roar out loud without a proof of a money transfer for sexual pleasure or a live sexual activity show. My Left Foot!

A sharp ultrasonic wave passing through my ears shook me up from all these crap. It was originating from a child who was crying as loud as he can; he might have lost his plastic toy while the vehicle went pass the speed breakers of massive proportions. Forty-five minutes in the bus; from the railway station to my home town, almost fifteen times both the buses have gone past each other on the highway race course. Each of the buses was whooshing past each other barely missing the pedestrians, mo-bikers and even the side mirrors of the cars. They are the Goliaths nick named as LIMITED STOPS. The horns were like twenty trumpets blowing, Aahhh! Kurukshethra War! A lemon played its role by rolling between the legs of the passengers finding its way back to the sack from which it has fallen off.

Except for me it was common and no one was in a panic situation; especially seeing the conductor moving his way through the crowded pathway collecting money and distributing tickets with this saliva smeared fingers. The whistle dangling from his left little finger was talking to the currency notes that where entangled between his forefinger and middle finger. The pen sitting on his right ear made some obnoxious comments too.

Was it a revenge to get more trips after a three day Bus-Strike? Hartals, Bandh, Bus-Strikes... 2010! Giggle! It would not be rude if you whisper “GOD wanted to see Hartals and Strikes, so made PARASHURAM throw his AXE” (...that's what the epics say!)

Thanks to the driver who drove expecting the unexpected, the conductor who whistled the same time your first foot landed on the ground from the foot-board, or the unknown power; Thanks to whoever has the highest vote.  I landed on my home town walked towards my house.

Tail Piece: Thank GOD! For the next Ten years I just have to consider only the last digit.
©CopyRight: akthegr8@gmail.com 

Superfluous Notion

Briskly turning the pages of the future, while doing a Mural, I couldn't find anything structured. Even thought of changing my spectacle lenses for a second. Should I bother and scribble out the future plans and prepare a flowchart to follow or break of from the thought. Is the continuous braying of the society to be blamed for making me think of arranging the letters and words on the future pages?
People of the society are not like a two sided coin. They are Eight sided octagonal structures living just to judder their boneless creature a lot, by rubbing and smooching the thirty-two white beautiful fairies.

Hope around 36 Percent of the people who read the blog will have the same experience. The other 61 people think of several things and make themselves and others drag into the black hole of tension and blood pressure.
The rest 3 percent?

Anyway I continued entangling with colours and enjoying some lines and curves and grooves on the canvas.
Just a story before you think about the rest 3 percent! A Story of a Millipede...

He was jovial, tension-free Millipede. He went through creepy woods crushing small dry leaves and petals with its million legs and made friends with all the people whom he came across. He loved each and every spec of his time. He never used up his time thinking on how it could walk or bothered about it. Until one day, when a big black creepy Dung-Beetle rolling a stinky globule of dung asked our Millipede “How can you control and manage to walk with all those Million feet? Don't you find it tough to coordinate the rhythm?” The Dung globule had already gone rolling and vanished in the grassy backyard, while the Millipede was still sitting down, pondering how it could walk, wondering what the beetle had asked, and (for the first time in his life) even worrying a little bit, confused why he never thought that before. From that day on, the centipede couldn't walk anymore, lost all the interest in his life. Now a days he crumples into a ring whenever someone comes to make friends with him.

So you better not think too much if you want to reach or accomplish something. And of course this is a story and with only half the genuineness... Giggle! Giggle! Hey 3 percents, Just to impress the rest of the pack! The Ninety-Seven brains.

Image Courtsey: iastate.edu
©CopyRight: akthegr8@gmail.com