Silent Comrade Friend

In the initial days, I never talked to her much because my concept about a ‘comrade’ was very different from what it is now. I thought all politicians especially the followers of communism (but now to tell the truth, most of my friends are comrades) were very rude. So I always kept a distance from those who are in politics.

All those thoughts changed when I became close with this girl. She was my classmate in degree, a girl whom you’d never see without a smiling face. She used to lead all the rallies of left wing party in college. Her slogans were echoed from the walls of our college building. She was very bold and direct. She never hesitated to raise her voice against injustice.

However she was very compassionate and helpful for the needy. She cares her dear ones and was ready to give her life for them. Above all, she is my best friend whom I always admired for having such a wonderful personality.

Many will be wondering why I used ‘was’ in many places and ‘is’ in other sentences. She has now squeezed the radius of her world into the four walls of her house. She has become terribly quiet. She is now a lady who is ready to bear anything in silence. It is not because she is married and her husband likes her to be so. That change has appeared the day she finished her under graduation and left the campus. She has converted herself to something else which not at all suits her.

No one else can change her… she herself has to think and act. Even today, I wish her to lead with the slogan, “thottittilla thottittilla, thottacharithram kettitittilla” (we’d never lost…and never heard a history of being lost).

Waka Waka;Coz this is Malappuram

“It’s so bad that Italy is out of the game. I’d a bet with your dad on this” says an old lady to a young girl sitting near by in the bus. Such talks are not new in this place because this is Malappuram. Football is life and soul for the natives here. Flags and huge flex boards for their favorite nations are all around. Towns will be empty when matches begin. Theatres are closed in the evening as no one will turn to watch a movie when the game is going on. Guys wear the team jerseys they support. Some crazy fans even paint their vehicles and houses the colors of the flags. So it’s a great feeling to be in Malappuram and knowing the real pulse of football in India. As the flex says, ‘anyone can compete for craziness in football, but only for second position’

In Amrita:With a Visitor's Pass

Yesterday I went to Amrita University, a place which I hated most till last month. I was all alone when I passed the railway gate. Nature was playing all mischief making me jealous for leaving that campus. The chillness will always make you feel heavenly and the hills, especially my favorite elephant hill was covered with clouds. I felt like killing those clouds for hiding my elephant hill. Security man gave me a visitor’s pass. Hmm… yes, I’m a guest. A guest who felt it was a prison last month; but now yearn to be there enjoying the fine beauty of nature.

Again Gargi Bhavanam, my ‘ex-hostel’ was empty. C-block where I stayed, night canteen, reading room, everything were silent. I was sure I’d break down if I stay there for some more time. To get rid of my feelings, I called up my friend who was busy in her office. When I sensed, she will start crying if I talk more, I disconnected the call.

Amrita is a beautiful maiden. But, for me, I think ASCOMERs are its ornaments. Only with the ornaments she looks perfect. I didn’t go to my department. People may call it attitude or whatever name they could call. But I can’t go to School of Communication of Amrita when my dear friends are not there. From there, I met individuals of distinct characters whom outsiders may call crazy. It’s a place that has gifted me so many hopes, dreams and memories.

When I returned my visitor’s pass and walked back, I could sense my heart telling me to stay back. Truly every one will miss Amrita and Planet Ettimadai if they were a part of it, at least once in a life time. But my label now is that of a guest…a visitor is meant to leave the place as soon as her work is done.

Journalist Villager

Sometimes I feel villagers make better journalists. Though technology and facilities favor city guys more, the element of observation is more with so called ‘country fellows’. It’s the same idea that coined the term ‘global village’ where the world ultimately survives as a village in which each and every bit of information is shared. Whenever a stranger enters their place, villagers are keen to collect news about that person. It may include who he is, where is his native, when did he come, why he came, what is his history and how did he come… Is it what makes the 5 Ws and 1 H in journalism? Also the keenness of observation is more perfect in villagers than those who are settled in cities who live in their own world even without knowing their neighbors.

Dreaming Chandni

Chandni, I don’t know why that house haunts us in our thoughts and dreams. Even though it has changed its name and shape, the present ‘Fathimas’ on the road side of Kuthuparamba diverts our attention while passing by.

Yes! It was a ‘dream come true’ for my grand pa MCV Bhattathiripad and my grand ma Suvarnna. A house on the main road, that too a concrete two storeyed building, was something unimaginable 50 years back.

Grandpa was a famous social worker. He is better known as the founder president of Kerala Senior Citizen Forum, an organization that works for the benefit of senior citizens of the state. He was also a leading advocate. His journey to success along with his wife, children and grand children started from Chandni. Grandma’s yummy food was the main highlight of that house. Even a tea tasted awesome when she prepared. She does each work with dedication and patience. I learned the essence of selfless love and care from this lady.

Happiness even in bad times made that house sweeter. Jokes, fun and humor were enjoyed and appreciated by every one. Immense freedom was given to all to express their wishes and opinions. No guest felt they are aliens when they enter the place. It was our palace where we weaved our dreams. Grandparents gave us full support to chase and fulfill our vision.

As soon as Chandni was sold due to inevitable reasons, it had harsh effects on my grand parents. Grandma’s dementia worsened which worried grandfather. In short both died soon after they left that house.

Chandni had a special fragrance in its surroundings which I couldn’t feel elsewhere. I just can’t explain what it is… but surely it is something heavenly.

Chandni had a life of its own that made outsiders jealous. Each and every brick of the house may have a story to tell. As my dad always tells, ‘grand parents still live there’... does it sound better for a fine ending?