"Literature is the cemetry of communication" Terry Eagleton

How often do we search in vain for a word to translate a thought

properly into words? Sometimes however eloquent we may be we

can never express what is in our hearts. When such emotions

are expressed spontaneously a writer, I believe, is born

and through him literature as well . When a writer looks at a flower

what he sees is not the petals, sepals, stamen or the stigma but

its softness, its fragrance ,its lustre that glistens in the

sunlight. It transports him to another world where the factual

features of the flower gets fused with his imaginative and creative

capabilities. His mind becomes pregnant with thoughts and

emotions. In a moment of tranquillity they overflow

spontaneously. Words come naturally to him just like leaves

that sprout on the branches. Thus literature becomes a living

monument that transcends facts and reality.

Literature is fiction but it gives us a deep understanding of

the reality. It is difficult to define happiness scientifically and

there exists no technique to detect or measure happiness. In factual

description it always remains elusive. But a writer uses his magic wand to

instil, evoke and make us experience happiness. Literature

may bury meaning but it enlivens and enriches our experience. it

widens and empowers our visions, thoughts, feelings and

imagination. It colours our dreams and paints pictures in our

hearts. It awakens our sleeping mind and performs the miracle of

converting deserts into oasis and orchards within moments.

Man is not a product of logic alone but a creature of emotion

and so literature goes directly to his heart. It remains there

giving us a variety of feelings. Hearts may agree with what the head

disapproves . That is why someone said "sometimes when a writer, tells us

about hell, his presentation makes us look forward to a trip to hell"

 

By the daughter

At the end of the day, we are just mortals

“ I am dancing, spinning around, happy in the last rhythms of the life I love. When the music stops, when I can’t tie my bow tie, tell a funny story , walk my dog, talk with Whitney(my daughter), kiss some one special or tap out lines like this , I ‘ill know that Life is over . It’s to be gone”.

This how Mr. Dudley Clendinen concludes his soul-stirring article in the International Herald Tribune dated 12th July, 2011. Former national correspondent and editorial writer for The New York Times and author of “ A place called Canterbury”, he is dying of the degenerative disease, Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis or A.L.S known as Lou Gehrig’s disease. Even if he uses all the available medical technology , it will leave him in a few years “ a conscious but motionless ,mute, withered, incontinent mummy of his former self, maintained by feeding and waste tubes, breathing and suctioning machines” In lieu of that and having been treated for the last 22 years , he has now decided to welcome death as one of life’s “ greatest, most absorbing thrills and challenges”.

Despite the advances in medical research deadly diseases like cancer, stroke or Alzheimer’s disease continue of claim thousands of lives .I personally knew a multi-millionaire in our village who died of cancer more than a decade ago. When I visited him during the last days of his  life when his doctors  had told him that his days were numbered, he was chatting with his friends and relatives in his living room as and no sign of sorrow was seen on his face whereas the people around him looked very gloomy.

Mr. Clendinen describes how he has adapted himself to the disease:

“ I sometimes call it Lou, in his honour and because the familiar feels less threatening. But it is not a kind disease. The nerves and muscles pulse and twitch and progressively , they die. From outside , it looks like the ripple of piano keys in the muscles under my skin. From inside it is like anxious butterflies trying to get out. It starts in the hands and feet and works its way up and in or it begins in the muscles of the mouth and throat and chest and abdomen and works its way down and out …. We don’t live as long because it affects our ability to breath early on, and just gets worse”

His mastery of English language, wisdom, and philosophical outlook are explicit throughout his article, that too when he is suffering ..

He adds: “I am having a wonderful time. I have a bright beautiful talented daughter , who lives close by, the gift of my life …..I don’t know if she approves ( my decision) .But she understands . Leaving her is one thing I hate. But all I can do is to give her a daddy who was vital to the end and knew when to leave”

Keralites know how the celebrated Malayalm film artist Oduvil Unnikrishnan, in spite of being afflicted with renal failure or so, continued to act until his death. People  saw in the last couple of movies he had appeared how the disease had transformed his physical features and how difficult it was for him even to speak.

When one watches a moving movie, reads a splendid essay, meets a humble person, deals with an honest character, or sees a human being or animal suffering, he will feel like sharing these experiences with some one dear or near to him . Only then can he feel relaxed and heave a sigh of satisfaction and relief

By the father

A rainy day

RAIN , RAIN GO AWAY

COME AGAIN ANOTHER DAY

LITTLE JOHNNY WANTS TO PLAY

When it rains, these nursery rhymes written in 17th century or earlier are apt to echo in one’s mind. These simple and straight forward words represent ancient version children’s chit-chat with rain and an old pattern of their interaction with the nature. It has been raining in London these days . When you realize Londoners’ love and care for nature and how a large number trees of grows in the heart of the city even on road sides undaunted by loggers, you do not wonder why it rains here even at the height of summer season But my friend ,Isam, an Iraqi refugee living here for the last 30 years, says that God loves Britons and ipso facto they are never subjected to extreme temperature witnessed in other parts of the world.

Since I have arrived from a region notorious for scorching heat of the sun and the temperature there soars even up-to 50 degree Celsius, rain drops have a special flavour for people like me.Every one knows that in Gulf countries rain is a very rare natural phenomenon and even if it rain it lasts for a few minutes and causes road blocks and traffic accidents since the soil is not ready to absorb water. Some times it does not rain at all during the whole year and prayers are conducted in the mosques imploring God to shower His blessings on them.

Men of letters have said that rain is an incentive for creativity and for them rain is love, mercy and even death . Stories and poems have been written about rain and films have been named after this natural phenomenon.

Rain rolls me back 50 years when I used to go to sea coast accompanying my relatives during the monsoon season to “see the sea” and watch its hill like waves thrashing, splashing and roaring like lion . Children were warned not to approach the waves lest it should carry them away just as as it sometimes swallows  even the huts of poor fishermen living on the seashore. I recall how we stood on the sand close to the sea and watched with curiosity  the waves wiping out every thing on the sand including the words we wrote on the sand criticising Kadalamma or Mother sea though we were advised not to do so and incur her wrath.

What I missed in those rainy days was the scarcity of my favourite food item fish since fishermen were unable to take their boats to the turbulent sea amid breaking waves. My parents knew what fish meant to me and my late mom had once told me how her mother in law( my paternal  grandma) after appeciating  my abnormal appetite for fish, had advised her that the only solution to satiate my unusual fish eating desire was to let my sister, who was then about 5 years old, be married to a fisherman. It was a coincidence that she was later in fact married to a person engaged in fish business. I remember that when I visited their house together with one of my relatives for the first time before finalising the matrimonial alliance, we were served with rice and fish curry albeit it was too early to have dinner at that time and it was not the usual  practice to serve our guests with such a dish.

Rain reminds me of my paternal grandma whose face is still in mind though she had  passed away  50 years ago when I was around 12 . I was told that she loved me very much though I was not too young to appreciate her love but I can remember a number of incidents  to testify to her selfless love for me. Now recall that fateful night when my mom,some other relatives and neighbours gathered in her room in our old house. When I was advised by my mom not to enter the room , I could smell that something was wrong and my body began shiver. When I woke up next morning she was no more. As I could not bear her dead body being taken to the grave yard, I ran to her brother’s house from where I watched the funeral procession passing by that way.

Nearly a decade ago, my daughter showed me the photo of the grandparents of one of her class mates in her album ..Their innocent faces shining out of love are still in mental screen. “ Ask them what loves means” , this was the comment my  daughter  wrote the under the photo. Those who could live in the shade of grandparents' love are indeed blessed ones,

By the father

In search of his father

“ I call myself an only child, but I could very well be one of many siblings. I could be predisposed to some potentially devastating disease. Because I do not know what my father looks like, I could never recognise him in a crowd of people . I am sometimes overwhelmed by the infinite possibilities, by the reality that my father could be any where : in the neighbouring lane of traffic on a Friday during rush hour, behind me in line at the bank or the pharmacy ……. I am sometimes at such a petrifying loss for words or emotions that make sense that I can only feel astonished by the fact he could be any one”. , so wrote Mr. Colton Wooten  in his article in  the International Herald Tribune dated 29th June, 2011  enititled “ A plea to sperm donors from a son” .. He tells us that it was at the age of 5 that his mother divulged to him that he was born through artificial insemination and that he, born in 1992, did not think about that until 2006 when his teacher assigned to his class a genealogy project for which the students were supposed to research family history and create a family tree to share with the class. He describes how he had to cope with different situations when questioned about his father and ends his write-up saying

Colton Wooten does not find fault his mom when she, closing on her 40s, found herself unmarried and childless and opted to have a child through artificial insemination. She had arranged a consultation at the University of North Carolina Fertility Centre in early 1992. During the visits that followed, she examined the profiles of the sperm bank's donors , compared favourable traits and credentials and picked up one. He adds that he had visited the same centre hoping to find out at least the name of his father but was told that no files were saved for anonymous fathers for anonymous donors and no information could be given to him. He adds he understands the reasons behind keeping sperm donation anonymous “And yet the void that many children and young adults born from artificial insemination experience from simply not knowing transcends reason”. What he argues is that such babies should have the right to know who their donors are.

Reacting to Colton Wooten’s article, Ms Leah Leeder from Israel wrote how she, who is a single mother by choice of a beautiful two year old daughter, was moved by his article which reminded her that she should prepare herself for the day when her daughter starts asking her questions about her so called biological father.

One is in fact bewildered while coming to know that the artificial insemination widely used in the past for animal reproduction is now being applied in the case of human beings as well .It is true that the giant leap in the filed of science and technology has afforded us with numerous comforts and facilities and made our lives easier than ever. One, however, very often wonders whether Science alone can give us happiness and peace of mind. Here comes the role of ethics which act as a safety valve in our lives. It has to be admitted that there are several questions science fails to  answer.

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