Morality versus Business

 Gone are the days when the children in our village used to await ice-cream vendors on their bicycles  sounding musical horns to attract them while their mom tried hard to rein them from running to them.. There were sweet vendors as well carrying different varieties of colourful sweets on their heads in bamboo trays calling out " sweet items just for a penny". Mothers called them to their houses and they displayed mouth watering sweets in front of their children who were given the options to select what they wanted but with in the limits of budget they had . The price was paid from the savings made by their moms in the name of their children in small round clay pots called Kayikkudukka which had the size and shape of normal grape fruit had a narrow opening through which coins were put . When the pot was full it was broken and the sound of copper and silver coins falling on the ground tickled the minds of children and aroused hopes in their minds.


Once I heard a neighbour of ours and a friend of my mom confessing to my mom how she had got rid of an invalid coin (not fake one since was the coin of some other country) given to her from some shops saying that she had purchased sweets from a vendor known to us who had taken the coin without checking it. The same vendor passed by our house after a couple of days and I asked my mom to buy me a particular sweet made of cane jaggery. When my mom paid him the price ,the vendor who was looking for a chance to get rid of the invalid coin, took it out from his pocket claiming that it was one of the coins given by mom and asked her to give him another coin. My mom who knew the story did not tell him who the culprit was but smiled and told him to look for the one who had cheated him and not her who had given him the genuine coin.The vendor shouted using obscene language whereas my mom, in spite of being infuriated used polite words. The vendor could not take back the candy since I had consumed half of it in the meantime. I still remember how he went away using all the bad words in his stock. Today when I read reports of innocent people being accused and even convicted on false charges for crimes and offences they had never committed, I remember that sweet vendor.



The man I see these days selling peanuts in cone shaped paper packets in front of some shopping centers in Doha reminded me of my first and last attempt to be a "business man". When I was schooling, it occurred to me to purchase some raw peanut , get it roasted by mom and sell it at a profits as done by some children in our village in those days . I calculated the profit comparing the purchase price with the selling price and found that it was indeed a profitable business. Since I could not afford to buy one kilogram of raw peanuts , I bought half a kilogram and got it roasted by my mom.But the problem was that people would not come to me asking for peanut and I had to market it roaming in the village shouting " peanuts, peanuts". This was something I could not even dream of since every one knew that I was a shy and timid boy very stingy even while talking to my parents.More over lethargy was an in born trait in me which I refuse to part with even today. Therefore a close frined of mine was entrusted with the tals of marketing the peanuts on commission basis . He was very talkative and hence fit for this type of trade and I was sure that he could do the job very easily. When he went away with peanuts, I waited eagerly for his return. But my friend came to me in the evening with the empty metal can in which he had carried the peanut saying that he could not sell anything and confessing that he could not resist the temptation of roasted peanuts and had to consume the peanuts to compensate for the energy he had lost while roaming in the hot sun . To justify his stand he also told me how the cashew nut was known in Kerala as Kappalandi (meaning shipnut) as captain of a ship visiting Kerala once could not stop when he began to eat cashew nuts and had to sell his ship for this purpose .


That was the inglorious end of the business man in me as if the idea was nipped by God in the bud itself as He knows that business is not my cup of tea as I am unfit for such a task. One very often wonders whether morality can go hand in hand with a business mind which always looks for profit. An honest friend of mine who ran a shop in Doha for about 30 years still find it difficult to make both ends meets where as his friend running similar shop next door has amassed a lot of wealth. The difference is the the former does not cheat or lie to his customers where as the latter does every thing to sell his merchandise.

By the Father

The Fancy World

The splashes I hear,

The feelings that I fear…

That I may run down the path,

To feel the heavenly drops…

Trickling on me to keep me under the blanket

For the next few days…

The music I here,

The leaves that dance ,

To the rhythmic chant of wind,

And the birds chirping in their nest,

Speaks to me that there are greater

Treasures to be unveiled

In this fancy world.

Children with innocent faces

Unaware of the hidden dangers ahead of them

Always hoping for fun and laughter,

Greet the rain with cheers and hurrays,

Every time they appear in their windows

For the next few months.

Hovering over the trees and rocks,

And Bathing the tiny creatures under them,

And covering the air with cold and freshness,

Tells me there is hope and chance ahead of me.

I wonder how long they last,

And how long I will last…

To enjoy the treasures of this fancy world…

By the niece

Three days and the Journey continues ...

Short Story

Day 1

The Kurla Express was more than punctual today, strolling into the platform No 1 of Calicut railway station like a Giant serpent roaring and hissing all the way. Never in my last five years have I seen a train or any other public transport arriving so  early. As any other Keralite , I tried to take it as a positive gesture as I needed to stay optimistic to keep going. On any other day as any other traveler I would have been happy to see the train . But my mind was in chaos. I began thinking , has it come  too early to bring me closer to the inevitable.

We have our own way of getting into a public transport vehicle. One foot on the foot board and one hand held firmly to the steel  handle , then push and re- push. Don’t forget to squeeze the poor souls who are trying to get out and while you are in. With much of hustle and bustle , I finally managed to  obtain a window seat. I would rather cancel my trip than sitting anywhere else. I have always behaved like an adamant child when it comes to the window seat. Have you ever tried to change a child’s attention from his favorite candy. Wrestling, bullying , pleading ,begging , I have even offered money for it. I have many reasons why I preferred that position. I always loved to view the world through that small window. It gave me the feeling that I am just a small part of this vast universe and a very tiny drop in this endless ocean of humanbeings. The running trees and buildings reminded me how fast the life changes and  the cool air hitting my face always refreshed my mind however disturbed I am. Secondly , I could rest my head on the window so that I wouldn't hit my neighbour with my head when  I fall asleep. Lastly , I could easily pull the chain when something goes wrong . I was just joking as it would be the last thing to do . I would rather prefer somebody else to do it and loose Rs 5000 . With a rocking movement like a cradle the train gained momentum as it raced on the two parallel rails.

People had settled in their seats. Journey in a train was almost like a picnic. Most of the travelers were employers who travel daily and hence they get familiar. People would bring their breakfast and share it among others, play cards and pokers, discuss many things from domestic to politics and even impeach the American president. Just a week ago I had travelled in the same train with a different mood and purpose. But I had now no interest in all these. Last week had suddenly changed my life. A sore throat which I had been ignoring with over the counter medication took me to a doctor when I noticed my voice change. An almost casual visit to the doctor got me worried when he advised me a specialist consultation as he suspected a swelling in my throat. It’s funny how my doctors explained my disease. My first doctor called it a swelling or nodule. But the specialist who did an endoscopy called it a plaque or growth which he feels was “ potentialy” dangerous. So he takes a piece of it and sends to for testing. Now what I don’t understand was how a swelling is different from a growth, and how does a ‘growth’ become more dangerous. The report was even more confusing. The doctor said that there was increased cell division and something called mitosis which frankly I didn’t understand. I remember from my primary class that it has something to do with cell division and growth. So I was again cornered to the same term , “ growth”. But I thought growing was good. Whatever , the doctor needed to recheck my report at a higher centre , so here I am with a piece of my body in a formaline bottle, which was growing and could turn my life upside down. But what I understood from my doctor’s face was that I was having something which frightened even the experienced doctor.

“Paldesi paldesi chana nehi, muche dhodke muche dhodke”, I had almost slipped into a slumber when the famous song but in a cacophony woke me up. An emaciated tribal lady in a shabby dress with an equally dirty child was singing at her maximum. She has something like a wooden piece in her hand which she was rhythmically clapping and the child was spreading his hands in front of the travelers for money. I wonder why these people never try to correct their lyrics, nor did any of the spectators. Most of them just threw pennies at them just to escape from their torment. Most of the travelers were sleeping or half sleeping. A school girl was busy reading her notebook. May be she had her exam today. A well dressed man in his sixty’s was trying to take his bag from the upper rack with great difficulty. The train had already reached my destination. I took my bag with great care and towards the cabin door where a group people were ready to push their way through. It was already late evening , so decided to stay a motel for the night.

Day 2

I got up early the next day or to say that I didn’t sleep would be truer. This has been my routine for the last one week. The moment I close my eyes my mind wandered off to my childhood memories, school days , the court yard where I played , the ponds where I went fishing with my friends, the trees which I climbed , the dogs which I chased. Everything would just come in front of my eyes and haunt me. The sun was yet to show the light, yet the day had already begun. The news paper boy was on the run with his pile of papers. He was may be the weakest link in the news delivery system, yet if he fails to deliver them hot all the work which preceded him would be a waste. Ladies were strolling to the nearby temples clad in neat and white saris. They were probably the reason why many boys were attracted to visit God. Everyone was live and playing their part in this cosmos. The sun slowly lighted up the earth.

I reached the medical centre in time. I handed over the bottle and the investigation form to the receptionist. She seemed quite unconcerned seeing my probable diagnosis. May be she sees hundreds of patients every week and that must have hardened her heart. But she could had at least smiled. They asked me to come the next day. So I had the entire day with me. But that was the most agonizing thing considering my state of mind. I had lunch for namesake at a hotel nearby. I didn’t want to go to the lodge as the loneliness was unbearable.

I decided to spend my evening at the sea shore. Watching the waves roaring towards the shore bringing everything it has towards the shore. But however big it becomes it has to just leave everything at the shore and return empty handed. It is almost the state of humans. He gathers all the fancies of this world, but has to return empty handed whoever he may be. He just has to face the inevitable alone. There were not many people around except for some elderly couples who came for the evening walk. This again annoyed me for some unknown reason. Watching the waves coming in alternatively I lost track of the time. The orange sun had already half dipped into the sea suddenly tears came flowing from my eyes. A strange emotion filled my heart that I couldn’t stand there. Seeing the sun set filled my mind with thoughts of doom and sorrow. I hurried from the place not even waiting for the sun to vanish in between the waves. My mind was in anguish even after I returned to my room. I didn’t have the habit of taking sleeping pill and didn’t want to start one. I remembered a joke which I read in a magazine about I prisoner who was asked about his last wish on his day of execution. He first thought of asking for a cigarette, but then refused least he would make it a habit. My situation was not in any way better than his.

Day 3

Surprisingly I had a good sleep. May be it was going to be a good day for me. The news paper boy and the pious ladies were right on time. I liked the perspective that everything was as it should be, but was not sure what was right fOr me.

I reached the medical centre a bit late. They told me to wait in the visitor’s room. There were a few people anxiously waiting for their call. Seeing these souls comforted me, but this was surely not a company I wanted to be in. I had to spend an anxious hour before I was called. I was accompanied by a nurse into the doctor’s room. He was a middle aged gentleman with grey starting spin webs on his hair. He showed me the chair and asked the nurse to leave us. He had a pile of papers in his hand which I supposed would be my reports. I wondered there was so much written about the small piece I brought. The doctor asked me some questions regarding my complaints for the last week. After a small pause he took of his spectacles, kept it on the table and took the reports. I closed my eyes and sharpened my ears. The doctor was speaking in clear language but I could not hear a word. I slowly opened my eyes , but the only thing I could see was a long dark corridor with a tiny speck light at its end. I understood that the journey was just beginning for me and slowly started walking  towards it.

By the eldest son

The Newcomer

"Between the earth and sky above, nothing can match a grandmother's love."  Author anonymous.



My only daughter gave birth to her first child, a boy who is now 7 years old and is an inexhaustible source happiness for all of us especially for my wife. She  had the opportunity to look after him when he was a baby and his mom had to leave him with her to go to work. Ever since he began to speak , he calls her as mom and not grandma. One can very easily watch the emotional attachment between them and understand how much his grandma loves being called as mom.

Our grandson is so tender hearted that when we return to Doha after our vacation he finds it difficult even to take his meals saying that he feels sorry as memories of his grandma sadden him . Once when he visited Doha with his mom, he took with him a Hindi song CD. But after returning to India, when the CD was played to let him listen to his favourite songs, he said that he did not want to listen to it as it reminded him of his grandpa and that he felt sorry for being away from him in spite of the fact that his grandpa unfortunately belong to that category of people who take things for granted, fail terribly in expressing their feelings and find it hard even to smile at others. Our grandson is an exact replica of his father in every respect and mingles very easily with others .

When our grand son, Insaf, was born, I was one of the persons present in the hospital . One cannot forget those tense moments while waiting outside the labour room, every one waiting eagerly to welcome the newcomer to our family and running to the door when ever it was open assuming that the nurse was looking for them and I recall how we were relieved when the nurse informed us that our daughter had given birth to a baby boy. When my wife delivered her youngest son in Doha the whole process was entirely different. I literally handed over her to the hospital where none except a female ayah is allowed to stay with her and went home . I don’t know if I had slept that night but can recall that at midnight I received a telephone call from a nurse known to us that the my wife had delivered a boy and that I could visit her next day only. She remained in the hospital for one day and was discharged and we had to settle no bills as medical care is free of charge in Doha.

In early seventies when my sister  complained of labour pain at our home, I was asked to bring the midwife living in the nearby village. I recall how I accompanied by our neighbour Karapputty’s mother went on foot to the midwife’s house . We had to walk for about half an hour to reach her house at midnight . But to our pleasant surprise when we reached home together with the midwife  we found that my sister had delivered a baby girl and both the mother and her child were safe.

The other day when my eldest son informed us he was also joining the rank of fathers, I took it for granted as usual. A few days ago when my sister asked me whether there were " good news" from our son who had married in December, 2010, I wondered why people chase the newly wedded couple soon after their marriage and start posing questions if there is "good news" or not . Did they forget that time has changed and marital happiness is now days measured by postponing childbearing?

What ensued after the flash news released by our son was a jubilant atmosphere in which every one rejoiced and me remaining silent expressing no feelings .Discussions between his mother and sister soon started on what to name the child when would be the delivery and who has to be with my daughter in law during the month of her delivery. It seemed that every one was waiting for the news.

Latest reports from Chandigarh where my son and his better half live indicate that my daughter in law is suffering from  morning sickness. But when we saw her  on the Skype we realised that  he condtion  was  not as worse as  we had thought and that she was  far better than her mother in law  when she began to carry her first child in 1978. She was bedridden  without drinking or eating any thing nor was she speaking to any one. I had to hire a taxi and take her to her mother  whose face  turned pale   when she saw us as if she had expected something unpleasant  as it was a surprise visit. When I explained the symptoms she was relieved.

My wife has begun to follow her daughter in law very closely asking her son to abandon his callousness, to take special care of his wife, ensure that his wife was eating well though it was long distance and remote control care. She is very lucky like every one else these days since she can video-chat with his son and daughter in law live through Skype whereas in 1979 when she was hospitalized for her first delivery in India and I was in Doha , I had to wait for hours after booking a trunk call just to talk to some one and enquire about her and even after getting connection through the assistance of a friend of mine working in the telephone department in Doha it was disconnected before completing what I wanted to say. In those days the main means of communication was letters which took more than a week to travel from India to Doha and sometimes it never arrived due to some mistakes of postal workers in India or Doha. I remember the tension while opening the post box and the disappointment while not receiving any letters from my kith and kin. Those were days when every one travelling from the gulf to India and vice-versa had to carry a large number of letters and deliver them to the addresses after reaching their destinations. Those letters provided the readers with an ineffable pleasure and one enjoyed reading them time and again. Now a days when we chat we feel that we are missing something and we don’t feel the fervour and zeal we had while reading letters in the past. Today’s pleasures are instant and bubble like and not perennial as it used to be in the past.

By The Father 

Still Waters

By the Niece

Emotions

By the Niece



The cost of being human

As human beings we are all born with some humane traits.. As we grow we either remain same , or develop them or regress to inhuman nature. I believe that you might have watched the films Munna Bhai MBBS and Patch Adams , where the Professor says , “ We are not here to make friends , we are here to become doctors. Does being doctor prevent you from coming close to patients or should it?

Once during my MBBS internship, I was doing casualty duty. It was a very busy day when none of the residents on duty was not able to sit even for a while. A young girl was admitted in the ward with meningitis at a very critical stage. Usually a doctor is posted in the ward to take care of such cases , but unfortunately none was available there . The relatives of the patient approached the casualty complaining about the condition of their child. My casualty ward was full of patients and I was not in charge of the ward patients , however they insisted on seeing the child. As the child was in deplorable condition , I ,with great difficulty, arranged someone to look after the casualty and decided to have a look. The child was having severe infection and was in altered sensorium. She was receiving all the required medication and all we could do was to wait for the medicines to start acting. I explained the situation to the parents of the child and returned to my ever busy casualty. Unfortunately the child succumbed to the disease and as usual the mob was berserk. I was called by the investigating committee for enquiry and the matter was settled. Three years after the incident I received a letter from the Superintendent of our college to give explanation for the mishap that day. Even though it was just a matter of writing that I was not my duty in the ward that day , I felt the sorry of getting involved in such an incident which I had nothing to do. Now , if I had just concealed my human part and stayed away taking care of the matters of the casualty I would have been spared of all the trouble.

We had a senior doctor who was very passionate to her patients. Usually when we discharge patients from the ward, they are supposed to get their dressing done at the minor operation theatre at the out-patient department. The waiting line at the minor operation theatre is usually long and patients find it difficult to wait for hours. Our senior doctor had a patient who needed dressing daily for nearly a month. So she took pity on the patients and used to do the dressing in the ward. One day as she was very busy with the ward duties and asked a patient to get dressing done at the minor operation theatre. The patient straight away went to the professor and complained that our senior used to take money from him for dressing in the ward and refused that day since he did not give her money for once. The doctor was thus humiliated for being sincere to her patient. If only she had concealed her humane part and asked the patient to queue and get the dressing done at the minor operation theatre, she would have escaped from the torment.

The other day one of our consultants remembered how a patient hit by some vehicle and left unattended and was brought to the hospital by a hospital staff itself. He was in a very bad state when he reached the emergency. A deep cut wound to his neck had drained most of his blood and he was immediately was taken to the hospital. The residents ran a marathon between the operation theatre and the blood bank to arrange fourteen bottles of blood. I have never been able to arrange more than four bottle of blood for any patient. More than ten is virtually impossible. Fortunately the patient survived. He was later called to a TV programme and asked to narrate his experience at the hospital. To everyone’s astonishment and without any scruples he said that he had received a very poor medical care from the hospital. Our department and hospital would not have been humiliated if the residents had not been over enthusiastic about arranging blood.

Few years back I read an article in a magazine about the plight of an ayurvedic doctor. He had given some medicine to his patient and the patient developed paralysis after taking it. The relatives and local people got angry and created chaos at his clinic. The doctor who was quite sure that this could not have been due to his medicine, volunteered to consume the drug himself to prove his innocence not knowing that wife of his patient has poisoned the medicine to get rid of her husband the doctor was paralyzed for the rest of his life.

A few years ago a patient was brought to a private hospital with head injury following road traffic accident. As it was a clear case of head injury and the hospital was not equipped with neuro-care the doctor referred the patient to higher centre. But the relative was adamant to admit the patient there for first aid care. But the doctor knowing the futility of loosing valuable time insisted on taking the patient to safer place. The patient died on his way and the people attacked the hospital. I say that the doctor should have admitted the patient , painted his bruises and added some income to his hospital. So what if the patient died , he would have satisfied the crowd and saved his skin. I remember when my father met with an accident and sustained head injury the resident doctor at the primary centre had called me to inform the status. I immediately advised the doctor to transfer my father to a higher centre.

One of my relatives was telling me the story of his friend who developed chest discomfort and taken to a private hospital. They did an electrocardiography and seeing that his condition was normal, the patient was sent back for resting at home. But that night he was admitted with heart attack. He was trying to tell me the ignorance of the doctor misdiagnosing a heart attack for something trivial. Prodromal or early symptoms of heart attack are very much similar to gastritis and are often mistaken. So whenever a patient comes with similar complaints it is a protocol to admit him in intensive care unit and observe for at least 24 hours. Seeing the financial condition of the patient, the doctor must have advised against ICU admission , which quite surprised me as private hospitals might do anything to get money. If he had followed the protocol and admitted the patient it would have cost the patient around Rs 15 000 and it turned out to be a mere gastritis , the same person would tell that the doctor robbed the patient.

People who say that doctor should be more humane would never accept that doctors are prone to err. The more one is human, the more he is guided by emotions and the more he is prone to mistakes. Well I don’t think that people consider doctors as human beings at all. The are not supposed to voice for a fair pay or the basic minimum hours of rest, but who cares. Never forget that Munna of Munna bhai could not stand his patient’s death and decided to quite and patch Adams , lost his love who was killed by his psychotic patient. So to be , or not to be human is still an intriguing question that remains unanswered as far as I am concerned..

The eldest son

A DOCTOR'S DAY

Piles of books with pages unturned

Heaps of cloths so shabby and frayed

With a stony back and boring air

I started my day , lazy and unfair

The cool breeze caressing my hair

 I raced to the ward so late in despair

The shining sun and the singing bird

Tried to remind me there’s hope and reward

Which I purposely  and half heartedly ignored

As the only thing that   troubled my head

Were the miserables in my ward

And reports I had to prepare  for those patients uncured

The first bed was a child in her charm and joy

Whose smile, angels would envy and damsels would shy

But my eyes would only see her veins

For I had to send her blood in bottles, so mean

The outpatients were a sea of people in pain

But all I saw was chaos and complain

The grandma with hair as white as a fairy,

face as innocent that melt hardest quarry

The grandpa who’s face a board of crisscross,

who’s complacent look no human could overpass

But nothing could crack my hardened soul,

not raising my eyes I disposed them all

When the circle high parted the sky

I reached my room with heavy eyes

Hoping the next be a better day

I laid in my bed tired and taken away .

By

The eldest son

A Farmer

By the Youngest son

Desires ……

The helium balloon seller at the Rose Festival drove my mind back to some 20 years. My memories drifted to an area in Doha known as Mughalina where a child was playing with a helium balloon in the courtyard of the residential compound. He had been dreaming of the multicolored heart shaped balloons with the picture of his favorite cartoon character Mickey mouse ever since it was shown in the advertisements of the carnival. This was different from any other balloon. It just rises to the sky and flies away once you leave it and creates the  impression  that you are in command holding the power to release it. His only pbjective  of going to the carnival was to buy the balloon. But his father was initially hesitant as he didn’t find the desire of his child so convincing . But the child used the most  efficacious  weapon in a child’s armory which no parent can combat. He started crying at a high pitch and it took just a matter of minutes for his father to change his mind. He got his much awaited gift. He raised it to the sky holding the string . "No, I won’t let you fly. You can only fly as much as I allow you". He never took his eyes off it. Such was its beauty that the glamour and glitters of the carnival just dissipated in front of it. He tied it to his right hand and was afraid even to change hands lest it might escape. Even after returning home when his family was dining, he was outside playing with it and raising it to the sky. Gazing at it with the stars and the moon in the background was so alluring. The mood had never been so jovial and the stars so charming .

But just like a needle popping a soap bubble, his dream crumbled to dust all on sudden . The string tied to his hand snapped and the balloon flew away to the never ending horizon. He just stood there motionless like a statue for about 5 minutes. He could not understand what had happened. He pinched himself to ensure that he was not dreaming. He felt as if his world had turned upside down. He had lost his hard fought gift just like that. Slowly the fear of facing others crept to his mind . He couldn’t face his father, mother, siblings and the neighbors as a loser. His little mind thought of ways to escape the agony. He decided to run away and went towards the compound gate, but the security guard was there. Therefore he decided to hide in the car porch and wait for the security guard to sleep. In the meantime his parents had sensed his long time absence and had begun to look for him . The whole colony woke up and started searching for him. Children joined elders calling him by his name and earnestly requesting him to come out. His mind became filled with guilt and shame. Tears started wetting his tender cheeks. His weak heart could withstand it no more. He decided to run towards the gate. But by that time his father found him at his hiding place, ran towards him , took him in his arms and kissed him on his cheeks in front of the much relieved residents of the compound. His mother was waiting at home in tears. She could not stop  weeping even after finding his missing child unhurt. It took a few minutes for her to believe her eyes . She took him to his bed and he soon fell asleep.

I just told you of my first attempt to abscond. When I ponder over it now I feel how silly I was to think of abandoning everything so dear to me , just to escape the agony of losing something as simple as a balloon. But this is the way that human mind works. Every one of us has this feeling in the heart of our hearts. We never like to part with our likes. The feeling of losing something we like is so strong in human mind that he would sacrifice everything, even his life to hold on to it. On July 18, 2006 the former football player V P Satyan committed suicide writing a note that he was vexed in his life as he had lost his wealth and was also addicted to drinking and gambling. This is just an example of the vast number of such incidents .Husband does not turn up to take his wife to the theatre on the wedding anniversary day as promised, wife commits suicide; salty dish preparation annoys mother in law, daughter in law commits suicide; father forgets to purchase new clothes for birthday, son commits suicide; mother does not permit her daughter to go for picnic, daughter commits suicide ; so on and so forth.

Human desires keep on growing one after the other. I cannot remember how many times I have prayed, Oh God, fulfill this need of mine, I would be the happiest person in the world. Once it is fulfilled another one pops in . I think I use this excuse almost every day. My  higher studies , examinations, competitions, ambitions, marriage and the list never ends. Rightly said by Aristotle that, “It is the nature of desire not to be satisfied, and most men live only to gratify it”. Despite being proclaimed as the most powerful and determined creature on earth due to his Giga mind, it is his mind that renders him the weakest of all creatures . His desire for the material pleasures makes him vulnerable. “How helpless we are, like netted birds , when we are caught by desire” , Belva Plain.

But man devoid of desires is nothing . I tried to cleanse my mind of desires. But then I realized that it is these desires that have sustained so far. I wake up every day to fulfill my desires. People without desires are like a cut loose kite, flying but lifeless. I had tried to sleep without any longing for the next day. But then I understood why I should wake up at all. Like an Arab saying goes, “Dwell not upon thy weariness, thy strength shall be according to the measure thy desires”. It is only when your desire overpowers yourself and you fails to attain them, that most of the people are thrown into chaos. Controlling ones desires is easier said than done as Aristotle once said, “ I count him braver who overcomes his desires than him who overcomes his enemies”.

By the eldest son

Life with cats

In my whole life I have seen many cats .i not only saw them. I have some memories about them. Back in 2004 , I found a kitten ,well actually it found me . Wherever I go it followed me and went through my legs. I wanted to show it to my neighbors but I had no idea how to get it there. First I put him in a plastic bag and tried take him there. But it broke the cover .then I tried another way. I moved to a place and it came to me and started going through my legs. I moved a little more front and it followed .i kept moving to reach the house with cat following me. But after a few steps it stopped. Well, that’s all I remember about that incident .when I grew up there was a mother cat living in the store of our house. It gave birth to some babies in there. As the years passed I grew up and became eight. I saw a cat in the cupboard.

But it was not alone .beside it were some cute little kittens. That room wasn’t used so none of us noticed the cats and I believe they found it comfortable with no using in to be disturbance.

After on e year I came to Qatar. We were living in a villa. I did not see any cats there. Then we moved to another flat. There I found a green and black striped cat. I used to give it some leftover fish sometimes. A few months later it was seen no more. Then a small kitten of the same color came. once when I came back from prayer it standing right in front of my door. Well it was the first time I saw it. Well this kitten was different compared to the kitten I found in India. The kitten in India used to go through my feet and make me tickle, but this one was trying to bite my slippers. Then we moved to an another house. Everyday day while I wait for school bus a white cat comes and rubs its back on my pants. Well that was the last cat I had touched in my life. I wonder which one would be next.

A dream come true

Since my very childhood, I have heard a lot about a place called Veega Land which is an amusement park, Some of my friends had gone there . One day one of my friends had brought to school some photos taken when he went to there . The photos were looking very neat nice. I wondered how they took such a perfect photo of him in while riding in a very fast roller coater. This question remained in my mind unsolved until my trip to Veega land recently.

It was the day to go to Veega land. We had to wake up very early since it would take hours to reach there. I and my cousin wore the same dress. But I wore a different pant since the real one would not fit me. We began our journey in the bus. On the way we listened to songs and watched a movie. I had a feeling that my cousin got really scared on watching that movie or it was because he didn’t like movies. He says that the problem with Malayalam movies is that when you start watching it you cannot stop watching it. I do agree with him.

It was a long journey to Veega land. when we reached there I saw a big crowd there. We brought the tickets. A ticket for an adult costs rs.500 and 380 for children. We also bought some swimming suits since there would be a lot of water rides. We got in. I was expecting it to be very large but was larger than I expected. We started on a roller coater called the water splash. First we went up the hill to a cave, it was a little dark. I thought that going down the hill was the only scary and fun thing this roller coaster had, but I didn’t know that there was another surprise too. When we reached inside the cave, the unexpected surprise was revealed. A giant dinosaur which we didn’t notice due to its dark color and the darkness of the cave, opened its bright red mouth and made a big roar which did scare me. Then it was time for the big part. We went down at the maximum speed and then we splashed into the water . I got all wet. I, my uncle, my nephew, his cousin and my cousin went to the water rides .It was fun. I thought it would be scary but it was fun .Later we went to the pool, then we went to a race in water and then to a smaller pool with many rides. Then it was finally time to leave. It was evening and we thought we had gone in most of the rides but on the way we saw many rides we didn’t go .It was another long journey back home . When we reached home I went straight to bed. I was having so much fun that I forgot to find out how perfectly the pictures of my friend were taken . I only remembered that after reaching Qatar. The answer to my big question was that the photo was taken automatically in each and every ride Then we have to buy the photo. It was the best time ever.

By the youngest son

Involutional Melancholia

What is the worst of woes that wait on age?

What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow?
To view each loved one blotted from life's page,
And be alone on earth, as I am now.


LORD BYRON, Childe Harold

Today I visited Raipur Rani, where on every Saturdays we conduct Otolaryngology clinic at a Govt School for the Hearing & speech handicapped children. Raipur Rani is an outreach village in Haryana,one hour drive from Chandigarh. Most of the patients are aged villagers who come to remove ear waxes or complain of ear discharge. We used to joke among residents saying that going to Raipur Rani without an ear probe would be futile. Village women in their typical shyness hiding their faces behind their dupattas (shawls),hands almost covered with heavy bangles, lips painted with florescent coloured lip sticks ,men with long gray moustaches, turbans on their heads and dresses stained with dust from fields were our routine visitors.


It was a light day, when an old lady came showing an outpatient card of my college. She was in her seventies and had that peculiar waddling gait typical of fat old ladies. She wore spectacles which I noticed had not been changed for years. She was already seen at our college some 2 years ago for ear drum perforation, but had not completed or followed up her treatment.. People in the villages speak a local slang of Hindi. I am usually reluctant to speak in the slang as I feel awkward in my south Indian version of Hindi. Usually people get closer when we use their language. I decided to give it a try as there was no one around. She had come with the same complaints again. My first reflex was to speak rudely as I hate non-compliant patients. I asked her why she had waited for 2 years. Usually people have all sorts of excuses to put forth ranging from servants’ marriage to grand daughter’s exams. To my surprise she burst into tears and said that her only son had met with an accident and was bedridden. He was the only earning member of the family as her husband had already expired. She told me that when she came to our college two years ago she was confused and scared seeing the crowd. She wouldn’t forget the young resident doctor who helped her that time. She had walked that day for 4 kilometers to come to the clinic. I talked to her for about half an hour. Mostly she spoke about her family problems. When she left, I could read from her face that she was happy and satisfied not for seeing the list of drugs I prescribed, but for patiently listening to her woes.


I had only one hour left in my duty when I got a call from the emergency for a neck abscess (advanced infection where pus collects). I went to see a man in his thirties with a neck swelling, unable to open his mouth or turn his head due to pain. His foul smelling mouth and toxic look pointed to the diagnosis of deep neck abscess secondary to dental infection written all over him. An immediate CT scan and surgery at the earliest was the only way to save his life. I called out for his relative to hand over the investigation form. To my dismay an old baba(elderly person) in his eighties answered my call. He was just a skeleton, with his cheeks hollowed, wrinkles playing criss-cross over his face and hair and beard as white as those of fairies in Harry Potter. I explained to him the bad condition of his son and the importance of getting him operated early. He just stood there blank and handed his BPL(below poverty Line)card to me. I understood that he was from Saharanpur, a remote village in Uttar Pradesh and realized that he understood nothing I said. I immediately took him to the RMO ,made his card free , got his CT done and took him to operation theatre with in 30 minutes. This may perhaps be the shortest time a patient is prepared for surgery on an emergency. He improved dramatically after the surgery and was discharged in a week. While leaving the baba came to see me in tears being grateful for returning his only support and hope of his old age to him.

Once during my MBBS days I was taking morning rounds in the medicine ward. I was looking at the case sheet of a 60 year old man who was admitted with coronary artery disease the previous night. He hailed from a place called Thangalpadi which was close to my village .He came in the pedigree of our Prophet and people respected such families. I always had the feeling that these people exploited ignorant people by claiming extra ordinary power and had lots of riches .I asked him why he got admitted here as our college was about 200 km from his place. He told me he was travelling by bus and developed chest pain on the way. So he got admitted at the nearest hospital. As he was alone I offered him to contact his home and inform them. To my surprise he was reluctant to give me his number. But I my doubts were cleared when I called his home. An old lady, most probably his wife answered and quite unemotionally asked me to take care of him as there was no one to come there. I was worried how to tell him the news, but to my relief and a bit of surprise he had taken voluntary discharge and left.

I always remember my rural service period  at the  primary health centre ,Edapal being my best time of professional life. The lion share of my patients was elderly people , most of them just coming to see whether I was all right and for chit-chat for some time rather than treatment their diseases An old man used to come regularly and offer me tea. A woman in her eighties once came to see me. She just sat there without saying anything. I asked her some routine questions about her problems but she would not talk. I shifted to personal questions regarding her whereabouts. But she still did not budge. I was getting frustrated as there were other patients waiting. I asked her who had accompanied her. She just broke down in front of me, told me that her son had left her ,that she was alone at home, that she had not talked to anyone for three days and that is why she came to see me . She sat there and spoke there for another 15 minutes holding my hand. I told her she could come here anytime she wanted. She left without even taking the medicine slip , but I was sure she got what she came for.


Old age is something all of us should go through. Weakness, cataracts, ailments, memory loss are our belongings on those days. But nothing is more painful than the solitude to which we are subjected. No one to turn to , no one to speak with ,no one to support in our bitter road as Mother Teresa once said ,” Loneliness and the feeling of being unwanted is the most terrible poverty”.

By the eldest son

Stars and Sparrows

A roof made of woven coconut leaves. Four decades ago most of the houses in our village in Kerala had had such a roof. Once in an year, this type of roof had to be replaced with newly woven coconut leaves. It was a festive occasion when a special sweet dish called "curry" was prepared and distributed among the neighbours and relatives. Though the dish was prepared using rice flour, sugarcane jaggery, nuts etc and tasted like "paayasam" , I don’t know why it was called curry which is a hot and spicy dish. In those days our villagers believed that if "curry" was prepared , it would ward off some harmful pests that could damage the roof. Some "curry" was even poured on the wooden roof frame though one could imagine that it could attract and not distract the pests. To ensure that the pests are completely destroyed, the wooden roof frame  had to be left uncovered overnight and the roofing was done next day . For children like me, it was the only occasion when we could go to bed enjoying the moon light and gazing at the twinkling stars in the sky. I looked at them and felt like the sailors in Alfred Lord Tennyson's poem " Lotos Eaters" :

"With half-shut eyes ever to seem

Falling asleep in a half-dream

To dream and dream, like yonder amber light"

Every year I eagerly waited for the roof replacing day to drink the sweet dish and hoping go to bed looking at the blue sky full of twinkling stars.

My friendship with sparrows dates back to sixties when their nests were found hanging in a corner of our old house in Kerala .I recall how curiously I watched the sparrows bringing food for their chicks and feeding them while the chicks' eyes were still closed . As a part of my childish mischievousness, I had once tried to feed them with a worm using a tiny stick presuming that they would think it was their mother doing so and would eat it but they never did so .

In late nineties when we were living an old flat in the centre of Doha, some sparrows used to nest on the external protruding part of our air conditioner. Very early in the morning I used to wake up listening to their chirping sound which refreshed and cooled my mind like  morning breeze . I feel sorry that I no longer hear their song . But I do see sparrows now a days flying over the balcony of our present house in which my better- half has strenuously started growing some vegetables like tomato, chilly etc in flower pots. Though she complains that these birds are bent on eating the tender leaves of newly sprouted plants , I am glad I am still able to see them.

A species of pigeon known in Kerala as “Arippravu”  can also be seen here. Brown in colour, it is slightly  larger than sparrows. When compared to the  other species of pigeons it coos incessantly. Legend says that once upon a time their great grand father brought some fresh green peas  and asked his wife  to roast it. The roasted  peas appeared to be  lesser  in quantity and he suspected that his wife had eaten a part of it . Out of anger he killed his wife  but when  he learned later   the real reason  and understood  that his wife was innocent  he felt extremely sorry and started crying   as expression of repentance and remorse and his successors continues to do so even today. 

     

When I was a boy I used to to follow  ducks  just to watch them dipping their beaks deep into water in search of their food  and  see them swallowing  shell fish .My father used to rear one   female  got at a time. I used to take it to where there were fresh green grasses which had a refreshing effect on my mind. When these birds and animals were eating  I could notice   the food moving  through their food pipes   until they reach  their stomach . On such occasions, I felt as if I had eaten my belly full

*******

By the father

PS. Please share your thoughts on "Stars and Sparrows" and other posts you have read.

My email : binsaed@hotmail.com

My fishy stories

The atmosphere was as still as that of  a graveyard. The man sitting beside the tree with a pole in his hand was  as motionless as a statue. The bidi (local cigarette) at his lips was almost finished and the flame was about to burn his lips. He , however, seemed to be too absorbed in his work to notice it . His grip on the pole was steady and strong, his eyes  fixed on the float over the water, but his mind was underneath the water. He could feel what was happening there quite clearly. Small bites were inadequate. He was waiting for an unlucky  fish to  swallow the bait. He shouldn’t get too impatient or else he would lose his luck. When he felt  the pull, his hands became heavy. He could feel his prey gulping the bait. With in a flash of a second his eyes, mind and hand turn into  one. Through  a flick of his hand and his reward would be  in his basket.

This was just a dramatic pretrial  of fishing which was my favorite childhood hobby . Nothing had given me more  satisfaction  and enthusiasms than going to the lakes and ponds in our neighborhood and coming back with my a bucket full of fishes. With my obsession with fishes, I should say that I am blessed to be born in a village that lies between the Arabian sea in the west  and a canal  called Canoli Canal  in the east . Moreover, my village is  packed with plenty of small and large ponds. I believe I inherited  my fishing gene from my father. I grew up hearing his stories of expedition to the near and far lakes and ponds. But I should say that my father is more interested in seeing the fish in his plate rather than in the ponds. A strong lover of fish diets and a devoted patron of fishing, I  used to joke  saying that the fisher men in our area had two “Chaakara”(a particular marine phenomenon in which a large number of fish and prawns throng together during  a particular season ), one at the time of actual chaakara and the other when my father comes home from Middle East . The  the fish vendors would bring rare and big fishes especially for us knowing that my father would buy them at any cost.

My childhood is replete with fishing memories .When I return from my fishing adventures  in  the nearby ponds in the evenings, I remember my late grandma  asking me “What is your catch today, shall I heat the pot for curry" .Though I know that my meager catches would never make up for the day's dish , I felt an inexplicable  pride when my catch was cooked  .It was my grandmother's way of encouraging my hobbies. We used to keep special fish traps called “kuruthi” at junctions between two water bodies so that when the fish swim against the flow they would be trapped in it. My mother had bought a kuruthi at my request. These had to be kept in the water at night so that in the early morning next day we could reap our reward . My father used to  tell us how ineffable  his feelings were when he used to lift up the fish trap   full of live fishes especially prawns. My mom and I used to wake up early  in the morning to check it. She used to say that I used to wake up on her first call itself during those days. I wondered in  those days that even amidst all household chores  my mom found time to accompany me to lift  the trap. I even suspected it to be a plot to wake me up early on time which  I suppose is the most tedious task my mom had to undertake while  bringing me up. Now it is done quite enjoyably and efficiently by my  better-half.

We have a pond in front of our house. We usually have small fishes in it. But since it was a safe ground we used to try our luck in it too. One evening I and my brother was fishing. It was a boring day with nothing  in our basket. As I was frustrated with the waiting period , I handed the fishing pole over to my brother Munib .I was about to leave the place when with much of commotion my brother pulled off a large fish called “Pilathan”, about two feet long weighing  one KG with silver skin . I had never seen something so beautiful. He even found it difficult to get   it ashore. So I assisted him to pull it up. I was more remorseful and sad  for loosing the chance to catch such a fish . I felt that  being  elder and more experienced than my brother I  should have got  the prize fish. Everybody was praising my brother and he was the hero of the day. I should admit that out of my jealousy I stressed the part where I had to pull up the fish ashore as my brother was weaker than me. To whomever I told the story I twisted the  event  to to look like that it was  me who caught the fish and not my brother  But it taught me the importance of patience in  any work you do and  the need to fight till the end.

I had  got the chance to go fishing with my father when I was  studying in  Class  IX in Doha when our family moved to Qatar for the second time. There we used the costly fishing rod  to fish in the bay close to corniche .Once I was there with my father and brother when we caught a  long   fish “Kolaan”, but unfortunately the twine snapped  and the fish was swimming afloat and jumping on the surface in front of us. The next thing I saw was my father jumping into the water. I and my brother were shocked. People gathered around to see what my father was up to.  We were afraid since we had heard stories of people attacked by sharks .But the fish swam away  with the hook  and the  broken thread in its mouth and to our relief father returned ashore safely.

In our area we have large ponds. Catching the fishes in these  ponds was almost considered as  festive occasions.  All the local people used to gather to enjoy it. Experts in catching fresh water fishes from far places are invited  to entertain the people. Large pumping machines are used to pump the water out of the pond after which the mud  is removed manually using bamboo baskets and metal buckets  tied on both sides to strings. With local folks songs on their lips, the workers  clean up the mud from the ponds while others begin catching the fishes from the mud. Our ponds were full of cat fishes .They have stings on both sides .Stings from them were extremely painful. There were many local remedies to relieve the pain like reversing the cigarette and blowing smoke into the wound and urinating over the wound. For many years I used to urinate immediately after getting stung, not knowing that I had to urinate over my wound. No wonder I didn’t have any relief of pain.

Everyone has their favorite childhood sports. When we sleep at night our mind would be let lose in a fairyland where we would be constantly in touch with our day’s ventures. We would close our eyes just to open them for a new day where we can jump into the fresh air, race  in the ponds and puddles, run in the dirt and mud and return home in the evening with nothing but scratches and wounds to show. Looking at today’s children huddled into  their computers and video games, one very often wonders whether  they ever know the smell of nature? Do they ever have time to  inhale the fresh air?

By the eldest son

Caged birds

I feel that those feelings, thoughts or experiences carried by my posts were in fact buried deep in  my mind for several years. They were like caged birds waiting for some one to open their cage and let them free. Every time I publish a post I feel that I have released "those birds" and that they are flying high up in the sky Then I heave a sigh of great relief and extreme satisfaction never experienced before.

I begin my day by signing into our family blog. The first thing I do is to click on the statistics section on the dashboard . While doing so I am not so different from a student searching for his or her exam results in terms of curiosity, eagerness and even tension . It is very gratifying to note that the responses of our esteemed viewers belonging to different parts of the world have been very encouraging as the total number of page views as of today stands at 545. I am aware that our readers are more learned and informed than me and hence humbled by their generous gesture. But I am badly in need of their feedback and valued comments to enable me to tailor my style of writing in accordance with their tastes. But unfortunately most of them remain anonymous. I wish I could meet them and tell them "Thank you Sir/Madam for your relentless support "

I did meet one of our blog followers last month in India who told me how she was in tears when she went through one of my posts .Then I did not know how to respond to her and was literally speechless . Another follower had to say that one of her hostel mates who had never had the habit of reading started borrowing books from the library after reading some of the posts in our blog.. Such responses have taught me that though money matters there are still certain things in this world beyond the reach of money and that human beings where ever they are join hands in the their love of good, rejection of evil and solidarity with those experiencing pain.

We were recently in Kerala to solemnize the wedding ceremony of my eldest son who, despite his busy schedule as a doctor, finds time to publish his posts in our blog. Marriages are occasions to renew and reiterate  the bonds of love and friendship. I had some friends whom I had not met or contacted for more than 20 years as I did not know their whereabouts. I was lucky that I could locate a few of them who attended the wedding with their families. When they came and hugged me and we exchanged forgotten stories of selfless love and sacrifice all of us did experience an aching joy as Wordsworth had put it.

On many such functions I have witnessed uninvited and starving human beings waiting outside the kitchen area entreating the kitchen workers to give them something to eat. I have been so far a passive spectator such a nerve-racking sight. Praise be to God we were able to ensure that each and every person who came to the function irrespective of their creed caste colour financial status were welcomed on equal footing.

A few weeks prior to the wedding, I had spoken to the mother of my daughter in law telling her how impressed I was when I attended a marriage function a few years ago in our area in which bride had worn no ornaments at all . After ending the telephone conversation, I thought I should not have gone to such an extent to create an impression that my daughter in law should wear no ornaments on the occasion of her marriage as I did not mean it. When I discussed the matter with my only daughter, she assured me that there was nothing wrong in taking such a stand about a matter that still cause sufferings and hardships to many families in Kerala. Keralites know that though our State boasts of 100% literacy, ruthless customs and tradition still plague our society  and  what the marriage of a girl in a family entails as the demands of bridegrooms are strange and sometimes stupid in the sense that people living in huts and cannot even afford to bear their day to day expenses and sometimes starving  are called upon to provide dowry and ornaments worth of large amounts of money if they want to conduct the marriage of their daughters.

This time when I was at home in Kerala, I enjoyed walking in the shallow waters of the fields in front of our house. As I began to pick up some of the water plants, some of my neighbours and even my better half wondered what I was doing. Though I told them it was a part of my physical exercises, the truth was that I was looking at each and every part of those water plants as if I was seeing them for the first time. My esteemed readers may recall that I had written how blessed my village was with beautiful trees, plants and birds. In the past I was taking such blessings of God for granted whereas I am now able to enjoy and care for them .There lies the difference . This is one of the gifts of blogging. Many thanks and kudos to Google.

By the father

Bits and pieces

Tonight I am leaving with my parents for that part of the world often called as God's own country which is Kerala . I cannot describe my feelings exactly but can only say that I am excited. We are going to attend the wedding of my eldest brother Wadukakka and a new member named Mukhlisa (an Arabic word meaning sincere) is going to join our family. We are awaiting her arrival eagerly. The poor fellows had to wait for one year after their engagement mainly due to my father's work schedule and partly owing to my school vacation timings. I miss my Wadukakka too much. He is now doing his PG course in medicine in Chandigarh in India. I have not seen him for the last two years. My parents and other relatives say that I resemble him . I have kept some of my drawings to show them to him. It is from him that I got the inspiration to draw. My father had told me that Wadukakka had won many prizes in drawing, painting, cartoon and essay writing while he was studying in Doha. I have not won any prizes so far but there is still time ahead . As per his instructions, I am now attending drawing classes and  have started participating in drawing competitions as well.

Recently we shifted to a new house in Doha which is more spacious than the one we were living in. It has been painted in light green as per my request. Those who call at our house say it looks nice. I got the idea of light green colour from a cartoon I had watched. My beloved mom works hard to keep the house neat and tidy. Due to her constant care and attention, the white marble floor always shines. She does not want to see any dark spot on the floor, however tiny they are. She scolds my father and Munnukakka when they soil the floor, drops their clothes here and there , forget to switch off the light while going out .Some times they even do not remember to lock the door when  they go for work in the morning when my mom will be sleeping. She  sometimes wakes up from her sleep as if she had a dream to find that the door is not locked . Unfortunately both my dad and elder brother are careless in such matters.

My mom cooks very delicious meals. She enjoys everything she is doing whether it be cleaning or cooking. The curries she prepares are so tasty. In the kitchen she has to prepare three types of dishes. I like roasted beef with some sauce in it whereas my elder brother Munnukakka prefers beef roasted dry. In addition, she has to prepare low fat dishes for my father. My father likes chicken curry. He jokes saying that it is because his family name "Kozhippurath" is a Malayalm word that literally means " on chicken's back". He says that there  are several other funny family names in North Kerala which if translated to other languages will create laughter among the listeners.

My father told me how happy he was when my class teacher during the last parent- teacher meeting told him that I was perfect every respect . He added that the only negative aspect my teacher pointed out was that I was shy and that he then had told her that he and his children were also shy and that it might be a genetic problem.

By the youngest son

Indigestible

The exam in class- VI in the upper primary school in our village in India was in progress supervised by one of our teachers. While answering the question paper , I noticed that a student sitting in front of me was cheating. I stood up spontaneously and directed the attention of the supervisor to what the cheating student was doing. The teacher stared at me in anger and shouted " Shut your mouth , it is none of your business." You can imagine why that scene is still live in my memory and why I remember the face of that teacher though 47 years have elapsed since it occurred .

I was attending the marriage of one of my relatives at the age of around 14 years or so . When I noticed bride's father shouting at a feeble man among the invitees , I went there to find out what was happening. The poor fellow had apparently gone there hoping that they would give him something to satiate his hunger as the signs of starvation were evident on his face. Instead of realizing the helplessness of that person and giving him something to eat, or at least dealing with him politely, my relative had no scruples to drive that poor fellow out of the function. I still remember the pale face of that helpless person while he was leaving the courtyard of the house where the function was conducted and the derisive laughter of the bride's father and lament on being compelled to be a passive spectator on such occasions.

Once one of my close relatives hired a carpenter to make table on contract basis. In those days carpenters were casual workers When the work was over, both my relative and the carpenter realized the amount of money agreed upon between them was disproportionate with magnitude of the time and energy spent by the latter and that he was entitled to some  more money in appreciation of the work carried out . But when my relative gave the carpenter exactly the contracted amount of money , I saw him imploring my relative to have mercy on him. Though my relative had not violated the terms of the contract and I knew that he was a person experiencing financial stringency, I do not know why I still feel that my relative had not treated the carpenter fairly.

The lady whom I saw searching for food particles in a garbage can in a city like London, the people sleeping inside  tunnels after laying a sheet before them prompting the passers by to give them some change in some European cities and the young men whom I saw in the oil rich Saudi Arabia that too near the holy Kaaba bringing the devotees the holy water of zamzam and laying carpets for prayers before them with an imploring look , are some other matters I sill find it hard to digest.

I will spare no efforts to preserve those memories related to incidents that occurred at a very early stage of my life as they continue serve as a deterrent and safety valve in my life. I am glad that my four children including the youngest one have learned to share the grievances of their fellow beings. Some of my close friends in India remind me that even after working 34 years in Qatar, I do not have a permanent source of income when I become physically incapable to work. Once when a broker approached me to buy a property , my children stopped me saying that God had given us more than what we deserved and wondered what else I needed.They  were indeed right, are there any other assets more precious than being blessed with such children?

By the Father

Prick of the conscience

Here in Doha the summer with hot and humid weather in its train is departing and the winter is scheduled to arrive at any time. The other day when  I woke up at around 3 a.m., I thought I would to go for a morning walk though it was too early. When I began to wear my so called track suite, my better-half said “ It is still dark honey , where are you heading?”. “ It is OK my darling let me try, don’t worry, be happy”, I assured her and walked away wishing her sweet dreams.

The sky was cloudless though there were slight showers accompanied by thunderbolts the other night , a very rare phenomenon in a country like Qatar. A young man was crossing the road with a heavy load of newspapers and magazines on his bicycle . I have very often wondered about the safety of these poor workers on bicycles in the midst traffic congestion and crazy drivers especially since the same newspapers had carried recently the story of their Indian proof reader, hit and killed by a hasty driver while  he was crossing the road.

In Doha corniche one can walk comfortably and enjoy the incredible colour of the bay in the day. When I began to walk, the blowing breeze unearthed a series of events that were buried deep in my memory. It seemed to me that they were waiting in a row to be released from their mandatory internment. ; the very old ship that I boarded in June 1976 from Bombay to Doha , the nausea that the smell of sea caused in me ,the seagulls that swallowed small fishes, the long fish that struggled on the hook of one of the crew engaged in sea angling, the awe that boundless sea invoked in me, the happiness that dolphins and other large fishes jumping up in the air gave me, the man whom I saw jailed in a narrow room in the ship for trying to board the ship illegally, the ship’s stopover in Dubai port after six days , the man whom I saw dancing in joy in a boat in Dubai port , the ship’s arrival after seven days in Doha , some of my evenings in this seacoast to enjoy one of the region’s superb sunsets, the reveries that such a sight sparked in me, the hope that the air crafts departing from Doha International airport gave me and the last but not the least the letter I wrote to my close friend Abdul Latheef living in India to the effect that the blue sky was far away quoting from a  melodious Malayalam song sung by Yesudas" Akale..... Neelaakashsam" (blue sky is so remote  )in the sense I had miles to go.

While returning home I stopped for while to look at the cat lying dead on the road side. I was apparent it was  hit by a driver a few minutes ago . The dead cat still disturbs my mind . One can understand if  it is a rare phenomenon on the streets of Doha.Cats were imported into Qatar in eighties to control rats.  Now a days rats are seldom seen .  Drivers do not stop their vehicles when they see a cat crossing the road. Though I try to console my conscience on the pretext that we are living in an age in which human beings do not care even for their fellow being’s life, needless to say about animal lives, my conscience commands me to refrain from rationalizing such offenders..

By the Father

A visit I cannot forget

My siblings argue that I am the luckiest among them for various reasons, the first and foremost , they say, is my visit to London .It is true that  I visited   London in the company of my parents in August , 2007. It so happened that my father's boss once and only once   allowed him to take his family with him when he sent him abroad. My siblings were not living in Doha at that time. that is all




Me and my beloved Mom before Buckingham Palace

  



Skating in Hydepark

Though my dad took us to  tourist attractions like Buckingham Palace, London Isle, Trafalgar Squire etc, now only I am learning their historical importance as I was then only 9 years old. The first day when we went out for a morning walk in Hyde Park, I saw people jogging, cycling and children skating there . I told  my parents to buy me  a Roller Skate but they as usual began to put forth lame excuses such as  I would fall down and sustain injuries, it is too costly for us to by in London, I could have it in Doha and so on so forth .Then I resorted to the most popular and efficacious weapon widely used by children like me around the world viz. crying. Then my father  surrendered unconditionally. When I started skating he realized that every thing was under control.

The Serpentine Lake in the Hyde Park hosts a number of birds that nest in a man made small island in the middle of it  with congenial surroundings for them  to nest and nourish. I could recognize only ducks and swans among them besides the pigeons visiting them to share their joy while eating food grains and dry bread pieces given to them by tourists. While we were walking along the Serpentine Lake, some of these birds were swimming in the lake and  others were mingling with the visitors feeding them on the bank of the lake . It was for the first time that I was seeing some of those birds so closely. When my mom tried to feed them these brids  ran to her to snatch the bread pieces from her  , tens of pigeons and sparrows rushed to her to grab food grains from her hand and some of them even sat on her shoulders for a while competing with other birds to take what she gave them. It was indeed a splendid scene.

The only bird I have seen so closely in India was parrots carried in cages by the so called fortune tellers and soothsayers . They roam in the rural areas to exploit the illiterate and some times even  educated villagers. Some cards are laid before these people and the door of the cage is open to let parrot go out and take one of the cards from which they claim that they can tell the future of the person concerned . The parrot will not fly away since it does not know that there is  a world out side other than its cage to which it returns soon after its mission  is over.

Serpentine Lake

My dad tells me that he does not like to see birds in cages , that he still remembers the opening verses a Malayalam poem he had learned in upper primary classes “ Vittayakkuka Koottilninnenne nhanottuvaanil parannu nadakkatte( please free me from the cage, let me fly freely in the air) by Naalaappattu Baalamaniyamma, the mother of the celebrated writer Kamala Surayya ( Madhavikkutty) and  that he loves to watch flocks of birds flying high up in the sky ..

It seemed to me that London was indeed a land of flowers, parks and gardens. Wherever we turn there were beautiful flowers to welcome us . There were shallow ponds in these gardens where we saw yellow, red and black fishes swimming comfortably as there was nobody to catch or harm them, every one  was instead  feeding them . Since the water in some of these ponds were crystal clear, we could see even their bottom .

In the Hyde park there are large trees with lush green leaves.The trees and plants in London are well protected  in London. One can see rabbits andsquirrels running near the bushes  in the park . When I tried to feed a squirrel, it ran to me and took the bread piece from my hand. Though I tried to pat it , it soon ran away but I am glad I was able at least to feed it

 The neatness of the streets of London, the electronic card we had used to open the hotel room, the punctuality of hotel room service, the electronic road map in the car we travelled showing us where we were  and  the cartoon channel they had specially  turned for me  were the other things that had impressed me.

By the Youngest Son