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

City of lakes , Land of the Loyals

Udaipur, popular in the world tourism  as the Land of lakes and Venice of the east ,  is the abode of the Rajputs , the brave warriors of India . It is named after Raja Udai Singh and built up by Raja Rana Pratap. Both of them fought their whole life against the Mughal empire.A small group against a large army has always been written in the annals  of history in golden letters .History is not  always written by the winners .



Statue of Maha Rana Pratap on his chetak



Arriving at Udaipur Airport we were welcomed by a statue of Raja Maharana Pratap on his famous horse Chetak .The climate was cool and pleasant compared to Chandigarh. We were looking for options to reach the Gayathri Medical College where we had to attend a conference. The prepaid service was too costly and hence we decided to hire a " Vikram", a larger version of autorickshaw. A  slow moving  vehicle, it is  a major contributor to the noise and air pollution in the city .This is,  however, a common man's vehicle and  should in no way be questioned .We didn't get Vikram , but  hired a mini Tempo pet named "Chupa Rustham"(silent lover).



The chupa Rustham(the silent lover)

Udaipur is a pleasant place with many mountains and lustrous  lakes.Contrary to my belief that desert dominates Rajasthan , Udaipur is   full of granaries.The atmosphere was cool    and there was an   intermittent  refreshing drizzle the whole day.It was a great relief for us hailing from the hot and humid climate of Chandigarh.We had arrived a day earlier and had ample time to visit the city.

We visited the City palace of the Kings of Mewar, the second largest palace of India after the Fort of Tippu Sultan at Mysore . The palace has  a splendid display of the history of the Mewar . I would like to share some incidents in the history which took to  my heart .

Maharana Udai Singh , the founder of Udaipur was a baby when his uncle Vikramadithya Singh was assassinated .In those days  it was  a command practice among   rulers   to get rid of   any potential threat to their throne , Banbir therefore decided to remove   young Udai Singh too . But Udai's nurse Panna Dhai decided to sacrifice her own son to save Udai from his uncle Banbir by taking  him to Kumbhalgarh. Knowing that her own child had no chance to live  , she  left her child in Uday's cradle to be killed instead of  her master, the gravest ordeal   a mother can undergo. Her name will be remembered  as long as Udaipur  exists in the world map.

Battle of Haldigatti

 Maha Rana Prathap was the only King of Mewar who really  staged    Resistance to  the mighty Mughal Empire . His  famous battle of Halidigatii is a shining stone in the history of struggle against oppression. During the battle his famous steed Chetak is reported  to have jumped over the elephant of the Mughal general Mann Singh. Maha Rana Pratap 's lance throw just missed Mann Singh by a whisker . But Chetak was wounded on his leg by the tusk of one of the elephants He fell in the battlefield with his master. Seeing this the Mughal army  advanced  towards  their enemy leader . But Chetak stood up and escaped limping from the battle field, jumping across the 22 ft Gomthi river on his way taking his master to safety . The loyalty of the animal  moved even  the heart of Shakti Singh, brother of Maha Rana Pratap who had  allied with the Mughal Emperor . Chetak took his final breath there .This incident is famous in Rajasthani folklore, a song “O Neele Ghode re Aswar” (O Rider of the Blue Horse) commemorates  it. The loyalty of an animal surpassing even a brothers love .



view of udaipur from the City palace



Jhala man Singh , a soldier in Raja Rana Pratap's army exhibited extraordinary valour, bravery and sacrifice . Seeing that his King was wounded in the battle he wore the crown and royal emblem of Raja Rana pratap to confuse  the Mughal army into thinking he was the king, an ancient version of camouflage  He took the entire attack of the Mughal army on himself ultimately sacrificed  his life in the battle .In Present day Udaipur, the descendants of Jhala still carry the emblem of Mewar as their coat of arms as conferred upon them by Maharana Pratap.



If you happen to go through newspapers  and watch visual media  your eyes would be weary of  seeing news of human betrayal, . husband cheating his wife , children assaulting   their parents for money , servants stealing the property of their masters , people deceiving their own life by  committing suicide , neighbour feuds , even pet animals attacking their masters in a state of madness . Do we hear such stories of loyalty and sacrifice now a days  ? Do our children know what it means to be a real human being  .



Me with my friends at the city palace



A Picnic, fun or pain

While living in India I had requested my parents to take me to Vega land or Dream World several times and I don’t know why my requests were never granted . They might have their own excuses or justifications to put forth before their second Qatar born child. What ever it may be I did not wreck my brain brooding over its pros and cons.

Here in Doha where I was born in 1998 the situation is entirely different. Being the youngest child of my parents I am lucky to enjoy their love and affection more than my siblings. My father had told me  how my two brothers, Wadukakka and Munnukakka, waited eagerly for my arrival when my mom was expecting me, how each of them argued that I resembled him, how Munnukakka cried when one of my father’s friends said that I resembled Wadukakka and how I used to sleep beside my sister asking her to tell me stories of elephants . I know how much  my parents love me.  I do miss my only sister and  Wadukka who now live in India. My dad does not forget to hug me and  pat on my head almost every day and even asks me to sit on his lap when my mom reminds him that I am no longer a child but a grown up boy.

Therefore when  my class teacher announced once  that a trip was being organized to visit jungle Zone I knew that my request to join my class mates would be welcomed and supported by my parents. I have never been to such an amusement park. But it seemed to me that the time chosen was inappropriate as I was suffering from severe tooth ache. It was not a tooth ache in the real sense of the term as the cause was that one of my teeth was ready to give way to a new one eager to join my jaws. I have very often wondered why people scream when are riding on roller coasters and other rides. When I began to ride I soon realized why they do so. First I played a car racing game. There was a lot of fun in it that I forgot about my tooth. When I came out, my tooth ache  was back again . Then I went to the roller coaster. . But I didn’t scream but felt dizzy. On such occasions I clutched the handles. There was one part where monsters and spiders were shown to scare us. But they were not at all scary but were instead boring. But the fun part was when the track turned around a bit and then it seemed to me that I was going to fall down but the train was static and did not move during this process.

I had a fun time. I even played on a ride in which the carts  we sat in were lifted up high and suddenly brought down at a very high speed. This process was repeated for some time. I was terrified especially since I was afraid of heights. After that my tooth pain worsened. When I returned to school everyone was talking about the trip and me still suffering from somewhat unbearable tooth ache. So I don’t know whether it was a painful or pleasing experience.

By the Youngest Son.

Faithful friends

A dog is often described as man's best friend. In sixties when I was schooling, my father had a pet dog. He was white in colour, agile and alert. Until its death, it did not bite or harm human beings physically. In those days dogs were not kept in kennels but were let loose unless and until they were ferocious. Our dog roamed in our village and thus became popular among the villagers. The children preferred to call him valiyatharayile moothaappa or elder uncle of valiyatharayil (our house name). I liked to compare his roaming to an inspection tour to maintain law and order in the village . But unfortunately he had some times stolen baskets of fresh fish and bowls of cooked rice from the houses of poor fishermen living in huts. When such people complained to my dad. I had seen him scolding his dog and the latter lying down in a prostrating posture before his master wagging its tale as if to apologize for his mistake.

One day a rabbit belonging to an affluent family living in the vicinity of our house was found dead beside its cage. The owner alleged that it was killed by our dog after breaking its cage. I don’t remember how my dad had dealt with their complaint. As far as I was concerned , the incident symbolized an act of heroism performed by our dog for breaking a cage supposed to be invincible . Unfortunately another rabbit of the same person was killed after a couple of days. This time they complained to the village officer. After tough negotiations, my dad had to agree ultimately to their demand to shoot and kill the dog which was of course something unbearable for us especially for my dad. They engaged a person possessing a gun for this mission . He was a bird hunter by profession. Since the dog was very strong and fast, they knew it could not be shot on sight. My dad was therefore even asked to chain his dog. One can imagine my father's dilemma on such an occasion.

I still remember how my dad had called his dog on that inauspicious day and how the latter had bowed his head to be chained in strict obedience though he had never been chained before. I looked at the person who was going to kill my dog. Though he was a thin man in his sixties wearing spectacles and looking tired, he was an executioner in my eyes. My dad tied the other end of the chain to a coconut tree in the adjacent plot of land and people gathered around the tree to witness the event. I became restless and my pulse rate increased. I ran away from our home and stood at a distance whereby I would hear or see nothing. After a few minutes I heard people booing and hissing. When I returned to our house my father told me that as soon as the hunter tried to aim his gun at the dog, it jumped, broke the chain and ran away sparking laughter among the onlookers. We thought that our dog would never return to our house but it did return next night but was tired and scared .

When they came again accompanied by the shooter after one or two days, the dog was sleeping under the jack fruit close to our house. After seeking permission from my father, the man shot at our dog. It screamed in pain and fled without allowing the person to shoot him once gain. We thought that the dog would die while running away and we would never see him again but it was a pleasant surprise to us when he returned home after one or two days limping as he was shot on one of his forelegs. I can still see the wound on his leg in my mind. There were no other wounds or fractures on his body.

Though they approached my dad once again to shoot his dog, the latter never allowed them to touch him telling them it was enough. His wounds soon healed, he resumed its roaming in our village and lived with us a few more years until he died of geriatric ailments.

In 1994 when I was living in Doha as a bachelor, a female cat used to frequent my room. It was a beautiful and healthy cat yellow in colour with black stripes on its body. She began to push her head or rub her body against my leg to show its affection and appreciation and I enjoyed her innocence. Sometimes I inadvertently stepped on its body but what struck me was that it only screamed in pain but never growled or reacted violently as other cats do. Whenever I went to mosque to pray, she used to accompany me up to the mosque and wait until I finish my prayer. If the door of my room was closed when she came and she knew I was in the room she would jump and open the door by pushing its handle. The photo of the cat opening the door in this way is still in our old album. It soon gave birth to five beautiful kittens. After a few months , it disappeared all on a sudden . Its fate might not be different from several cats being hit and crushed by cars on the streets of Doha.

I remember a pious and ascetic Muslim scholar, Alwaye Musliyar by name, who lived in a mosque in the city of Chavakkad whose hobby was feeding cats. He seldom spoke to people. I had watched tens of cats running to him and snatching food from his hand while he fed them smiling and some times speaking to them.

By the father

Rural Simplicities

When ever I think of my village in South Kerala situated around 2000 miles away from Qatar where I now live , it brings nostalgic memories. My village is sandwiched between Arabian sea in the west and a canal in the east. In the not so distant past, lush green paddy fields, ponds and coconut palms adorned my village . Mangoes, jackfruits, papayas and different verities of bananas were in abundance. Cashew trees produced sweet and beautiful fruits and delicious nuts .Since its branches grew side ways children climbed on them and played.

Bats used to come during their nocturnal journeys to suck the nectar of banana flowers . In those days , they nested on a banyan tree in the nearby village by hanging themselves on it. The sight of bats hanging on banyan tree in large numbers resembled brown handbags hung in a leather shop.

There were rare verities of plants and trees no more seen these days. Mmurukkumaram or Indian coral tree is one among them . They flower at the peak of dry season when they are completely leafless. I still remember such a tree covered by pure red flowers. Just visualize a tree that sheds its leaves and replaces them with red flowers that envelop it as whole. Was it like a red silk carpet , oh no, it was more enchanting and enticing , something that words cannot express, a feast for ones eyes to the extent that now, after forty years, I can still visualize the splendid scene and derive an immense pleasure from it.

 

My parents used to grow vegetables like vellarikka (white gourd), padavalanga( snake gourd), mathanga (pumpkin), kaippakka ( bitter gourd) etc .close to our house for domestic consumption. For children like me in those days what mattered was watching the plants grow up and bear fruits. The seeds were sown in a specially prepared area in the soil and watered manually every day. Chemical fertilizers were rare in those days and ash or dry cow dung was instead added to the soil . Every morning I used go and check whether the seeds had sprouted. The tiny and tender leaves emerging from the soil afforded me extreme satisfaction tinted with happiness. Our joy and excitement grew hand in hand with the growing vegetable plants. On some occasions I could see crystal like dew drops on the leaves of these plants early in the morning . Though I knew that it was just a water drop, I had several times tried to touch them to experience its soothing effect. When the leaves of these plants fluttered in the breeze, and buds and flowers appeared on the plants , our joy knew no bounds. On such occasions, children like me were like butterflies flying in the air.

When our domestic animals like cows or goats got pregnant it created hopes in the minds of children like me. We were not at all concerned about how far the animals were useful but were eagerly waiting for the safe delivery of these animals. We were aware that when the udder of a cow was reddish and full, the delivery was imminent. We knew that when the cow became restless or made unusual movements, it meant that it was going to give birth. I had held my breath on such occasions . If the calf stood up and started drinking milk soon after its birth I was assured that both the mother and her kid were safe and then  I heaved a sigh of relief. In those days I did not know that my parents like many others in the village preferred  female calves to male ones and that their attitude was in sharp contrast to their attitude towards babies born to them.

During the rainy season, fishes like braal( banded snake head), kadu (stinging catfish), mushoo (walking catfish) , karippidi (climbing perch) etc migrated from the rivers to the fields and when water level in the shallow fields was low they moved to the nearby ponds which are always deep to the extent that a person who did not know how to swim could be drowned in them . People used to enjoy catching these fishes mainly by angling using baits like earth worms or cockroaches or similar creatures. Fish trap called Kuruthy or Koodu was another method of fishing.

Once in an year the water in these ponds was drawn out manually or using pumps . Different species of fishes in large quantities could be seen struggling in the mud. A part of the harvest was distributed among the neighbors and friends and the rest was salted and dried to be used during rainy season . In those days when there was no fridge or oven, these items were kept in wooden trunks . Still they were preserved well for months. The dried fish was so appetizing and had a delicious flavour.

To catch fishes from the mud remaining after the water in the pond was drawn out was easier said than done. There were persons specially experienced in this field. Children were warned not to venture into this lest they should be stung by the catfish. On some occasions I had ignored these warnings and joined the elders in catching fish from the mud and thus found how painful it is to be stung by a catfish. Once it stings a person, the injured area starts bleeding and we were advised to pass urine on the particular area to avert its swelling and inflammation. It was one of the several traditional therapeutic methods prevailing in those days.

Today my village has a different story to tell, it is a never ending story of the ruthless exploitation of its land and resources by its dwellers due to their avarice, its struggle with huge concrete structures,  the dearth of flora and fauna, and so on so forth.

By the father

The World of Alzheimer

Every year on 21st September, Alzheimer Association across the globe unite to recognize World Alzheimer's day. Just imagine the situation when one day some one so close to you whether he or she be your dad, mom or brother or son or daughter all on a sudden fails to recognize you and begins to treat you as a stranger. I have to confess that it will be something unbearable for a person like me hailing from the Kerala State of India. Those born in this part of the world are found to be emotional and ultra-sensitive to the extent that there are always reports in the press of persons dying while attending the funeral ceremony of their next of kin or husband dying while burying his wife or people dying of heart failure on hearing some sad news or students of even primary classes committing suicide when they fail in exams. It is also reported that people dying of cardiac arrest and heart attack are mostly from Kerala when compared to the other States of India.
That is why the Malayalm film 'Thanmathara'( molecule)by the veteran director Blessy based on P. Padmarajan's short story Orma(memory) was a big success though the trend these days is to watch something that entertains or amuses the mind as the people are weary of watching victims of of explosions and cold blooded killings in the media. The film Thanmathra is a vivid and efficacious portrayal of the effects of this disease on the life of an individual and his family. It is the story of Rameshan Nair, an honest Kerala State Secretariat employee,his loving wife and two kids who were leading a happy and peaceful life. To their utter dismay, Rameshan Nair starts to develop problems with his memory and when he is taken to the hospital he is diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease. The family is devastated by this shocking news but tries to adjust themselves to the situation with a lot of determination and courage tinted with extreme sorrow even when Rameshan Nair eventually leaves this world for good.

The film had also sparked controversies as usual and created unwarranted suspicion in the minds of a number of viewers who presumed that they were afflicted with this disease as reported by neurologists and psychiatrists when this film was released
The other day when one of the well known writers in Kerala while participating in a discussion on this disease in a TV Channel broke into tears when he was explaining his ordeal when his father was afflicted with Alzheimer's disease. All the participants agreed that nothing concrete is done to alleviate the sufferings of kith and kin of persons suffering from this disease as though the world is yet to recognise the gravity of the situation created by Alzheimer's disease.

By the  father

Sleepless nights

The other night I was in the ward when one of our patients fell ill after the surgery. In such cases we are supposed to do bedside duties to take care of the patients.Most of the time the condition of the patients will be stable by the time they are shifted to the ward and for the resident doctor it is just a matter of utilizing the time to sit and read comfortably.

Bed No. 10 is notorious for patients who stay in the ward for long duration.We usually joke when a patient gets admitted to that bed commenting how unlucky he or she is. The bed is strategically placed to be just in front of where we resident doctors sit so that we could have a quick access to the patient in case of emergency.I have seen the condition of normal patients worsening unexpectedly in that bed.

A middle aged old man who underwent a neck surgery was admitted there.His removed disease was very close to his vessels and hence he was a potential candidate for artery rupture on the 8 to 10th day of the surgery which was a very dangerous situation.We used to consider them as mobile time-bombs in the ward. I was tired after fasting and found it difficult to concentrate in the book I was reading. My eyes wandered off to the patient in bed No. 10, even though I was doing bed side duty for another patient. The man had a big bandage covering his entire neck which made his chin to be be raised up.His position reminded me of the verse in the Holy Quran which mentions people who don't listen to the Truth, 'and verily there were iron collars to their neck lifting their chin which made their heads lift up " .He was sitting in his bed.The intra venous line was connected to an antibiotic infusion.He was looking at the bottle, me and at the medicine flowing to his vein by holding the regulator of the infusion. There were roughly 3 or 4 drops left in the bottle which prevented him from sleeping. The drip had somehow stopped. He was trying his best to make these last drops fall by checking the infusion regulator, massaging his veins and squeezing the bottle,but those drops refused to obey him. I wondered why he was so adamant to get the last drops of medicine.Was it because he wanted full utilisation of his money or was he fully confident of the medicine. I knew that those last drops would not cause much difference in his case. He was not complaining to the nurse as most of the patients do. I went to him and removed the intra venous line. He just thanked me and laid in his bed for a much awaited sleep. But I was quite sure with the large bandage compressing his neck a good sleep was a far possibility for him. He did not have any relative around because we usually send them out to reduce the rush in the ward and to prevent the contagion. I closed my unread book and went to bed.

My friends used to complain to me about the state of my room. Busy schedule and my careless and lazy attitude leave my room so shabby that I sometimes prefer to sleep in the duty room. My bed consists of a pile of books and all I do is to push them aside and sleep on the other end.I remember what my sister used to say quoting her mother in law's comments about her son or my brother in law that even if a tigress gives birth in his bed he would just push it to the other end and sleep rather than cleaning it up. No wonder I have a bad backache on getting up due to my innocuous sleeping position which my friends used to call as my football kicking position.It takes at least 30 minutes for me to straighten my stiffened back . I rarely get a 6 hours sound sleep after joining the medical profession.

Seeing this patient I thought that after all at the end of the day what we all is badly in need of is a sound slumber which neither myself nor the patient is getting. May be this is life's way of teaching me that regardless of our status or position we long for the same thing.

By the eldest son

Helpless...

Cancer is the most dreaded disease I have ever come across . The mere mention of the disease weakens my spirits. As a doctor I am not supposed to have such a feeling and should remain positive to carry on . But this disease invades my good spirit day by day . The most striking feature of the disease is that once it starts growing , it wages a war against the body , weakens its system, attacks its vital centers , suppresses the morale of the patient and sends spies to all parts of the body to ensure that even if the main center is destroyed by the doctor , the deployed troops from distant sites in the body regroup and attack .It is a master disguiser sometimes and a silent killer as well . If God gives me permission to eradicate one disease, I will not think twice to answer . Such is the burden of the disease and the pitiable end the patient is afflicted with. Don't get the idea that all cancers are so . Some of them if detected in early stages can be resected or treated . This is not a documentary on the disease. I would just like to share some of my encounters with this ailment.

As an ENT resident in one of the prime institutes in India , our out patient department is really hectic . Patients crowding around the single door of our consultation room in a steaming summer the last place on earth you would like to be . I would confidently say that more than 50 % of the patients attending the clinic will be suffering from some or other type of cancer . A middle aged lady came from in between the queue claiming that she was an ayurvedic medical practitioner from Uttar Pradesh and she wanted to show one of her patients personally . Usually I hate people who upset the order of the queue and deal with them very harshly . As she personally came to see her patient get the right treatment I appreciated her good will and asked her to bring her patient . It was a middle aged lady with a neck swelling so large that she couldn't move her neck and breath properly . Such large thyroid ( a gland in the neck) cancers are not uncommon in this part of the world but when I asked the doctor what she was thinking of when she was treating I could understand why she personally brought the patient . With a bit of guilt on her face she told me that she had advised the patient to go to higher center long before . I asked her what she expected us to do then . She had no answer . But I appreciated her care and sincerity to bring the patient herself . I took the patient to my professor who right away asked them the same question, what they were doing the whole time . He asked me to get the investigations done at the earliest and proceed . About 60 % of patients with end stage cancer who come to us were already treated by quacks , alternative medicine practitioners and even allopathy doctors . When they reach an advanced stage they resort to us and then we will be left with palliative treatment only.

I always like Sardarjis ( sikh men of Punjab) . It may be because during my childhood ,I had a Major Singh uncle as our neighbour when we lived in Qatar . Steady turban and long beard always humble me with respect . One day a sardarji in his thirties with a smiling face came to my room complaining of an ulcer in the mouth . He told me it was a minor trouble for him but nevertheless wanted to show it. Seeing the ulcer I was quite sure that it was a cancer but of an early stage . I promptly explained the case to him and took special personal interest in working him up early since getting investigations done is a very long process here . In 10 days time he was fully worked up and I took him to the professor for dating for surgery hoping I could persuade him to give an early date . I was heart broken when I saw my professors diary of dates . He just helplessly looked at me and told me if I could show him a slot he would do it . He was right . His dates were full for 4 months and he was going on leave for 1 month in between . He told me to call the patient after 1 month to be listed in another consultants list . Then it was my role to explain to the patient the time lag . As I had already explained to him the investigations should be done on emergency basis , I found it very difficult to tell him to wait for another month . Contrary to my expectations he was a very understanding man and appreciating the efforts I made for him the readily obliged . But his parting question really shook me when he asked me , " doctor Saab , ithne din me ye bad tho nahi ho jayenge " ( Doctor , won't this disease advance by one month ) . Knowing very well the rapidly advancing nature of the disease , I could just tell him , " Let us hope for the best " . Fortunately after one month the disease not only did not advance much , but according to the patient, was the swelling shrank and he was even asking me whether the surgery was necessary or not . I told him that he was just lucky and not to spoil his luck by acting foolishly. I took him to the consultant and by God's graciousness he got operated the next week .

We have a tumour clinic wherein every Friday we discuss difficult cancer cases with radiotherapist , plastic surgeon and other faculties to reach a perfect decision . We take cases in turns . The patient allotted to me was a middle aged man already operated for cancer . We had removed his right eyes and cheek . He had also received maximum dose of radiation therapy and his type of cancer will not respond to chemotherapy . The discussion concluded quickly. He had developed a chest metastasis .The decision was to explain to the patient that we had no options left with us . So all we could provide him with was palliation . In other words ,he was to go home and wait for his end . As the resident in charge of the patient it was my responsibility to explain this to the patient . I was searching for appropriate words to tell him to go home and was nothing else we could do for him. The sad patient kept imploring me to do something . Seeing my dilemma my Senior came to my rescue . She told the patient , " Babaji , Hum bagwan nahi he "( Uncle , We are not Gods) . The patient left silently . She was right . Who are we to prescribe cure for patients when it is God who disposes

During one of our morning rounds my senior complained of mild abdomen pain . She asked me to complete her dressings she was doing in the ward as she was not feeling well . I obliged with no hesitation as she was one of my favourite seniors who taught me the basics of ENT . Next day she left the operation theatre early not feeling well again . During work up she was found to have a cyst in the abdomen either in the mesentry or the ovary . We joked with saying her that the surgeons would say it was from the ovary and the gynaecologist would call it a mesenteric cyst as both of want to evade case . Any way cysts are benign or harmless . After two days in the operation theatre I could not hear the news. It was found she had raised levels of a particular protein in her blood which is usually raised in cancers . It was a big blow to all of us . The usual joyful mood was transformed into melancholic . No one wanted to discuss the matter or to ask for details . Later she was diagnosed to have a borderline .May God help her to overcome her difficulties . Even though we learn , see and explain to people regarding diseases , it was only when someone close to us undergoes trial we really feel the gravity of the disease .

May God help all these people and help me to be of some help in their lives.

By the eldest son

Confession

Nicholar D Kristof is an American journalist, author, columnist and winner of two Pulitzer Prizes. He is widely known for exposing human rights abuses around the world. He is one of few journalists who have travelled twice to Iran. He recently travelled to West Bank and was teargassed by Israeli Security Forces.

I was touched by his article on the eve of Fathers day entitled " My father's gift to me" that appeared in the International Herald Tribune in which he recounts how his father an Armenian hailing from a noble family was imprisoned by Nazis and how he managed to escape to the United States where he learned English, earned his Doctorate at the University of Chicago and began his career as Political Science Professor. He quotes the following statement of his father " War, want, concentration camps, exile from home and homeland, these have made me hate strife but they have not made me loose faith in the future of humanity. If a man has been able to create arts, sciences and material civilisation, why should he be judged powerless to create justice, fraternity and peace".

The author laments that he feels fatherless on Fathers day as his father had died a few days ago at the age of 91 after leaving " a story book life " to his only child. He opines that we should celebrate the bequest of fatherhood with some thing simpler, deeper than artificial verse on store brought card. "Speak and hug from heart and soul while there is still time".

Another columnist - I don't remember his name- was explaining in one of his articles how much he missed his late father when he visited a particular spot together with his mother and how his mother sobbed adding that they would return to the same location next year when his father would be waiting there for them .
These are words of true love, affection and appreciation. I was with my parents during the last days of their lives . It was a golden opportunity to ask them to pardon my misbehaviour and misdeeds but I was too shy to do so. Now when some one misbehaves to me I rationalise it presuming that God is punishing me for mistreating my parents especially my father as I always had a soft corner for my mother. When I say mistreat I mean my arguments and disagreements with my father and my failure to rationalize their behaviour and nothing beyond that.
16 years have elapsed since my father left this world for good. Here in Doha when my friends call me Saidukka or Saidbhai or said , they in fact help me sustain my memories about my father . Whenever I visit my parents' graves while I am at home, I feel their proximity as if they are alive. Irrespective of his financial status, my father tried to educate me even if it involved knocking at doors he had never approached. I learned from him the principle of contentment and therefore I learned not to cherish any higher aspirations. He was very eager to preserve our dignity and was never ready to compromise on this matter. I used to go Edakkazhiyoor lower primary school, then known as Mannan School with our neighbours like Late Mohamed S/O Kader Musliyar, Velan etc. Mohamed had a very nice school bag in which once I put my books and carried it based on his request. I was not mature enough to realize the implications of such an act. I have to confess that I still act recklessly at many crucial issues. When my father caught me doing so, he did not scold me in front of my friends but when I returned from the school, he asked me not repeat it. Once Latheef's paternal uncle, the famous muezzin of Edakkazhiyur mosque, Mohamedkka, censured me for running here and there in the mosque while I was learning there. I obeyed him but did not forget to complain as usual to my father about him. My father went to question him but the poor man who commanded respect and reverence from our villagers due to his simple life and, his unique voice which pierced not only through the ears but touched the hearts of our villagers when he was calling for prayer, apologised saying that his purpose was not to harm me in any way but to teach me how to respect the sanctity of the mosque. When my father told me how he had questioned him and what his response was, I felt deeply disturbed and sorry and thought I should not have lodged any complaint with my father . May Allah forgive me for harming such a person.

By the father

Paradoxes

The distance between Dar Al Tawheed Intercontinental Hotel, Makka and the Haram seems to be around 500 Meters. The sound system at the holy Kaaba is electronically connected to the hotel rooms whereby the guests can hear the call for prayer in their rooms . What one has to do if he or she does not want his sound sleep during the sojourn not to be interrupted is to switch off the the button of the electronic device beside his bed. When one steps out of the hotel and walks towards the Haram, he or she meets African and local children, youths and women carrying small of packets of tissue paper or polythene bags and imploring you to buy them at any price. It is evident that theirs is an advanced form of begging. Once when a small girl  aged around  five years ran after us holding a small packet of tissue paper in the midst of the Pilgrims, I don't know why I felt pity on her and began to pat on her head, my fingers touching her soft, curly brown hair and her countenance cooling my mind. When one member of our group gave her a fifty Riyal currency note , I thought she was too  small to hold it and that currency would fly away from her hand. Then I was told that my fears were unwarranted as her mother was watching her closely and that she had been well trained for such a task.

These children are lucky when compared to their counter parts in India and some other Asian countries where they are abducted, mutilated and used for begging business. When I tried to visualize a situation in which a parent comes across his missing child maimed and mutilated among a group of beggars, a shock wave runs through my body, my hand shivers and my pulse rate increases. I sat looking at the photo of a couple whose child went missing while he was playing in the vicinity of their house in a news paper that carried this news item.

One can use the food grains in the hands of these children to invite pigeons and enjoy feeding them as many pilgrims do around the Haram. Some times I walked in the midst of these birds enjoying an ineffable pleasure while they ate food grains and moved like bashful brides, the shining feathers around their necks resembling gem studded necklaces. They revived nostalgic memories of my childhood when I had attempted in vain to catch and tame at least one of them

The area in front of Makka Hilton Towers and Dar Al Tawheed Intercontinental seems to represent the paradoxes and contradictions of this worldly life. On the one hand you meet affluent Muslims enjoying all types comforts and pleasures even while performing Omra or Hajj whereas on the other hand you come across human beings struggling to earn their bread and butter under the scorching heat of the sun or biting cold in front of their eyes.

I don't remember the author who said " Taj Mahal is the worst structure ever erected by mankind ....Marble conceives a multitude of sins etc..." .The white marble around the Haram has a different story to tell. A number of Saudi Youths could be seen waiting eagerly in front of the hotels , looking tired and their hands resting on wheel chairs". They ask the pilgrims coming out of the hotels around the Haram whether they need them to help the aged and physically weak persons to perform Haj or Omra rites especially the strenuous task of Tawaf around the Kaaba and the Saa'yu between Safa and Marwa mountains. The pilgrims are required just to sit on the wheel chairs pulled by these youths and the rest will be done by them. Despite the fact that they are prepared to bear this burden physically and mentally for pea nuts, some of the pilgrims who stay in Five star hotels could be seen bargaining with them. These jobless youths swallow their grievances and continue their struggle for existence. The white marble around the Haram will bear witness to their plight in the Hereafter.

By the father

P.S: Please share your thoughts on this  and other posts you have read.
My email: binsaed@hotmail.com

Sound Slumber

The weather in London these days is cloudy but one has to switch on AC when he or she goes to bed. The other day while I was walking to the Business Centre, Sonja Assenheimer, Guest Relations Supervisor, Mandarin Oriental Hotel - London greeted me saying 'good morning' as usual . But when she asked me if I had slept well, I took it in the negative sense presuming that she had noticed something indicating a sleepless night on my face . It was when I read the article " Suite dreams" by Bob Greene in the International Herald Tribune that I realized that her question was quite natural . A Suite in a hotel is a luxury accommodation comprising a bedroom plus a living room and some times kitchen depending upon the type of the suite. It is pronounced as Sweet and therefore it goes hand in hand with the word dreams and the reader can will have no problem in understanding what the writer means in both ways . Such a group of words spelt or pronounced the same but have different meaning is called homonym.

What Bob Greene tries to pinpoint in his article is that whereas at one time a business traveller checking into a hotel was seeking various types of pomp and pleasures, " now a days the universal craving that hotels seek to satisfy is a night of true deep shuteye with no distractions". He adds that in 2008, 56 Million sleeping prescriptions were written and that doctors say they are dealing with 80 separate sleep disorders . The writer believes that something seems to have gone wrong and concludes that " what we need in these nerve jaggling times is a night of sound slumber".

Years ago during my college days, one of my friends had easily discovered how somnolent I was and wrote in my autograph " Sound sleep is the cheapest pleasure one can afford, so sleep Mohamed go on sleeping." Once when I wrote one of my close friends that my main business was sleeping, he said his wife burst into laughter.

Here in London what my room mate Dr. Ibrahim and myself do when we wake up from sleep is to check the time shown in the clock beside our beds to see whether we have had a jet lag as we know that our body clock will be out of sychronisation and the body takes time to adjust itself to the new time zones.

By the father

FOSTALGIA

Fostalgia , as the annual gathering of Frook College Alumni Association is called, sounds and speaks like nostalgia or yearning for the past.. Fostalgia brings a multitude of sweet and sour memories in its train. More than 38 years have elapsed since I left Farook College after spending 5 years in the same campus. Still Time has failed to erase such memories from my mind since we had an emotional attachment to this institution from which thousands of students have graduated and are now working in different parts of the world. As Peter Kujawinski wrote "with great ferocity I have protected the memory of that time, so that in quite moments I can unwrap it and inhale its scent". When I recall those days I feel like smelling  a jasime flower and  I am endowed with " serene and blessed mood" as Wordswoth had put it.

The mess hall door of Iqbal hostel where I had stayed used to be closed a few minutes prior to meal timings. The hostel inmates flocked before the door and once the door was open they ran like pigeons running after food grains thrown before them. They were searching for the plates containing more rice or bowls having more mutton or chicken curry. The plates were of the same size and the quantity was the same. But due to human error it was possible that some plates or bowls have slightly larger quantities of food. They had no option to ask for another plate or some more curry as the quantity was limited like ration system. I was most probably the last person to dine and they interpreted it as a gesture of good will, discipline, patience so on and so forth where as the truth was that I had discovered that the curry remaining at the bottom of the pot would be thick and more delicious than what was served in the beginning. .

The hostel day was a memorable occasion. It was more or less like a wedding function except that  there were no bride, bridegroom or female invitees. Each inmate could invite his friends from other hostels. The hostel was decorated with colour paper and garlands . Students welcomed their guest from the gate and escorted them to their seat arranged in the courtyard of the hostel.

The teashop close to the college run by Athamakka was known among students as Atoms Hotel . The most favourite item in the tea shop menu was 'Sami' or beef so named after the Samis ( Brahmins )who lived in the nearby vegetarian hostel. It was reported that though they were supposed to shun meat they were stealthily eating beef from there. Thus beef came to be known as Sami. The beef served in his shop had a special appetizing flavour.

During the evenings, we used to walk to the nearby town of Ramanattukara . While walking, the breeze blowing from somewhere refreshed our minds and soothed our souls. It narrated the stories of our kith and kins living in the distant districts . Our chit-chat centered on our families and our thoughts revolved around our parents. The rose flowers in the gardens in front of some houses beside the road smiled at us as if they were telling us not to worry about them. In the evenings we went to the Chaliyar river shore and sat there to share our joys and grievances . The black waters of the river polluted by a factory which dumped its waste to it and its foul smell suffocated us . We were sorry that we had to  remain passive spectators to it. I don’t know whether there were environmental workers those days to defend the nature.

By the father

A New Start...continued

I love travelling , be it by bus, car ,train or air. I never miss an opportunity to visit places. My main hobby during the journey is to watch the world outside through window and observe lives of different people. For this reason I prefer travelling by train to other mode of transport . Every big railway station has a slum attached to it. Small houses resembling match boxes packed together, children running around , women cooking , old people sleeping in their varanda , people watching television huddled together in their unimaginably small visiting rooms , neighbours shouting one another etc .Everyone is busy with his or her own life , enjoying it to the full extent and playing their role in this world with full vigour .

My friend came five minutes before the train started moving . Now you can imagine the stress. I had been there waiting. But my pain was not over yet . Now she gave me a ticket in which my name was spelt wrong to the extent that it was literally not mine. Now I had to convince the ticket checker . Railway rules had become a little strict recently and some ticket checkers are really arrogant these days . I started thinkng of my options.

1. I could try convincing the ticket checker , which had the risk of getting caught. Morover , that would put me at the mercy of the ticket checker. I could escape by bribing him , but you never know some checkers become Raja Harishchadra in a minute.

2. I could distract the checker from looking at the name. But considering the fact that I am a terrible actor the chances of getting caught were so high .

3. As usual , wait and see .

But I decided to take the adventurous option. Sometimes I like the risky routes. What's the fun in life if one takes no risks . So when the checker came I pretended taking my ID card from my wallet with difficulty and showed it at a distance . Seeing that I would take time to show my ID he said it is OK. The poor guy fell for it . After all he was a friendly young chap .

So God blessing me with a splendid rain and employing a small trick I entered Chandigarh , hoping that the beautiful city would give me a new start .

By the eldest son

Serpentine Lake

While walking along the bank of the Serpentine Lake in the Hyde Park in London early in the morning , it is a soothing experience to watch the different species of birds swimming in the lake. They nest on an island in the middle of the lake full of trees and bushes which provide a safe haven for them to breed and grow up unharmed by human beings as even bathing is not allowed in this lake.
A skein of gees and a badelynge of ducks took me back to more than fifty years when rearing ducks was one of the means of livelyhood in Kerala State. The children in our village loved to watch hundreds of ducks moving from place to place accompanied by their supervisors travelling with them in small woodden boats which can hardly accoommodate more than one person. They were in search of feeding grounds for these birds especially during the rice harvesting season when the famers used to rent their paddy fields for a very short period of time to the duck farm owners against certain number of eggs. They came from the southern districts of Kerala and spoke a slightly different dialect of Malayalam language. The children in our area listened to them with curiosity tinged with a little bit of astonishment. I still remember how children like me to used to wait for these eggs which were cooked by our moms in different syles and how we enjoyed the duck-egg specialities.

Duck eggs were also hatched by the villagers using a setting hen for domestic rather than commercial purposes. . The incubation period was more than three weeks. We used to wait eagerly to see beautiful ducklings emerging from the eggs at the end of the incubation period. When the hen moved with ducklings she looked as if was she was so proud to look after them like their step mother as they were not her own chicks. To look at the ducklings piercing the egg shells with their tender beaks in a hurry to step into this world was an explicable experience denied to the the children of today due to the onslaught of technology which has robbed them of such innocent pleasures and amusments .

Among the birds one can spot in the Serpentine Lake is moorhen which is the Europen version of Kulakkozhi in Kerala where they nest close to ponds which may be the reason why they are called Kulakkozhi which literally means Pondhen. Some of the European moorhen have a read line on the upper part of their beak making it more beautiful than their counterparts in Kerala . They are so light that they can comfortably walk over the thick layer of some water plants enveloping ponds . Its chicks resemble normal chicken except that the former is black in colour and have long legs. As a boy I had enjoyed watching stealthly these chicks moving with their mother who will run and hide as soon as they spot human beings. As a part of childish adventures, once I had chased a moorhen in attempt to catch the bird when it is too tired to fly or run. When I caught her in this way, it laid an immature egg out of fear its shell so soft as a balloon. In those days it had occured to me to steal some moorhen eggs from the nest and incubate them along with the normal eggs using a setting hen to see if the mother hen would recognise the strangers among her children and how she treated them . I had also stollen the chicks of kingfisher from its nest and tried to raise them and was extremely sorry when all of them soon died . Years later exactly in 2000 when we employed a crazy Tamil homenurse to look after our ailing mother during the last few days of her life it was a coincidence the homenurse stole some eggs from the kulakkozhi nest adjacent to the pond in front of our house but I asked her to return the them to the nest . It may be that I wanted to repent for my mischievous activities as a child.

BY THE FATHER

A New Start

I still remember the day I came for admission. It was raining cats and dogs that Jan Shadabdi(train) was leaking. I had to keep my heavy luggage on my lap to prevent it from getting wet. Everyone had to do the same. A chaotic atmosphere in the train. The mother sitting beside me was yelling at her son to keep him away from the window. But he was more interested in soaking himself in the rain. Even though it was trouble, no one complained as the rain came in the midst of the hot summer.

As I am hailing from coastal area I was not used to the extreme type of wather. Even before coming here I was warned about the climate in Chandigarh. So I took it as a welcome sign from God. I had to spend the next three years of my life in this small yet beautiful union territory.

My day was full of uncertainities .But I had faced such situations many times before. First , my train ticket was with Gunjan, from my batch who was supposed to board the train with me from Delhi. But she was late since she had to visit her relative on the way. All I could do was to wait and hope that she arrives on time.Well I had reached the railway station three hours earlier. So I had a lot of time to wait and hope . I have been a type A personality in medical terms in my whole life. You asknow that this type , they say, tends to have a short life span since they are more prone to coronary artery disease because they are more fussy about perfectionism. I don't mean I make things perfect. I just fit in perfectly .So I was there in Delhi railway station waiting and hoping my friend arrives in time with my ticket .As usual I thought about the options before me.

1. I could wait for my friends. This was very easy under the circumstances .

2. I could take another ticket . Why take the risk . But there was not ticket available and I was out of work for some time and I needed to conserve as much money as possible.

3.I could ask my friend to tell me the ticket number and I could download it from the internet . I soon dropped that idea as i was too tired and my luggage was too heavy to carry and search for an internet .

So back to plan one . WAIT AND HOPE .

To be continued .............

By the eldest son