Adversity is big but man can be bigger than adversity

No other Indian city attracted me like Calcutta during my school/college times thanks to the regular updates about the city in our newspapers just because of the notable presence of the Communist Party in West Bengal. Besides, their literature and cinema attracted me very much. I always feel that there is a strong emotional-connect between the people of West Bengal and Kerala due to many factors like this. I visited the city for the first time in 2012 with great enthusiasm and many times in the last few years and explored the city a little bit. This helped me to understand, appreciate and relate things better when I started reading the City of Joy by Dominique Lapierre.

From the dates of its foundation in 1690 by some British merchants until the departure of its last Governor on August 15, 1947; Calcutta had epitomized the white man's domination of the globe. For nearly two and a half centuries, it had been the capital of the British Indian Empire and the largest city in the empire after London. It continued to be one of the most active and prosperous cities in Asia for one more decade in the post-independence era thanks to its harbour, numerous industries, metal foundries, chemical and pharmaceutical works, jute and cotton factories.

The city was also considered the cultural capital of the country being the homeland of Tagore, Ramakrishna, Vivekananda, Sri Aurobindo, Satyajit Ray and many others of the same stature. Calcutta produced more writers than Paris and Rome combined, more literary reviews than London and New York, more cinemas than New Delhi and more publishers than the rest of the country. 

However, for the migrant workers and refugees, Calcutta represented neither culture nor history. For them it meant only the faint hope of finding some crumbs to allow them to survive until the next day. As Lapierre narrates, the mass exodus of refugees towards Calcutta was caused by many incidents in the history such as the earthquake that shook Bihar in 1937, the famine that killed more than 3.5 million people in Bengal alone in 1943, India's independence and partition alone cast upon Calcutta some four million Muslims and Hindus fleeing from Bihar and East Pakistan, war with China in 1962, subsequently the war with Pakistan also added the number of refugees in the city. Besides, droughts, famines and cyclones in different parts of the Eastern side of the country added to the burden of the city. It was, of course, beyond the capacity of the city to accommodate and manage. The population residing in slums increased drastically. The governments could not even provide basic amenities to them. Many slept on pavements. Unemployment, poverty, epidemics and crimes added to the woes of the city and resulted in total collapse of the systems.

The central characters in this novel are Stephen Kovalski, a Polish Priest living a life of total renunciation in a Calcutta slum and working for its dwellers; Max Loeb, a young American doctor who joins Kovalski to run a clinic in the slum; Bandona, an Assamese girl who helps Kovalski and Max Loeb in their charity and relief work; and Hazari Pal, a farmer from rural Bengal affected by drought and set out with his family for Calcutta in search of work and end up in pulling a rikshaw for survival. For many who sought refuge in Calcutta since independence, the shafts of hand-pulled rikshaws provided a means of earning a living.

What appealed me personally in the book is the realisation of Stephen Kovalski that human suffering cannot be seen as part of the redemptive process as taught by religions and charity serves only to make people more dependable unless it is supported with actions designed to wipe out the actual roots of poverty.

As a whole, City of Joy celebrates the humanity's zest for life, capacity for hope and the will to survive against all odds. No matter what happens, life goes on with an energy and vigour that is constantly renewed.

Movie Review: Ennu Ninte Moideen (Malayalam)

"If our love is only a will to possess, it is not love"

I read the real life love story of Moideen and Kanchanamala that happened in Mukkam, Kozhikode during the 1960s in Mathrubhumi Illustrated Weekly a few years back. Moideen belonged to a well-known Muslim family while Kanchana is from a rich Hindu family. The crux of the story is the inter-religious love affair between them and their struggles to live together. The movie 'Ennu Ninte Moideen' was inspired by the lives of Moideen and Kanchanamala. Many such stories have already been told on the silver screen but what makes ENM different is the genuine attempts by the director, R. S Vimal, to do 100% justice to this eternal love story while adapting it for a film. It is, undoubtedly, one among the finest love stories ever filmed in Malayalam!

The mutual love of Moideen and Kanchana was so ardent but it was not at all about possessing the other which is evident from their long wait for more than twenty years to live together despite having opportunities to run away and start their own life. They do not even touch each other except for two instances during the second half of the movie where the storyline demands it. Moideen seemed to have been an admirer of Kanchana more than just being a lover which is evident from his dialogue, ‘her mind is more beautiful than her face’.

This movie is not focused only on Moideen and Kanchana. Apart from the tale of their love, it also talks about the sacrifices and sufferings of those around them. Yes, behind every love story, succeeded or failed, there are also stories of the pain endured by their near and dear ones which are clearly narrated in ENM and you may not find the same in similar movies.

It also talks how easy it is to preach secularism and other values and how difficult it is to practice in real life whatever one preaches.

Parvathy Nair was just amazing as Kanchana and Prithviraj is here to stay for long! The way he has evolved is unbelievable! He may not be a born-actor but his passion and dedication for the profession have started yielding great results.

#EnnuNinteMoideen

Lead Kindly Light!

I know a catholic nun who used to work in villages in the outskirts of Bangalore. As she enters every house, she gets all members of the family assembled in front of the image or idol of the god in whom the family believes and starts a standard prayer in Kannada which goes like this, 'belagagi bandhire devare, nanna jeevanathalli nee belagu devare' (Come down as light oh god, you are the light in my life).

Yes, for the follower of any religion his/her god has to be the light in his/her life. However, our spiritual leaders have ignored their primary responsibility of leading the seekers to light and thereby ensure their spiritual nourishment. Instead, they are creating unnecessary fear and insecurity feeling among the followers and motivate and equip them to take up arms to protect their gods and beliefs. Is it something that your god would be happy to see you doing for him? The nexus between political parties and religious leadership has further worsened the situation.

Nowadays, almost 70% of the content in Facebook and other social media is religious abuse. Ironically, those who belong to the new generation and those of my own generation are behind it, all well educated and employed ones. Don't you guys have anything worthwhile to do in your life? Otherwise, spend the time you are now using to abuse others to read the scriptures of your own religion which might help you to become a 'normal' human being. Come out and enjoy life in the real world where I think life is not as complicated as it is in the virtual world. History proves that religions have always divided people on various grounds. God has never been a unifying factor.

Feeling so unfortunate to be living in these times when the right wing forces are emerging across the world and not only in India. Worried about my son who will be growing up into such a world. Not much hope. Still I join the sister from Bangalore in her prayer 'belagagi bandhire devare, nanna jeevanathalli nee belagu devare'.

A Very Special Sunday

As usual, I went for the evening mass in our parish church on last Sunday. It was after a long time I managed to reach the church before the beginning of the mass. The service was about to begin and there was not one to assist the priest. I did not think twice, took the text developed for the faithful and assisted the priest as an altar boy. I also managed the readings. Initially I got a bit frightened as the text was a new version. For me, there has been no practice of using the text while attending mass for a long time. However, I succeeded in managing everything.

Anyways, this incident took me twenty five years down memory lane. Back in our village, the parish church is just 500 metres away from our home. I started attending the morning mass in our parish as soon as I started my schooling at the age of five. The morning mass was at 7.00 AM. I used to be the only kid in the gathering of mainly elderly people and some nuns. I would rush back to home after the mass to have my breakfast and get ready for school where the classes used to start at 10.00 AM.

As I entered third standard and learnt to read well, the parish priest invited me to start serving as an altar boy. I got trained under the senior altar boys. Normally, only those who have received the first Holy Communion were allowed to serve as altar boys. However, this rule was relaxed for the first time in my case. I was so small and, therefore, the faithful were not able to see me as the altar is elevated. As a solution, the priest allowed me to stand at one side of the altar from where I was visible to all.

I had a very innocent and priestly look at that time and there were many elders who predicted that I would join seminary and become a priest one day. Though the first part of their dream got materialised, the second part did not. I consoled myself as the Lord himself had said ‘many are called but a few are chosen’. I could not be among those who were chosen.

I also have very fond memories about the annual training cum retreat camp the diocese used to organise for altar boys. I learnt my first acting lessons from there.

At the age of thirteen, I was chosen as the Sacristan of the church with a monthly remuneration of 200 rupees which was a big amount at that time. I became the only earning student in my class. Gradually, this led me to some unwanted companies and I started spending the money mainly on movies. I started bunking classes to go for movies. The culmination of all these was that I could not attend any paper of my final examination in 9^th standard. At that point, I had to give up everything including my job as sacristan.

Anyways, the Lord had not forsaken me for all the good service I did for him before going astray. After a long time, somehow, the Lord wanted me to remember all these once again and I believe it was his plan to make me assist the priest once again.

A special Christmas

I got up very late on this chilled December 25th morning as I am alone in Delhi for Xmas this time. Union Minister Ravi Shankar Prasad sent me text with wishes on the occasion of 'Good Governance Day' when, being a Christian, I was expecting my government to wish me (and ensure) peace and joy on the occasion of Xmas. 

However, my neighbours, a Bengali-Hindu family, offered me a cup of coffee and a piece of cake knowing that I am alone this time and that has made my day. This kind of gestures strengthen my trust in the inherent goodness of human beings regardless of their caste, colour, creed or religion. And, I also realise that the forces of evil will never be able to damage the secular fabric of this great nation.

Those who rule us may realise that the so called 'Development' and 'Good Governance' is possible only when the rights and freedom of each individual is respected and honoured!

Wishing you all the Peace that this season brings when there is total restlessness around!

Wishing you all happiness when there is nothing much to be happy about!

Merry Christmas!!!!

(This was posted in my Facebook account on 25^th December 2014)

Our soccer days

A few minutes are left for the Kick-off of the 20^th FIFA World Cup in Sao Polo, Brazil. I am in Kolkata for some work. It could be a coincidence that I happened to be in a city where the football frenzy is almost similar to the same in my home state, Kerala. We were familiar with the West Bengal football clubs like Mohun Bagan, East Bengal and Mohammedan Sporting Club from our school days. Many of the known players from Kerala used to play with these clubs during those times. I think it was the 1998 world cup I watched first. Ever since I would closely follow all news related to the World Cup at least three months before the kick-off to keep myself updated about the teams, players and their chances. However, it was a sudden realisation this time that yet another kick-off is a few minutes away.

We never had a football ground or team in our village. However, just for a few months before and after the every World Cup, we used to play football in the small ground in front of our primary school. This was often interrupted and stopped by the school management as our excitement often did harm to the school building, especially to its tiled roof. What we played most during that time was cricket but the passion for football and emotional support for the South American countries were still there in our minds.

During the 1998 World Cup, all football fans from our village used to gather in a small restaurant run by the Kudilparambil Family to watch the late night matches. They managed to set up a dish antenna and subscribed to the channel that broadcast the matches live. There were very few TV sets in the village at that time and nobody else had access to that particular channel. Watching the matches with such a big crowd was a wonderful experience which I still cherish.

I completed my 10^th standard also during the same year and moved out of my village. I don’t know whether the new generation in my village is so enthusiastic about soccer now.

For me this is the second world cup after settling down in Delhi and the first one after getting married. I don’t know whether I would be able to enjoy all the matches this time with my wife and an 18-month-old son around. Anyways, Argentina will remain my favourites this time too as always.

New heroes will emerge in the game but my football heroes will always be players like Gabriel Batistuta, Ariel Ortega and Juan Roman Riquelme of Argentina; Ronaldo, Roberto Carlos and Ronaldinho of Brazil; Patrick Kluivert and Edgar Davids of Holland; Roberto Baggio and Paolo Maldini of Italy; Zidane of France; Figo of Portugal; Beckham and Steven Gerard of England (Gerard is playing in this world cup as well); and, of course, Baichung Bhutia and I.M Vijayan of India!!!!! For, they all belong to the times when I enjoyed the game most.

(Photo courtesy: www.npr.org)

The day I took him out

There were cockroaches everywhere in our house

Inside the kitchen……

Inside the wardrobe……

Under the cot…….

Even inside the refrigerator.

There were cockroaches everywhere……..

His world was also full of cockroaches………

That was the word he uttered first.

He kept calling them out affectionately

He turned them upside down as they moved along the floor

Swallowed them at times

Even his dreams were full of cockroaches

I heard him calling out cockroaches while in deep sleep

His mother wanted me to show him the world outside

The world beyond cockroaches...

But, I always had one or the other excuse,

For not taking him out.

Meetings....

Presentations……

Targets……..

Field trips.... etc. etc.

Finally on the last Christmas day,

I took the one-year-old to the park nearby

Probably the first time a sunny day out for him

He ran along the lawn,

Whistled at the birds,

Admired the beauty of flowers,

Smiled at those on morning walk.

He did not want to return to home.

………………………………………………………….

Back home, I sent an email to my boss,

Extending my leaves for one week.

And, I waited for the next morning....