Thus spake Balachandrananda

Thickness is the measure

Of  inter-dependence of  links.

The thinner the links, the easier the chain to break.

Said Balachandrananda –

So be it for us humans too

Dependence is the measure of our bondage

To each other.

*********** Balachandran V , Trivandrum, 15.05.2013

Tree Walk in Trivandrum

It is 0700hrs on a Sunday. In the Museum/Zoo complex and the nearby Kanakakunnu Palace grounds, the fitness conscious citizens have their morning jog, walk and yoga. At one of the entrances to the zoo,    a few individuals gather, for the Tree Walk. 

We have been doing it for some years now. Twice or thrice a month the group meet at some part of Trivandrum where it is shady with  trees. We stroll down the road, looking at the trees on either sides, identifying them. We make small talk. Serious tree watchers take copious notes. In a gentle, relaxed way, we recognize and pay respect to the trees that cool our city. Many of them have gone forever, victims to the road widening and beautification. 

In the sun, it is a blazing 37 degree Celsius. Under the shade, it is less than 32. Trivandrum, like the rest of the country is reeling under the heat wave and drought, the extent of which is unprecedented. When, When will people realize the mercy of the green trees? They stand beneath the shade of the trees as they cut them down. Recently near the Court, a large no of trees were cut for road widening. Yes, for those who sleep in air-conditioned houses, who step  into air-conditioned cars and work in air-conditioned offices, it does not matter. The writing is on the wall, yet we turn a blind eye, hoping that technology will always have an answer. 

An old poem on trees... written three or four years back...

Song of the tree

You who stand beneath me,

Look up at me for a while -

While you smell, breath in deep

The fragrance of my little flowers.

Did it hurt when the flower fell

On your head, my humble gift,

Here, I bend a branch of mine,

Hold, pluck the succulent fruit

For your child, a present from me.

Lean on to me, though my skin is rough,

But feel my heart that throbs for you

My veins full of the blood of love.

Here, I fan you with my leaves,

Lest you feel tired in the heat.

Did it hurt when you cut

Chopped off the branches

And sawed off the trunk

Did it pain when in vain

Pulling at my roots with so much strain?

I miss them, Sir,

The birds who nested in my hole,

The songs they sang for my soul.

The squirrels who ran, tickling my heart

Your child who played beneath my shade.

Forgive me Sir, I am just a tree

Fated to die, faithful to men.

When in the night, freezing cold,

As to embers my body burns,

They glow in love, for you alone

And your child, warm, asleep -

Think of me – lest your heart turn to stone.

*********

Balachandran V, 29.04.13

The End of Something

 

Papa Hemingway wouldn't mind if I lifted the title of his short story.

Nick was breaking up with Marjorie. "It isn't fun anymore", Nick told her.

'Isn't love fun?' Marjorie asked.

'No', Nick said.

In the moonlit night, Marjorie took the boat and paddled away.

'Did she go alright?', asked Bill, Nick's friend later.

'Have a scene?'

'No, there wasn't any scene'.

'How do you feel?'

'Oh, go away, Bill, go away for a while'.

On 28th March 2013, the seven of us in the Alleppey branch had lunch together. 'Dam Biriyani' from a nearby hotel. It was good. Not at all oily, not too spicy and the chicken came off the bone like soft petals. Just before I heaved my backpack over my shoulders, I took a photograph of all of us together. I shook their hands, lifted the backpack up and with a wave of hand, I walked out of the institution I had served for 32 and a half years. No formal farewell speeches, but though I had warned them that I would not accept any parting gifts, I had to give in and accept the mobile phone that my colleagues gave me. I will miss the two young colleagues of mine who were like daughters to me. But surely, I am not walking out of their lives; I will call them once in a while, I will look them up if I pass through Alleppey, I will attend their marriages at any cost.

In the train that took me home, I asked myself if I felt different. I did not. Perhaps it is that I had imagined this moment for the last 12 months, perhaps that I have undergone a sea change in not brooding over the past but look forward to the future, to the innumerable things that I want to do with my life.

There is this immensity of knowledge that the helm of my life is in my hands now. Of course I do not discount fate, the quantum of the unknown, the unpredictable. Yet, the very fact that I can dare to dream, that I can put in my share of effort in realizing them - that is quite heady, you know. It is scary too, at times...

******* Balachandran V, Trivandrum, 28.04,2013

In a Train

A Journal Entry: 1435 hrs 02.03.2013

In the Gorakhpur - Trivandrum Rapti Sagar Express. The train is yet to leave Alleppey. Standing at the door of a sleeper compartment, I watch a bald, old porter in a red shirt and lungi taking my bicycle along to the Break Van at the rear of the train. I look at my bicycle, moving along with the man, clattering and shivering, but tame, tame like a baby elephant walking with its mahoot. I look my bicycle which has served me so well during the last one and a half years of stay at Alleppey. This inexplicable sorrow wells up, along with tender love for the bicycle. How silly I am! Yet how much I owe to that piece of steel and rubber ! The early morning rides on my bicycle is what kept me sane and happy in this place. Not a single tyre puncture all these months. Somebody stole the 6 speed gear unit one day, yet we managed to ride on.

My days at Alleppey is coming to an end. I will leave the service of Punjab National Bank after a stint of 32 years, 4 months and 28 days, on 28.03.2013. I have about 38 days leave left in credit, so I will absent myself on sick grounds for the next 3 weeks, report back on 25th March and work till 28th, to an unceremonious retirement. It is VRS, so there will not be any bank-sponsored tamashas; I have already warned my colleagues that I won't accept any parting gifts; maybe we will sit together and they might say how glad they were to have worked with me and I will make corresponding noises. It remains a fact though, that I had loved all my colleagues in this branch - we had the best working atmosphere, compared to all the branches I have worked in my long career. I will miss them.

The train leaves the station. The passing scenes are so familiar. Each is etched on my mind. I move from the known, the familiar to the unknown and unfamiliar. I do not know what future will hold for me; not that I knew, but like the train that now change tracks, I too am changing my worn tracks. I do not fear, I do not dread the new, but I calmly wait with an open mind to accept whatever life would bestow on me.

*************

Balachandran V, in train from Alleppey to Trivandrum, 02.03.2013A

Of Bearers and Bankers

(Image courtesy www.bemoneyaware.com)

K calls me from Bangalore. He is holding a cheque for Rs.10,000/- payable to me, which he received as refund of advance from where he had been staying till last month. The landlord made the cheque to Balachandran V ....... or bearer. The cheque is not crossed, which as per the Negotiable Instruments Act ( Bankers' Bible), means that the cheque can be encashed across the counter at the drawee Bank, which in this case was Corporation Bank, HSR Layout(?) Bangalore.

K says, 'Acha, the lady in the counter says that the cheque needs to be signed by you; otherwise she cannot pay'. I tell him to show the clerk that it is a bearer instrument. 10 minutes later K calls me again - 'She says, ' go to the Manager'.

I am reminded of my 32 plus years in a Bank. I take a deep breath. How many times have I heard this 'go to the Manager'!

15 minutes later K calls again. "Acha, the Manager is asking around." I fume. I tell him to give the phone to the Manager, tell him that your father is a Banker, let me teach that idiot some banking.

K is not one for confrontation. He says, I will convince him. 10 minutes later I text him, 'Kittiyo?' Did you get the money? K calls. 'Phew, yeah, finally I got it. This other lady asked me to show some ID and then passed the cheque.

'A bearer is always a bearer' - this is the rudimentary rule that we learn as we cross the threshold of the Bank. It is such a fundamental banking law, but K had to spend more than half an hour encashing a bearer cheque. I sigh, thinking of the umpteen number of things I'd have done in half an hour, I'd have passed 30 and more instruments in that time. ( I have timed it - the scrutiny, entry, scrunity, verification and handing over the cheque to the peon to the cash ( This is in case of amounts higher than 10,000/- it differs from situation to situation ) takes not more than 2 minutes. And when the counters are too busy I often enter and verify the cheques myself, a big NO NO as per banking practice.

I don't know. Are my fellow bankers, and these ones in Corporation Bank such morons? I shudder in relief, because on 28th March 2013, I will be coming, finally, out of Punjab National Bank.

And then I reflect on some colleagues of mine. A Senior Manager in Trivandrum, takes a straight commission of 5% for every agriculture and other loans he sanctions. He gives loans for non-existent tractors, non-existent people. During a recent account canvassing season, he opened the largest number of accounts in South India ( Savings accounts for a minimum Rs.5000/-) by forcing borrowers ( Business accounts) to open several accounts in the same name but with different customer ID and the bugger bagged an award too. In spite of his blatant corruption, in spite of RBI audit, he got away scot free, because he had the backing of the Circle Head.

Banks stink. Computerization has de-humanized whatever humans left in the institution. Private banks charge upto 200 rs if you enter the bank premises for any banking business; it is all there in the internet/mobile or whatever. Nationalized banks like mine struggle between the social and business targets they have to achieve, with number of employees diminishing day by day, young hands reluctant to join Banks and whatnot.

I am glad I am finally getting out!

*********** Balachandran , Trivandrum, 04.03.2013

The Burial

Today I dug two graves,

One for a Funambulus palmarum

Another for a Rattus ranjiniae;

In plainspeak

A Palm Squirrel and a Kerala Rat.

Retracing my thought-steps -

I was amused, still am,

To learn of a species, the Kerala Rat

and chuckled at the thought of the teeming

millions of it subspecies, the Rattus hominicus malayalensis,

In plainspeak, me and my fellow malayalees!

Both were the victims, prey to the great

Hunters at home, Sancho and Sally.

As Sancho proudly brought in the fat rat

and dropped it at my feet, wagging his tail

and panting and grinning and looking up at me

for approval and that special pat on his forehead

I learned that Sally had killed the baby squirrel -

she had chewed it up proper

But she slunk away at my sight

Instinctively knowing that I disapproved.

In the morning as I dug the graves

Sancho strolled over and supervised

Sally kept a respectful distance.

Throwing soil over the pits

I wonder why we love squirrels and hate the rats

Both rodents, sharing a common lineage, so to say.

I looked at the carcasses, not much different they were

Except for the bushy tail and three-striped coat that the squirrel had.

Looking at it, I remembered how badly I wanted to keep a pet squirrel long ago

And fibbing about it, my fantasy squirrel, the one I carried to school in my pocket

the one who ate and slept with me and then for a tragic twist, how he got caught by a crow.

I remembered those whom I had saved and then let go, I remembered the feel of the soft fur.

Turning aside, gazing at the pitiable fat rat, now Late,

Looking at its bristling rough coat and whiplike tail

Looking so loathsome, I took a moment to think

of the dozens of its kin I have killed, poisoned, smacked on the head.

I wonder why I love the squirrel and

Hate the rat.

Something more than the looks, the bushy tail

Something more than the timidity, the playfulness

that you see in the squirrel and not in the rat.

Look at him/her, smart, bold,slinking away in the darkness

Tipping pots and pans over, stealing, biting the bananas

Ruining the stock of grains, the leftover food

And the trail of feces contemptuously left.

Looking at the squirrel and the rat, both dead

I felt uncomfortable

Thinking how similar is the feeling that I have

For the many Homo sapiens sapiens I know.

*********** Balachandran V, Trivandrum, 24.02.2013

The Flowering Tree

It is spring; a tree flowers. 


You may love it

You may hate it  

You may fail to notice it. 


Nothing matters to the tree;

To flower in spring 

Is in the nature of the tree. 

******* Balachandran V. 27.01.2013

The Pleasure of Gifting

One of the most cherished possessions among my books is the Pleasure Book by Julius Fast. It is a collection of the many different ways, some common, some unusual, acts of humans through which they find pleasure and happiness in life. Like there is one who finds immense pleasure in showering, those  who love to watch the elements, trekking, swimming, bird watching, doing nothing,  smoking a pipe and so on and so forth. One that sticks to my memory is about a person who finds pleasure in gifting. He gifts, not on birthdays or such occasions, but totally without a reason. He painstakingly learns what the other person loves most, and then gifts it, as a total surprise. He says that what gives him the greatest pleasure is to watch the way happiness lights up in the other person's face. 

The other day I gifted a calendar to a close friend of mine. This was no ordinary calendar. I had bought it from Welfare of Stray Dogs group in Mumbai, each costing Rs.160/-. I get them from the group every year, as a gesture of donation, a contribution, an acknowledgement of the great work they are doing. I get 5 or 6 copies and gift them to those friends whom I know love dogs. 

Yesterday this particular friend who is as keen on dogs as I am, visited; I gave him one calendar. I had given him one last year too. Flipping over the sheets, he said that the daughter of his housemaid ( a girl of 18 or 19) has recently started evincing interest in birds and he gave her a book on birds of Kerala in Malayalam. She is interested in birds and animals and stuff like that, he said.  He said - ' I think I will give this to her'. 

I am not sure the feeling of deflation I felt is  remotely akin to pleasure!!! :-D

********** Balachandran , Trivandrum, 26.01.2013

T shirt Zen

Morning 0630 hrs 24th Jan 2013. As usual on my bicycle. Passing the Dist Court, I espy a man walking towards me. In one swift glance I read his T shirt and move on.   5 secs later, this light explodes in my head and I swerve the bicycle for a 180 degree turn, ride back to the man and pausing, ask - "Excuse me, can I take a picture of your T shirt?'

He tells me he bought it from Trivandrum, no, he is from Alleppey, he is a graphic artist, he would like to look at my photographs some day.

Later in the day, I take a boat from Alleppey to Kollam - by train, it is one and a half hours, by bus two and a half - this boat ride takes eight and a half hours. Leaving Alleppey at 1030 hrs, reaches Kollam at 1900 hrs sharp. Gazing at the life passing by, I muse on the T shirt - 'The difference between who you are and who you want to be ... is what you do.

I smile, content by a day, worthwhile.

************ Balachandran V, Trivandrum, 26.01.2013

Parting Shots

As the date of departure looms up fast, I fervently go around the town in the morning, trying to take in as much as I can, by way of impressions, memories and photographs. Some pictures taken during the morning cycling expeditions.

A resort near the beach

The mornings are pleasantly chill since the last two days. Bad for good photographs, a haze hangs over the landscape. At the Finishing Point (this is the finishing point of the famous Boat race), tourists climb down from the boats after a night moored in the backwaters.  A lone foreign tourist sips a cup of tea at the corner tea shop and I admire her legs as I cycle by. Three burkha-ed women, plumb and middle-aged, swing their arms and toggle their behinds in an effort to reduce their ample girth. Pretty teenagers overtake me in their pink bicycles to reach their private tuition classes in time and I feel a tinge of regret that I  am non-existent   for them.

I reach the Starting Point  and demand  Strong Tea with a little sugar ( Oru Chaaya, Madhuram kurachu, Kaduppathil) from my regular shop and ogle at the full-breasted foreigner who alights from a houseboat after the hugs and 'Baai, Baai, honey' she proffers to another. I admire the way a local turns around his little kayak, paddling this way and that way and plans to ask somebody to teach me rowing.

Typical entrance to an old  Tharavad

                                                               CSI Church, circa 1818 ( I love this church)

Though I have been haunting these parts for more than a year, I really do not fall into an identifiable  stereotype. I am dark-skinned and look a Malayalee, I move in a rusty old bicycle - but I have a camera in the basket and the way I look at places and people  - why, it is like a prospective customer at a Red Street. Nothing escapes my eye, from the Black Drongo on the wire to the mangy dog on the street, from the crumbling old house to the comely matron on her way to church.  I speak Malayalam with an almost Alleppian accent, but  I am not a local, who the hell is he I can see the question plainly in the eyes of the shop keeper, of the lounging about, in the bleary eyes of the boozer who is waiting outside the local toddy shop, thirsting for his morning shot.  I love it , I am the mystery guy I smile to myself, until I hear the 'Saaarey, evidaa, ravile?' ( Whither goest thou, oh, Sire, so early is the morn) and recognize a customer of the bank.  I have the look of the caught-with-his-pants-down, and I furiously cycle away, deaf to the protests of my creaking knees.

******* Balachandran V, Alleppey, 18.01.2013

Three temples of Alleppey

In the wee hours of the day that I roam the town on my bicycle, the only establishments open are the small tea shops and  the temples. Improperly attired for an entry into the sanctum ( sweat soaked Tee Shirt, track suit with a week's dirt on it and floaters) and inadequately attuned for a 'darshan', I keep a low profile as I walk around the holy shrines.

The typical Kerala temples are enchanting in their seemingly simple architecture. They are not built to dominate the surroundings like the Christian churches or the Tamil temples; instead they blend with it. Most of them have a open grounds with old Ficus trees. The extent of the ground vary. I will not go into the details of Kerala temples here, but would suggest a book to those who would like to know more about Kerala temple architecture written by Ramu Katakam. 

This is the Mullackal Rajarajeswari temple, almost directly opposite to my workplace. Quite popular, it is here that the famous 'Chirappu' festival during mid - Dec is held.

Kalarkode Mahadevar temple. Most temples in Kerala has large tanks. Many of them have fallen into disuse or filled out. 

The Kalarkode Mahadevar has a substantially large tank. Serene surroundings.

Kottankulangara Devi temple. Actually the one shown here is the Krishna temple adjoining the main Devi temple. The huge facade in front of the Devi shrine is rather jarring. I didn't like to take a picture.

One has to really experience the atmosphere of these places. Unlike the commercially successful temples like Guruvayoor, or Padmanabha swami or Sabarimala, the large majority of Kerala temples have an air of meditation, of an inviting spiritual sanctity about them. Priests don't pester you here; nor do garishly painted and crudely crafted statuettes shock your senses. But the temples have a air of aloofness too. They tell you - ' Come till here. Don't go further.' There is a distance that is to be kept,  that is silently demanded and maintained. 

Everyday that pass remind me of the approach of the day I will bid goodbye to Alleppey. The town and I - we talk to each other silently, one offering and the other accepting, both respecting and giving space to each other.

The other day, a close friend of mine casually announced that his daughter is having her engagement a couple of days later. I was totally surprised when he answered to my questions that the proposal had come two or three months earlier, that he and his wife had gone to visit the boy's place, that the boy's people had come here - our friendship goes back to more than 25 years, before his daughter was born. I was hurt that he hadn't told me about it earlier. Considering how fastidiously we had nurtured our relationship all through these years, considering the fact that how I used to run to him with every problem or every mite of joy or sorrow, I couldn't help this dull pain inside me that he pointedly ignored to invite me for the function or tell me about the wedding plans. Of course, I did not show my hurt, I congratulated both the father and daughter. Later, I reflected on the incident and realized that I shouldn't be feeling bad about it. If my friend didn't want to tell me, if he didn't want me at the engagement, he must have a reason, I thought. P sensed my mood and comforted me by saying that my friend probably didn't want to tell me about the proposal until it was confirmed. Later, the day of the engagement passed; in the evening my friend telephoned me. He was rather apologetic when he said that those present at the function were only the close relatives, which I really appreciated. Why have a sprawling, larger than wedding function for a engagement? I am at rest, but have to admit that slight pain still lingers somewhere. What is meaning of a long friendship if you are not trusted? I don't know. Maybe it is not a matter of trust, it is a matter of keeping the right distance.

************* Balachandran, Trivandrum. 13.01.2013

aksjljdlkjjjlkkl.....

Thumpoli beach, Alleppey

In the little notepad that I carry around with me I have scribbled such at random:

Themes for blog

1. Coitus interruptus (the mental kind)

2. Ponmudi - sacrilege by ISRO

3. Idea robbers  (forgot the idea!)

4. Alleppey Chirappu festival

5. Boat ride from Alleppey to Kottayam

6. Delhi, December 2012

7. The arrogant male

8. The clean and well-lighted places

9. The Countdown

10. A fallacy called friendship

11. Conduct Certificate

 A mind swirling with thoughts at times; at times a vacuum, at times at peace, at times in a turmoil, joy, sorrow, indifference, hurt, happy... It has been exactly a month since I blogged. As can be seen from above, it is not the lack of subjects but the unwillingness to put them across to you that has kept me from elaborating on them. Every time I open the netbook and look at the blank page, I would wonder - why? What I am trying to tell people? Why do I want to? What difference would it make to the few readers that I have? I was reminded of the late blogger, Ms Kochuthresiamma. She passed away nearly a year ago. Quietly. I sometimes visit her page, almost hoping to find a new post from her.

Looking back at the more than 4 years of blogging, I realize that it has been a journey of self-discovery. Except a few, most of my posts have been about myself; how I react to my surroundings. Couple of years ago, an American commented that he is unable to take anything from my writings because it was all about sorrow and disappointments and such negative thoughts. He suggested that I should think positively. Though I felt snubbed at first, it dawned upon me that what he said is true.  Mark, I think his name was. Now I feel so grateful to Mark.  By thinking, by scraping out bits and pieces of goodness in me, I have been able to change my attitude to life. From the responses of my readers, I could sense that some of the joy of life could be shared with them. 

The countdown has started. If nothing untoward happens, I should be out of the bank by the end of March 2013; I have given the mandatory 3-month notice to the Bank. Already the news has spread through the grapevines and the first question they all ask me - 'So what are you going to do afterwards?'  Explaining is pointless and tiring. So I limit to one word - 'Nothing'. Those who know me would say, 'oh, going to Himalayas, taking up photography, writing etc, uh?' 'Maybe', I say.

One man said - 'Balan Sir, what you are doing is a great mistake, a great mistake'. In some, I recognize envy. In some, I can clearly hear the gurgle  and the thought - ' I hope he is going to regret it, oh how lovely that would be."  Very few share the hopes of freedom. Very few say, 'Good for you, Balan. All the best for the great adventure'.

The way the world is, if I fail or misery befalls me, they would all say, ' I knew it, I knew it, I told you so.'  Only the few who wished me well would continue to support me.

I wait impatiently for the three months to be over.  Honest, I have no plans for the immediate future, except a few visits - Bombay, Calicut, Mussorie and some more. I would  start with tidying up the house, playing with Sancho and Sally ( my dogs) to my fill, pounce upon my old libraries at Trivandrum with gusto, go for  long bike rides with K during the summer holidays, start working on a website on western ghats , work at our organic farm in Attappadi - well, it seems I do have a lot of plans!!

During the last month, I did have a few setbacks, disappointments and instances of sorrow. But I have been able to override all that. I am surprised at the unknown reserves of inner strength in me.

 

Life beside the backwaters, Alleppey

*********** Balachandran V, Alleppey, 09.01.2013