Time Keeper

I always cherish the fond remembrances of my childhood days. We usually hear from all those renowned celebrities who give interviews in television, that they had a very colourful childhood which always had a mango orchard at the backyard of their house, lot of festivals, fun-filled days with lots and lots of cousins etc etc. My intention is not to question any of those recollections, but to stay with mine. I never had a house filled with cousins and never had such pampering during festivals. But, my childhood had been really good as far as I am concerned. If not a mango orchard, I too had the privilege of climbing atop all the known and unknown trees in our backyard to my heart’s content. As I had mentioned earlier, I stayed with my grandparents since my parents were away with their govt jobs. It was a world consisting of myself, my grandfather (an ex-service man from the royal british army) and my grandmother (a retd school teacher). Initially I did attribute both of their commitment to time to their oft-reminded professional lives, but soon did I realize that not just my grandparents, but the entire town was conspicuously serious about one thing, ie time.

Now, coming to the thought which provoked me to sit and write. There was this strange sound which echoed in the whole locality, twice daily. While questioned, I was enlightened with the name of this sound – siren. Puzzled to the core, I always wanted to see this monster who used to cry twice every day, at the same time. Like we heard from John Wheeler that ‘time is what prevents everything from happening at once’, I had to wait for many many days to see this guy who always shouted, keeping an alarm. I never realized how many days, I had this question of ‘who’, but one day, I had the rare chance to see him. That day I had accompanied my grandfather to see some guy called ‘counsellor’ at the town’s municipal office. While we were there, this ‘siren’ fellow started shouting. And, it was like deafening! I knew he was somewhere near and ran out of the old big municipal building. Thus I had spotted him, on top of a small elevated column, rested a black coloured, stupid looking creature. Wow, I gasped, as this thing could make such big noise! Now, my question had been ‘why any of these guys never bothered to make this guy silent, even after he repeated his shrieks day after day, that too at the same time!!

Years passed and in the mean time I realized the soberness of this monster. I did realize that it was made to shout everyday at 10AM and 5PM, so that the small town people realize time. When I first heard about this, it didn’t make much sense to me. Why should somebody shout at all the people, that too twice daily, just for a time-check? As always, I accounted this also to the craziness of the older generation, who took things too much to heart. But, slowly, as I observed around me, I found the value of this time-keeper. Everyone in the town, seem to realize that it was start of day and end of day when they heard these ‘sirens’. We all rushed to school, if we hear the morning siren, since we were sure that we will miss the ‘assembly’ in case of any more delay en-route. Not that we had any special concern for the assembly, but if not present by then, what awaited ahead was a guided march to the head master’s room followed by forced apologies from all of us, culprits!

Leaving us, the children, insignificant lot, who doesn’t care about time, I saw the world around me, rushing at hearing the morning siren. Men and women flocked to offices, restaurant owner Pappu Pillai Chettan ensured that his ‘today’s special’ board is displayed outside prominently, Ice stick vendor Rajan made sure of his attendance in front of the school gate etc etc. And, come evening, the siren going aloud meant that our after-school play hours at the school compound was over. We all rushed back home and on the way I could see that the world too rushed to get back home. The only people who used to rush out from their homes were Madathil Swamy and Kochucherukkan. Swamy always rushed to our nearby temple since he is the priest and need to make arrangements for the evening deparadhana. Kochucherukkan (I still wonder how his parents named him so! My first memoris about him is with all white hair and he had grandchildren) had been the caretaker (kaikkaran) of our church and he need to open the church for evening prayers. The point here is, at the evening siren, while these two gentlemen rushed out from their homes, the entire remaining population of the town hurried to get back home. Wow, what an effect, this ‘siren’ guy had!!

Thereafter, everything was almost same routine. The entire town took bath, said their prayers at dusk, had early dinner and went to bed early. It looked to me as if the town always woke up early and awaited for the ‘siren’ to get busy for the day and longed for the ‘siren’ again to sound, to wind up the day. Everything was simple, everybody was un-sophisticated and it was calm and quiet life. People found time to stop and talk to the passerby’s, visit neighbours and celebrate together for all festivals. After all, I believed, all were disciplined and guided by the ‘Siren’ monster.

Now, years further, as I sit here in the hustle-bustle of the city, at the comfort of my home, enjoying a lazy weekend, I feel – we all miss this ‘siren’ in our life. While we are flooded with lot of time-keepers around us – timepiece, mobile phone reminders, outlook/lotus pop-ups – we miss a time-check which guides us. Which ask us to start the day, get busy and also to end the day and get back home. We miss that monster which makes the entire town busy and which makes them relaxed. What we are left with is only reminders, making us conscious even while sleeping, that something or other is awaiting to be completed. While our days extend further and further to make nights look like a wink, we forget the time-keepers. No, I am not going to the oft-repeated topic of city life chaos. Me too enjoy this flow of life in this modern world. But, deep inside me, there is still that small-towner who liked to avoid all this rush. Maybe, this inherent feeling is what making me to avoid my travels as far as possible from the ‘rush hour’, when everyone in the traffic is in standstill!!

FootNote : Sometime back, on one of my visits to my town, while driving past the municipal office, I looked for that old black coloured monster. Neither he was there nor the building remained the same as earlier. Maybe, he too would have realized that his voice no longer remained as a welcome time-check but could be a cranky disturbance in the flow of today’s life. And I understood the meaning within the quote - ‘The years teach much which the days never know’

Untying the Jugger‘Knots’

The chill has started setting in, with winter round the corner and many of us could agree that there is nothing better than to do on a cold winter day, than to be at home sipping fresh hot coffee. But life here, right in the silicon valley of India, is different. Summer or winter or rain, days here are of early morning alarms, quick sleepy breakfasts, a routinely quick good day smile to the family, traffic jams, white-khaki traffic policemen who make us think roads were never meant for commuters and its only their whole-heartedness which allows us to drive through the mess, adventure driving through the never ending road and bridge constructions, more traffic jams etc etc.

I always wonder why people are always in this mad rush as soon as they got out of bed in the morning. And, I found the answer very soon. The mysterious reason behind this strenuous and challenging hurriedness is nothing but a wish to clock! In much simpler terms, they all are fleeing to swipe-in and swipe-out and to make sure that x.yz hours precisely is recorded in their office, at any cost. Almost ninety percent of this festinating crowd belongs to the IT industry, the one industry which is gratuitously glorified, because of which an entire generation of this country is ‘branded with’ and is made to ‘pay for’. Having said this because the image made available for outsiders are that, this industry has people who belong to an alien world and they are fed with all the luxuries in life while the world outside suffers. So, everywhere you go, whether it’s to the local vegetable shop, the government offices, the meat stall, the newspaper man, the cobbler… irrespective of the place, the attitude is same. Everyone out there had a simple theory written on their face and talk - You belong to the alien IT world, then why can’t you just write-off a blank cheque for me. After all, we all belong to the working and struggling class and you belong to the pampered lot !! Alas, if only they had seen the life in this industry for one day.. This is the only prayer I always had.

Now, I have strayed off enough from what I had to say. Let me introduce myself. My name is immaterial but my existence is of great importance. I am a simple ‘neck-tie’. To make my point more clear, I think the best way is to quote from Chic Simple written by Michael Solomon, "They are not particularly comfortable. They always go out of style (or back in as soon as we have thrown them out). And they are not even practical. Yet the tie remains an essential part of a man's wardrobe because it unites all the elements of a man's outfit, giving him instant respectability and, above all, it is the ultimate symbol of individuality". And, this exactly, is the story I have to share.

Long back, when I was born at Arvind mills and was tagged with the zodiac name, me too wanted to make my prints in this wonderful world. I too dreamt of being wrapped around the neck or shoulders of a high-flying executive, resting under the premium shirt’s collar and knotted at that throat which speaks about multibillion dollar deals. I felt exalted when I had been chosen among my friends and was gift wrapped and taken home by this wonderful lady who wanted to gift me to her husband. I felt the welcoming world around me while I was dreaming about my way to glory. The endless board room discussions which I will be part of; to get introduced to many foreign friends who will come being worn by their owners who wanted to discuss business deals with my man; to be friendly with all of them irrespective of them belonging to bow, ascot, bolo or clip-on families; to enjoy the climate and wind in all those foreign countries where my owner will wear me to…etc etc….

The next day, when I stood windsor knotted on his neck, at the grand entrance of this numbered biggest organization; I never realized that I was standing at the precipice of my life! As I walked in, I started to see this alien IT world, atleast for the neck-tie family. I could see all the sort of knots I could ever think of. Or, should I call that knots itself? Suddenly, I happened to see a cool guy flashing a colorful friend of mine. There was no knot at all; there was no case of ‘one end is longer than the other end’. This fellow didn’t wrap around the neck, but just fluxed around the collar, over the shoulder and stood strikingly at a filmy pose. The only parallel I can draw here is how Urmila Matondkar coils a saree upon herself in RGV films. Where, the saree is definitely present but conspicuously un-blocking the interesting views. Same here, the neo-windsor knotted tie just made some elegant curls and rested on the shirt, hardly making a presence. It didn’t take much time for me to understand the reason behind these fashion-istas. On the second week of my visit to office, I could sadly find myself being crumpled, crinkled and hunkered down into the darkness of the laptop bag’s side-pocket, as soon as the heavily guarded entrance is crossed. I just realized my role as a penalty-saver where a couple hundred bucks will be retained in the paycheck, if and only if I wrap myself around his shirt, whenever he crosses the entrance.

From then onwards, my life was mostly confined to the laptop bag, along with the power cable, longing for fresh air. The only relief I received had been for the two days in every week when I see the walk from parking-lot to entrance and way back. My most awaited day-out had been the wash I used to get from the lady of the house, once in every month. Even at this point, I am not sure why this guy always disagreed to his wife’s proposal of giving me a wash. But thankfully, in accordance with the general family rules of the human race, always the lady won, and I used to get my regular wash.

I should say, my life inside the bag had been fairly monotonous. But, soon did I find out that I was happy for the same. Once in a while when I get time talking to other friends who are worn by my man’s friends, while on our way to the machine-gun guarded entrance, I substantiated beyond doubt that mine was not the worst experience. I could see all sort of abuse to the ‘neck-tie’ community, which is instilled by the cruel human race. There were few of my friends who had become allergic to water and they will even bounce-off the rain drops falling on them by mistake. This had been a cultivated habit from the day they were first worn, deprived of the privilege of a wash in life, making perceptible presence right through the complete office hours, being dedicated corporate citizens, all through these many productive years. Maybe, it is my intuition, but I felt the piercing smell of these deos and perfumes are nothing but a pre-meditated effort to keep this natural tie-stink at bay.

To add, in summer, I could see my friends drenched in sweat, trying to drip through the shelby knots. I can hardly visualize people who can think of this as sexy as ‘tip-tip barsa paani’, while the world around realizes that we were not intended to make our appearances in tropical summer time. Right from the days of our ancestors, the steinkirks, stocks, solitaires and cravats, we were invited in-accordance with the weather. Even emperor Shih Huang Ti of China, your very neighbor, had considered us as an ultimate honour bestowed on his soldiers, and not a regular uniform material. Here, I continue to see my friends, tagged around for wiping the face after a sip of mid-day break coffee, carelessly hanging and made to dip into the grand gala festival lunch offered on special days in the cafeteria, wiping the sweat after a cycling tour to meet the friend sitting at the other end of the campus, peeping out of the shirt pocket while the men are seriously discussing business matters in conference rooms etc etc. To make a final remark, most of us never got the liberty to un-knot and knot again. The one knot which was made on day one, was retained till eternity, and it was just tightening and loosening around the neck which was the routine.

Today, I feel, is an important day of my life. I had the privilege of walking into the office hours again. I could hear many goodbye bids and I am surprised. It is evening and I am getting the privilege of getting un-knotted. Finally!! Out of the wrinkled days in the bag pocket, I suppose. But, oh no, you shouldn’t have done this to me! I am being thrown at this big entrance and I can see my man walking away from me. No, he is not looking back and hence this is not a mistake. I realize that I am still at the same old precipice of my life even though there is a deliberate push to make me fall. I lie here, in a box next to this entrance, thinking about my future.
Either I could make history and become the first public utility ‘neck-tie’ in the world, being used on a daily basis by people who forgot to get their own knots and still want to save the bucks. In this case, I will live the rest of my life in this box, making my entry and exit through the entrance, wrapped upon different necks. Else, I would be considered as yet another symbol of a reactive generation of the country and will be picked up by the security personnel today and will be thrown out to the free world outside, to be chewed by stray dogs and to be buried in the Bangalore dirt when the next rain pours down. Drowning all my sorrows. Here I am, awaiting my destiny..un-knotted !

FootNote :
A man was crawling through a desert and soon he was approached by another man who was riding on a camel so when that rider came near to him this man whispered through his parched lips “Please...Can you give me some water….”

The rider replied him that “I am sorry because I don’t have any water with me but I could sell you a neck tie”.

The crawling man again whispered “Necktie? But I need water! I am dying”

Again the riding man said “There are only four dollars a piece”.

The man replied “I need water”.

“Okay two for just seven dollars”.

The thirsty man exclaimed “Please…… I need water”.

“I don’t have any water I have only ties” said the salesman and headed off into a distance.
By this time the man lost all track of time because he was crawling through the desert for many days. With clothes tattered and skin peeling under the restless sun he soon came near a restaurant. With his last breathe of strength he staggered to the door and confronted the head waiter.

The dying man again pleaded “Water.. Can I get… water”?

The waiter replied to him “I am sorry sir; our dress code requires a NECK TIE”.

School Days–What all did it give me?

As school goes back into session, many of us reminisce about their own school days. Everyone has heard an older relative talk about how things were when they were kids. "Back in my day, we had a fifty-mile walk to get to school. There was only one desk for all 53 of us. And we were lucky to have it!" Okay, maybe that's a stretch, but you get the idea. I never gave those stories much thought; I figured school was basically the same for every generation. At least until I found myself stepped inside JNVV campus.

School days are probably the golden era for everybody's life. I am not an exception. Except, I had to spend most of my boyhood in this residential campus. But that is ofcourse a new experience and it has helped me to grow within all kinds experiences. I had come across lot of people. Some of them came and went as strangers, but some have become my most beloved. Looking over my own days at JNVV, there are so many things that I would rather not tell or should not tell, that it will take very little time and space for me to use in telling what I am willing that the carping public should know about my early history and how it helped me in the roads ahead.

Let me first note down all those memories that comes to my mind of my school days and later comprehend on what all those days have offered and how it got gelled into me.

My remembrance starts from the MP hall where I stayed, slept with my homesickness, played various games and fought with my friends.

My first introduction to Girija teacher who was in charge of our then Tagore house, a lovely kind and welcoming lady who would have considered herself to be failing in her duty if we were not able to read a portion of the text, even minimally.

My elementary classes, where I listened to the teacher's words, and read text books, heard friends speak, did volley, cricket, stage performances, theatre and my life became various and I acquired various knowledges and became the one component of the society.

Well can the school life be thought independently from examinations?

The life of high school where I had a reluctance to exam, and wanted to talk with people and the so far suppressed things by study such as society learning, friends and personal relations. My intimate friends, girl friend and other friends!

The day I stood in front of my friends and teachers with the laurels of being the school captain in spite of the conspiracies it had in its way.

Sornalatha teacher, the person who showed me the way in darkness! She was so much more than a teacher, who watched me over her charges and their tribulations both inside and outside the school environment. I well remember causing her much embarrassment on different occasions.

After losing way in one term, I returned to study and started real life of a student mainly with same class friends and some true friends. And all those loving faces which helped me in always holding my head high….Sreelatha teacher, Preetha teacher, Saseendran Sir, Palanisamy Sir, Daisy teacher, my good old Principal Krishna Pillai sir etc.etc.

Towards the end, Joby KV, our batch’s days of distress and that greatly feared big-man figure of the crew who rode his way through us in all weathers and woe betide anyone missing his track or committing any sort of misdemeanor in his concern.

And to end with, my walk down the tarred road with filled eyes and packed baggage when I was saying goodbye to my JNVV days.

I never gave a serious thought of what my school days offered me until now. It was not in my mind on my descent from Mannadisala on that farewell day or in any of those two visits back to my campus ever since. What did I think on saying goodbye to my most remembered campus? Obviously my mind was not blank. Like all my friends who were walking next to me, I also had the only determination of returning to the campus after establishing myself as an individual. Right now, miles away from that hill-top which offered me the colours of my boy-hood, I am trying to find out how I was moulded out by the life and people there. Let me wittingly try to be sincere here in this analysis from all retentions cited above.

My re-plantation to MP hall, right from all maternal comforts of home that I had been largely obsessed with, proved to be the rock-solid foundation in making me a social being after all those initial tears. That mighty all-in-one building which stood overlooking our own play area and housed all junior and senior sections in our initial years was quite distinctive for me from the first instant I saw it because of its big brown metallic doors and two stages on alternate sides .I was seeing such doors for the first time and I loved this building where I occasionally practiced my speeches and stage performances in private or in front of my friends. There I learned to be myself, to divvy up, to be one among the lot, to be concerned, to console, to command..and the list goes on. Above all, it was in this building, some night, that I took a conscious decision not to cry at the odds on my road, as I had been until then, which had helped me greatly ever since.

The next page of my remembrance speaks about Girija teacher. I could understand Carl Jung saying “ One looks back with appreciation to the brilliant teachers, but with gratitude to those who touched our human feeling. The curriculum is so much necessary raw material, but warmth is the vital element for the growing plant and for the soul of the child ” just because I happened to know this fine lady. On many occasions, I could find my mother’s shadows in her and I really got courage from her in those childhood days. I very clearly remember that fine morning of my 6th section when she handed over a sheet of paper to me to read out the day’s news in the school assembly as I was walking out of the Mess hall after my breakfast. From that small stage of the assembly ground in front of the Mess hall I started my walks on to multitude of stages to express myself, to prove my point and to absorb the audience in front of me. There I started learning the art of presentation and public speaking.

My elementary-school days were the one that actually made JVVV an ingredient of my life. Those days which started off with the shivering mornings where I reluctantly went for those PT sessions, followed by Science and Mathematics classes where I determined to go diligently along tie load of study and get a good result, English and Malayalam classes which I loved to be in to listen and be impressed upon the poems and prose than to memorize them, evenings which marked vying with my friends for house points in CCA events, sweating out in the field with the willow or to leap for the volleyball till dusk, to wait for the study time to get over so that I can curl under my blanket, all were rich with much exposures to refine me for the years to come. Those were the days where I approached reading seriously and finding that all great men had done that way, I began to try my hands at classics where I could begin in a small way to soak my system full of hard words and information. They were followed by those incidents when I rushed to Sreelatha teacher and Saseendran sir with what I have scribbled and what I believed to be some real literary work. Thanks to them who patiently listened to me, appreciated me and corrected me, to make me realize later that I stood way behind of something which can be called as solid creativity. Not to deviate far from the thread of my discussion, those were the years, which trained me to think more scientifically, rationally and physically and which planted the habits of ad-libbing and reading, which can only be lost later by serious ignorance, within me. Again, those CCA days and all navodayan policies deep-rooted the pride of being a part of this great country within me and gave me the idea that patriotism is your conviction that this country is superior to all other countries because you were born in it.

My high school days were the days where I never bothered to remember when industrial revolution or crusades or World War I happened and so I stood at the head of the class for those long hours. Those were the years that gave me true friends and which taught me to gauge the faces around me. I did realize that friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art... It has no survival value; rather is one of those things that give value to survival. I still believe that one of the greatest treasure that JNVV offered me is my personnel relations…ie, a bunch of sincere friends and loving teachers. Those were the days where I met Sornalatha teacher in my life. She started from the point were I was about to digress and I found a sincere teacher, a good guide and an elder sister in her. In a nutshell, those years taught me the intensity of relations above everything else.

In the mean time we had our exam preparations for 10th grade, I did compete with my friends and disappointed many of my well-wishers when the score was not as good as they expected and moved on after promising them that I would do good in next chance. As a matter of fact, I should accept, I was not surprised on the marksheets. In those 3 final years our school offered me many chances to visit other similar navodayas to get more exposures and to stand along with external competitions. Days were colourful, we overcame the obstacles in our path one after the other and saw glimpses of the bright light at the end of the tunnel.

On that day when I said adios to my dear school, and as I walked the empty way down my favourite MP hall, what did I tell you? Did I tell you that you had offered me both the bright and dark shades of the colour-board? Did I turn back to check whether I could see Joby standing there and waving hands? Did I hold hands of my best friends to console or to be consoled? Did I ever tell you that we are carrying away many of those un-answered questions with us even though we had its answers? Did I ever share my question with you of why he did it to us? Did I tell you that I will come back to stand on that stage again? I can’t remember more or rather I don’t know.

Above all, I discover that the courage to speak out what you feel right in front of anyone and everyone is the most valuable lesson that JNVV taught me. Again, it offered me handful of true friends who sincerely manages to keep in touch all these years and who will definitely stand shoulder to shoulder with me in years to come. To add with, are all those good at heart teachers who showed me the way and still love me. I fully agree with Abraham Lincoln in “Everything I am or ever hope to be, I owe to my family” but at the same time I remember and thank JNVV for making me understand and realize all those values. It definitely taught me to comprehend:

“Consult not your fears but your hopes and your dreams. Think not about your frustrations, but about your unfulfilled potential. Concern yourself not with what you tried and failed in, but with what it is still possible for you to do.”