CHILDHOOD MEMORIES

I was indeed thrilled to read  the article “our children miss the fun & frolic of yesteryear’ in the open page The Hindu dated 13-11-11.

Actually it helped me to rewind my childhood memories. Nowadays I repeatedly brood over the past knowing fully well that those days are never to return. Even though my parents had six siblings and my father had to opt for Tamil Nadu govt service,when the Indian states were divided and formed, we three brothers were  unlucky to live away from parents and we lived with our grandparents in Kerala.We had an understanding grandfather who was also a schoolteacher and a vigilant grandma to supervise our studies.My playtime was reduced to marbles,throw balls, Pallankuzhi, home cricket with paper rolled with rubber bands serving as balls, Only entertainment was all India radio cricket commentary,AND that too when our grandma was busy in the kitchen. Cometh April, we  used to board the train to be with our parents and our siblings. Cometh June we cursed the calendar, because we had to return.We had lot of fun when we were with our parents,

Grief strikes me now and then when those days are rolled over in my mind.I selfishly wish those days to return.

BID ADIEU

Whole of Kerala woke up on this black Monday mourning  the sad demise of one of its illustrious sons of the tinsel world. Though he was ailing for some time, many a follower of his indomitable style on and off the screen ,yours truly included, had fervently prayed to Almighty to make the drugs act on him  to enable Thilakan stage yet another comeback .

Alas, the final curtain has fallen, marking the so called end of a great actor ,I do not know whether I can call him so, because  as we analyse the roles he played all through these years he always seemed to be a next door man ,be it in a role of father ,a tyrant ,a villain, or a government servant. In his last film, a co actor states that role played by Thilakan is no more, only to see Thilakan treading his steps to Holy Mecca few minutes later. It is only befitting that though his mortal remains are no more, Thilakan has left an indelible impression and a stamp of unsurpassable authority on his final way to his celestial abode. May his soul at last rest in peace. May his tribe increase.

Parading the Goalless Endeavour

First of all let us highlight, admire and cheer the half a dozen torch bearers of Indian contingent who had gladdened and propelled the hearts of 1.2 billion nation waiting anxiously for the last two weeks with silent whispers, prayers and sleepless nights,  watching the rise and fall of Sportsindia in the quadrennial sports carnival on the banks of Thames. Even though they did not set Thames on fire, it did bring considerable relief, belief,  consolation and admiration to this otherwise mighty nation which has or had nothing to rave about save cricket and of course a few isolated individual achievements brought by a handful of dedicated sportspersons now and then.

A lot will be discussed in the weeks to come as to how to honour  these deservedly gallant heroes, only ways of doing so will differ. Showering heaps of adjectives as to who did this and the ways of showering gifts in quantitative terms to showcase their never so die interest in the welfare of Indian sports will be the order of the day. All said and done, victory  has many fathers and defeat  is an orphan. A lot of mudslinging will take place across the table as to find fault with what went wrong, who did the wrong and to add insult to injury, finding and nailing some foreign coach as to the cause of this shame and debacle.

But let us not forget to introspect ourselves. Where does the fault lie? It may range from  murky politics, mundane politicians, lack of facilities or lack of the will to win or a mixture of all in different ratios and proportions, all ending before a committee of persons who may know no more than the spelling of sport discipline. They judge as to what went wrong  and what to do next  to achieve the impossible again.

Let us rewind our Cricketing history. Are we not beaten umpteen times, by all nations till 1983 and all our foreign tours ending in a fiasco and disaster. For a nation to rise from nadir to the pinnacle of glory, there should be a catalytic pump. For cricket, it came in the form of 1983 World Cup. It was the victory of a dedicated group with the sole purpose of a will to win. So was 2011. Between 1983 & 2011, Indian cricket saw many ups and downs while Indian fans continued to patronize the game faithfully.

Need of the hour is some radical thinking. We have to have sports schools in every town, with the best in infrastructure ,facilities, coaches and all prerequisite. Sports and primary education should be hand in glove. The incentives should be based on performances strictly on merit basis not on bias. Teachers should be promoted on basis of their ward’s laurels than the yearly routine. The education should be result oriented rather than job. The whole system must be supervised by a dedicated bunch of organizers including the political bigwigs, corporate giants to monitor, guide and look after the trainee’s welfare and to unearth raw talents and sustain their tempo with all its sincerity.

Till such thing happens, though not a distant dream, we Indians have to look far down the long list of nations to track the name India and be satisfied that it is not first from the rear and let Bindras, Sainas ,Sushil Kumars, Mary Koms blossom in our hearts to pump faster, higher and stronger. Compare our neighbor China, first in terms of populace, second in the medal table. If such a miracle if you have to say so, can happen in China it can and should happen in India as well.

I still believe that all is not lost yet. I  perceive the light at the end of the tunnel.     

WIZARD OF THE GOLDEN WILLOW        

                                ~ A tribute to the Centurion of centuries 

 

 

Fascinating indeed  was Sachin’s rise on the cricket horizon,

The school record incredibly mammoth and unheard before,

Boy of sixteen thrown before merciless lions in their own den,

Prodigy,all critics acclaimed even before he was yet to score.

Litmus tests followed too soon,he was on trial and on hot trail,

Bowlers, world over roasted him in every cauldron of cricket,

Bouncers, Yorkers and Googlies all teased  him in no avail,

Maiden ton on an English soil in his eighth walk to the wicket.

Centuries followed and flowed at a frenetic run getting spree,

Takes guard and prowling for the prey,while the bowlers frown,

Fifty tons in tests,Ninety nine altogether and driving in glee,

Milestones,records hooked,clean bowled and later unknown  .

One dayer or tests all same to this smiling assassin’s willow,

Records of Don, SMG and Laras all stumped on the way,

Bowlers sans clue,all dancing before the willow of this maestro,

Scaling all summits that came on his way and on his day.

Laurels, MOM awards, none seemed to satiate his hunger ,
Achievements mounting, slackness in his approach,unseen

Such was his penance ,ever articulate and always eager,

After twentytwo years of batting,yet not out of sight screen.

Billions of Indians with prayers in their lips,in somewhat a curfew,

World cup win was eluding  his majestic,overflowing cupboard,

A great dream,kept in defence, unfulfilled till recently,we knew

His maiden world cup win,our prayers and his wish struck gold.

Million dollar question yet in wait, with chagrin and expectation,

Billions of Indians and followers of cricket were crazy world over

Hundred of hundreds finally on the horizon,for the coronation 

The wait for the inevitable elusive ton,indeed now is finally over.                             

THIS LADDER IS A GLADIATOR RADAR
        ~A grateful tribute to all my teachers’ abode, alive or above

 

 

Resilient sculptor day in and day out in all fairness
A revere done indeed in profession and in nobility
Stones may vary in shapes, colour or in stoutness,
But he is the one who decides their final credibility.

Imagine those stray pebbles lying lonely on the beach,
Consider those heaped at times without a thought,
Or rocks that yield stones in the quarry in a bunch
Many such stones with different history have brought.

Some may have siblings with them, some truly listless,
Some oft roaming, rolling, gathering no mass or goal,

Some aren’t, need intricate chiseling in all fairness,
A touch here, a touch there, gently‘ll make them stroll.
 

Some may glitter, some are stony black, lie dormant,
But some may conceal gold or diamonds within them,

Some need to crack oft the tough and the adamant,

Precious gems indeed they are, so well they redeem.

Ruminating how such influences had showered indeed,
Humble thoughts wafting through my mind these days,
Sculptor, who spots and shapes amongst the raw breed
Chiseling and polishing the best out in many ways

Guiding them to the top of the ladder, with no slips around,

Teacher, the sculptor carving the wand in magical spree,
Glorified, yet, the ladder remains stay put on the ground.
Glowing tributes to all those gladiator radars, I thank thee.

AUGUST-27 AN AUGURY OF SELFLESSNESS                   

                            ~ A fasting caveat to a failing democracy

 

Some memories do linger longer in human brain
Have we ever or will we ever try to forget
Our freedom fought with sacrifice and pain,
The war we fought and won with an epithet.

Witnessing a massive interest in non-violence,
Eight into eight years hence, the same august
Bringing in memories of Bapuji in present tense
Thanks to Anna Hazare, bizarre in name, but just.

Corruption, often found in diction, now rampant,
With political imbroglio and disaster invitation,
Leaders, a few, collude with antisocial element,
Selfishly staking the nation into indignation.

Cancer of corruption with venomous pangs in wait
Something to be done fast before disintegration,
Freedom of our nation to be protected as a trait.
Wake up call has come now, to rise to the occasion.

We need a party that rules, not ruins the nation,
Governing, safeguarding people in right earnest
Their needs, their freedom of mind with devotion,
Defiant Anna, needs a dedicated public with zest

Succumbing never before these rulers, sans spine
Many under a spectrum of corruption and practice
A distraught nation needs Anna’s ilk and doctrine
Let us hail Lokpal, hail Anna, may his tribe increase

UNASSUMING MUSINGS ON A FATHER’S DAY

Unsung hero oft unheralded in every memory,
Sole breadwinner in many a home, even away,
Toiling hard zestfully, manfully sans rewards,
Fathers’ day, a salutation to him with regards.

Belonging to the same fraternity, yours truly,
Never the ideal to brag or immortalize, really,
Topic debated vociferously everywhere in zeal
Paternal or maternal who is pivotal and vital.

Housing an embryo in virgin womb and again
Black or white, male or female, sane or insane,     
Maternity is divine, par excellence, none doubts,
Sacrifice, indeed, nonpareil, well beyond words.

Selfless nine months and really thereafter for years,
Sleep on curfew, with more and more nightmares,
Cheering them, rearing them, a peerless servitude,
An epitome of patience, an epitaph of motherhood.
 
Yet paternity never ever the disliked bandwagon
Sharing or sparing the vital chromosomal genomes,
Indeed the pride of the house, more often than not
Birth of a child multiplies his fortunes untying the knot

Opinions may divide or differ, kindly excuse for sure,
Paternity thereafter regaining greater composure,
Likes and dislikes often contrasted and compared,
Virtues and vices indeed dissected and discussed.

Wiser things and worldliness often father’s reign
Portrayed oft as tough, in an affection less terrain,
Kind and considerate ever the mother’s domain  
Quotes sometimes may misguide us to refrain.

Father of the nation, this cliché does not hail mother,
Mother wit, mother earth, and tongue also mother,
In disgust we quip, as mother of all evils, is that true,
Titles bemuse me and confusing, How about you