Life through a Window!

We often talk about perspective, about differences in opinions and views. We talk about how life is unfair to fair people sometimes; how luck never favours the unlucky (??!!!); how opportunity knocked, but the butler was on leave; how ‘good’ things seldom seem to happen to good people; how life sometimes…ok ok…stuff like that.

Here’s a story that’ll tell you how your perspective and attitude is what matters in life — and how those are the things that open life’s windows for you into the wide, wide world!

Life through a Window…

I’ve written humourous posts, I’ve written sad posts, I’ve written hate posts, I’ve written despair posts, I’ve written book-review posts, I’ve written nostalgic posts, I’ve written funny love posts (if a tag can be considered πŸ˜€ ) and I’ve written some other kind of posts too. I’ve even written a poem (4th grader’s though, it is) but I’ve never written a story! So, here’s one!

(Sakhi, watch out. I might just be a better story-teller than you! πŸ˜‰ πŸ˜› )

Life through a Window!

Not so long ago (around 4-5 months back), there lived a frog named Yey!. He lived by a patch of grass on a road’s dead end…and in his ‘neighbourhood’ there were a couple of trees, a pile of stones, a pile of bits and pieces of clothes (probably waste from the tailor’s place), screaming people who lived in big houses, 4 dogs and a corner which was always occupied by dog-shit πŸ˜€ . The four dogs tried to annoy, irritate and humiliate Yey! all the time — whenever they spotted him, they’d chase him, scratch him, paw him…but never killed him! Yey! never complained. “How ironic”, thought Yey!, “I never feel like my name. Never!”

Yey! had, for some reason, imagined that this was the best place to be! He used to hop around town, searching for bugs and flies and any sort of food — but irrespective of the state of his tummy, by 7.00 he’d always rush back ‘home’. Because, every night, between 8.00 and 11.00 p.m., a girl would come out on to her balcony and stay there, chatting on the phone to God-knows-who (some wanna-be frog?).

Yey! used to hop around her, wondering when she’d come to her senses and kiss him (yeah…too many fairy tales, I know!) In fact, she and her on-the-phone friend had named him ‘Yey!‘ — surely, she wanted him to be happy and feel ‘yey’ all the time, he thought. Yey! yearned to get her love and attention. That never happened, and soon after that, the girl moved out of town too.

Yey! was heartbroken. He began to notice the kind of life he was having…dogs and dog-shit and screamer-at-dogs neighbour and piles of clothes and stones and dust and…and no water! Not even during the rains would a puddle form, where Yey! could swim around in joy! And what was worse, he did not even get the girl who’d given him a name, an identity! Yey! realised he was missing ‘life’ big time. Yey! decided that it was high-time he took some steps. He did.

The steps led him to an electronics shop. He bought a laptop. He decided:

I’ll make friends…
I’ll find a job..
I’ll socialise…
I’ll even blog!

And, my friends, he installed Windows XP! And got a Life through a Window! πŸ˜€ πŸ˜€

*

*

P.S.: Today, Yey! is a successful frog. He is happily married to Eeeks, one of the most beautiful females frogkind has ever seen; has 3 kids — Nge, Hain and Wow; works towards eradication of mosquito-borne diseases; blogs at frogspot.com; and has 871 friends in Orkut. Yey! does not believe in fairy tales anymore. His laptop is named ‘Mac-mac’. πŸ™‚

adjectives? feelings? what?

Confused. Lost. Nervous. Unsure. Scared. Fearful. Disoriented. Miserable. Dejected. Puzzled. Bewildered. Sad. Perplexed. Uncertain. Unconfident. Insecure. Worried. Disconsolate. Anxious. Dejected. Wretched. Gloomy. Panicky. Hopeless. Illogical. Dazed. In love. 😐

Hmmm… MS Word sure has a good thesaurus — and one preposition and an un-related word (which can be used as almost anything)! πŸ˜€

Tag me unromantic!

I’ve been having a terrible writer’s block for more than a week now. And in such situations, friends — disguised as ‘taggers’ — become a saviour. And, it was in such a time that this tag came my way. But Vimal, my saviour in disguise, I’m gonna kick you for tagging me this one! πŸ˜€ . Though this is quite an ‘interesting’ tag, I am not at all the one to do it! But well, of the two rules below, one says I have no escape!

RULE #1 People who have been tagged must write their answers on their blogs and replace any question that they dislike with a new question formulated by themselves.

RULE #2 Tag 6 people to do this quiz and they cannot refuse. These people must state who they were tagged by, cannot tag the person whom they were tagged by, and must continue this game by sending it to other people.

So here goes!

  1. If your lover betrayed you, what will your reaction be?
    My definition of ‘betrayal’ is gravely different from the normal person’s. So, I tend to ignore this question (for fear of kicking up deadly debates in the blogville πŸ˜‰ ).
  2. If you can have a dream to come true, what would it be?
    My dream would come true the day someone creates my clone! πŸ™‚
  3. Whose butt would you like to kick?
    Vimal‘s πŸ˜€ !!!!!!!
  4. What would you do with a billion dollars?
    Go off to Austria in a hot-air balloon!
  5. Will you fall in love with your best friend?
    I would’ve, definitely, if I were a lesbian πŸ˜€ !
  6. Which is more blessed, loving someone or being loved by someone?
    Both are equally so! (Existence of one without the other is horrid.)
  7. How long do you intend to wait for someone you really love?
    Till around 11:30 p.m. Then I’ll sleep off!
  8. If the person you secretly like is already attached, what would you do?
    Use some ‘de-attacher’, de-attach him and promptly attach him to me πŸ˜€
  9. If you like to act with someone, who will it be? Your gf/bf or an actress/actor?
    Madhavan! Oh…I’d give anything to see him up close! (The guy I acted with once, became my bf later. I would love to see if the same would happen if I act with Madhavan! πŸ˜‰ )
  10. What takes you down the fastest?
    A lift — and if it’s one with no individuality, faster still.
  11. How would you see yourself in ten years’ time?
    With my eyes, of course!
  12. What’s your fear?
    I fear I’ll regret my decision.
  13. What kind of person do you think the person who tagged you is?
    A handsome singer, a tee-totaller and a good friend πŸ˜‰ (now waiting to get kicked too).
  14. Would you rather be single and rich or married but poor?
    I’d much rather be married and still rich! πŸ˜›
  15. What’s the first thing you do when you wake up?
    Sneeze!(I have some damn nasal problem.)
  16. Would you give all in a relationship?
    Everything, but my individuality.
  17. If you fall in love with two people simultaneously, who would you pick?
    The lighter one πŸ˜€ Ok…jokes apart, why the hell can’t I have both? Only one? In that case, the one with the better parents! πŸ˜€
  18. Would you forgive and forget, no matter how horrible a thing that special someone has done?
    Yes! I am blessed with a bad memory. People can vouch for that!
  19. If you get to go back in time and fall in love all over again, would it still be with the same person? (Original question: What are your three most important expectations in love?)
    Ummmmmmm…can the same person have different parents? No? Then, NO !
  20. List 6 people to tag:
    Reema, Sakhi, Mahak, Xylene, Harish
    and Arvind

Onam…the king of festivals ;)

The oonjaal beside the athappookkalam πŸ™‚

Ellaavarkkum ente hridayam niranja Onaashamsakal πŸ™‚

Onam…the favourite festival of the Malayali πŸ˜€ Onakkodi, athapookkalam, oonjaal, pulikali, onathallu…and a grand sadya πŸ˜€

He's generally good humoured...wasn't served promptly at someplace, i guess! πŸ˜‰

Onakkodi: It’s the most sought after part of every Onam — a new apparel! On a Thiruvonam day, every Keralite wears a new dress. The head of the family is supposed to gift onakkodis to all members of that family. Well, the head of mine gave none. So well, I bought it for myself πŸ˜›

Athappookkalam: For 10 days, every single house adorns a ‘flower-carpet’…to welcome Mahabali, the cute, pot-bellied cousin of Santa Claus (they look so similar; only, this guy has no white beard, doesn’t ride on reindeer-sledge nor says ‘ho’ ‘ho’ ‘ho’! πŸ˜€ ) Kids wake up early morning, go hunting for flowers and come back with a variety of them — this is the one time no one screams at one another for ‘stealing’ flowers! πŸ˜‰ We didn’t make any — for lack of space (both in and outside our house) πŸ˜€

Oonjaal: Temporary swings are put up in the courtyard…and all the kids have a swinging time! There was no swing at my place…but well, I’ve been having one swing of a life lately, so no issues there!

D

Tiger tiger, burning bright!...a pulikali in progress πŸ˜€

Pulikali: This is the most fun of all…doesn’t the picture say it all? People (mostly kids) dress up as tigers/leopards and dance all the way…in the middle of the road πŸ˜‰ (I feel I resemble a meerkat more — in both looks and behaviour — than a tiger…so, have never participated. Moreover, it’s just for guys πŸ˜€ )

Onathallu: This is a spoof on the whole concept of ‘sharing’…we just hit each other real hard and call it Onathallu, just for the heck of it. I’m more of a receiver than a giver πŸ˜‰

And then…the sadya! Aaaah…the most satisfying part of the festival πŸ˜‰

P

That's the top-view of my dining table. Am drooling at the sadya; granny wasted no time in just drooling, though! πŸ˜›

A full-course lunch, with banana chips, jaggery chips, pappads, a banana, 3 pickles, a ‘kichadi’, a ‘thoran’, an ‘olan’ an ‘aviyal’, a ‘koottucurry’, ‘parippu’, ‘sambar’, ‘pulissery’, ‘rasam’, ‘buttermilk’ and 3 varieties of payasam — all served in a plantain leaf! Now you know why Mahabali has a pot-belly πŸ˜‰ I’v developed one too…now, dieting it away!

And oh yes! During Onam, a roughly 4-km stretch in Trivandrum is fully illuminated from 6.30 to 10…for 10 days. The crowd is amazing…and only increases by the year! I went for a walk with my brother “light kaanaan“…it was fun! I had a beautiful, fun-filled Onam. Here are a few pictures he clicked…

P.S.: It was Amma’s birthday on 12th! We walked into the kitchen at 12 a.m. to wish her and lo! She was chilling out — literally! She was almost inside the fridge…though I’ve no clue what she was thinking! A cool birthday? And when my brother and I sang “Happy birthday to you…” and “Santhosha janmadinam Ammakku…” in unison, she gave a start, wheeled around and stared at us. She then blinked thrice. Then her eyes lit up and with an “Oh…12th!”, she thanked us and graciously accepted our hugs, kisses and the gifts πŸ™‚ Oh yes, shall convey each one of your wishes to her πŸ˜‰

Own some birds…at Johannesburg!

Since yesterday evening, I’d been having this terrible buzz in my right ear which would slowly climb up to a crescendo and then shift to the left one. And then after a crescendo there, back to my right one! I didn’t know why it was happening or what exactly it was all about. Aarrrgh…it was really irritating! I kept ignoring it as much as I could. I tried to write, I couldn’t. I tried blogging, but I couldn’t. I tried to read, I tried to sleep, I tried to watch TV, I tried to clean my cupboard (!!), I tried getting drenched in the rain…nothing would work. It just would not take the hint and leave me alone! Then I decided to concentrate ( seemingly, there was no other option left) and voila! I realised that the buzz was not just an ordinary buzz (Thank God…I was not on my way to be deaf!). It was telling me something…something about me. I was about to attain self-realisation! My ear was talking to me. I could make out words. Repeatedly. Over and over.

I listened intently…but the words were too hazy…blurred…almost like it was being spoken from under water!

I thought I heard it say ‘Johannesburg’! Wow…really? No no…it said ‘John has birds.’ John who; so what? Then again ‘Own some birds.’ (Buzzer, I don’t like birds. they’re weird creatures! They look at you through one eye!! The other one, way on the other side, looks at someone else!) There…‘Join some bus’. Join? Did it mean get into? Or was it ‘John’s son’s bad’? So what should I do? Now what the hell does ‘Jan sung bazz’ mean? Do I have a Chinese ear?? Oh wait! I think it’s trying to say ‘Johnson’s buds’! πŸ˜€

Well, ok! So I hadn’t cleaned my ear for a while πŸ˜‰ πŸ˜€ I went bud-hunting and found a pack deep down the gorges of the multi-level (now so, because of my clothes, books, junk and more clothes) spare cot in my room. I fished out a few buds and poked my buzzing ears with those.

The buzzing stopped! It was then that I realised that my ear did not say ‘Johnson’s buds’. That was probably something my brain made me hear, for particular hygiene-related reasons! πŸ˜€

The words were very clear now. And the ungrateful ear (again, it was my brain’s handiwork) spat at me, “Dodo, you have a writer’s block!” πŸ˜€

The 1993 Grand Slam…

the grand slam…only, it wasnt a racquet in hand, and my dad wasn’t in white shorts πŸ˜€

…was served by my dad — and received first, by me somewhere on the back of my right thigh, and after approximately 3 seconds, by my brother at more or less the same spot on his πŸ˜€

It was some time in April 1993, during our summer holidays! We used to live in this awesome house set in the midst of 1.5 acres of white sand and lush greens…in the then little town of Guruvayur! I was 8 then (my brother, 11) — a naughty, impish girl who used to create havoc within the house all the time, and when thrown out, amidst my brother’s friends! πŸ˜€

We considered ourselves the luckiest among my cousins (who all lived either in crammed apartments in huge cities or in little rooms put together in 2 cents of land and called a ‘house’!) πŸ˜› and used to walk around singing praises of this beautiful house and the space around it.

All sorts of pranks, mischiefs and tomfoolery were allowed for by dad and mom. “Ee praayathil nalla akramam venam pillerkk”, they used to say (It’s the age when kids should be naughty). πŸ˜‰ We used to dress up the poor cow in its own dung; we used to hide behind bushes and throw huge, but dead, Eveready batteries at poor Raman Nair, the old-man-with-bracket-legs, who used to look after the trees and the soil spread over 1.5 acres; we used to steal mom’s starched sarees from her cupboards and make tents with it (we thought she never knew!); we used to pack pepper leaves in small packets and throw it on the road, catching some poor betel chewer unawares! We used to go to the temple every morning just to get the yummy prasadam; we used to make mud-pies (i actually tasted one!) and serve our friends; we used to play lagorie/seven-stones (i used to get badly hit by the guys!); we used to catch thumbis and then guilt-ridden, let them go; we used to build tents and make dad inaugurate them, urge him to step in (every time, it would be too low for his height, too fragile and would collapse over his head) and blame him for the destruction; we used to frolic all the time in the wide, deep pond without the slightest fear — until I drowned once! But that was never an issue. I decided never to drown again…and we continued our swimming adventures πŸ˜€

Didn’t quite have the time to notice dad’s expression…but am damn sure it was something like this — an evil grin mixed with surprise, anger and that just-up-from-sleep blankness!

The only thing NOT allowed: we were warned never to scream while dad was asleep. And that’s just what I did that day in April 1993. πŸ˜€

We were playing police and thief. When it was my turn to be thief, the ‘police’ came chasing and I ran for my life (and loot)! Went rushing into the kitchen from where mom shooed us out. The only place left for me to run into was my parent’s bedroom…and, forgetting the fact that dad was enjoying his after-lunch nap, I let out a blood-curdling scream and ran into his room. By the time I’d half-circled across his bed and reached the other side, he was up! The first thing he got in his hand was my grandfather’s walking stick.

I ran, he swung. The timings clicked. That aristocratic-looking smooth, 1-inch diametre stick kissed me — violently on the backside of my right thigh.

Silent. Breathless. Motionless.

Too late to realise, my brother pushed me ahead. Dad swung it high again. My brother found himself in exactly the same spot I had been approximately 3 seconds ago. The timings clicked again. Apparently, the stick was highly confused in matters of sexual interests! It kissed him too! πŸ˜€

Silent. Breathless. Motionless.

We both strode across the huge hall, entered our room, locked the door, went to our respective beds, pressed our face down into our pillows — and screamed in pain!

Some slam it was! Oh my god! I felt like I was a sheet of crumpled paper that had been floating around and suddenly settled down in a fire, flames licking at me with their rough tongues!

My dad never hit us ever again. In return for that favour, we never screamed while he slept. πŸ˜€
To this very day, I do not wake up my sleeping dad, even if he himself asks him to!

Now, tell me this — do you have a ‘hit’ story that can beat this one (no pun intended) ?

P.S.: In 1993, the Grand Slam was Steffi Graf’s too! The US Open, Wimbledon and French Open πŸ˜€

Bored? Then Rock on !

Hehe…no, this is not the review — because I haven’t seen it. Yet.

Disclaimer: Whatever follows are my views only and is not intended to hurt anyone, so please do not take offence. This is meant to be a ‘funny’ post. If it doesn’t make you laugh, I shall hone my humour skills. But if it makes you angry, please calm down, take a deep breath and close the tab/window πŸ˜€ )

I was in one of those brain-blocked moods, with nothing to do. I was blog-hopping, trying to land up on something really interesting. Well, I guess the best bloggers are already on my roll πŸ˜‰ πŸ˜› ! Either that, or I was too dumb to understand what was written in all these new ones I hopped into. πŸ˜€

I was fighting against boredom, crawling up the slope of irritation and frustration (one followed by the other) and finally saw my latest, favourite hobby loom up ahead — and I promptly started cursing Christianity. πŸ˜€ πŸ˜€ (1st round was for Hinduism; am done with it! πŸ˜› )

I’ve been caught up in this great urge for blasphemy recently! I’ve been having sessions with a Christian lady who is trying to teach me Christianity. It’s a recent mishap. I got into it voluntarily, now am striking a delicate balance… to resist being pulled in and avoid being pulled out πŸ˜€ Though I find the religion, the faith very nice (and a lot too similar to Hinduism), I despise the Church and the priests for skewing it up! And in the process, though a part of me likes the faith quite a lot, a bigger part absolutely despises the Church (read as preachers)! πŸ˜€ And well, ahem, I’m fed up of these classes and am in hiding now. πŸ˜€ I do not attend her calls and am pretending to be out-of-town (forever)! πŸ˜‰

Meanwhile, relatives and friends who know of this recent religious awakening of mine, are trying to convince me why Hinduism is superior to any other faith. How we are more tolerant. How they are violent and murderous. And I’m delving deeper and deeper into blasphemy! πŸ˜› (Any Muslims who wanna preach and send me deeper down ?) πŸ˜€

“Priya! Don’t talk like that. Blasphemy will get you nowhere. You’ll be a sinner. You will not be one with God. You’ll not attain salvation.” (Gist of what the Christian lady tells me!) 😐

“Priya! Don’t talk like that. Christians and Muslims are totally different. They’ll do everything to pull you into their faith. We are a different class of people. We are tolerant. We accept. We are open minded. They are not.” (Gist of what my relatives and friends keep telling me.) 😐

I am not an atheist, in the true sense of that word. But I do not believe in “Gods” who have form, body and sound. I can never fathom a God who walks down in a king’s attire wearing necklaces and bangles and anklets and earrings and a crown (some dress sense, I must say! πŸ˜› ). I cannot fathom a God who drapes himself in a white cloak, has a long white beard and speaks unto humans in a booming voice from the skies…or in His Son who can walk on water and perform miracles, but cannot realise He’s being plotted against and then dies a painful death! (Love and forgiveness? Crap!) In this wide, wide (er er…round) world, I really cannot fathom a God who makes devotees go sit somewhere at about 80 km from the Red Sea Coast! (If God is powerful and omni-present, why not bless them at their houses?!) 😐

“Bah!”, I think, “God! Divinity! Rubbish! What I need now, is to watch Rock-on! I’v been bombarded by raving reviews of the movie from all over the country!”

And then my phone rang…

It’s a number that’s foreign to me. Must be the Christian lady calling, from another number, to check if I’m out-of-town in Trivandrum πŸ˜€ !

In a voice that I’ve never heard myself speak before, I say:

“Hello?”

“Hi, this is xxxxxx, calling from Radio Mirchi. Your number was selected at random from

a list of previous callers. You’ve won two tickets for Rock On! Would you be interested?”

“Huh? Yes…yea…yes, of course. :D”

“Come to our office anytime before Saturday. It’s for the Saturday show!”

“Wow, thanks!”

“Bye…and keep listening to Radio Mirchi. Sangathi hot aanu!” (That’s their “It’s hot!” tagline in Malayalam.)

Divine intervention? A reminder of divine existence? God’s awareness programme?

I slowly let my phone fall on my lap…and felt that wicked smile at the corners of my lips. And I said to myself: “Priya! Blasphemy will take you to the theatre, if not anywhere else!” πŸ˜€

P.S.:Thank you, Radio Mirchi!
P.S.: Uh…uh…thank you, “God”! πŸ˜‰
P.S. of P.S.: There was no “list of previous callers” and “random picking of numbers” πŸ˜€ The RJ who called up is a verrrrry close friend. I’d been bugging her for tickets for quite some time. She just happened to call at an apt time πŸ˜€ .
Image courtesy: cartoonstock.com, google-images

Illiteracy has literacy in it !

Disclaimer: This is no longer the Booker-winning material I’d promised πŸ˜€ πŸ˜€ πŸ˜€ This post is just random ramblings of mine, after I lost faith in KSEB (Kerala State Electricity Board), my computer, my mind and my memory. πŸ˜€ This has been typed in less than 10 minutes. Saved before I log off / power goes off. Published before reading it even once, before checking for literary quality.

Title inspired by Suda’s post here. πŸ˜‰ Post inspired by my recent book-shopping experience! πŸ˜€

The plan had been on for almost 3 days. The first day, my friend ditched. The second day, my memory ditched. The third day, gmail ditched! πŸ˜€ (kept chatting and didn’t notice the time). Finally, I decided to get the mission accomplished, come rain or hail. Well, came rain! πŸ˜€ (Thank God dad let me take the car…er er…go with my bro in the car, I mean…I drive only in race courses πŸ˜€

Walked into Book Store 1 with a lot of joy…and stopped short when the door closed behind me! Have you people ever strolled into a room in the most casual way, expecting it to be deserted — only to find it milling with a lot of people? Well, something of the sort happened — only, it was the other way round! πŸ˜€ After squeezing my way through the eternally crowded Crosswords and Landmarks of Mumbai, Chennai and Bangalore, entering a book store and finding it totally empty was like a punch on my face! Hehe…there was just me in there! And oh yes, the shopkeeper too! 😐

After getting over the shock (and the shocked expression of the surprised shopkeeper πŸ˜€ ), I went towards the first row of books…I had to find Namesake, and get it couriered asap to a friend! So I decided not to spend too much time browsing and ask the shopkeeper instead…and well, the poor guy also must be quite bored, considering the crowd in that place! πŸ˜€ My conversation with the shopkeeper (Sk) that followed:

Me (smiling): Hi…do you have this book called Namesake ?

Sk (blank stare, then enlightened smile): Aah, yes… (comes out from behind the counter)…Ummmm…Baby’s Day, right?

Me: What?! No no…Namesake (wondering if there is a book called Baby’s Day at all)

Sk (walking around 2 shelves): Mmmm…aha…uh uh…what’s the name of the book again?

Me (trying to be polite and helpful): Name. Sake. Namesake. Remember? It was made into a movie and all…with Tabu in it…

Sk: Who’s book is it? Author’s name?

Me (rolling eyes): Jhumpa Lahiri…Indian author.

Sk: Hehe…no lady…I’m asking for the author’s name!

Me (at the height of sarcasm): Ente ponnu maashe… ithrem budhimuttipichathil njaan athiyaayi khedikkunnu… thaangal avide poyi irunnolu tto… njaan thannathaane kandupidicholaam… please… onnu pokuo? (read as “Get lost, you duffer!”) πŸ˜€

I never found the book. I asked for 5 other books. He had heard of none. And it’s considered one of the best book stores here! “It’s out-of-stock”, he said sometime later. (Bah! He doesn’t even know which book he’s talking about!) 😐

Book Store 2 —

Me (smiling): Hi…do you have this book called Namesake ?

Sk (blank stare): What? Who is the author?

Me (pissed already; rolling eyes): Jhumpa Lahiri…

Sk: Enthu? Aaru?? Thelichu para koche!

Me (in my mind): Thelichu parayaan sowkaryamilledo… panna ma… ma… allenki athuvenda… mathanga thalaya ! πŸ˜€ πŸ˜€

I walked out!

Book Store 3 —

Me (with a grim face and no patience): Excuse me, there’s this Indian author called Jhumpa Lahiri…I’m looking for…”

Sk: Namesake ? I’m sorry, it’s sold out. We’ve ordered new stock, though! We do have her latest, Unaccustomed Earth. Would you like to buy that?

Me (highly impressed and satisfied; wouldn’t have cared if I died that instant): Oh! Yes, please! Thank you! πŸ™‚

I bought it though I didn’t want it!

They say Kerala is the most literate state in India — with a whopping 90+% literacy and all that…well, from what I see, literacy stops at being able to write, count and read basic stuff! There was an article I read recently which said those Keralites who were once honoured for attaining literacy now hardly knows how to write their very names! It spoke of this lady who was honoured high up on the stage before a thumping crowd of one lakh people and became an instant celebrity 11 years ago as a neo-literate. She now represents the nearly 12 lakh people who have lapsed back to illiteracy — and has trouble writing “Kerala” in Malayalam! Height of irony, I say!

Why blame poor Sk for not knowing ‘Namesake’ ? (I was frustrated that a book store owner doesn’t know the books’ and authors’ names. The poor thing’s out-of-touch with the literary world that does not exist anymore in the country’s most literate* state!) No one reads anything any more! From what I see, libraries will soon become burial grounds for the dying books in it! Book stores will close down and these spaces would be taken up for political party meetings and dharnas πŸ˜€

Dharnas and march pasts every other day! Hartal — a new right and a colossal decree that brings cities to standstill — the right of every citizen, the hatchet of every party. Active strikes that house itself in front of the state capital’s Secratariat for days together…students who throw their colleges/education to the devil and risk their lives for the various Student’s Party(s) that take birth everyday. There is no hope for Kerala…except for one —

The only hope Keralites can now have for this naturally beautiful place’s salvation is to leave it alone and go off to Bangalore like I did… (er er…I meant leave the State and go elsewhere! ) πŸ˜€

Kerala — God’s own country. Yet, God is on vacation elsewhere, playing with ‘yo-yo’s πŸ˜€

*About literacy, on 19 January 2007, DNA reported that β€œKerala still rules”. Wikipedia says β€œMizoram has topped the list with 91.1 % literacy. Kerala comes a close second with 90.8% literacy rate.” (This wiki-page was last updated on 10 August 2008…so couldn’t be too old an article. If it’s wrong information, please blame Wiki (and anyone who knows the correct figures, please update! πŸ˜€ )

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