Redefining Horizons

  “ Oye Gwachi ga, Kithe chale ?”  (I will let you in on the meaning a little later) Havildar Mahinder Singh shouted at the soldier carrying something and seemingly headed in the wrong direction.  I was a young lieutenant on attachment with an Infantry Battalion and was overseeing the maintenance parade of the unit. I liked the way my troops spoke Punjabi. It sounded musical even when they said the harshest things. The way Malayalam, my mother tongue, is spoken also changes from place to place. In my area, it sounds bland, but it often meant far more beyond what was said. H owever, in Thrissur and Trivandrum, there is a distinct musical touch to the way they speak their dialect. The Punjabi my troops spoke was different in every possible way.  We, as officers, are expected to learn the language of our Troops and communicate with them in their mother tongue.  During my training, I had picked up Hindi. I could communicate my way around. However, there was a proble...

  Happy New Year    May this year bring each one of you, and your loved ones, happiness, good health and a sense of safety. Being located in more than 180 different countries, we are separated by time, space, geography, and cultural backgrounds, but we are united in our quest for serious reading. Thank you for choosing to read my articles. Thank you for sharing my articles with your friends. Please use the comment section under each article published to engage in discussion and exchange thoughts on the subject discussed.  Now to the topic of the Day -  When silence prevails,  “Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.” “There is wisdom in silence.” “Learn to listen.” “Silence is Golden.” “Do you always have to speak?” “Can't you keep quiet?” “Why should you speak for him?” Irrespective of our nationalities, it is likely that we grew up having heard one or more of the above statements or questions. These are a few of the dictums that condit...

  A few days back, I was driving home from the neighbouring city. Seeing the painstakingly laid and beautifully crafted white line continuously snaking along like an endless work of art on the road, I asked my wife, “Saw that line?” We were negotiating a blind curve on the road. Both sides of the road had white lines clearly showing the edges. The broad line with reflectors in the middle of the road was meant to separate the traffic, and drivers are expected to keep their vehicles within their side of the line. Roads in this part of the country have many curves and gradients. They are well-marked and take on a high density of traffic. Almost all trucks on Indian roads have their rears marked with “Blow Horn” along with other funny and sometimes philosophical quotes. Unlike in the West, where honking is considered uncivil, here, signage asking drivers to ‘blow horn’ can be found along the road, across the country.  Before my wife could answer, a car, without any warning, overto...

  “Veettil Oonu,” ( വീട്ടിൽ ഊണ് ), the board outside the roadside restaurant in the town screamed. The two Malayalam words literally mean 'home food’. Everyone knows that home food is prepared and served at home. The restaurant that screamed ‘home food’ was neither home nor homely. It kept the hearth going for its owners and workers. Such boards are common along the length and breadth of Kerala. How can anyone buy ‘home food’ in a wayside restaurant? Everyone knows it is a blatant lie.  If you walk into such a restaurant hoping to eat something homely, you could be disappointed. The food they serve is a ‘meal’ sold in all restaurants across Kerala. ‘Meals,’ for the uninitiated, means an unlimited supply of rice and curry, served on a banana leaf or plate. If you thought Veettil Oonu would be cheaper than normal meals in other restaurants, maybe if you are lucky, you could be right. Anyway, people still walk in knowing that the board screams untruth. The name sells. Why are na...

  “Pigs do not know they stink,” Manju, my friend, messaged me after reading my article,  Wrestling with the Pigs . The benign comment almost exonerated pigs from culpability for the stink. The thought, she said, was brought up by her husband when they sat down to discuss my blog. He had read somewhere that “pigs do not know that they stink.” They are a kind couple. It would have been easy for them to be considerate and pardon pigs as a class for “they (pigs) know not what they do.”  I was, however, elated on two counts.  The first, another article of mine, had found space in an intellectual discussion. It felt good. The second, I detected something profound in her statement. It raised two socially relevant questions. How would pigs know they stink? What would happen if pigs knew they stank?  How would pigs know they stink? There could be two ways. Either the pig itself realises that it stinks, or another pig calls it out. Both can happen only if pigs themselves...