The School in Kumaranalloor and a Few Lessons

 

 

Kumaranalloor is famous for its Temple. But not many people, barring locals, would know of the Government Upper Primary school in Kumaranalloor. I went there first time in 2018. I was there once again, invited to speak, on 02 Jun, 2025, as part of the “praveshanolsavam.” “Praveshanam” in Malayalam means admission, and “Ulsavam” means festival or celebration.  

Praveshanolsavam 

The function was organised to give the children, starting their education journey in government-run schools, a sense of festivity. It was done to initiate children into the schooling system and coincided with the commencement of the current academic year. The authorities could have used the event to take stock of the infrastructural adequacy of government-run schools. “Sarkar karyam mura pole”, is what Malayalees say. It only means that things that the government does will take their course when it does. The strategic aim of the event seemed to be optics and eyeballs. Public memory may be short-lived, but well-publicised events can eventually be milked for political returns. The irony of having to market free education against an alternative that robs parents of hefty sums as fees through fancy names was not lost on me. 

My primary audience was a bunch of kids, full of life and refusing to be geographically contained, whom the teachers worked hard to keep in place. I was focused on their parents and teachers. The audience occupied most of the small hall, a shed with no partitions that otherwise served as classrooms. I had no political compulsions. I had agreed to be there because I wanted to contribute my bit to the society that I live in. I had a stage and I had an audience. I commenced with a few words about the importance of the function and then went on to what I wanted to say. A few minutes into the speech, I realised the hall had fallen silent. I had the full attention of the audience.  

Later, I realised what I spoke at the event applies to all communities in the world irrespective of class, caste, colour, country, culture, cult, or creed. Let me share that with you also. 

Questioning Literacy 

All Keralites are literate. We boast about 100% literacy. 

Why is the menace of drug abuse in Kerala growing? 

Why is road rage increasing in Kerala? 

Why do youngsters leave Kerala or even the country to find jobs when others from across the country move into Kerala for the very jobs our youth vacated? Why are our social standards falling? 

Why do ‘educated’ well-to-do people stoop down in their behaviour in public?

Why is integrity as a virtue disappearing?

Why is breaking the law becoming fashionable?

Why do we fall easy prey to propaganda?

Are we, as literate people, failing to make considered decisions on our own? 

Are we celebrating literacy under the mistaken notion that it is education? 

If one or more questions above have occurred to us, as individuals who can read and write, there is something amiss in literacy. Literacy only means we can read and write. It does not mean we are educated.  

Education 

Education has three important aspects. It deals with acquisition, possession, and application. Individuals first acquire information through prescribed or self-devised media of instruction, process it and transform the acquisition into knowledge and skills. Knowledge is a possession inseparable from the individual. Knowledge acquisition can occur in formal settings, such as educational or training institutions, or informal environments, like the home or society. Conscientious application of acquired knowledge in a framework of commonly accepted right or wrong depends on the individual’s character. 

Education must improve the scientific temper, challenge the status quo, and enhance inquisitiveness. It should improve the power of reasoning, promote objective understanding of the cause and effect of individual or collective decisions and actions. Knowledge must eventually be applied for the good of mankind and result in collective upliftment and progress of society. Unfortunately, a system that promotes rote recall to decide on merit and success, with disregard to the means adopted, discards internalisation and useful application, eventually bringing little good to society. 

When deviant behaviour is a norm or when different yardsticks become the norm for dispensing laws for different people, it is a clear sign not of poor standards but the absence of education. Literacy does not guarantee rationale-driven decision-making; education does. 

Do we believe education comes from books? 

Wisdom and Books 

Books are a source of summarised information or codified norms of practice. It is the summary of someone’s experience, thoughts, etc. They merely provide a doorway through which one can access collated information. It is barely the means to give all that is required. Everything in a book is purely information. Only when the information given by a book is understood, accepted after adequate questioning, internalised enough to be adapted by an individual for application when and where required, would it become knowledge. Knowledge fosters personal development and sharpens the skill of rational, logical, and critical thinking. Otherwise, it remains just information. Knowledge is the result of educated experiences. Wisdom is unbiased knowledge. 

Educating Children 

A child is like a sponge.  If we put a piece of white sponge in a bowl of coloured liquid, two things happen. First, it absorbs the liquid. We may not be able to see the liquid because it has been internalised. Second, it absorbs the colour, and that is very visible. Similarly, education has two inputs. The first is the intrinsic, invisible part. The second is the behavioural manifestation. We can feel and experience a wet and heavy sponge. Squeeze it, and the liquid comes out. Likewise, education can be of use only if internalised. Similarly, appearances may not divulge how well-educated a person is, but their actions would speak aloud about the quality of their education. Adhering to the law even when not supervised is a very simple example of being educated. When a society accepts literacy as education, it is easy for the shallow to discriminate and justify any act. 

Teachers and Parents 

Children learn by observing and copying. A child born to a Malayali settled in Germany or a child of Chinese descent would speak German just like any other person of German descent in the neighbourhood. Interestingly, such children can effortlessly converse in both languages and switch from one to the other as if the two languages are one. When it comes to behaviour and character, children copy the most from their parents, siblings, elders, and teachers.  Have you noticed that children pick up bad things faster than good things? Our role, therefore, is to become the best possible material to be copied by our children, easy to copy due to prolonged association. Telling a child that something is wrong while doing it ourselves not only sends confusing signals to the child but also promotes accepting the difference between preaching and practice as normal.  

How do we become the role models that we should be? 

I am a storyteller. I have authored three books. The characters in my works are all inspired by life. They emerge from the script as individuals through their actions and inactions in the given context, not from their physical description. I realise that the longevity of characters in my books comes from their behavioural traits.  

The first and foremost task before us is to draw the template that we want our children to replicate. Then we must abide by the template in full view of our children. If we obey traffic rules all the time, even when unsupervised, obeying traffic rules will come naturally to our children. If we are generous, kind, and considerate to people around our children will imbibe those qualities naturally. We can expect them to be considerate and kind to us, also. If we are crooks, hold double standards, speak with forked tongue, and demonstrate selfishness, expect a fiercer version staring at us soon. What we should aim at passing on is the ability to see everything objectively, analyse and evaluate it independently and then come to unbiased conclusions.  Creativity can also be passed on. That can be done by passing on the habit of reading fiction. 

Why fiction? Why not textbooks?  

Textbooks and manuals are prescriptions for a structured programme. That is a mandated reading. Reading textbooks or manuals provides information about a subject or an object. It rarely activates the imaginative part of our brains. Reading fiction improves the art of visualisation. 

But don't movies and television series give you instant visual inputs? Yes, but these inadvertently limit the recipient's scope of imagination. They coerce you into converging with the director’s vision. When it comes to visualising a text, in a work of fiction, the possibilities are enormous and endless. Creating visuals within one’s brain based on a textual input helps condition the brain to break pre-established moulds and promotes thinking beyond what is seen, thereby ‘redefining horizons’ of the reader. When people get used to the idea of pushing the envelope of their thoughts and continuously redefining their horizons, then it becomes second nature for them to dream limitlessly. Dreams lead to designing their future, developing the means to it, dedicating their efforts, and then reaping rich dividends. 

Read, and let your children see you reading. Over time, they will copy you and read on their own.

THE OTHER SIDE OF LOOKING THE OTHER WAY

 

Look the other way, is an idiom unlike any other. It does not catch much attention but easily hurts. Looking the other way allows immoral or illegal acts but its benign version, which could mean many more things like, avoid, ignore, desert, abandon, let down etc, could be immensely painful to those looked away from. The literal meaning of looking the other way is straightforward as the words suggest; looking in the opposite direction. Our roads play host to both literal and literary versions of it. 

Pedestrians across the world have the right of way. In many countries, pedestrians can cross the road, only at the zebra lines. If the light is not in their favour they wait or push the pedestrian button to allow them to cross. If pedestrians push the pedestrian button, they get the green to cross and the light goes red for motorists. People crossing like that wave at the motorists signalling gratitude.

Pedestrians at home are more empowered. They cross roads and motorways at will. They do not have to signal gratitude because they can remotely apply the brakes in our cars with their palms. Some jump over the railing erected to prevent random crossings. The more steel-willed and philanthropic ones go a few steps beyond. They alter or manipulate the railings or barriers to allow unhindered rights for everyone to cross. If you notice pedestrians crossing the roads here, you will find many crossing the road looking the other way. Having outsourced their safety to the goodness of the unknown motorists, they deliberately do not make eye contact. They just look the other way. Risks of tail bang notwithstanding, a few drivers screech to stop while most continue because they are skilled enough to evade the moving two-legged obstacle or too lazy to apply the brakes. The unmindful hero gets to live another day to look the other way because the drivers chose not to look the other way. 

Looking the other way is rarely that detached and removed. There is a painful side to it, especially if it happens in relationships. All of us would have experienced it sometime in life. Irrespective of the pain inflicted, the incident often leaves us baffled with the question, “How could he?” or “How could she?” One only needs to recall the incident to realise how it felt then. At times even time cannot lessen the trauma and its aftermath. There would be nobody in this world who would not have experienced this feeling. 

There is a flip side too. If you feel, you have been at the receiving end of this traumatic experience from someone else, there would be people around you who would have received similar treatment from you. It is so common and sometimes so subtle we may not even realise we have inflicted injuries worse than the worst we suffered.

There is good news. The damage in such cases is self-inflicted and therefore treatable. Cannot believe it? That is because you are not looking at the other side of their looking the other way.  Such experiences arise when people do not react or perform the way we expect them to. The more one expects, the higher the chance of shortfall and the more bitter our experience. This discussion of expectation and response is not related to setting work-related targets and their delivery but to human behaviour in social and interpersonal transactions.

It may do us good if we truthfully ponder over the latest heartbreak we experienced. In most cases, we likely assumed that the person would deliver what we expected, without telling the person what we expected. What about those instances when we tell people what we expect from them? We often expect without consideration of their competencies, compulsions, or circumstances. The converse is also equally true.   

We may be at a loss to explain why someone suddenly felt offended by us. Check!  We would not have known what they expected from us and in the absence of such knowledge, we might not have lived up to their expectations. In most cases, they would not have even demanded something from us but merely expected us to respond as they desired. The intensity of the let-down is immense when the relationship is intimate because we take it for granted the other person knows us well enough to rise and respond.

Sometimes, poor, inadequate and even adverse response is deliberate and malafide. Such numbers, unfortunately, are on the rise. One should be wise enough to differentiate between the intentional and the inadvertent. When people take our goodness in relationships for granted, we should sever and cut losses. A heartache for a short while is far better than feeling used and abused in toxic relationships. It may be kindness, to ask them for reasons. The heinous of the lot will deny even the existence of such an act. It is better to keep them at the farthest possible distance. Sometimes, we need to keep them around regardless of their response. After all, roses don't come without thorns.  

Now that we know, there is another side to someone looking the other way, it could open new avenues to renewing our relationships. 

Let me add a caveat. Tread with caution!

 

Mortui Vivos Docent. - The Dead Teach the Living

 

We left our hotel in the morning and drove to the museum in Haroldswick. It was a long drive that included two ferry rides, one from Toft to Ulsta and one from Gutcher to Belmont to reach cold and windy Muness to see the remnants of a castle. There was hardly anyone around and when we came across someone, an occasional car, or a small group of cycling enthusiasts, we waved at each other earnestly. My wife and I were with Dr Abe and Dr Elizabeth vacationing in the Shetland Islands, an archipelago in Scotland, the northernmost region of the UK.

It was cold, windy, and wet. I love visiting museums and old buildings. Museums, for many, are like cemeteries, resting places for relics, reminders of tragedies and some made-up stories. Museums, to me, are roads to the past and windows to the future.  I call it, ‘Mortui Vivos Docent.’ or 'The dead teach the living', a phrase I picked up from a book I read recently. In Latin, ‘mortui’ means ‘dead,’ ‘vivo’ means alive, and ‘docent’ means ‘guide or teach.’ Pathologists of the yore thus justified cadaver dissection. When I leave a museum, at times after spending the whole day, I feel very enriched and connected.

Every piece in the museum is a cadaver of sorts. For those inclined to listen, each exhibit is an unsaid story. For those who can visualise, exhibits can become the means to a journey in time to the generations before us and witness their struggles, trials, and tribulations and their triumphs or failures. Each boat, fishing tool, and other items on display that day had an individual story to narrate. Collectively it was a moving story of grit, grime, sweat, blood, and triumph. I could visualise the noisy landings of the herring-laden boats, the splashing sounds of countless feminine hands and the unkind words of their masters. I could hear them haggling about their wages and smell their smoky cabins. I could see some beautiful eyes sparkling through weatherbeaten faces and sense romance even amid hardships. I was there experiencing the poverty and misery of a people and their undying hopes kept alive by indomitable will.  The sunset well after 10 at night helped us with a day far longer than I had ever seen. The next day we spent time in Lerwick museum. In the three days we stayed on the Island, I travelled back in time, two centuries. I was amazed at the way the museum had been curated. some of the places I visited were run mostly by volunteers. It was a treat to the eyes. I recalled my trips to museums back home and the difference in how we maintain and curate relics.

We set sails, out of Lerwick in the evening and berthed at Aberdeen as the day broke. The next day we pulled into the car park of an inn at Bradon Mill, Hexham, to commence our walk to The Hadrian Wall. Running over 73 miles, it was built on the lines of the Great Wall of China, on the orders of Emperor Hadrian way back in AD122, to demarcate and guard his borders. It was built during the ascend of the great Roman Empire, known for its strong legal and administrative systems. Over time the state acquired unquestioned authority over the people. Corruption became rampant. Unable to cope with it, people looked for alternative socio-political and religious systems, setting in motion the fall of the Roman Empire. One thing led to another and the great Empire bit the dust. The Hadrian Wall, the largest Roman archaeological feature in England, remains a testimony to the rise and fall of the Empire.

Standing next to the wall, or its remnants, I was transported 1900 years back to witness the mighty Emperor's perception of threat and how he planned to secure his kingdom. An audacious construction for those times, rudimentary and primitive for contemporary defence, the wall hit me hard with the realisation of the transient nature of our authority and how irrelevant our wealth of material possessions becomes with time. The memory of a powerful emperor, once the world under his feet, now rests on a lifeless piece of primitive stonework. The beauty of the area around me captivated me so much that I forgot about the wall, standing next to it. That much for the ancient authority!

On our climb down the hill, I realised that our assets or authority neither make us immortal nor guarantee eternity. Men of intellect like Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle with hardly a material belonging, are revered far beyond all rulers of the past combined. This is one reason why despots attempt to manipulate history while they reign, little realising the futility of trying to make or alter history. 

“Memento mori, quare ne obliviscaris vivere,” a Latin phrase translated literally: “Remember you must die, therefore do not forget to live,”  is the lesson I learnt.

 

A Table Full of Dishes ; Sanu Ki?

 Ubiquitous Affliction

“Sanu ki,” a usage in Punjabi, is both a phrase and an idiom. “Sanu” translates to “us” and “ki” means “what.” Together, it merely means “to us, what” or in other words “why bother?” Simply put it means “I don't care.” That is where it stops being a phrase. Depending upon the context, “sanu ki?” assumes many a meaning. Commencing from being a plain expression indicating disassociation, it can mean anything like irrelevance, irreverence, scorn, and at times the sublime state of acceptance of the inevitable. One needs to spend time with people who speak Punjabi to capture the essence of the “sanu ki” served. It can mean anything depending on how, when, and where it has been said and to whom it has been delivered.  The difference in tone can change the associated meaning. The versatility of this phrase or idiom is what caught my attention.

In Malayalam, my mother tongue, there are different versions of ‘sanu ki?” Starting from “namukku enthiru de? to “nammaku entho venam?” words, tones, etc continue to change as we travel up north, from the southern tip of Kerala.  I am sure there would be something equivalent in all languages and different versions, within the same language, depending on the local dialect. Irrespective of the language, or its local dialect they all essentially mean the same, “sanu ki?”

Harmless as it may sound, it can pack a deadly punch when it becomes an attitude. Some, having got away with it for some time, become “cordycyeped[i]” by this attitude. Irrespective of the size of the organisation or its field of operations, if even one member of the team becomes infected, then it is likely to spread to other members sooner than later, spelling disaster for the organisation.

Disaster Everyone Shut Their Eyes To

Established in 1985, Enron became a multi-billion-dollar behemoth. Everybody was sure about its future, or everybody thought so till it declared bankruptcy. The company was packed with talents. They were masters of the ruthless pursuit of profits. There was nothing stopping them anywhere and in whatever they attempted to do. Yet, Enron fell and when it fell, it fell like a pack of cards because something that talents could not prevent pulled it down from the inside.

Postmortem dissection revealed that a few at the top had lied deliberately and some around them colluded while the many other equally talented kept quiet about it. They all individually were afflicted with “sanu ki.” More than the greed of a powerful few at the top, the fall was ensured by the silence of many who could stop it but chose to abdicate. It is said that it is not the violence of the few that kills a society but the silence of the many. 

Cost of Collusion

Most of us find it difficult to speak up even when we know that the path or the decision being taken by the organisation, we are part of, is wrong. We could be worried that by speaking up we could be seen as anti-establishment, end up damaging hierarchical relationships, and spoil our chances within the organisation. Under such circumstances “sanu ki” is the path most of us normally choose. “Sanu ki” killed Enron. Dissection of organisational failures across the world would reveal that “sannu ki” was the ailment that finally killed all of them. If we look around, we can see many people within our families, organisations, and societies remorselessly abdicating their responsibility, to tell the truth. If we muster the courage to look within, we can see many instances where we too have abdicated. We can go to any extent to be seen to be nice without realising that if “sanu ki” can decimate organisations and societies it can destroy us too. The sad part of it, we actively collude with others either for favour or out of fear.

It is easy to compliment someone successful. It is easier to ignore a flaw and let it pass by when it does not impact us adversely. There are many who even at the cost of discomfort keep quiet when they see things go wrong. Most of us desist from giving the correct picture or feedback to those whom we know for fear of offending or spoiling the existing relationships. Anyone who musters the courage and gives suggestions that are contrary to what we believe in is considered offensive and even inimical. Most of us avoid such people.

On the receiving side when things have gone irredeemably beyond, the very same people who chose to be nice through silence would be the first ones to come forward with an “I told you so,” or an “I knew it.” We are conditioned to be nice to the extent of allowing our near and dear ones to fail. Luckily for this world, not everybody believes in sannu ki. Some do bite the bullet.

Bite The Bullet

Recently, on my social media page, I posted a picture of a few dishes laid out on a dining table. Many of my friends liked it and some even posted comments.

One message bucked the trend. "What do I make out of this Picture? What is it all about?" came the private message from my friend in Canada. What is so difficult in understanding a picture?" I thought. many had already seen, put their likes, and even commented. That was my instant response. I did not feel good at all. I tried to justify my act and refrained from giving any weight to his argument.

I had been blunt all my life. I had fallen foul with many for rightfully telling them what I thought was wrong with them or in what they did. Few well-wishers advised diplomacy. I tried but like all half-hearted attempts, it failed. I knew that many in the hierarchy avoided me because of my reputation. Interestingly, I was handpicked by two Director Generals only because of this reputation. I also rose in the hierarchy. I continued to be what I was. If I had chosen to be blunt then, I must give that right to others, now and always too.

After the initial discomfiture, I looked at the picture. He was correct.  Without context, the picture looked meaningless. If you want to understand how awful it was, just try switching on any Indian movie song sequence, preferably one that you have never seen before, switch off the audio, and try watching. I felt the same about the picture I shared without annotation. Most people who liked and commented on the picture must have given it their own context. Were they being kind or were they merely exercising their option of “sanu ki?” Either way, I was happy with all of them.

The Chinese Dinner My Daughter's
Mother-in-law so painstakingly
prepared for us 

On the other hand, here was a man who took time out very early in the morning, risking the friendly relationship we had forged over time, to tell me that I had fallen short. I knew it was straight from the heart and with the sole intent of correcting me regardless of what I felt. I immediately sent him a message of gratitude and made corrections to what I had done. I checked my previous posts. Most of them were without any reference to context, just like the movie song sequence that had no audio to accompany. They all had many likes and comments too. All my incomplete posts seem to have met with people who exercised their choice of  “sanu ki?” 

Today, people find it difficult to point out mistakes. Parents find it difficult to advise or correct even their own children for fear of repercussions. Imagine the damage we are inflicting on ourselves. We forget that “sanu ki” returns to bite.

Human Beings and Human Doings

Recently, a friend gave a talk about “human beings and human doings.” The content of the lecture is her intellectual property. The title set me thinking. I am convinced that it was ‘human doings’ that helped us evolve into human beings and it is in these very ‘doings’ that we, as a society or species, will either flourish or flounder. ‘Sanu ki’ goes against the grain of collective survival.

“To err is human,” didn't someone say? 

"To correct is even more human," I feel.

---

[i] ‘Cordycyeped’ is a concept that I had discussed in my previous blog published on Jun 15, 2022. The link to it is given here.   

https://jacobshorizon.blogspot.com/2022/06/beware-you-could-be-cordyceped.html

You Too Can Prove Shakespeare Wrong

    

 

“Friends, Romans, Countrymen, lend me your ears.

I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.

The Evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their bones 

So let it be with Caesar.”

 

These lines came to me just out of the blue and with it, the name of Mr JS Iyer, one of my teachers. 

Act 3, Scene 2 of the Shakespearean play, Julius Caesar reverberates on stages the world over as the play itself or as part of elocution competitions in many schools and colleges. These lines did not mean anything to me beyond the next examination, those days. Strange, these lines had to come up while I was sitting in my study taking stock of life. I had just published my second book, "Dare Dream Different." With that, I checked off the 8^th of the 10 “things to do before I die,” a second time. I had drawn up that list in 1988. The paper on which the list was written could not stand its age and one day when I opened it to read, it just disintegrated. I know well the two I am still left to do.  

Thoughts have a strange way of making their presence felt. They come and go at their free will. I do not know why Antony’s speech came to the fore. It set me thinking. Is that the truth?  What about those who do good? Are they of relevance only till their graves? Are good deeds destined only for oblivion? 

Eulogies mean nothing to the dead. More of a social grace, it just adds to the frills of the spectacle called, funeral. Once the flow of eulogies from both eloquent and emotional speakers at the funeral ceases, the dead is nothing more than a memory.  Memories of people are fleeting but those of injuries, remain unobliterated. It always comes back with the same set of emotions. In an era where everybody is blaming someone dead long ago for the ills perceived today, Shakespeare, the visionary, was right. 

 

I am happily retired. I had a very successful run in my career. I did not reach the topmost position but I was considered. I blame no one for it. My bucket list is all done barring my desire to play the keyboard and obtain a pilot license. I have second thoughts on both but I have not given up. My book just got its first overseas sale. I was as happy as I could ever be. “The Evil that men do lives after them; The good is oft interred with their bones.”  Why did this occur to me now?  How was it linked to Mr JS Iyer? Mr. Iyer taught Mathematics and not English. Suddenly, things fell into place and I solved the puzzle.

 

I vividly recalled the incident. It happened in Feb1975.

 

I was in the hostel of a residential school. It was a weekend. My father had come to visit me. I was in the 10^th class and did not show any signs of doing well in life. I do not know why; I could never sit through the full duration of an examination. I left when I thought I had written enough to pass. I scored just the pass marks in all the subjects right from the fifth standard till the tenth. There was nothing great about it but it allowed me to continue in the elite school, receiving the scholarship and free education. The board examinations were just one year away. Just passing meant nothing. Worse, it would be a loss of face especially when my cousin had passed out from the same school with honours. My father was naturally very worried.

 

We were standing at the highest point in the school from where two roads radiated down. I was at the lowest in my life and the road ahead for me was nowhere in sight. I could clearly see the dormitories in the distance and the parade ground below. There was neither any clarity about what destiny had in store for me nor did I have anything worth parading. My father was disturbed. He was counselling me and I had shut myself in. It was then I saw Mr Iyer cycling up the gradient. Those days most teachers could only afford cycles. I am sure, he must have seen worry written large on my father's face and mine too. He stopped. 

 

“Good evening, sir,” I said, as he came close enough. It was customary for students to wish their teachers whenever they met a teacher. It also helped me break the barrage from my distraught after. “Good evening, Jacob Tharakan,” he replied. “How are you Mr. Tharakan?” he asked my father.  My father opened his bag of woes about me in front of Mr Iyer. “I am worried about him,” said my father. After the little conversation, Mr. Iyer told my father, “Don't worry Mr. Tharakan, I can assure you that one day your son will make you proud. He has a great future. Take my word for it.” Mr. Iyer then mounted his cycle and went his way.

 

“He can say all that. He was only trying to console me. I find it difficult to believe it,” my father said. I liked what he said. I also knew that Mr. Iyer was being kind. “Maybe one day I will do well,” I said to myself. Later that evening, after my father had left, sitting with my friend Jayakumar, in the corner of the farthest football court, discussing our future, I started believing in what Mr Iyer said. Our discussions about what we would be became more meaningful. It changed the way I looked at myself. Mr. Iyer helped me change the way I looked at myself. It changed my life. Jayakumar later became a banker and I joined the Army.

 

I became an Army officer in 1981. I did very well in all the Army Courses. I became a Brigadier in 2010. One evening, sitting with my wife and enjoying our tea, I felt like calling up Mr Iyer. I managed to get hold of Mr. Iyer's number and dialled. I knew my call would be a surprise.  He had retired long back and must have been quite old. I had never tried to contact him before that. I was not sure if he would recall my name. “Good evening, sir,” I said when he picked up the phone. “Good evening, wait,” he said. I could immediately make out that he was trying to jog his memory. “Jacob Tharakan, Ashoka House, My son, Suresh’s classmate,” he said. He even called out my roll number. It was my turn to be surprised. 

 

“Sir, you still remember me?” I asked. “How better can a retired teacher spend his sunset years?” he said. He asked me everything about what I had done all these years. “I am very happy you remember your teachers. I am grateful you called. It made my day,” he said. He was emotional and so was I. “Sir, how can I forget you? I can forget anybody or anything in this world but not you. You trusted me when even I had lost faith in myself. I know my call is many years overdue. I called to thank you for what you have done for me,” I said. I must have spoken to him once or twice after that.  

 

Corporal punishment was the norm those days.  Some teachers let their anger loose on hapless children. Nobody questioned them. I have received some myself. Mr Iyer never hit or admonished any child. I never saw him getting angry. He was a gentle soul. He was not at the center of any alumni activities and never got the attention or recognition he deserved; not that I know of. He was a Guru, who did his job and faded away. I retired on the 31^st of July 2017 as a two-star general. Mr. Iyer passed away on the 19^th of Jul 2019.

 

I am not young anymore but I am surer about myself than ever before. I spend time telling stories to my grandchildren when they come to visit; just like my grandfather did when I visited him. This is one story I will tell them when I meet them next. The story of my teacher, Mr Iyer who proved Shakespeare was wrong.

 

Maybe with kindness and empathy, we too like Mr Iyer can prove Shakespeare wrong. Maybe our grandchildren can tell others how their grandparents proved Shakespeare wrong. Maybe, proving Shakespeare wrong can be the next item on our bucket list.

Two Telephone Calls The Redwood Trees and A Stamp Pad

 

The First Call

It was a call from a former colleague and friend. He was organising an event to get former army officers and their spouses together, on an informal platform. He and a coursemate of mine reached out to all the veteran officers. Their efforts bore fruits. Many officers confirmed their attendance. I presumed he called up to discuss something about the meeting. 

“Sir, I want you to give a talk on ‘group dynamics’ at the meeting, he requested. I could not decline. Each attendee had a distinguished career behind him. Most of them had commanded and led troops in operations. They were masters at keeping teams together and eliciting performance from them in the most trying circumstances. Their spouses had seen it all from very close quarters. Talking to them about team dynamics, I knew, was like showing a candle to the sun. 

I scoured the web for research papers on the subject. All the articles, I laid my hands on, were clinical in their approach. Those in the realm of behavioural sciences took the psychology and psychiatry routes. Papers dealing with management used medical, clinical, and industrial inputs to explain the why of everything. They prescribed how to increase organisational harmony, growth, and productivity. I wanted my talk to be something other than academic because I was to address men and women who risked their own lives for the safety, honour, and welfare of the country and the men they lead. I wanted my talk to connect with their hearts.

When urgency dictates responses, people normally choose easy fixes. I loathe it because such solutions invariably become residual problems that persist. I just dig deeper, strive harder, and normally succeed in coming up with solutions that don't become problems later. I have been lucky. My mind was hard at work. I had not yet come up with any interesting connection. 

The Second Call 

It was quarter past eight in the evening and bedtime was fast approaching. My mobile buzzed. The message was from one of my cousins. "Will you be at home on the 28th of September?" it said. "As of now; Yes," I responded. "Can I call," he asked. "Certainly," I replied. 

He was older than me and was more of an acquaintance than a cousin. Our childhood interactions were brief. We were next-door neighbours and also members of the same local club. Members of the club were a band of youngsters, all in the same age group, looking for adventure and fun. He came to the club only to play badminton and steadfastly stayed away from mischief we worked up. He was studious, focused, hardworking, detached, reserved, and determined to carve a niche for himself. I was part of all the mischief that we, friends, planned and executed unless they decided to pull one on me. 

After graduation, he pursued studies in engineering and secured a career with a prestigious company. When I graduated, I joined the Military Academy and became an army officer. We drifted apart and raised our own families. We met just twice or three times in the last 40 years. Social media opened up avenues to catch up with people and we found a place on each other's contact list but never contacted each other. His message, therefore was a surprise. 

My mobile rang. “It has been many years. I want to meet you, sit down, talk with you, and hug you. We all are running against time. I want to spend some time with you before it is late,” he said. I could sense the sincerity in his words. We agreed to meet on the 30th of September. My mind was still hard at work when I retired to bed. “Why did he call me up?” 

That night I had a strange dream. I saw a forest full of giant Redwood trees. The name ‘redwood tree’ lingered on. I got up from the bed and drank water. Redwood trees? The dream was about things alien to me. I went back to sleep. I dreamt of the Redwood trees again. 

The Redwood Trees

Normally, I find it difficult to recall dreams once I wake up. This dream refused to fade away. I had never been to any Redwood forests. Then, out of the blue, I recalled having read something about the redwood trees of California while I searched the net for places to visit in the USA. I searched again.

Redwood trees are amongst the tallest, biggest, and oldest trees in the world. Some trees are said to have a girth with a diameter of more than 20 feet. It withstands rot, fire, and pests. What is visible to the naked eye is not its actual strength but the manifestation of the real power that lies hidden beneath the surface. Storms and floods cannot fell a Redwood tree. They hold each other. I decided to make the secret of the Redwood trees the ‘connection’ between me and the audience. 

 

The Secret

All trees send roots down; the taller the tree, the deeper the roots. Redwood trees are the tallest but adopt a different strategy. The taller the tree, the farther its roots travel. Like other trees, it does send its roots deep down but unlike other trees, it also sends its roots away in search of other Redwood roots. When the roots of different Redwood trees meet, they embrace each other and eventually merge. It is believed that each redwood tree is connected, at its roots, to all the other redwood trees in the forest. Imagine the strength of each tree held firm by a forest full of roots. No storm or flood can harm a Redwood tree. Storms and floods are inevitable.

Storms 

Individually, each one of us might be super achievers. We might tower over everybody else around us with our achievements. Our wealth and health may seem unassailable. We may even feel undefeatable. Unfortunately, aging is inevitable and afflicts all of us, however mighty we may be. It is also an uneasy process. It brings along storms every day; to each man his own. 

“Empty nest” is a common challenge. We plan the future of our children and strive hard to raise them to succeed in life. When our children grow up, they leave the nest in pursuit of careers of their choice and also raise their own families. Initially, we take great pride and satisfaction in saying that our children have gone far but as age catches up one realises that the nest is empty. It is a situation that we all strive to bring upon ourselves and therefore an irony that we have to come to terms with. Emptiness is the first storm to hit an empty nest.

The storm gains fury as we age. Physical ailments, lack of sleep, and loss of purpose accentuate emptiness. Days become shorter, nights become longer and the horizon looks a bit closer than before. The clock sounds louder at night signaling the presence of emptiness in our nests. The inability of our children to meet our demands on their time, proximity, and care starts hurting us and even negates the pride we once carried about their achievements. The more we demand the less we feel we get irrespective of whatever and how much soever they do. Emptiness is the most dangerous form of cancer. It rots one from within.

Loss of spouse and friends, inevitable in our journey in time, worsens emptiness and makes the storm unbearable. Those amongst us who toiled all our lives only for ourselves, like trees sending their roots down without connecting with the world around, can find emptiness unbearable and storms hard to survive. Those unwilling to mend ways have nothing but bitter emptiness for company, as they age. Their escape comes through Dementia, Alzheimer's, and eventual death. Luckily, it is never too late to start extending our hands of friendship and cooperation to the people around us. There is just one impediment, the baggage we carry.

Baggage

The only impediment to sending our roots out in search of other Redwood trees is our ego. We think no end to ourselves because of the success we attribute to ourselves. We might have been anybody when we were at the zenith of our profession. The place we considered our thrones, the very symbol of our achievements and success, has to be handed over to someone younger even if we don't like it. There will be people more capable than us even if we don't accept it. It is better, we understand that positions and authority are transient and we have travelled beyond them. It is the same with our failures. Success and failures are comparative and perceptional. Pivoting happiness on success and failure is the ultimate cruelty to oneself. This realisation can make it easy for us to let go of the baggage of success or failure that weigh us down as we age. Unwanted cargo only helps a ship drown faster in a storm.

The Stamp Pad

 

Finally, the day I was to address the veterans dawned. I opened the closet to choose the shirt I was to wear. The first thing that caught my eye was the stamp pad. 

It happened a year back, I had called the Soldier welfare officer, requesting an appointment with her. My wife and I were required to affix our thumb impressions on a document in her presence and get that document attested by her. The fine lady had a busy schedule that day. She could not give us an appointment on that day during office hours. She, however, visited us on her way back home. She even carried the stamp pad for the thumb impression. She left the stamp pad back with us. Her act was one of absolute benevolence. I have kept it as a memento. Every time I see the stamp pad, I am reminded of, not just the immense kindness she showed but all that I received all my life. It also reminds me to be grateful for anything I receive. 

A sense of gratitude is a great nutrient. It changes the way we look at life. We become aware of our interdependence as members of the community we live in. It helps initiate, maintain, and sustain fruitful relationships and contribute without expectations. It also works as one of the best antidotes to the ailments inflicted by ego. The older we get, the more reasons we can identify to be grateful. The more we age, the faster we must shed our egos. 

Sans egos and filled with gratitude it becomes easy to stretch our hands out for friendship. When many hands come together each one of us becomes tall like the Redwood trees in the forest, immune to storms and floods that we encounter in our daily lives.