Redefining Horizons

  “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...

  It was a beautiful morning that day, way back in 2008. Then, I received that call from my friend in Mumbai. A Malayalee born and bred in Hyderabad, married to a Malayalee settled in Mumbai, she speaks a unique tongue. Our friendship had gone past the necessity of starting conversations with a good morning or good evening. The telephone calls between us were not very regular, but when we spoke, we picked up from where we left off last. We talked about small things in life. Most of the conversation was reserved for pulling each other's legs and laughing. There was happiness in our conversation, always. It has been like that since we met for the first time in 2005. But that call in 2008 was different.    “Arey, do you know something?” she asked. She sounded dead serious.  In the normal course of conversation, I would have said something funny or pulled her leg. “What happened?’ I asked, sensing something wrong in her voice. “I have breast cancer,” she said. I was stun...

Our daughters call up while travelling to work in the morning and on their journey home. It is a daily ritual. In the morning, I always ask, “Child, how is the day coming up?” In the evening, I ask, “How was the day?” Between the two questions and their answers, we quickly cover the essentials. My wife gets longer talk time with the girls. At times they call at the same time. Then, my wife and I either switch phones or use the conference facility. Technology has made staying connected easy. We catch up on each other’s day through our daily calls. Sometimes, the discussion can turn serious. “Dad, is it because I was raised as an Army child or the nomadic imprint in my DNA, I feel restless staying in one place for long. I yearn to move places?” That kickstarted the day. “Child, maybe both,” I replied. “Deep within us, there must be remnant imprints of early mankind’s nomadic DNA. Although Homo Sapiens emerged 300,000 years ago as nomads in Africa it has been just about 10,000 years s...

  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...

  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...

“Ladies and gentlemen, good morning. This is your captain.  In a short while, we will be docking at Lerwick. We hope you enjoyed the night sailing with us.  We wish you a good time in The Shetland Islands,” streamed in the skipper's announcement. Our vacation to Scotland and beyond was a gift from Doctor Abe and Elizabeth, our exceptionally big-hearted relatives, retired doctors, and hosts. We were accompanying them on the trip to The Shetland Islands.  Abe rented a car for the journey. We drove out from Birmingham and headed to Penrith for the night. Enroute we stopped by Lake Windermere and Dove Cottage, in Grasmere. It was one of the most picturesque journeys my wife and I had ever undertaken. Surrounded by so much natural beauty, Wordsworth could not have been anything but a nature poet. At Penrith, we were invited, by my wife’s cousin, Anna and her husband, a doctor, to dinner in a countryside pub. Everyone seemed to know everyone else and everyone acknowledged each ...

  Colonel Kochu Koshy Panicker, my colleague in the army, hero of many an action, and rightfully a gallantry award winner, organised the day-long contributory cruise in the Ashtamudi Lake.  ‘KK’ is an excellent organiser. Once he takes on something, expect nothing less than the perfect. As his boss, I fearlessly delegated tasks to him and sat back without worries. I attribute my rise in ranks to teammates like him.  KK is special. He smiles even when under severe work pressure. Dr Santy, his wife, an academic, is his strength. With them around, possibilities are endless.    On the 4th of May, I drove 95 KM one way from my home with my wife and two of my grandchildren and stayed the night with the Panickers. The next morning, my wife, grandchildren, and Dr Santy travelled with me another 21 KM to join the cruise, KK and his team had organised. KK had left early to tie up things. There are a lot of houseboats in Kumarakom, that offer similar daylong cruises. This ...

  In the initial years of my army service, I travelled by train like all other army officers. When I travelled on duty, the regulation ‘ holdal l’ was my companion. It was a masterpiece of utility. It held my things together throughout the journey. It took on a small mattress, my military boots that could never find space elsewhere, and all the other unwieldy stuff required to be carried along. There was a way to pack it. I first spread the mattress, put a blanket and two sheets folded to size, spread the mosquito net, flipped the covers over, and tied the laces through the three eyeholes provided. Unwieldy things were then shoved into the compartments at the two ends. The holdall was now ready for the makeover.  I rolled the holdall tight, into a cylindrical entity and tied it with the attached leather belt that went through a big leather handle. It was the strongest thing in leather I have ever seen other than the saddle. My orderly was a great help. Over time I learnt to r...