do it in dubai

Do it in Dubai ( I meant shopping )



If it is Tuesday it must be Belgium is a movie I enjoyed in my schooldays ,it was a comedy on a conducted travel group going around Europe in a week ,I remember I went for this film with a friend of mine in the Safire theatre in Chennai ,as the school closed because it rained heavily in the morning and conveniently for us it stopped when we decided to go for a movie .
Why all this now you might ask ?
well , all I wanted to tell was that in Tawam hospital where I work now if it is Friday it could be Dubai ,because on every weekend they have comfortable buses running to Dubai and to Abhu Dhabi for the staff to shop till they drop .
So on Friday afternoon I got into one for the one hour and a half drive through gleaming roads in the desert sands .
As we approached Dubai signs of construction activity increased and in the distant horizon I could see the skyscrapers towering into the sky ,on many buildings being completed one could see huge cranes perched like eagles ,the dusty hue of Burj Dubai the worlds tallest building was not to be missed
We then entered into downtown Dubai and sped through early evening traffic blocks ,even with well planned ,multi laned roads ,excellent traffic lights ,huge bridges ( the latest is the floating bridge which is parted after 10pm for ships to pass under ) and the Salik or toll for entering the city to discourage vehicle entry ,the vehicle intensity chokes the roads .
The metro which is coming up fastly is expected to be the answer to the perplexing problem the city faces .
City buses are neat and huge and do connect Dubai with Sharajah and other places ,Boats and dhows connect Deira to Burdhubai from Abra .Posh taxis are present in plenty .No avenue of transportation is left out here to ease the strain ,one tends to compare it with Cochins narrow choked roads and ignored backwaters .
I made my way into the yawning gate of the city centre a shopping complex huge and rich in variety ,one could easily spend hours in this one place and remember the city is filled with shopping malls ,discounts ,prices ,gifts ,and multitude of products to attract and make our wallets lighter,window shopping is great fun specially in expensive branded shops .The food court of this one mall has more than thirty foodshops where every known food in the world is available and people are on a gastronomic non stop adventure .
After being there for more than three hours I sped to Ajumon with my friend who came to pick me up .
The next day saw me in Sharjah with another close friend and visiting our own Alukkas shopping complex with you name it they have it things .
From Sharjah Rolla I went by bus to Deira and upto the last stop called Baniyas from where I walked in the cruel sun to Abra or the dockyard a few paces ahead and from there my friendly Tawam bus took me back to AlAin in airconditoned comfort .
So I did it in Dubai I meant shopping !

Harimohan

media here

For a person who loves to read his morning paper with a cuppa hot tea I miss my indian express dearly ,it is one among the dailies I love in india ,the hindu of course has tradition behind it but also the rigidity of conservatism attached to it which takes its sheen off to a large extent (purely my view and i agree the hindu fans too are corrct in thier views ).

The sunday hindu is something I love specially the literary reviews none can beat them when it comes to thier erudite articles and reviews ,a delight to read indeed ,but a newspaper is not a vehicle of literary excellence though it could be one to be more enjoyable ,it should deliver the news with a punch and break good news never slipping down the perilious pitfall of jingoism or sensationalism ,and the indian express my favourite takes the prize .

So when i came here scanning the newspaers was an important chore for me in the morning before I sped to the hospital .

The hotel where I stay for the time being delivers in a bag just outside my door a ton of papers neatly folded ,it is gulf news and khaleej times ,each one wieghs approximately 1 kg

( literary exageration is the liberty for an author ),and as i carry this heavy load I know that readable matireal would be a few pages only .

some news of international and local intrest would cover a small part of the main paper with India by itself having the proud privelege of a page or two whenever Bolllywood shines ,

the supplements like buisness is all about the construction revolution in Dubai with photographs and also about rich trading internationally ,then we have property page with luxury condomniums in all the palm s developing in Dubai like jebel ali ,deira and so and on and so forth ,reeking of dirhams in millions ,

sports page to me ( strangely being a guy ) has never attracted me much , some intrinsic mutation i think ,cant change so late in life ,and then reams of classifieds ,

all this paper would be good for kapallandi packing of course

and so the papers would disappear into a filled dustbin after reading for half an hour .

so much for the papers here

weekends would see glossies delivered all with the same element of superficiality unlike our dear week or frontline

so bye till my next post

harimohan

sukhran

sukran in arabic is thanks .

in a land of ettiquete this word is often heard.

everytime you enter into a taxi the driver would gleam if you said salam male khum ( dont laugh if i have spelt it wrong ) and sukran when u get out ,he takes the dirhams with a flush and a grin .

Taxis are plentiful in Al Ain ,all Toyotas ,flashy and big ,and mostly huge Afghan drivers ,one just has to stand on the side of a road and wave feebly before one slides in front of you ,it costs for small distances 3 to 5 dirhams that is 40 to 60 rupees ( iam still in the conversion phase )

One dare not walk in the daytime as i tried once in a dare devil fashion on a friday afternoon ,with all cars moving to the nearest mosques taxis were unavailable and so i thought i could walk ,having lived in another furnace called chennai i took it cooly and did walk a km or so ,pavements are meant for walking so neat and paved ,i did reach the place i was walking to but i was exhausted and was almost seeing mirages ,the bright sun sapped my energy and the heat was like from a million suns ( exagerating of course ,a writer has the right so dont complain )

so after this i never made the mistake and told million sukrans to million drivers .

evenings were different of course very pleasant though not cool ,the roads have green lawns flowerbeds and people flock in thier cars to the sides of roads and had picnic dinners late to the night ,the whole city is well lit and safe .

malls is another great passtime ,one could get anything from pins to pistols ( oops no no pistols i just added that word for rhythm ),

there are more than 6 or 7 huge malls all centrally ac and which would take two or more hours of our time for a round about .

mallus like malls are plentiful and friendly so are the others from almost all parts of the world

jordanians,syrians ,iranians ,iraquis ,pakistanis ,europeans ,egyptians ,ethipians ,philipinos ,chinese ,malays ,u name them we have them !!

malls have cineplexes and ice rinks too for fun

but once you get tired of all this and if you dont have your family around ,the computer will be the only solace and a poor one at that

sukran .....

harimohan

first impressions

Coming out of Abhu dhabi international airport the heat hit me like a sledgehammer ,it was just 7.30 in the morning and this was a omnious sign indeed ,the summers here are just mind boggling but one is always inside cloistered comfort of an AC and walks out only after say 8pm when it cools .

As i sped along the wide highway towards Al ain i couldnt but respect the rulers here who could create so much against all odds ,our country has everything one could ask for ,nature at its best ,productive people ,but poor leaders with no vision have made a mess of it .The future definitely shows signs of difference .

In an hour and a half we covered the 160km and entered AlAin the garden city of U.A.E

neat tarmacs ,flowers , green lawns and bountiful fountains defied the shimmering heat .We drove into hotel hilton my stay for a month or more .

The sterile comforts of a luxury hotel made me homesick and long for my family .

Tawam hospital where i had joined was a big one with huge buildings and friendly people ,i returned quickly after a lunch in cafeteria with my old colleague .

evening saw me loiter in Al ain mall and later city centre and lullu shopping complex all laden with goods and variety .as it was a friday they were crowded and colourful

soon tired of all the walking and window shopping i ate dinner in a malayalee hotel typical

kerala fare in good ambience

Back to my room i slept thinking of my beloved kochi

if only i could by sruthi menon

IF ONLY I COULD

If only I could mend my broken heart, it wouldn’t bleed so much. If only I hadn’t loved her so much my heart would not be broken. If only I had not met her in the first place , I would not have loved her at all . If only I ………. But reality often never follows one’s dreams & wishes , does it ? And the day I met her, I didn’t know she would break my heart.
She burst into my life one day as a little pup , a forlorn looking thing , eyes drooping , a picture of misery. My newborn baby brother was gurgling and cooing to get the attention of all his numerous aunts who were intent , I felt , on doing just that . I , a nine year old girl then , feeling rejected , disappointed, and craving for attention took to kicking a stone along the small lane outside my house until one fateful kick sent the rolling stone into the gutter. I was left stoneless and loveless . It was at that sad moment when I heard her whine for the first time and turned my head away from the gutter to see her for the first time. She did not look quite impressive, but her eyes , pleading and love – thirsty, left me with a feeling of pity. Ignoring her dirty ,flea bitten fur, I bent down and hugged her. Picking her up in my arms and taking her home, I decided to keep her as my pet but I never knew then that she would turn out to be my best friend.
I can’t explain how I managed to coax my parents to let Ruby ( that’s what I named “her” ) stay as my pet. I was overjoyed . Happy days followed . Everyone in my colony loved Ruby and looked upon her as a sweet , healthy , cheerful and friendly dog. Even though Ruby was sweet and friendly , any enemy would melt under her glare. The colony nicknamed “ Robber Zone” , used to be a popular hangout for robbers but just a month after Ruby arrived , robbers existed only in bedtime stories. In 4 years Ruby was a grown up dog , strong and sensible.
It happened one fine evening . The weather was bright and sunny, not a suitable day at all for such a thing to happen , and I was playing “ball” with Ruby when suddenly the ball bounced out of the lane and into the main road. Ruby , in her hurry to get the ball, ran into the road ,not noticing the speeding red monster of a bus coming down it . The world came to a standstill for me. I could hear the blood pounding in my ears. I wanted to shout out “NO” but not a single sound could escape my lips. And then , it happened . The bus hit Ruby and sent her flying to the edge of the road and sped away , not aware that it had just crushed two hearts . I felt faint and my mind was drained of all thoughts . Gathering together the little bit of energy left in me , I ran to where Ruby lay, bent down , gingerly touched her blood covered fur and whispered, “Ruby…Wake up.”. But she just lay there , her eyes closed. I started shouting hysterically and in no time , my father and neighbours were crowding around Ruby and me. I looked up at my father, a doctor , and asked him, “ Papa … Ruby… what happened?”. He knelt down beside me, touched her chest and shook his head . Ruby had left us forever.
The first time I had picked Ruby up in my arms and brought her home, she was a shy little pup seeking my love and care and now , as I took her home for the last time, my face aghast with shock and the grief too much for tears to flow , she was a limp body, eyes shut , lifeless . The grief tortured my whole being and it tore my heart . I thought time would heal the wounds . But a year has passed since Ruby’s death and I have to say, my heart is still bleeding .


A short story by SRUTHI MENON ( IX C )
The Choice School, Tripunithara

home sweet home by sruthi menon

HOME YOUR ARMS I SEEK

Of all the things I miss
I miss my home most
The lashing waves ,swaying trees ,
And my mothers chicken roast .

The busy metropolitian cities of Florida
Are so unlike my home
Where the air is fresh and the sun is bright
And the green fields are here to roam

I used to wake up early at home
To the loud cry of the cock
But here in bustling Houston town
there is only a battery fed alarm clock .

The long slender boat lazing on the lagoon
This memory still gnaws at my heart
Away from the soothing breeze
Why did I ever part?

As I stood on the beach during the sunset
I used to feel I was in a painters canvas
The sky at that time , a mixture of colours
Made me think the sky was god’s very own canvas.

When I think of you now , my dear home
I feel god was unkind
To snatch me away from your warm embrace
Your arms , won’t I ever find ?


Sruthi Menon
VIII C

rainy day by sruthi menon

As I rushed home on a rainy day

The rain drops splattered on my face
And I quickened my pace
The thunder roared into my ears
And the sky shed its tears
As I rushed home on a rainy day.

The silver lightning streaked the grey sky
And I fearfully cried out, “Oh ,my !”
The world was transforming into a huge watery mess
and I too was in one that was no less
as I rushed home on a rainy day .

I shivered feverishly in the cold
No longer could I see the sun that shone gold
Splash ! I had landed on a dirty puddle
I was in such a great muddle
as I rushed home on a rainy day.

My vision was veiled by a curtain of misty rain
as I walked up a rickety lane
My wet hair was plastered on to my forehead
And I wished deeply for my warm & cosy bed
as I rushed home on a rainy day.

And then , suddenly the grey clouds slunk away scowling
And the sun came out , broadly smiling
Its scorching heat made me wince in pain
And I wished it would rain again
As I rushed home on a rainy day.


Sruthi Menon
IX Std
Choice School

A Helping Hand by Sruthi Menon ( my daughter )

The marketplace was a sea of humanity ,men, women, small children clinging on to their mothers, protesting hawkers.
I myself was one of those children , girl of six wide eyed with wonder .The brilliant colours ,tingling smells fighting people all inspired me and I was held spell bound .
My mother complaining about my slow pace stopped at a vegetable shop and started arguing about the price of tomatoes .I suddenly saw a women with two baskets of ripe yellow mangoes at a distance .I used to love mangoes and I started walking towards the women away from my mother .Just then a crowd of people went past me and I lost sight of the mango seller and also my mother. Panic gripped me and I shouted out for my mother .No one noticed ,no one cared .Tears poured down my face and the market lost its beauty .I started moving with the crowd , my mind petrified . Suddenly I caught sight of a woman wearing a blue saree identical to my mother’s. I ran towards her , caught her hand and shouted “ Mama , where were you ?” The lady turned to me , with a surprised look on her face . Horrified to find that she was not my mother . I burst out crying . The lady bent down touched my cheeks and said , “It’s OK , dear . Can’t you find your mother ? Don’t worry, she’ll be here soon .” She gently caught hold of my arm and led me to the announcement room in the market . My name and my mother’s name was asked and an announcement was made in the mike.All along the lady sat next to me patting me and speaking words of comfort .I noticed that she was middle aged ,had almond shaped eyes and a fair complexion.
Over all she was not beautiful but there was something in her smile that made her look pleasing .By this time my mother arrived looking flustered ,twisting her hands in anxiety .she hugged me tightly and thanked the lady in the blue sari over and over again .My mother asked me to thank her too “ Thank you “I said and remembering something I had read added “ you have a helping hand .“
The woman smiled broadly ,pinched my cheek affectionately and said goodbye and walked away .
A few days passed ,one day I went with my father ,a doctor to the hospital in which he works .My father was busy and I was left to do what I pleased .I started raoming around the hospital greeting all the nurses .I was walking along a corridor when I saw a door left wide open .Glancing inside I found the lady in the marketplace lying on the bed staring vacantly into space and I said “ Hi “ and the lady turned around and saw me smiling ,she asked me to come inside ,I walked to her and sat gingerly on the edge of the bed and asked her what she was dong in the hospital.. She said that she had an accident and I noticed that her face was marked with numerous cuts and bruises “.Iam so sorry “ I replied “ Are you all right now ? “ She nodded looking down .I followed her gaze and my eyes grew wide in shock ! I found that her right hand had been amputated from below the elbow and cried “ Aunty your hand .”.” i lost it in the accident “ She replied sadly I looked at her face horrified .
She thought for a moment and said “ I don’t have a helping hand anymore do I ? “ and then she hugged me tightly and cried her heart out .

SRUTHI MENON

IDEA AVY

Open air weddings in Taj Malabar Hotel at Cochin were grand affairs but in summer it was warm and humid and when a customer asked for the venue to be cooled the management was stumped .
they were wondering how they could do it without incurring a lot of money for air coolers which was also not very suited for Cochins humid climate.
It was then that chief engineer Avarachan hit upon a novel idea of installing giant fans behind thermocol boxes filled with ice , this innovation gave the cool ambience required at a cost effective price and everyone was happy.
To Avarachan ideas were endless , his innate common sense and practicality coupled with technical skills made him a winner ,so much so that Avarachan was better known as idea Avy!!
Bathrooms of older style in the hotel had huge flush tanks wasting water in gallons, changing them would mean new flush tanks when they were still in working condition idea Avy the wonder man got to work and taking cue from Aesops fable of a crow filling a jug with pebbles he did the same the result being the capacity of flush became less and the new tanks weren’t needed too .
Avarachan was against wasting in any form , there are numerous instances where his ideas avoided waste ,like the time he deducted that public taps used by the staff with push knobs wasted much less water than conventional pipes
He would give calculated figure in details about the quantity of water or electricity saved and consequent savings for the hotel to the delight the of its owners t

Idea ivy never stopped with the mundane for his legendary ideas were for anything big or small,
open air parties at taj malabar were boisterous affairs with guests enjoying themselves to the hilt but any sharp objects like thumb pins in the grass could cause piercing injuries to the esteemed guests and sweeping the grass was not an easy affair Avarachan promptly designed a magnet on a stitck which could be rolled on the lawn picking up the metal pins in no time, something like a minesweeper
idea ivy at his best indeed
Kerala is a wet place with the monsoons and even a hotel like Malabar was not spared of leaks from windows , damaging expensive carpets , idea ivy was called and in a jiffy he stopped the problem using a chemical leak repellant called high clear
With such a background it wasn’t surprising idea ivy continued to brim with his empowering ideas in his new job as chief engineer lakeshore hospital and research center Kochi .
For him this was a mission for a noble cause ,the moment he came he studied the AC plant power consumption and reduced it by 100 TR power load for start up ..
He invented and designed a huge boiler over 100 co for drying purposes
He used his tested idea of filling huge flush tanks with pebbles so that their volume came down saving water .he also had great ideas for mixing hot and cold water for benefit of patients and hospital
with a record number of inventions in his kitty this man can truly be called idea ivy
He continues his crusade of good work with his ideas powering his innovations .

poem of monsoon

Rains are like poems of nature wrapped in nostalgia as they bring the warmth of the earth to meld with the pregnant clouds
The aroma of the soil mingles with the wetness of the air and tingles our senses like the caress of a cool wind .
Come June and the sky darkens blotting the summer and its harsh sunlight ,spraying drops of rain touch us with thier delicate fingers leaving wet kisses while heralding the downpours with lightening and thunderous fireworks .
Dripping children wearing new uniforms trudging to their schools with heavily laden bags under colourful umbrellas from a picture post card of the monsoon .
Their gay laughters rise above the din of the spattering rains as they splosh through the water laden roads .Motor vehicles splatter them as they speed along the potholed roads .
The incessant rains drum relentlessly and their sounds are like background scores in the monsoon opera
The canopy of trees laden with water hang heavily to drip their diamond drops like with incessant regularity
Scattering insects ,wailing frogs ,chirping birds and flittering butterflies form the chorus to cheer the rains
The country is swathed liberally by the colour of green ,the paddy fields lie filled with muddy water ,swirling eddies mark flowing rivers ,laden ponds and filled wells mark its bounties
The mind is liberated in a sense of joy and jubilation as exitement harbringes the coming rains
The rains play hide and seek with the sun as both appear and disappear at their will conning men and women to venture into their warmths
by harimohan

shivaji the boss review of movie

Tamil films of MGR and Rajanikanth are known for thier first few shows ,it is an achievement when someone manages to see them ,with all the hyphe behind the latest blockbuster of the aging style king rajini getting into the first few shows even in relatively less turbulent cities like Kochi was a challenge .
Right contacts made us do just that and we saw the great movie of the century with an eighty crore budget ,labelled as the sixtieth year production of AVM productions who have been legendary in tamil tinselworld .
Above all it was a personal triumph for a fading superstar who commanded an astronomical sum of rupees twenty crores for this magnum opus .
For this money he wore not less than twenty wigs ,cavorted with a heroine who could be his grandaughter ,while blasting the villains in slow motion with superhuman computer generated stunts ,leaving his trade mark style statements and adding more to the kitty of such examples for his fans to hoarde and imitate .
But the man is talented ,of this there is no doubt for he takes you into the fantasy he enacts with such verve and elan that you forget your nitty gritties and escape into that cloud of pleasure that true entertainment brings .
Glimpses of a young and agile rajini of yesteryears make repeated appearances as he is groomed by imported French make up artistes ,mumbai based fashion designers and crystal clear picture clarity because of the excellent and state of the art digital photgraphy .
he is an excellent actor too in comedy scenes and his timing is perfect ( he could be used in so many character and comedy roles by good directors )his imitating shivaji ganesan MGR and kamalhassan in a song is just wonderful .
the songs are creativity shankar style with the tunes of A.R.Rahman ( but for one or two the rest needs to get used to as is usual with rehmans ),wonderful out of the world sets of Thotta tharani and fast stunts complete the picture .
The story is vintage Shankar who always packed a message with his films and made them a sucess too by sugar coating them .
Here too rajini is a rich software NRI who descend on the country with visions of free education and healthcare with his crores to th needy but soon finds things here arent so hunky dory and the country reeks of corruption ,he goes along only to be stumped by ace villain Suman ( he used to a dancing hero in the past and served a prison sentence for alleged offnces ) ,the later half finds our hero returing monte carlo isthyle with a bald head and acieving his visoin and destroying the evil .
Do see the movie but do keep away your prejudices and rationality in the cold stroage for three hours while you enjoy ........stylu styluthan rajini styluthan

my uncle

Major V.K.Nair is my uncle ,he was fondly called kunhikannan amamma which meant the” little eyed kannan uncle approximately .”
In my young days he was “Dubaimamma .”to us children as he lived and worked across the seas in the Middle East.
Those days Dubai was not infested with Malayalee expatriates nor was it a posh smart city as it is today.
It was all deserts, sheiks and camels and life was tough.
But uncle was a man who rose to challenges and he was like water in fish there, probably one of the earliest malayalees in Sharjah his stars rose with the city and soon he was one of the rarest persons owning a villa in the desert kingdom and on back patting terms with the local sheiks.
Uncle was always a whiz kid and stories of his naughty acts are abound in our family, how he used to palm off hoarded small currencies from amnesic uncles and spend it on fireworks to give the scare to errant headmasters.
He was a mischievous imp and the grand master of the joint family veliyamamma V.G.Nair textile engineer from U.K. sharpened his canes on kannans fleshy posteriors.
In college too he was his true self, once when a student came with a shaved head due to some vow and a lecturer ridiculed him Kannan the leader saw to it that the whole class including himself had shaved scalps and dared the lecturer to make sarcastic remarks, he was promptly bundled out of the college after this valorous act ..
Veliyamamma siphoned him off to his nephew in Bombay ,kuttamamma and told him to have a special eye on this grand nephew of his who spelt trouble with a capital T .
In no time kannan became a bombay natural and with his Goan friend Godfrey had a whale of a time.
Smartly decked they would visit restaurants and appease their massive hunger pangs, while one of them walked out nonchalantly the other would saunter behind looking for his friend and his wallet, they talked their way out of many tight situations with the ease of professional conmen and had their fun.
College in between this busy schedule was the last option and soon the principal confronted my uncle and asked him why he was absent for past few days, without batting an eyelid Kanan said his uncle expired, the principal who knew the uncle felt very sad and consoled him and asked him to take his time to come back to college.
The fun came when principal met Kannans uncle in the market, and as he didn’t believe in ghosts but did believe in the existence of lying students he narrated the whole story to an infuriated uncle.
Kannan was ticked off in royal style at home.
He just disappeared, none knew where he went ,my grandmother arrived in Bombay and the uncle was blamed by all for being so bad to the poor little boy who sleeked solace with him!
Months flew and none knew where Kanan was, Bombay was searched and so were surrounding cities, astrologers lined up in thekkepat kovialkkam with their solutions and grandmother was inconsolable.
On e fine day with the rains came the postman bearing happy news from Kannnn in
Dubai!
Yes he had befriended a sheik visiting Bombay and accompanied him back and got a small job, slowly steadily he studied , rose in stature and became the major in administrative wing of the British army stationed there and later on in Sharjah s forces.
He got married ,got children and helped so many in his native place, and filled the coffers of temples.
Years flew and a seventy -year-old uncle settled down at Manjeri with my aunt, he dived deep into the local temple affairs and led an active life.
He used to love eating good food, so it was sad when he got a sickness which denied him that , slowly he lost weight as he went through the surgery and treatment that followed but his spirits never died, he used to drive his quails for long distances, jog whenever possible,
he had a wonderful and neat way of cataloging and classifying, he took many photographs of places he visited and kept meticulously dated albums, he bought a computer, read books and was full of life till his end which took him away from all of us suddenly but surely
this is in memory of my dear Kunhikanamamma .

Harimohan

Splitting to Survive :

Gujjars and Meenas are now known to all Indians for thier great clash of caste and clans.
Hinduism is rife with fissures of caste and driven by rituals and rigours .
Its core strangely is the antithesis of divisions and speaks of unity among all lving beings and the divine !
The acharyas and swamijis of this great religion should descend from thier lofty perches and educate thier subjects on the evils of caste and symbolic rituals.
Illitracy is an appropriate tool for the proponents of divisive drives as literacy is always the light at the end of the tunnel .
The hungry politician feeds on divisions to survive in secularism .
Reservations are a handy weapon to thier end .
Perpetuating casteism is the formula of thier sucess .
Caste conundrums and mandal reports are thier chankyan retort to majority unity .
When will the aam aadmi of our poor sodden country realise that they are being taken for a ride by thier leaders spiritual and political ?
when will they understand that they are being sacrificied like flies at thier altar of selfishness ?
When will we get a swami vivekananda to drum some sense into this lunatic asylum of our country ?
Can we look towards gen next for an answer ?

Rose Show

The summer dust and heat covered Ooty like a carpet
It could hardly be called the queen of hill stations now.
The green lawns, terraced tea gardens and sylvan valleys were all there but not in the town which was dirty, crowded, and filled with hideous monstrosities of buildings and packed with tourists.
Traffic jams choked the narrow roads filled with rubbish and crowded shops
Our vehicle inched its way through a political rally marked by hoarse cries of defiance.
Veerappan styled mustachioed police officers with bulbous paunches threatened us to move on as we bungled making a wrong turn
Polite enquiries landed us in greater confusion
Diplomacy and détente were not meant for high-pressure hill stations in summer
The languorous and lazy atmosphere of the past had left with the British.
Finally we did find the road
We were going to the famed 6th Nilgiris Rose Show held in the Centenary Rose Park, Ooty every year for two days only !
The road was particularly steep and at its summit all it required for us to slide in reverse was an intruding Maruti Gently we slid down with palpitating hearts and stopped in a prodigious culvert.
The second attempt was more successful as we zoomed up in first gear.
Jostled by an eager crowd we plodded down the steps into the garden and wormed our way through the chaos of cameras clicking furiously
Grinning faces appeared posing between elegant flowers .
Roses of all hues and colors swayed gently in the tender breeze and glowing in the burnished sun .
What struck me were the names given to some of them, there was a small crowd around a “ Jayalalitha rose “ which seemed to me too small for her stature.
Days before this plant was shifted from its usual place and immediately her supporters made vociferous protests that this was the handiwork of her rivals who now rule the state and so it was promptly returned albeit a bit smaller.
I found out that Politicians rose even against roses.
The rose fountain lived upto its name a colorfully festooned flower arrangement of a spouting fountain, 16 feet in height a real pleasant sight.
“ This year we have rare colors like blue and bottle green ! “Said the horticultural officer, “ work starts from February and more than hundred workers put their efforts in pruning the plants, later adding manure and chemicals so that they flower in the right time, a shower is a must before the prime time or else the whole show gets delayed and after all this it all lasts for just two days when people flock to this event from far and wide (around two lakh) .
It is a feather in the cap of the Department of horticulture of the Tamilnadu Government. Our rose park got the garden of excellence award from the Japanese Government recently “he said. Commendable indeed .
Looking down the landscape roses stretched everywhere

And the following lines by Fredrick Peterson beautifully portray the rose
“The sweetest flower that blows,
I give you as we part,
For you it is a rose,
For me it is my heart”.

Ten Thousand miles without a Cloud

We come across books in so many ways, at times we know about the book or the author, at times it has recently been the bestseller or won a prize like a booker, and we go in search of these books.
Some books also come in search of us and rarely a few them are priceless gems.
This book would fall in that category; if I had seen it in the library I wouldn’t have been interested as the title itself was a little strange and long
TEN THOUSAND MILES WITHOUT A CLOUD with a picture of the Chinese author ShunShuyun, it wasn’t particularly inviting but this was recommended by my friend Singh the chief librarian of Ekm public library who knew my reading taste had a partiality to travelogue and reality rather to pulp fiction.
So I took the risk and plodded on.
We all have heard of Hsuan Tseng the great Chinese traveler to India, a meticulous chronicler of the era he lived and a monk whose foot itched to travel.
I knew now he was called Xenshang in china and was revered as a deity who brought back the Buddhist scriptures from the birthplace of the Buddha, India and translated them to his native Chinese.
His was no mean a fate as he had to travel incognito against the wishes of the Chinese emperor through deserts, great mountains, barren wastelands inhabited by bandits and nomads, he had to face climatic extremes and physical illnesses, enter strange kingdoms not all hospitable, he saw unbelievable sights, underwent punishing rigors, was feasted by great kings, insulted by some, there were attempts to maim and kill him but he took all this with the equanimity of one whose purpose was single and whose mind was enlightened ,he returned a hero and a God to be rewarded by the same emperor who forbid his travel and lived to a ripe age completing his task .
The author herself born in communist china had her childhood during the cultural revolution where religious thoughts were prohibited, but the presence of a loving grandmother who fed her on stories of Buddhist deity Guanying and the great monk who went to India made deep impressions on her subconscious which was never erased by the shallowness of communist brainwashing.
Years later she became a scholar in Oxford and felt she owed it to her grandma to retrace the steps of the great Hsuan Tsen and the book is an attempt to do so.
She meticulously follows the same route with the comforts of modern travel by trains, motorcars and planes; one wouldn’t expect her to do the silk route on top of Bactrian camels of course.
She travels through China, central Asian countries, Afghangistan where she is shocked at the wanton destruction of the Bamiyan buddhas by the fanaticism of the Taliban, Pakistan and later drives on the cauldron of religions India where she goes to Bihar and Patna to reach Bodhgaya and the Bodhi tree, She too feels a spiritual calmness at this quest and could imagine what the great monk would have felt, later she visits the border of Nepal where the Buddha had gone into nirvana at the ripe age of eightysix ,
She descends to down to warm kanchipuram in tamilnadu and then returns back trying t keep the route of the monk.
The writing is interesting and absorbing, one wouldn’t call it a great travelogue but the sincerity shines through and one gets glimpses of a great past otherwise missed
A good read
Filmmaker and writer educated in oxford born and schooling in china during Cultural Revolution
Buddhist grandma stories on guanying and xuang yang known here as heun tsang

Pranav was lost in the world of colours.
It never mattered to him that the light that shone through the windows landed on his bed in a hospital.
He wasn’t at home or in school where he should have been but for Pranav life was just a journey, and he made the best out of it.
With his soulful smile bright face and gummy teeth he made people fall for him. Literally
He was the darling of the ward and everyone loved him
They had to when they looked at his paintings
His deft brush brought alive his creations,
The brilliant kathakali face which gazed at one benevolently with intricate details in the crown and a sagely beard.
The idol of Vadakkunnathan temple of Thrissur deified in fine detail,
The joyous Santa Claus,
The mischievous Mickey mouse,
The languid scenery,
Or our national flag in all its glory.
Pranav was like Midas and whatever he touched was like Gold
His art was full of life
Every creation of his was as full of cheer as he was.
He kept churning them as fast as he could
He had been doing this as a toddler at two years when the first picture he coloured a potatoes was picture perfect with not a bit of colour outside the border,
He could write all alphabets and numbers unto twenty by then with ease .
He was great in studies too, a bright student of Paramekkavu Vidya Mandir in Thrissur .his paintings have been regularly exhibited in school
He was the darling of his friends and family as he was a pleasing and likeable boy smiling all the time.
His ideas come from everything he observed with his bright eyes.
His dreams were full of creativity
His passion of painting made him forget the pain of long treatments and hospital beds
His talent delighted all.
The doctors and nurses crowded around him everyday to see his latest production.
He would chat and laugh and smile with them
Pranav is not only a bright boy, and a prodigious painter but he is also a wonderful teacher
With the way he lives his life and faces the odds he teaches us all a lot.
Good luck to you dear Pranav.

holy cow ...book review

Holy Cow by Sarah Macdonald :

This is the latest book I read .
This also my first book review ,
As I read books of all kinds I felt reviews would be the next genre to attempt ,so bear with me and read on .
Sarah an Australian vows that she would never return to India after her first backpacker visit to the land of beggars and heat .
Exasperated with her Indian adventure the last words of a beggar cum astrologer in front of the airport in Mumbai who tells her that she would return to know the country truly rankles .
Strangely it becomes true as she does so with her partner and later husband who works for the Australian Broadcasting Corporation .
This time she goes through the rollercoster ride of the country and emerges enlightened .
This description forms the novella .
Racy and raunchy the book is addictive and exposes the underbelly of our beloved nation while slowly India casts its spell by its diversity ,dichotomies ,and daredevildry .
As journalist husband abandons her for long period of loneliness during his mad rush to gather news from remote corners of Afganghistan and Nepal Sarah saunters to taste the spiritual supermarket of India .
From Sikhism to Judaism ,Parsis and their tower of death ,Sufi saints , Amirthananda mayi ,Satya Sai baba and vellangani beckon her attention .
Imbibing this soup of spirituality she skips and skims their surfaces never delving into their depths ,just being a chronicler deeply interested in all .
The rancid waters of body bloated Ganga in Varanasi ,the icy tumble down Risikesh ,the nude naga sadhus of the Kumbh Mela ,the sweating father of hot and crowded velangani ,cotton wisp bearded sufi saints and mullahs of old mosques, and the benign smiling Dalai Lama in Dharamsala she leaves nothing behind .
Bollywood brings her to the big B ,Aamir khans bedroom eyes stare at her while she converses with a cigarette smoking Priety zienta .
She signs off with a sad departure back to her empty and neat Australia with the blue skies and pure air but the whiff of India makes her comment
“ India is the land of the profane and the profound ,the land where spirituality and sanctimoniousness sit miles apart .”
A baby conceived during her last week in India she says would remind her always of the land she lived in and what it gave and what it took .
A worthy read indeed .

The Song of Emilys soul

It was a cold December evening in the year 1984 .
It was the night Emily died .
In the General hospital in Shimla lay a eleven year old Emily .
She knew she was going to die .
She was happy about it ,finally she could see her father again .
She could finally leave this cruel earth brimming with selfish greedy people .
But when she saw her mother ,sitting on the hospital bed beside her ,eyes closed ,praying ,her little heart squirmed .
What would her mother do without her ?
Emily was all she had ….the only ray of hope in her life .
That cold December evening as Emily lay waiting for death to wrap its cold arms around her she remembered the past eleven years of her life .
When Emily was born ,her huge bungalow was filled with dozens of aunts and uncles who squeezed her cheeks and showered gifts upon the gooing gurgling baby ,but five years later when Emily’s fathers business broke and they were plunged into bitter poverty not one of them were anywhere to be found .
One by one they began to lose everything they had ,and were left to beg in the streets .
Emily,s father not able to bear the disgrace ,committed suicide ,never thinking of the two lonely people he was leaving behind ,his wife Daisy and daughter Emily .
They survived as Daisy began to work as a housemaid and with money earned sent Emily to school .
Emily with her bright eyes and innocent smile became everyones angel .
She taught her mother how to live through their hardship with a smile .
She used to find something to be glad about everything that happened .

But in her tenth year when doctors diagnosed her with blood cancer poor Emily couldn’t find anything to be glad about .
What followed were days filled with tears ,excruciating pain,and dying hope .
Day by day she grew weaker and weaker .
Her mother borrowed huge sums of money to pay for her treatment ,not thinking of how she was going to repay them ever.
All she cared about was her daughter .
If Emily died Daisy knew she did not want to live for a moment more .
Emily knew that too .
So on that cold December evening Emily called her mother to her and gasping for air said “ mama …promise me that if I die you wont commit suicide like dada did ,don’t worry …you wont be alone I will be
there ..there..” and using all her energy she slowly raised her hand and pointed to her mothers heart .
“I promise I wont dear “ said Daisy and watched as Emily took a long breath ,sighed and then breathed no more .
Daisy did not cry ,she slowly placed her hand over her chest and listened carefully .

In the rhythm of her hearts beat Daisy could hear
the song of her daughters soul …

Sruthi menon
Class 10

vellore

Vasur at 6 Am was desolate but for the cool November morning breeze there was not a soul and all that the golden quadrilateral between Bangalore and Chennai had were speeding vehicles and one risked getting maimed or killed if one dared to ask for directions.
Sneha Deepam was where my accommodation was arranged in Vellore and it was at Vasur just 7Km from the town.
There was a small temple and out of it came an old lady hobbling her way slowly, vocal ministrations on my part were successful in getting an answer from her.
I trudged the few yards along the service road dragging my suitcase like a morning walker with his dog on tow.
Sneha Deepam was a quaint wooded place with a just constructed building and an older one ahead.
I spotted a bearded Tagore look alike in priests garb that greeted me with a warm handshake and arranged for my room in a jiffy.
Vellore CMC hospital was to be my focus for one week as I had come here for a course and Sneha deepam was to be my home for this time.
My room was spartan ad neat and faced a courtyard full of raucous turkeys and cocks .At night they made a ruckus with one particular cock waking me up every day at midnight, in deep sleep I would curse the bird of a future where it becomes my deep fried dinner.
Next day morning Iam off to The Christian Medical College hospital.
This should be one of the most crowded places on this side of the earth.
I jostled my way through the milling crowds.
The atmosphere was filled with Hindi and Bengali talk and I felt I landed somewhere between Bihar and West Bengal. (Most of the patients in the hospital hail from these two states)
. A search for the department where I was meant to be made me circumbulate the complex like a satellite in its orbit before I zeroed in on it.
I was immersed into my work happy to meet new people and learn new things.
The day ended quickly and I disgorged myself into the streets around the hospital.
Coming out in the evening Bangla food, pure halwas, meeti paans, and such other signs greeted me so did hundreds in pajama kurtas and tucked dhotis, I felt I was inside a hindi film and looked around for the compulsory villain, I shook myself from the revelry by taking a hot chai and the tamil magazines on the stand of a small shop oriented me back to dear old Vellore.
A dry hinterland just 140 km from its famous neighbouring Chennai this overgrown village of a town has most of its fame thanks to the CMCH.
It is said its two main buses make a pradhaksina of it .
Of course history rumbled beneath the city and all one had to do was to look for it which was what I did when I stepped into the Vellore Fort .
Crossing the wide moat twenty feet deep, which was said to have had ten thousand gluttonous vile crocodiles sloshing in the sludge waiting for their dinner.
I imagined hooves of helmeted soldiers and clangs of their black murderous swords as they galloped into the fort for orgies of bloodshed.
Names of Tipu Sultan ,Hyder Ali ,the Vijayanagar kings ,booted British and flamboyant French crowded my vision
It was the seat of Pallava, chola, Nayak, Maratha, Arcot nawabs, Bijapur sultans.
Built probably during the reign of Chinna bommi Nayak in 1526 Ad to 1596 AD the Fort is a fine example of military architecture.
I imagined the poor sodden tourists who crowded the fort like sheep as these worthies.
I stepped into a deserted Tourist information centre for my quota of information and met a sorry looking clerk who was about to lock the place and saunter home for a much needed bath when bad luck in the form of an eager tourist yours truly landed on his poor self .He quickly did the vanishing trick filling my hands with copies of two brochures.
The neighboring archeology office was faithful to its specialty in almost being a heritage site with rusted bicycles parked inside and yellowed files fluttering from an overhead fan ,a surprised attender discouraged me from enquiries by pointing me to the direction of the temple .
I had to find solace in God after this indeed and so I walked barefoot by the cool flagstones into a magnificent courtyard.
The sculptures of the jalakandeshwarar temple built by the Vijayanagar rajas were scintillating and an example of the artist’s brilliance. Huge motifs described scriptures vividly.the temple was spacious and breezy; I sat on the he stone slabs, which were warm after the day’s sun.
The temple had an inner and outer prakara and a kalyanamandapam
I got up slovenly and trudged back home munching on some hot peanuts ruminating on those days
As dusk gathered I returned back to vasur and its turkeys.

DOCTOR ON THE TRAIN

DOCTOR ON THE TRAIN:

Traveling by train always leads to talking, the Indian railways being conducive to the national ethos of idle conversations, what else do you do with all the time and with nothing, in particular, to pass the time
suddenly your neighbor whom you wouldn’t have cared to look at elsewhere looks positively interesting and you ache to know all about him . He becomes a celebrity in those closed quarters.
Being a doctor passenger often has its good and bad , the moment you say you are a doctor faces around light up as their minds work overtime on how to badger a free consultation
“ohh a doctor is it a homeopath or an allopath? which specialization? which hospital? my nephew is a doctor you know in the states a cardiologist, Americans have given their heart to him !! haha
After this innocent introduction, the knives have sharpened the kill
“You know .” pipes one bald corner seat walla “actually my back is the problem lumbago, it all happened when I slipped a disc or two years back and it is been hurting me ever since, I used to touch the ground with my forehead all the time before that
( no wonder the hair bade him farewell ) all those medicines I have swallowed have only made my doctors buy new cars and left my pain with myself .”
This would give rise to faint chuckles by the crowd always delighted to expose clay feet it is a good pastime that a doctor is being tickled, after all they live on our sicknesses and make one pay fat bills to live in style.
Every man there becomes an instant remix of Lenin and Stalin as they berate the doctor as a symbol of bouergaiese excess
The lower berth pot belly would then start describing the noxious emanations vaporizing from his posterior and confess how he always needed a toilet around. He goes on to lengthy explanations punctuated by grunts and groans to elaborate his bowel movements in remarkable details as to him they were earth-shaking events.
“ My aunt has cancer you know, why can't you doctors find a cure for that ? and yes AIDS what about AIDS , forget all that, the common cold is there a cure for it ?
accuses the bright young thing peeking from her Readers Digest.
To her Doctors should have answers for everything or else they were not worth their salt.
A somber-looking middle-aged man who has hypochondriac written on his forehead dictates the whole pharmacopeia as the drugs he is on and finally with a forlorn look asks me what do you suggest doctor? for which I almost say all you need my dear man is the right kick in the right arse but turn down the temptation for the next time.
There are dangerous maniacs who hate modern medicine with a venom lurking in all crowds, especially trains who seek their victims in unaccompanied doctors.
They always berate doctors of charging exorbitantly and letting loose tons of dangerous drugs on the unsuspecting innocent sick of the country, this variety is always aided by timid companions with their own versions of torture by doctors, spreading the word that all doctors are born murderers and pirates so much so that the whole train hates you by the next junction.
The internet has made it more difficult with net savvy smart alecs fresh from their browsing quizzing on the latest to foggy old doctors like me whose knowledge starts and ends with the kind pamphlet the medical reps deliver with panache
one yearns to get away from all this probably with a friendly puff near the door, but nuisance follows like Marys's lamb “ what doctors smoking, what a bad example? “
So now this time I traveled in the train I was wise and when the inevitable question came I called myself a sanitary inspector with a sneer thinking that will put you, morons, in your place but then the man next to me said oh a sanitary plumber is it tell me which is the best potty for a man with third-degree piles !!!
Karma lands me in hemorrhoids again !!.

ekalavya the royal gaurd

" Ekalavya the Royal Guard ." is the title of the latest magnum opus of Vidhu Vinodh Chopra ,who is said to have presented the big B the hero of the film with a Rolls Royce phantom as a gift for acting in the movie !!
Amitabh Bhachan and several others with their healthy ripe beards and colourful turbans look good in profile in the stills of the movie .
The film starts in low key with whispered dialogues and dark interiors of a Rajput palace ,one looks forward to the mystery of the desert which is strengthened by the strangling of the bed ridden rani ( sharmila Tagore ) by the old Rana ( Bomman Irani ) for uttering the name of the royal guard Amitabh as the father of her twins the heinous act is watched by the mentally challenged twin sister of Saif ali Khan
( prince Harshavardan ) the heir .
She promptly paints the scene and keeps it a secret till her brother discovers it to plan his revenge ,after much bloodshedding and half the characters of the film eliminated the remaining victors become king and Pitamaha ..
Photography is excellent with the desert palace shimmering in its magnificience and the royal guard shows his skills by slicing off a ghungroo tied on to a flying pigeon claw and catching it , all done blindfolded as requested by Sanjay Dutt ( pannalal ) the low caste DYSP !
Poor Sanjay is wasted with a presence so short and insignificant ,probably he was added because he looked good in the profile .He did a good job even then .
So are dear Jackie Shroff the villainous brother of the Rana .( Vidhu could have saved a few crores by taking lesser actors without much difference and a couple of Malayalam films could have been made in the bargain )
All royal intrigues and backstabbing are shown with finesse and desert sequences with running camels and chugging trains executed with élan .
The only song in the film is melodious and worth listening .
Amitabhs baritone is the redeeming feuture ,he thunders in the silence ,even his low key whispers are husky and appealing .
Good movie surprisingly for a hindi one , but something seemed missing
Probabaly it was the too earnest effort to make it different .
Watchable .

AMCHI MUMBAI

The milling crowds were what that stood out in Mumbai on my recent visit ,they were vibrant , palpable and everywhere .
The city was alive and transmitted its cheer to all .
On a Sunday evening traffic came to a standstill as people waited for the big B to emerge out of his Juhu villa for the weekly darshan given when the great man drove to his old house in the next street from his new one ,once he passed away the crowd melted into thin air and life was back to its normal frenetic pace .
Very typical of the city which could spring back to life with renewed energy after any event like Jackie chan in his fights .
Railway stations were excellent for people watching if one could manage to find a niche to do so ,the overbridges were mini shopping malls laden with goods and haggling vendors .They had their own custom and so did the up station malls with their expensive wares.
Eating in the streets seems to be the national pastime for the Mumbaite whose culinary list began with patata vadas and ended with masala dosas sugarcane juices ,kababs ,and what not .
People ran ,ate ,spat ,smirked ,caught trains ,snoozed ,played cards ,jostled gawked and grumbled with equal intensity day and night .
Some finesse was required to alight on a suburban trains at peak hours ,the best way was to be alternatively passive and aggressive ,to be pushed by the crowd into the train and to resist with all force not to be pushed by the same crowd through the other doorway ,if one could manage this the art of traveling in Mumbai came easy and was even a pleasure .
The buses were less crowded but more slower as they grinded through the leaden traffic .
Towering skyscrapers dwarfed crowded slums of international repute like Dharavi where enterprise was as big as in Nariman point and where many a mafia don polished his skills .
Bollywood was always in the background as grinning Sharukh Khan billboards stared at you from railway platforms . .
youngsters dressed like their heroes ,women of different hues and colours and sizes ,topi clad dhabbawallas doing their world renowned balancing acts armless beggars and overdressed eunuchs were part of the collage and confusion .
The border between night and day were inconspicuous as people moved like ants late into the night under the brilliance of focused lights .
Marine drive resembled a diamond necklace adorning the blue neck of the Arabian sea ,pigeons fluttered a welcome in the gateway of India which echoed the resonant beats of many bands from the past .Distant ships winked their lights sad on leaving dame Mumbai and its pleasures .

The mahalaxmi temple shone resplendent in the morning sunshine as waters lapped just behind it ,the crowds were huge with people jostling in a sea of colours ,nearby haji ali durgah was a short walk up a causeway which would get filled up with tide ,huge cauldrons were being washed in the sea water for the days biriyani preparation and fishing baots kissed the causeway .

after the long dreary trudge back we gulped down the cold mango slice offered in a famous fruit shop at abominable prices
Wayside Gods went to sleep after the priests left them alone ,the solitary chime of a deserted church bade goodnight ,
Amchi mumbai is best remembered by these sounds ,sights , and tastes .
The curtain came down with the clacking sounds of a disappearing train stored in the subconscious for the sake of nostalgia .

Harimohan

Sun and Sand

Dawn in the desert was cold and the two shivered wrapping their regulation blankets tightly around .
Soon the sun would be up gobbling the earth with its red tongue , the sands would burn and the heat would blaze .
Life in this frontier outpost of kutch border wasn’t a joke for these air force men .
They were left alone for days but loneliness after some time was depraving .
It was their job to climb up the huge tower and steer the sights to the target built miles away so that they could asses the angle at which the fighter pilot had made a hit on them ,with two other towers at equi distances from the target giving their calculations all that the officers had to do was to collate the data to find out the markmanship of their ace pilots .
In the early seventies this was the way things were done .
Pillai and Varun Pandey would have been unmatched anywhere but in the Airforce they have been chums for many years so much so that pillai often spoke chaste Bihari and Pandey talked mallu lingo .
They had been posted in this Godforsaken tower with their meager stores for a week now and were hoping that the supply truck would come to give them a reprive .
Their dream came true as the truck laboured down the sand and they were given a twelve hour off and dropped in the nearest town .
They were expected to be ready by dawn the next morning waiting for the truck at the appointed place .
Time flew fast for the soldiers ,the local bar and other colourful entertainment made up for their days of penance .
The drunk men sang raucously as they got out of the thatched cinema hall and retired to their hotel room to sleep soundly .
Morning came and went and so did their truck as the men slept on .
At ten am Pillai woke up with a start and shook Pandey .
They were in dire trouble and could be court martialled for this mistake .
They ran to the nearby bus stand and made enquiries of any transportation to their destination ,a turbaned man told them to rush to the railway station and catch the passenger train which would take them some eight kilometers away from the border ,this was the only option ,if the train reached by late noon they could run the distance and be in their tower by dusk .
They caught the train ,and soon were on their way in a crowded compartment filled with the colors of Rajasthan .
When they reached their destination it was hot and dry .
The station was a single room in the wilderness and the old stationmaster cum porter cum signal man cum guide told them that they had a long hot walk ahead of them before disappearing into thin air .
They jogged ahead the goat path into the wild sands ,made good progress initially ,slowly becoming slower as the sun dipped into the west .
Sunset in a desert was a magnificent sight to behold but the two were hardly in the mood to enjoy the finer aspects on nature ,their throats were parched and their meager water reserve had ran out .
It became dark and cold and like a changing set of an opera show the star studded sky replaced the resplendent sunset .
No tower was in sight as the men trudged wearily ,their doubts of losing their way had become a certainty now .
It was their tough military physique that stood them in this hour of crisis .
They decided to rest for the night and try to find their way in the morning .
They lay down in the sand and went into an exhausted sleep .
At midnight they woke up with a start chattering their teeth in the cold .The cutting wind was icy and knawed into their bones .They put all the dresses they had and tried to build a small fire an impossible task in the open with a blowing wind ,they could hear a werewolf howling nearby .
Pillai could stand the cold no more and started shoveling the sand on himself ,he found this sand tunnel gave him some warmth ,soon both of them had only their heads above the sand and slept with their eyes open for the dreaded wolf .

Morning came at last ,they emerged from their coccon and dusted themselves ,slovenly they trudged ahead as the sun became bigger .
After some time they came across a rustic goat herd and the boy told them in sign language they had come miles away from their tower to another abandoned one near the border ,he also gave them some water .
Reaching the tower they clambered ahead and broke open its shuttered doors ,inside there were two flares as they expected .
They fired one and waited ,there was silence and nothing else ,they fired the second and last one and their final hope of rescue ,as now even the goat herd was nowhere to be seen
The flare brightened the sky in its glow ,still nothing ,they lay down in the dirty tower dejected and worn out .
All that they wanted now was to live ,damn getting court martialled .
Suddenly they saw a return flare in the distance and their hearts leaped with joy .
It was a couple of hours more before their rescue truck came and took them home .

( A true story recounted by Mr. Pillai to me recently ,
names changed of course )

Harimohan