Vappa

Vilayatyeri Imbichikoya started his social work by taking TB patients to government hospitals at a very young age. Imbichikoya won the first Nawab Rajendran foundation award for his contributions to the society.

He was always busy helping out people to access their rights -- be it health, government welfare schemes or more routine things like filling out forms and applying for government jobs. (The formal education he could boast of was four months at school -- first standard.)

Sri Imbichikoya, Vappa for us, passed away at the age of 62 at Medical College Hospital, Calicut this May. I consider it a blessing that I could meet him and get to know about him when he was alive. And it puts the responsibility on me and Bena, Umma (Ayisha) and others who remain to carry the good work forward.

[the photo was taken after he fell ill, early May 2011]

Irate mobs and Arushi

Raj Kumar died of shock.

It seems "certain influential people of the area forced him to climb a tree on Saturday evening and cut a branch that was entangled in a high voltage wire."

Yet another 'accidental' death of a field laborer. He did not have insurance policies.

An English newspaper reports it : Cops beaten up by irate mob. Most probably the first and last newspaper report on this death. [Thanks to Anu and PSB for sharing this story. I would not have noticed it otherwise.]

Similar was the story of a maid who was apparently butchered by her employer to please the gods last year, in the luxurious Green Park residential area in South Delhi. Maids and servants sat in front of that house in protest. It seems that same person had done this with another maid about an year before that. Police pacified 'irate mob' and cleared the place. Don't know what happened after that.

I see Arushi's [see footnote] photograph on the front page of a newspaper today, once again after a few months.

* * *

[Arushi Talwar : One girl from Noida whose face was on the front pages of newspapers for months together. Needless to say, she was from a well to do family. It was interesting : the first day newspapers carried the news of her death, and said a servant is the main suspect. Next day they figured out that the 'suspect' was also murdered. Police then said her father killed them both. Then it became big news. People came out on streat, demanding justice. TV channels made merry, ran stories one after the other, came with new theories every day. Finally, one day we heard that some 'Nepali' servants did it. Everyone was happy. There was no follow-up news in any newspapers. TV channels turned their camera away from Talwars finally. The only people to raise a meek voice of protest was some Nepali associations. End of story, for all practical purposes. There will be some reference once in a while, some nostalgia. After all, a lot of people -- both storymakers and followers -- lived on this one story for a very long time.]

Mother, you were ahead of time

["Many Native Americans regard the Milky Way as the path followed by the souls of the dead. According to the Zulu and Ndebele people of southern Africa, the stars are the eyes of dead ancestors, keeping watch on the living from above", Encyclopedia of Myths]



The dead people becoming stars and blinking at you from the skies seems to be one piece of imagination that cuts across civilizations. Priyadarshan used it in his first big hit Chithram in Malayalam. Men and women wiped their eyes when Mohanlal asked Ranjini to look for him in the sky. "O the blinking stars, among you I seek the pretty faces that left me.." goes one song in another Malayalam film Purappad.

So has my mother become a star too? May be.

But as far as I know, she has always been a star.

With absolutely no intentions to compromise, with an immense desire to break free of the bonds that tied her, she traveled ahead in time. It is no wonder that she could not stretch it long.

(It is better to live a tiger's life for a day than live a dog's life a hundred years, my dad used to tell me. With no disrespect to the dog's life, I take the spirit of that saying.)

It will take many people like her before mothers become more than that.

Two years back for a Mother's day I wrote on what I learnt from her, thanks to rediff. After her death, I first wrote this and then this. This mother's day when I sit down to write on her again, I realize she is very much alive.


[in the pic: mom and dad, a rare scene]

None of them is me (Female voice - Lyrics)

(at least as of now)
i can not be what i am
i can not just be me
i'm asked to play out a number of roles
none of them is me
so at least as of now
let me play out those roles
and do that in style..

stay away from me
stay away from me
i'd rather not have you near
when i can not be me

(i can take a back-seat
show cold storage to dreams
it sure does burn me, but
i will pretend it does not)

i love you dear, but the world won't let me have you
i love you dear, but reality kills me
i am dead, but i don't want you to die
and
i can't stand you seeing me die..

i can feel the pain
that you are through
but there will be a time
when you come to terms with it
and then come out of it..
(i know, with some deep wound scars
that make good identity marks..)

leave me to burn alone
leave me on my own
i have to be cruel to tell
don't care for me..

i love you dear, but the world won't let me have you
i love you dear, but reality kills me
i am dead, but i don't want you to die
i am dead, and i want you alive..

(for R)

Responsibility of Deaths

On Feb 28 I learn about the demise of Ronald Rebello. He was 25. I am shocked. I, like many others, remember him largely through his letters to the editors ("I am a Human Rights Activist and a regular Letter Writer with special interest in Adivasi struggles and Justice issues..", he introduces himself in his blog). I also remember a mailing list that remained active because of him. RIP Ronald, and RIP manavbachao!


My mother A V Pushparjini is taken to the ICU of Elite Mission Hospital, Thrissur on March 3, where she is declared dead on March 6 evening. That death has made me older. It makes me reflect on a variety of things, and puts some responsibilities on me. (Sreejitha says she feels the same.) I also feel her closer to me than ever before. Sans the barriers of this world, sans the social and familial pressures.. now I can love her as much as I want. So can Sreejitha.


March 14: Police open fire at local people at Nandigram, West Bengal. (I read about it in the newspapers the next day morning. I feel numb). Official statement by the WB Government says 14 died in the firing. The reports coming in from Nandigram puts the death toll above 50.


On March 19 newspapers carry the news of Pak Cricket Coach Bob Woolmer found dead in his hotel room in Jamaica. It disturbs me.


A mail from a friend dated March 20 says,

"Com M Iqbal, a former leader of SBI employees, former councilor of Kochi Corporation, a well known writer and theoretician on music, grand son of the first malayalam gazal singer Sara Gul Muhammed passed away this morning due to a heart attack. his body will be cremated tomorrow morning 11 AM at Mattanchery.."

The mail gives links to Iqbal's orkut profile and homepage. In his orkut profile he says,
"about me: love music, art and literature. feel all human are one."

His sons have put up a note on his profile now.

[On googling I find an older obituary: "Multi-lingual singer of yesteryears, Sara Gul Mohammed, (83), died here on Monday (Feb 23, 1998). A childhood friend of the legendary singer, M S Subbulakshmi, Sara, who began singing at the age of nine, is stated to have had the distinction of being the first woman to have her songs recorded on gramophone. Her talent was first spotted by her mentor Gul Mohammed, whom she married later.."]


By the time I got back to the world of internet and the world of friends everywhere, I am caught in a web of deaths.

And I learn that every death puts some responsibility on me. On Sreejitha. And on each of us.

[This post was inspired by a poem that Sreejitha wrote, in Malayalam]

Oru Snehabandhatthin..

Mother died on March 6.

She is now with me more than she ever was.

Below is a favourite song of hers. I remember her singing it very often in our younger days. She identified very much with this song. Of a lady who went searching for love but never found it. If anyone remembers the missing two lines, please fill in.

Maa: death, inspiration, unrest

On 17th December, I read this mail from Gargi that said,

"my grandma's sinking.

i'm not feeling anything particularly about it.
other than wishing her a good death

was feeling bad days before."

Me too hoped she had a peaceful death. Two days later when I reached Kerala, I realized that Maa died a day before I read that mail.

Now she writes on her blog (after a long silence):

"she left me without a void.
she fills me.
just fills me..

not as memories,
but as a kind of inspiration.
(she'd written in her diary
that was published somewhere
"inspiration is a mere reason
to hide your own emptiness.." )
i agree,
and i agree to this too
that i'm empty.
i need to fill it up.

wanted to write something about her.
she seems vast.huge.unfathomable.
yet.."

True, she is such an inspiration. Ma for some, Comrade Mandakini Narayanan for some. I have been trying to read up on her, and every time I am left with a feeling of wanting to know more about her. More about this world. More about people. More about myself.

[News on Mandakini's death: Times of India; The Hindu story: A revolutionary to the core]