AN ATTEMPTED TRANSLATION OF 'MAMPAZHAM' - A POEM THAT LEFT KERALA IN TEARS

The translation attempted here is not word by word.......emphasis has been to capture the essence and transfer the feeling.......the intrinsic difficulty imposed by Vailoppilli's poetic brilliance combined with the poesy of Malayalam , along with translator's ineptness might have resulted in a drastic fall in beauty.......

Apologies to those who could read the original work......Only excuse are those who never did experience those magical words, which touched and moved every single heart, young and old alike and still continues to......



As the maiden fruit plucked itself from the tender twig
Warm droplets sprung from the gloomy red eyes
of the lonely mother

Four months ago, when that tree in the yard flowered
for the first time
The little kid plucked it in innocence and ran into mother's lap

The expected hug didn't warm the tender heart
Instead sharpness of words wiped of his delight

"One who should wait and pick up the fruit when it falls
If is nipping it in the bud, should get good whips" scolded the mother

The flower like face grew pale and drooped
In a whimper, like a soliloquy, the soft voice whispered
"I will not pick up those fruits"

From the mind that could hardly speak
Came those words like a prophecy
Yes...soon did his playground change
From the dusty earth to lofty heavens

As the first fruit plucked itself from the tender twig
Warm droplets sprung from the gloomy red eyes
of the lonely mother

In the midst of the hue and cry of the kids from
the neighboring yard
She walked unto that fruit lying unwanted in the dust

Burying it at the feet of her parted soul
Her sobbing heart requested
"Even when you went away annoyed, slowly with a mischief
Ain't you used to come back hiding, after a while
One last time more my beloved.....come...
To take this from your mother's hands......"

In the gentle breeze that ensued
The maternal heart felt his featherly touch.

mashoodkk

WHAT IS IN THE WASTE BASKET MATTERS !

I learned it recently through observation. Particularly the subject was a friend of mine who lives next door to me. I cannot get out of my building without passing through his front door. That narrow corridor with waste baskets in a typical array, in front of each door on both sides, was common to most of the educational institutes I have been. One day I suddenly recalled a fragment of a statement made by some visitor to my school when I was in eleven or twelve - 'teaching in every breath'. I was surprised by the fact that it was a waste basket which triggered this recall. The chain of thoughts kept on developing. From the waste basket I started drawing inferences about the person. Slowly I realized that waste baskets tells a lot.......especially what is being thrown away, about the character of the person. Now whenever I am to throw something away, the schizophrenic coward within me gets scared and insecure. The dilemma of 'whether to throw it away or not' thusly got another dimension. As a child it was the fear of divine curse, in the teens some sort of pseudo societal concern while in the youth a sense of insecurity about perceived threats of scarcity and poverty. It took some time to realize that all these are not distinct but different manifestation of what we call 'fear'. The same fear which cripples the life of millions, which makes people opt for professions they don't like, marry people they don't really love and so on. In short what is in the waste basket matters a lot.

mashoodkk

TALL MAN AND THE GOD - STORY OF A CHILDHOOD ILLUSION

There was a tall man who used to walk through the road in front of my house every evening, close to twilight. In the yellow, diminishing light he looked very strange to me. Looking back, probably he was going to have his share of daily toddy after the long days work....... I am not sure. It can also be that he was going to fetch things from the grocery shop to feed his family,........... I don't know. He had curly hairs, oiled and well combed and his legs and hands were long and masculine. He never used to look at me but walked briskly over the untarred road in a silent and determined gait. Somehow he aroused a strangely mixed feelings of reverence, aversion and fear in me.

As the sun goes off my mother would start shouting repeatedly at me to take bath, have the evening snacks and sit for the daily studies. Before I start with my school books, under the insistence of my parents, I had to go go through the madrassa teachings. As a kid aged around 7, I hardly understood anything of it. My aunt who lived with us would explain to me with lively imageries about god, judgment day, angels, prophet etc. Mostly it was like watching a movie with alternating scenes of terror, order, mercy and care. Her understanding was of course very limited as she never bothered much about contemplating over the fineries. I was always curious to know more and at times she would invent her own stories to silence my pestering.

Whatever it be, the result was that it took me another ten years to realize that prophet Muhammed was a human being ! Till then for me prophets were a set of another fairy creature like angels. And that old man appeared often in my dreams as god ! I don't know where he is now. Even then I didn't knew his name or whereabouts. But I still can recall his face and gait clearly. For how can one forget one's first god....:)

mashoodkk

FUNDAMENTALISM, INDIA, YOUNG INDIANS AND THE WORLD.......... [Thoughts On Realsing the Indian Dream........]

Nothing has been haunting our mother land so consistently and persistently than communal disharmony between its citizens. It torn the nation apart. Thousands of human lives fell victim to the monstrosities of religious conflicts. When the British banked on it for political and economic mileages we could understand. But history bears evidence to innumerable instances when people from within exploited this vulnerability for power aspirations. And that exploitation is still continuing unfettered. Polarization ensures vote banks and here lies the key to the problem. Either the leaders and political parties should nurture the moral imagination to transcend parochialism or the citizens should develop the sensitivity to identify the pervert power mongers. To tie the hands of those who does not mind hoisting their flag of victory on the shattered pieces of flesh and blood of innocents is not easy. The insecurities and fears of the common man remains ever vulnerable to the calculated manipulative traps of the crooked. Yet in spite of all the unfortunate events our nation always bounced back to embrace the ideals of secularism and harmonious coexistence. Fundamentalists, like potential cancerous cells is lurking beneath the surface, always yearning to create division and propagate hate. Here comes the responsibility of the emerging generation of young Indians. Empowered with science and art we can bend the arc of history towards peace and prosperity.

Fundamentalism, mother of communalism, in its various shades is spreading like an epidemic all over the world. Every culture and religion is increasingly getting hijacked to spread hate and violence by psychotics with criminal instincts. From the home let us begin and to each and every corner of the world let we stretch our ever helping hands. Then alone will our nation shine when the darkness of the world gets disturbed by the light from the Indian land. We did it before....We can do it again.....The world needs it badly. Let us realise the Indian dream....Loka Samastha Sukhino Bhavanthu.....

mashoodkk

THOUGHTS ON REALISING THE INDIAN DREAM....

Few hours from now the entire nation will wake up to yet another republic day celebrations. The tri-color flag will go up followed by the melody of our national anthem, triggering a chilling wave of patriotism in our nerves and veins. The ecstasy winds down then, and there will be a few instances when we will be thinking of the problems and future of the country. The purity of patriotism more than anything depends on how long those contemplative moments persists and what evolves out of it. Inspite of all the advances we have made we still have problems haunting us, stifling our progress. Thousands of our fellow citizens are still struck by poverty and ugly conditions of living. A multitude of vices thrives on it. The nightmare of violent extremism from within and without, of different shades, is haunting us.
There should arose within us a sense of responsibility to dedicate our efforts in solving these problems. With the lamp of education we have to destroy the darkness of illiteracy. With the light of literacy we have to fight poverty and poor conditions of living. The spirit of humanism and harmonious coexistence should be allowed to vipe out the pathologies of communalism and violent extremism of all shades.
The task is not easy. We will have to operate in the midst of our personal insecurities. But if we show the courage to step into the currents of history, there is no way our actions will go blank. Like the forgotten seeds germinating in an unexpected shower, so will our actions sprout. In the greenery that ensues we will be able to see a billion smiles.

FEELING CREATIVITY .......

When the shell of a pain crackles
By the assault of patience
A breeze chills the naked soul
And heart beats in the womb of creativity

The silent moments that ensues
The warmth of bliss that accompanies
Condense to droplets of reliable pleasures
On which humanity survived ....and on it evolves

Wound and set in search for order
We discovered art and science
In a peck of a stone heavenly wisdom
And in wild flowers fragrance of paradise

In the gnarled hairs of nature
And the knotty depths of mind
We traveled in darkness
Unchained inhibitions and unlocked troves

Salute to the savants of yesteryears
Crawling through the rocky terrains
They dug deep and sipped the marrow of life.

mashoodkk

PILGRIMAGE

I lived....tossed up and down .....
By the waves from the depth of my mind
Sometimes silent.....but mostly violent.....

I am fed up......of this slavery from within
In the net woven by my ancestors....
Swung by the wind of the times.

The inner yearning to script my destiny
Is pushing me ahead incessantly
Along the journey I am discovering happiness
Strangely simple......contrary to my phantasies.

Simplicity shuts the door to hell
And disillusioning makes life a pilgrimage
The door to paradise slowly opens
When moments enchants, nothing matters much.

mashoodkk