My Grandfather

Hey everyone! This is my new short story, which I have written for Tinkle Digest. This is just an excerpt, and carries a theme of motivation. Please share your views here:

“I don’t know what I always felt about my grandfather, because I never saw him in my life. He had been a freedom fighter in his youths, who stood by Subash Chandra Bose during his early teens, and then joined Gandhi in his fight using the weapon of ahimsa. After the country won its independence, he stayed with the Mahathama, until he got shot and killed.

“Later, he joined the army and served the nation during many important crises, such as the Sino-Indian War of 1962, and later against Pakistan in years 1965, 1971 and finally the famous Kargil war in 1999. In course of time he won numerous ranks and medals, but the first and last time I ever saw him was when he was in a casket, buried with all the pride and love from the countrymen who he tried to protect.

“I still remember when my father was asked to receive the folded Indian flag and a golden medal, the famous Paramveer Chakara for his services. My father held it with pride, while his heart was burning with loss. He didn’t dare to look into the casket again.

“I was asked to burn his body, and I did. Being his only grandson, I was given the right to do the last rites for him. But what I never understood was the whole purpose behind the act. I could never understand why he had to fight for 50 crore people, and why he died for them. There was no purpose.

“As I grew up, I started to learn more about my country. Nothing made sense. People were born, people die. In between they live for no purpose. It made no sense to me. The way I saw it, I was the charioteer of my own ride.

“Things were not meant to be simple. Let me describe my locality. I live in a colony with a group of other families. We have a drainage running in front of everyone’s house, which had be stagnated for years. The municipality would always promise about coming over to clean up the mess and make the drainage run smoothly, but those were false calls from them. I mean, who would enter the sewage to clean someone else’s waste?

“Next to our colony is the busy slum of Mumbai, which is also the living place for many people. Everyday when I walk to school I see kids beg for alms, people working for the least of wages and women trying all sorts of things to feed their babies. It was not a chaotic situation. It was just a typical India, where people can never make a move for themselves and expects someone else to do it for them. I pitied them, I always did.
“Questions about my grandfather giving up his life for nothing, and the living styles of thousands of people around me always confused me. I just wanted to escape this country. And so it was decided that after graduation I would leave for London for an elegant life. My parents could not make think otherwise.”

Are we free yet?

Are we living in a free country? What is freedom? Today I came across a variety of incidents, which weren't new to me, and won’t be for you either. But they still make me wonder, are we free yet?

MORNING:
I had taken an early train to Thrissur, and it wasn't an easy one, especially since I was working late in my office. (No, it wasn't a hectic night; I was working on my own works). I didn't have anything to read, and the magazine I bought carried all the stories I have read earlier (except for Alicia Souza's Fact File).

I had a seat right from the start, because it was Independence Day, and I was at the first bogey, in which were very few men, and not a single lady (expedition shattered big time). And why weren't there much people? I realized it only after the train started. All of those men were drunk. They had a good reason to do so too. It was Independence Day, some of them may have got their bonus, and some of them might have saved up some money. Anyways...all of them were drunk.

They still had bottles in their hands. No matter how much the price rise for any other useful stuff such as vegetables and rice, they wouldn't raise a protest or think about making more money. But when it come s to liquor, no one can be a better conservative than a typical Malayalee.

One person even puked right in front of me. So as the train reach the Edapilly station, I got off to get into a better berth, where there were many families. I sat in one of the vacant seats, and silently continued to read my book, with my thoughts wandering around the first compartment I got in. Drinks and money makes men wicked, not forget a thirsty penis as well. And yet, there are no rules against it. Interesting country we all live in.

NOON:
I finished my session with Muthachchan by around 1:30 and started back to the station. It was a long walk to the station, which I decided to take. It may sound a foolish decision, but when it comes to walking and taking a bus, I mostly prefer to walk. For the same reason, you wouldn't find me carrying more than a hundred bucks at a time. The mere thought of spending it will stop me from taking a bus, and it will usually help me go ahead.

Coming back to that noon, I had a long walk to take, and of the many buildings I had to pass, one was a textile showroom which had put up signs of Onam discounts and such. The big textile showroom clearly didn't have much of a parking space, but the worst part was that all the vehicles were being gathered right on the road, creating at least a minute long chaos in every three minutes.

I didn't have to ask anyone why there was such chaos. The police were there to control the mob. But the clear violation of rules was silently suppressed by the people visiting the showroom and the law enforcers standing there. And why shouldn't they? Laws are meant to be broken, not to mend anything broken. I didn't have anything to say there, so I just walked further to the station.

AFTERNOON:
By the time I reached the station, I was tired. I purchased a ticket to Ernakulam and walked towards the bridge that could take me to platform No. 1. Now here is a funny part about me. I like long walks, but when it comes to climbing stairs, I am worse than a sloth.

On the stairs I saw a young lady, a nomad, crying in broken Hindi to a guy next to her, who was clearly drunk. I am not good with Hindi, though I do understand what people speak. Ad with my understanding, I gathered out that she was crying because she was hungry. She had hundred rupees saved for herself, which the guy next to her, probably her husband, took for his daily drinks. The guy was smirking silently, and the woman was crying badly.

Now, I am not a hero, and I only had 70 bucks left. So I walked ahead, as did the hundreds before and after me, except for one. A girl perhaps, or a woman, I am not sure. She was really angry, and said, "All you men can do is stare, pity and then walk away. Couldn't you do anything about this woman?"

People were now looking at her, and so did I. I smiled as she opened her purse and took a hundred rupee note. I knew what was going to happen next. As she handed the note to the lady, the man next to her grabbed the money and walked away nicely. The woman was stunned, and the young lady cried more. All the men laughed, and I clearly heard one person say in Malayalam, "We don't give money to drunkards."

Clearly the woman didn't know what she should do next, so she too looked at the lady pathetically and walked away, and the lady was still crying. I remembered about the packet of biscuits I had bought that morning. I wasn't particularly feeling hungry, so I knew what I had to do.

I gave the lady the packet of biscuits, which she opened up quickly. I expected her to eat first, but what followed stunned me. What none of us noticed earlier was a little kid lying on her lap all along, into which's mouth she put those biscuits. At times she too would eat, but she made sure the child was eating well.

I was standing at a railway platform, with people, who all see this and walk away. I am no different from them. Even I do not taken necessary actions, and if I didn't have a set of spare biscuits, I wouldn't do that either. The question shot back in me.....are we free yet?

EVENING:
I boarded my train, and in the next two hours I reached Ernakulam. Life was normal, life was stupid.

CONCLUSION:
I am no good man, and I no evil. I am just a common man, who watches others and take no steps. And later on, come back to Facebook and complain about it. I, like the other billion Indians, am nothing but an attention seeker. But sometimes it is necessary to speak out the truth.

The question I need to ask you people is...are we free yet? What is freedom? If people are to starve, if people are to follow injustice, if people are to be abusive and drunk all their lives, if people are to be unproductive by all means, if the true potential of the country is meant to be hidden under the lust of sex, money and drugs, where is freedom? What was it that our ancestors fought for? What are we doing?

I don't know what you should do; it is something you should decide. I know what I should do, and I will do it. Gandhi has done his part, Bhagat Singh, Azad, Nehru, Mangal Pandey...they all have done their part. Every individual are to do their part. What are you doing? The least one should ask to the self is....are we free yet?

Image Courtesy: Subin (https://www.facebook.com/ArtistSubinkalarickal)

Short Film NJAN

While the story is by my friend Hari, I handled the dialogues and screenplay for this short film, which we have named Njan. Here is the first scene of the short film. Please give me your reviews:


We see the words NJAN… appear on screen, which fade to set the story to begin.

Scene. 1: Int. Srinath’s Bed room, Early Morning

As the morning rays shine through the open window, we see a big and spacious bedroom,
with all kind of luxuries one can find. The bed in itself in huge, and on it lies a man with
a woman. The lady is young, we don’t have to know her name. The man is but the one we
have to know. The camera pans on to him:

Narrator

Njaan aarenno njaan enthinnu vannuvenno ennikku ariyilla.

Njaan innu ivide undu. Nalle evide undaavum ennu

ennikkariyilla. Kallathinte mattachakrathil, mikapozhum

njaan oru baliyadu mathramaannu. Ennal mattulavarude

kannil, njan oru aravumrigham mathramaanu.

The man opens his eyes and looks around. He wakes up and stirs around. His hands
are about to touch the girl he is lying beside to, but he makes sure he doesn’t touch
her. Instead, he slowly wakes up, and reaches his hands for the purse lying on the table
nearby. He picks it up, takes a few thousand rupee notes out of it, and throws it over her.
He then stands up and walks towards the camera.

Narrator

Penninum padhavikkum enthe munnil oru villa mathrame

ullu. Haram pidikunna vasthukkalkku njaan thane

vilayidum. Chilla samayangallil chorayil aayirikkum

vilayiruthunathu. Innum njaan oru villayittu. Enthe

karmathinnu njan itta peru marannam, vila…oru kodi.