"Sunflowers, they follow the moon", Dont they?

"But brother,

Thats not true, I saw them follow the moon,
Those Sunflowers, they..."

" Close your mouth, little sister
I am doing something quite serious.
I have no time to listen to your lies."

Now thats my usual reply.

" but, but, what if I show you?
What If I show you how they follow the moon, how their beautiful....."

"Blahblah blah Where?", I have never heard of sunflowers following the moon.
I never had the time to watch my sunflower farm. I only knew about the count of tallies they added with oil and pulp. I only counted the mass of fertilizers added. Not more.
"You show me that and only then I ltalk to you again. Agreed?" I continued.

I thought she should stop. Stop her talk and apologize.
The child in her longed to talk to me and how cruel I was to misuse it: misuse it to keep her mouth shut!

" Yeeeeeeees, I will show you!", " Show you tonight, You come with me to our sunflower farm?"

She was swearing and I was in doubt. Was she not lying?
Were she lying or not, little mattered. I liked the idea of going to the farm tonight. I liked the idea of taking a break from my damn stuck time tables. That should help me revive myself.
Afterall who bothers if the sunflower actually followed the moon.
It would not affect me; So why bother. I had no time for arguements.

"Okay, Sis Okay. So leave me free now and I will join you at the farm tonight."

A quick peck on my cheek and a little hug. Perhaps, I seldom longed for that gift. Still she never forgot to gift that to me at the end of a childish talk.
She was too younger to me.

I was tired over the afternoon. Lot of tallying, lot of writing, lot of mailing. Wooh... I took off my spectacles and wiped my eyes. I was in need of a break.
I put on my spectacles and scribbled on my timetable allowing myself some free time tonight.

Flops..... My daily life looked like programmed robots.
Reminders ring every half hour, reminding me to wake, reminding me to eat, to bathe, to put on clothes, to talk........Nonsense.
Nonsense that my generation imbibes the profession that we forget to live as happy youth. Perhaps I was envious of my sis for that; She was happy.



She called me in the evening.
"Hullo, How many times have I told you not to call me over the phone except if its too important.
You know that I have important calls to attend and I would be missing that."

She seemed to ignore my anger. Rather she seemed to be used to it.
" Brother I was only reminding you. I am already at the farm watching the sunflowers,...."

" I didnt forget."
peep... She put down the reciever. Still I could hear her, " You dont love me, do you?"


Do you ? Dont they ? Will it?....She ended her assertions to me always thus.
It seemed she wanted confirmations from me. It seemed she believed me.


I took a quick glimpse of the twilight. Looks nice.
The reminder beeped: "18:45- to the farm". But there was no need of one. I had remembered.
And I remembered the first time I saw my sis. How dad had adopted the little princess from a farmer who had committed suicide and how she grew with my parents and how much my parents liked her.

The farm was a ten minute drive from home.The suspensions of my car gave a creak upon the uneven farm road. But this time I enjoyed it. It was a nice sound. Not noise.

The crickets had already started their job. They dont require reminders anyway.The sound was nice too. Night was active in the farm. I loved my noiceproof cabin at the office. But it seemed that I enjoyed 'noises' here.

Ramu, Mani, Shiv and Unni were enjoying themselves before the barn.They worked in the farm. It was cold and had a bonfire lit up. They could enjoy with what they worked for in the day. They would sleep drunk and happy. No tensions. No cholestrol. No stress. No diabetes. Good.
I left my car there and passed a quick smile. They probably had not expected me here.

Dad and mom were on the lawn. They were laughing. Yelling.
Dad probably cracked some joke. They watched me walk up to them.

" Dinner is ready at the hall.Englishman feels like having it now? Or do you have reminders for that too?", That was dad.

No Reminders.
" We can have it now. What if the chickens on the table feel hungry and have the food themselves?" I tried to be funny.
"Okay"

" But where is my sister. She had called me here today."

"She is in, arranging the table for you." " She loves you a lot", mom added.

"Um, She argues with me a lot amma, Dont leave her to me on weekdays. It disturbs."
"Then to whom else do you expect her to talk and play?"-dad added.
He was right perhaps.I gave no answer.

"Hi bro, so you love me." Sis came running down the hallway.

She held her little finger on to my giant palm.

" Why?"
"Because, you came. So you love me."
" I came here to confirm what you said. You told me that Sunflowers follow the Moon. I wanted to see that. "

Mom gave a chuckle and dad laughed.
So there was something wrong.
" And I knew you were trying to fool me", I quickly added to save my nose.

She gave a smile.
Dinner was fine. Presumptuous. At least its long time since I had a dinner with them; parents and sis.

My sis occupied my lap for mom's special desert and I watched her posting the creamy pastry on my costly jacket.
"Bluck..whats it sis; Where are your manners?": I shouted. Pluck........ she creamed my face of the pastry for that.
"So you think your jacket is more worth than me? Cant you wash it off?
Why do you always get angry with me?"

She jumped off my lap to dad's for security. There was thunderous laughter. I silently went to the wash. Arguing and shouting was no purpose.

Nonsense......
She was right. The matter was simple. Why did I shout?

But....but was there a clown at the mirror. Pink cream upon the nose and white all else. Beautiful.
I am handsome. I tried a few expressions with my nose and teeth and tongue. It was nice to laugh at myself. I chuckled; She made me happy; I felt my heart laughing;not my mouth as I do at the office.

Somebody was peeping through the door. Somebody was watching me laugh. Somebody who made me laugh. Somebody who taught me that I could be happy. My little sister was a teacher.


"Come here..."
There was a tear in my eyes.
I saw her face drear. She was quite dear.
And I was a liar.


That night was different.

She loved bedtime stories.
I told her one this time. How pigs got wings and why the mother of the forest took it away, when he messed the skies up and and and......

"Are you asleep?"

zoooooooooo.......uuzzzzzzzzzzz

"Good." I gave her a peck and fixed her blanket. It was cold.

I had a question, before I left her room.
"So brother, does the sunflower follow the moon?"

I had a difficult answer.
"I love you sis and that is all ye need to know now"
"Good night"

"Good night"

But I had questions and answers for myself.

The farm was beautiful in the moonlight. I had lot of time to think and its nice to think in the cold air.

I crossed the lotus pond to the sunflower farm.
I couldn't miss the little lotus open eyed watching the fullmoon. She was so beautiful. Just like my sister.

There was a perspective in me I spoke over in meetings.
That the most beautiful things in the world were purposeless like the lillies and the peacocks.
Like smiles on faces. Like the golden petals of the sunflower.
I couldn't find a way to exploit them PROFITABLY.

PROFITABLY. A portraited vision.

But then here is my sister in the landscape. She taught me to exploit them.

PROFITABLY.
Profit that is landscaed.

Eternal Happiness in the being.

And still on cold fullmoon nights here at the farm, I try to find out, for profit, for profit alone:

"The Sunflowers
follow
the moon too.
Dont they sister?"

When the Bamboos Bloomed, and Community Reservation for Higher Education inflated to 27%

" Thats the bad omen, those are not beautiful
things, these bloomed bamboo woods,
those fortell the fall of our community "

"lakka illi pookumbam nadu kaani thambraa,
namma kulam kaani,
thambrantee aripettiyum, ponnum pattum kaani "

Pankhgy, an old mamma among the tribes repeated this when I told her how beautiful the forest looked thus with the bamboos all golden from its flowers. I was watching her collect the husk from the fallen bamboo flowers. The cool forest wind dropped more for her.

I ignored her talk.

I was confused at her talk, for it was this husk collected and sold at the village market that brought her a living at this old age, when her body is damn drooped; And still she calls those bamboo woods a bad omen; a symbol of fall for a community.

My biology teacher, I remember having taught me about the flowers, how nutritious its husk were, and how rodents thrived and how they drilled the barns in the hillcountry then. It seemed to be a phenomenon occurring once in forty years or so. It marked the death of the bamboo bush of course, but she did not mark it as an omen, neither did my biology textbook. I felt it should mean nothing to these tribes as they had no barns, no stores and often begged or stole the food for the day;

"Aatte pangkhy, ninte pullede paditham enthai?"

"So pangkhy, what about your son's studies? Whats he gonna study?" I continued.


"thambra unni padathu kalikkan poye, oonu kooppill illipoo thookkan varillaye"
" Oonu townilu appanthampran jooli koduthu, athinte hungha, eenkudeyavan varillayee"
" Akka kavil polum varillayee"

" He is playing cricket over your fields. He does not come with me to collect the husk of these bamboos. Your father has got him a job in town of which he has grown arrogant."
" He even does not attend the ritual for the tree gods at the sacred grooves"
She replied.

Right;

I thought, we forget those routines when we feel like having gained a little more; when it turns to be nothing really at all. But for him it was no matter. He can earn a living. He needn't beg or pinch the days food.

..........Creaaaak.......Beeeeee. EEEMail.......

My Blackberry beeped in the Jacket's pocket.

Google news feed.

Pangkhy looked up at me; these sounds are those different from the creaks the bamboo bushes make, and she is naturally not familiar of creaks from phones.

Why, even I was surprised of the improvement: decent gprs cover even in the bamboo woods.

Who knows that someone would not come a day, clear all the woods, build an airport and a self sufficient township here some ten years from now?

My eyes swept the screen of the PDA.
".................. Court approves Community reservation bill.
Reservation up by 27% for higher education including institutions like IITs and IIMs......... ........Protests set in front of the IITs.........
blahblablah...
BJP sets up news letter quoting Nehru.
...............Read more:.........
Link:..................."

Nonsense? Or did it make more sense?


I didn't want to continue the talk.

" Cochinte pirannalla, vaikittu vannal payasam tharam."

" Today is my siblings birthday, come home evening and I ll give you a desert."
I walked forward avoiding her look.

She kept dumb and it meant approval.

But the Town became quite talkative over the Community Reservation Bill passed.
Twenty Seven percent. I wondered if Pangkhy would ever hear of it or her son would ever apply for it? Who knows?

Leaving these golden bamboo woods behind, I tried to sum up my thoughts: The omen of the Golden bamboos, the poverty in the village, the sufferings they faced, the beauty I enjoyed in the village on such occasional stays offtown, the changing faces, the vanishing faiths, the hardheaded local politicians, the local strikes at the village office.......they were messed in my mind unlike the usual sense.

Pa and Ma, how the difference it made between my portraited perspective of these events and the landscaped views of the village folk and the tribe; The village to me is a source of serenity;happiness. To them-the village folk it is fodder; food.

Interesting....

The Lawyer and The Bards

"Once upon a time, not long ago, there was a herd of bards on an island. A ship wrecked on the island and all that survived was a lawyer. The survivor having survived surveyed the island to find the bards at its center. The bards being survivors of a shipwreck themselves, consoled the lawyer. They invited him to discuss their daily news, and the lawyer was apt to be their judge. They introduced to him a few pigs with wings and lions who barked and dogs which chirped and lots more before having him judge their news.
Letting him seated on a little rock, they started: "Would Blair make a better pm to England!"

Poor lives, the lawyer thought for the news was from the Times seven years ago, when their ship actually, wrecked.
The practical lawyer gave his judgment. He called upon the modern deuce, jumped into the sea and probably committed suicide."

Believe me the grandma tells tales as this. She an old social enthusiast married to a Lawyer, it wasn't difficult to see the difference in perception of events between pa and ma. Even when grandchildren were around. Even when arthritis hooked upon his nerves via bones and even when nobody else was around and even when nothing of these they knew would ever bother them or their grandchildren.

Grandpa read out greater things aloud to himself from the attic bedroom.

"rezgervashion , globalishashion, inflashion, countrificashion, blahblahblah bla blah; could have fought these foolzzs. they bunk their works for someone elses dinner."

Timely he repeated this, I noticed ma getting frustrated. Slowly she slid my head off her lap, put a momentary stop to the story and went to the attic bed. I heard shouts. Grandpa first explained the situation the 'other' world was in and Grandma gave humane reasons for the strike against low wages and mechanisation.

Wooosh, I thought, why, why and why? Neither I knew where very considerate of the situation. Neither of them had any reason expressing their views. Neither had to bother of these. Ma never paid more to the workers on the field, and pa always chatted on the fields with them, making sure it was all about himself and not them.
Why this pragmatic foolery, I thought but then I had to save the day often and a new topic came up the next day.

The lawyer and the bard.
The arguer and the humanitarian explainer.

Now that these instruments of expression decorate the pages of my diary, and pa and ma now arguing events upon the stars above, I see 'this' pa and ma in gangs, tagged up for compensational views and not practical actions- in our society.

Puppet Pa and Puppet Ma
(picture courtesy:
www.puppetshopper.com/puppetshop/GS4011_GS400)


Yes, to be precise- we lack actions, we become the genius in views-but we turn to be those reality shows precisely doing nothing pragmatic for the 'what' it is targeted at!

So I thought, I should teach a few pa's and ma's a few lessons. Or remind them of the mugged up lessons and alert them of 'the what and when' of what happens around. Or I should learn from pa's and ma's when my perspectives become mere portraits focused on a single self.


Lets try to discuss the situation and enjoy the chilly and the mango in landscapes and portraits and conclude at the hardheaded sense;


Good Morning