മഹാത്മാവിന് ഒരശ്രുപൂജ

ലോകമുറങ്ങും നേരമിതിൽ മഹാത്മാവെ,
എന്തേ എനിക്കീ കണ്ണുനീർ തടുക്കാനാവുന്നില്ല.
ഭ്രാന്തമായ ഏതോ വിങ്ങലിൽ,
ഞാൻ ഏങ്ങി കരഞ്ഞുപോയ് അനിയന്ത്രിതം.
നിൻ ജീവിതശകലങ്ങൾ കോർത്തൊരീ ചലച്ചിത്രം
എത്ര നിമ്നം നിൻ സപര്യക്കു മുൻപിലെങ്കിലും
എന്തേ അതെന്നിൽ നിലവിളിയുയർത്തുന്നു
അചിന്തിതം, അനർഗളം.

നിൻ പീഢതൻ സ്പുരണങ്ങൾ
എൻ മനസിലഗ്നിയായ് പടർന്നു പോയ്
നിൻ കണ്ണിൽ നിറഞ്ഞ
പരാജയബോധതിനശ്രു, മഹാത്മാവേ
എന്നിൽ ലജ്ജതൻ സാഗരങ്ങൾ തീർത്തു പോയ്
എന്നിലുയരുന്നതു പാപബോധത്തിൻ കണ്ണുനീർ
എന്നിൽ നിറയുന്നതു പശ്ചാത്താപത്തിൻ നിലവിളി
ഞാൻ നിന്റെ ഘാതകൻ
നിന്റെ കുറ്റകാരൻ, അധകൃതൻ

ഞാൻ ഇന്ത്യൻ,
നീ കത്തിച്ച സ്വയംബൊധത്തിൻ അവകാശി
ഞാൻ ഇന്ത്യൻ,
നീ തെളിച്ച വഴിതൻ യാത്രി
എങ്കിലും നിന്നെയെന്നോ ഞാനുപേക്ഷിച്ചു
നിർമമം, നിഷ്ഠുരം, നിസങ്കോചം.
സാമ്രാജ്യത്തെ വെല്ലിയ കരുത്തനാം നീ
പകച്ചു പോയ് എൻ മുന്നിൽ
എൻ ക്രൂരമാം പൊയ്മുഖങ്ങൾക്കു മുന്നിൽ

നിസ്സഹായനായ് നീ ഒരുമാത്രയെങ്കിലും
കണ്ണീർ പൊഴിച്ചിരിക്കിൽ
എനിക്കായ് വയോധികനായ നീ
മരണ കിടക്കയിൽ കിടക്കുകിൽ
അവസാനം അനുഗ്രഹം ചൊരിഞ്ഞ ഹൃദയത്തിൽ
ഞാൻ നിറയൊഴിച്ചീടുകിൽ മഹാത്മാവെ,
ദശാബ്ദങ്ങൾക്കിപ്പുറം നിൻ വേദനയേറ്റ്
ഭ്രാന്തമായ് ഞാൻ നിലവിളിച്ചീടട്ടെ

അതൊഴുകട്ടെ അനേകം നദികളായ്
അതു കഴുകട്ടെ എൻ പാപം നിരന്തരം
ഇനി നിൻ സ്വപ്നരാജ്യം ഉയരുകിൽ
അതീ അശ്രുപൂജയിൽ നിന്നാകും സുനിശ്ച്ചിതം.

സ്വപ്നം

ഒരു ചുവപ്പു കൊടി കിട്ടുവാനാഗ്രഹിക്കുന്നു
എൻ ഹൃദയരക്തം ചാലിച്ചു ഞാനതുയർത്തിപിടിക്കും.
തുടിക്കുന്ന യുവകരങ്ങൾ കാണുവാനാഗ്രഹിക്കുന്നു
അവയിലെൻ ജീവശ്വാസം ചേർത്തു ബലപ്പെടുത്താം.
നനുത്ത മിഴികളിൽ മനുഷ്യസ്നേഹമൊഴുകുമ്പൊൾ
അവയ്ക്കൊപ്പം സുസ്മേരവദനനായ് ചലിക്കാം ഞാൻ.

കണ്ണുനീരും, വിയർപ്പും, രക്തവും കലർന്നൊരീ
ജീവിതങ്ങൾ തൻ പടപുറപ്പാടുണ്ടാകുകിൽ
ആ രഥചക്രത്തിൻ അഴികളിലൊന്നായ്
ഞാനെന്ന് ജീവനെ സമർപ്പിച്ചിടാം.

ഒരു പുതു പുലർക്കാലം സ്വപ്നം കാണുന്ന
അസംഖ്യം മാനസങ്ങളിലൊന്നു മാത്രം ഞാൻ
അതിൻ വർണചിത്രങ്ങൾ നമ്മുക്കായ് പകർത്തിയ
മനീഷികൾ തൻ ആരാധകൻ മാത്രം.
അവർ തെളിച്ചാ തിരികൾ കാട്ടു തീയായ് പടർന്നിടുമ്പോൾ
അതിൽ എരിഞ്ഞാ പ്രകാശത്തിൻ ഭാഗഭാക്കാവും ഞാൻ.

ഒരു ചുവപ്പു കൊടി കിട്ടുകിൽ,
ഹൃദയ രക്തം ചാലിച്ചതുയർത്തിപ്പിടിക്കും ഞാൻ.

Resilience

He was not willing to die.
Lying flat on a corner bed in Intensive Care Unit with tubes and pipes inserted to all his orifices, his breath was regulated by a continuously beeping machine, for he was too fatigued to be breathing alone. Apathy clinched on to his dry eyes and stale air surrounded his body.
Nurse was briefing the duty doctor about each patient and she had a story to tell about each of them. His story was the longest and caught immediate attention of the doctor.
“Sir, the patient had three episodes of cardiac arrests during last night, but was revived. Now his vitals are stable.”
Doctor knew that this stability is a little curtain before the incidences that will surely unfold in the near future. Patient whose heart has stopped thrice will surely repeat these mischief and will give the doctor tiresome time ahead. Young doctor went through the voluminous case records and queried through it as though a detective to find any possible cause for the ordeals the patient is into.
Time passed on. Soon the intensive care unit settled back to its normal self. The beeping sounds gave it a rhythm, a rather monotonous one oscillating between life and death. Nursing staff scattered across the room between patients, case records and medications. Patients, conscious and unconscious, lay alone and aloof confined to their own world.
Doctor had retired to his duty room indulging himself in a book. The apprehensions about the patients were slowly pushed to back of his mind, soon the words and thoughts from the book masquerading them effectively. It was late in the evening when nursing staff had called upon the doctor.
“Sir, bed no. 12 had an arrest.”
Doctor was pushed into the reality and the inevitability showed its teeth as ever before. When he reached, the patient was already in asystole.(when heart has no activity and ECG lay flat) and nursing staff had started cardiac massage and resuscitation. Medication were given under the auspices of the doctor and desperate attempts of bringing life into his heart was taken up with defibrillation and cardiac massage.
Life was completely drained off from the patient except for occasional respiratory effort. His heart was stubborn as a rock and did not twitch with all the efforts around. His brain showed the signs of withering. Doctor knew the answer to this drama. He checked again to confirm it. No! no signs of life what so ever.
“He has finally given away” Doctor had remarked even as he was rechecking the patient. Something around that patient was making him doubt his own judgement. No! Nothing suggestive of life. Doctor stared at the ECG monitor. It was flat as it was for the last few minutes. His mind was blank as always while confirming a death. This was a defense mechanism he had developed over the years to avoid any emotional back logging.
Suddenly the monitor showed a twitch. The doctor was unsure of what he saw. He tagged his vision on to the monitor. Yes! It twitched again. The resuscitation resumed and it was altogether a new story. The patient’s heart started beating as if suddenly woken from a deep sleep. It was like a train starting from a station now rushing away with utmost vigour and hope.
Every staff including the doctor was awestruck by the resilience with which the patient had jumped back to life from a certain death. May be this drama will continue to unfold with more twists and turns. But one thing was certain about the patient. He was not willing to die.

Nostalgia

This time it is different. Shades of nostalgia, highly variable, clogged with emotions are running high and frantic.
It is like clouds. Changing colour, shape and mobility. Wanting to cry aloud, cry uninterrupted like a child. Wanting to revisit the past with no burden of future lurching over it. Wanting to be with them, there. It is certainly different this time around.
May be short but sweet duration of togetherness have left its trail in me. May be the longevity of the inevitable separation is harassing me. May be the new occasions and platform of happiness is squeezing me. Cannot pull out one single thing from this bizarre jigso. But this time around, nostalgia is not that sweet as I would usually claim it to be. It is distressing, sometimes saddening.
Yes, this time it is different. May be time with disperse these clouds. May be sunshine will soon unveil my vision. But the love in these clouds will certainly rain on me hoping to raise a seedling deeply embedded. It will rise tall as the symbol of my longing, my hope for the next tryst with my past.

North Country

She slapped right on my face, I felt, as every male would if he came across this amazingly true and painful story of her.
Jossey Aimes – She had suffered everything a woman could have in this blatantly male dominated society. She was continuously ridiculed even though under the curtains as one having sexually promiscuous behaviour. She was avoided by her father for the insult and agony she brought to the family as a teenage mother. She was beaten up regularly by her rage bubbling husband and when she left him, was held responsible for it. With great resilience when she tried to live further for her two children, working in the ‘mine’ she was dumped with few other fellow women into a hell of hostile male co-workers. In the court when she decided to challenge this harassment at work place, her every wound was opened and scratched again in front of the whole world which could only but sympathise. Finally her agony was completed when she revealed her long held truth- she was brutally raped by her class teacher rendering her pregnant in the tender age which started her amazingly painful journey-her life.
“North country”, a well made film based on a true incident in US in the 1980s, pierces straight into the viewer’s heart due to the sheer power and truthfulness of the subject it chose. In general it depicts the sexual discrimination deeply rooted in our societies while specifically dealing in the context of occupation. It is shocking that such discrimination is present in those scales even in the so called progressive societies as that of USA. Self pondering can make us understand that sexual discrimination is evident in our day to day life in both subtle and obvious proportions which is usually accepted as “one that happens and goes on”.
In between this distressing list of events unfolding in the film there are streaks of goodness all over which makes us filled which joy of being human, with the necessary optimism to look at a better future. The love she gets from her children, the support of some of her friends and the lawyer, and finally of her parents was deeply moving, giving the story a well needed positivity shade.
As a human being we are bound to think deeply upon this issue and first ready our mind for a paradigm shift from the male dominated one we have now. But with the women’s reservation bill stuck in the Indian Parliament for over a decade, when even many of the most anti-people laws are being passed in the house by hook and crook, one thing is for sure. For this to end there is a pretty long road to travel. But the journey will be certainly smoothened with such appreciable efforts like the film ‘North Country’ which is an eye opener to every male chauvinist including this author.

The Shade

The boy was aimlessly starring at the leaves which were giggling and whispering amidst the naughty currents of wind. He slightly shifted his head so as to dodge the sunlight from falling directly into his eyes. Small grasses which were still hiding their moisture crushed beneath him as he lay there under the comfort of the shade the cashew nut tree was providing.
The school has closed for the summer vacation and after the exams these much awaited holidays were a blissful period. He and his younger brother always had much fun with their various engagements. Away from the books, they would parade over the long boundary wall around their home during the shady evenings. They would trek through the slippery slopes under the shades of ‘kattadi’ trees and collect its hard and spiky seeds. They would fight ferociously among themselves as great warriors with the ‘stick’ sword and delude of the grandiosity they would have if were born in an earlier time. Every summer vacation has something new to adore and ponder with.
The boy always liked the trees, especially the cashew nut tree as it was easy to climb upon. He would sit on its branches for hours and day dream in epic proportions. That day he had decided to lay beneath the shades of the tree. Sun was at its offensive but he was safe and comfortable under the care of his ‘friend’. His brother had preferred the comfortable bed inside the house for the afternoon nap. As always the boy took his break into the calmness and solitude of the trees outside, afternoon sleep never being his thing.
Between those detached moments he heard the digging sound nearby. Anandettan, the worker has started his afternoon round of work. He was digging small pits to plant the coconut seedlings in the extreme corner of the plot. Boy curiously rose and hopped through the shades of the trees to the digging site. Away from the shades now the sun was taking its revenge on the boy. He loosened his buttons and hung the collar of his little shirt over his head.
Anandettan was digging the second pit now. His black muscular body was drenched in sweat. The boy squatted near the margin of the pit and watched the powerful iron digger hitting hard over the reddish soil. He watched how the clumps of mud were loosened from its base with each stroke and how it scattered into small pieces. Anandettan watched the boy with a smile and queried-- " You didn't go to sleep...?"
The boy nodded in negation. Sun was still trying to reach the tender face of the boy which he had cleverly hid under his loosened shirt.
" Why don't you bring me a cup of water dear...... its quite hot out here. Isn’t it?"
Boy ran and came back in a hurry with the cup of water as he didn't want to miss any of the action.
" Anandetta... why are you digging these pits...?" He asked as he took his position again close to the margins of the pit.
" Dear one... We will plant those coconut plantings we have here... they will grow and give you good 'elaneeru'( tender coconut)".
The action was continuing with mud and rock crumbling into small bits, power stroke and gracious touch alternating to shape the perfectly square pit. Sweat was flowing from the burned and tired forehead of the worker. But his calloused hands were powerfully striking the ground with the heavy weapon persistently without any signs of tiredness.
" Go inside the house , son..... Its very hot out here. Sun will burn your beautiful face..." -said the worker with utmost love.
" Are you not feeling the heat...Anandetta..???" The boy retorted as he further covered his head with the collar of his shirt.
" No my dear... This sun can do no harm to me..."
The boy frowned in disbelief.
" I have a boy like you at home and the joy he will have every evening when I go to him with a pair of toffee shades me from this wretched sun..." Worker uttered, smile still cornering his lips.

The boy couldn't quite understand the tenderness in the words of the worker, but was anyway happy as he remembered the chocolate that his father had promised to bring him that day evening.
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Nuances

Despair:
I rushed through the long corridor of the hospital, arousing from initial lethargy, sleep still trickling in my eyes.
"Bed no. 32 is serious Sir." -was the call of the ward boy who woke me up in the duty room. ‘Serious’ in this odd hour of night, only few hours to dawn was evidently pointer of something.
Entering the ward room many of the patients and their attendants were asleep while the neighbourhood of bed no. 32 was alert and waiting for the doctor to come.
Wife of the patient looked at me anxiously between her spurts of prayers. I couldn’t read the emotions in her eyes, and didn't want to. I looked at the motionless body. It lay cold with a blatant story to tell. I heard the silence of the death deeply buried in his chest, felt the emptiness of the pulse in his arms and neck, starred at the absence of shine in his open eyes.
I uttered the official declaration of the obvious truth to the attendants, cold and raw as the night it was. The staccato prayer of the lady broke away. She knew already the fact I suppose, but was harbouring the hope of a miracle. She threw herself to my feet and screamed --
"Don't tell that Sir, Do something,..... We have two little kids..."
Chills ran into my spine as I freed myself from her hold and went on to do the official works now bestowed upon me. The cry of despair rose as the women's voice scattered behind.
.................................................................................

Love:
I could have recognised his swollen face anywhere. There he lies in the middle of other patients, deeply disoriented. I looked around for his brother. Yes, he was right there holding the arm of his younger one smiling at me bleakly.
"We have come again Sir..." he said. I acknowledged him with a desperate smile.
Only a week before he was discharged from our ward after a long two months hospitalisation— Liver failure with encephalopathy. Alcohol has eaten up his liver leaving him in the land of uncertainty slowly and steadily leading him in the day of doom. But never did the fact of the untreatability made his brother lose hope. Love that streamed between the two was contagious and sometimes made me believe of the impossible. The stability attained finally didn’t last long.
Back he is, in this ward, thoroughly disoriented, swollen and bleeding. The effect of the initial medication had improved him a bit when I went to examine him. He was crying firmly holding his brother’s hand , the only face he couldn’t forget even in his disoriented self.
" You will be alright my dear." His brother reassured him. " Look who has come... Did you recognize?.... Its our lambu (tall) doctor....... Did you recognize?"
The blank eyes searched for me .He gazed at me for a while and shook his head.
" Save me !" He pleaded with umpteen sadness.
"You are doing well. You are going to be alright." I proclaimed with utmost empathy.
He gripped his brother’s hand more firmly who was consoling him with the non ending love they had. As I moved to the next patient I realised once again that love was contagious.
................................................................................

Negligence:
She was old and crippled.
With an uncared fracture of hip and severe bed sore all over the body, the only word that suited to describe her—neglected. " Women and old"—the perfect recipe for negligence as she was.
And now they wanted to take her away.
"Then why the hell did you bring her here?........."
An unusual voice of rage broke from me in between the emotionless working of Emergency department.
The attendants, thoroughly humble, uttered the difficulties they have to face if they get her admitted there.
Soon the environment came back to normal. The practicality came into picture. Empathy dissolved into the routine. But long after they had left, the abominable smell of her bedsore remained in the emergency room as if leaving back the trail of truth behind.
Nuances of life continue – negligence being one of them.
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