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.
.............................................................................

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.
...............................................................................

ഒരു പിന്‍കുറിപ്പ്

ഇതു വിഷാദത്തിന്‍ ചാറ്റല്‍മഴ
മനസേ നീ അതില്‍ കുതിര്‍ന്നുണരൂ
ഇതു നൈരാശ്യത്തിന്‍ കനല്‍പാത
മനസേ നീ അതില്‍ എരിഞ്ഞമരൂ

ഇനി പുഷ്പങ്ങളില്ല
മൊട്ടുകളെന്നേ മുരടിച്ചു പോയ്
ഇനി നീര്‍ചാലുകളില്ല
ഉറവകളെന്നേ വരണ്ടുണങ്ങി.
ഗോര്‍ക്കി തന്‍ വാക്കുകള്‍--
"സൌന്ദര്യത്തിന്‍ ജനനി,
സ്ത്രീയോട് പുരുഷനുള്ള പ്രണയം."
ഇനി സൌന്ദര്യമില്ല,
പ്രണയമെന്നേ കടംകഥയായ്.

ഇവിടെ കരിഞ്ഞുണങ്ങിയ ഹൃദയം
നിശ്വാസത്തിനായ് പിടയുമ്പോള്‍
പനിനീര്‍ത്തുള്ളിയും
എരിയും ആസിഡ് കണിക.
ചിറകറ്റ ഒരൊറ്റ മൈന തന്‍
ഇടറിയ സീല്‍ക്കാരം മാത്രമായ് ബാക്കി.

വയ്യ ! ഇനി വസന്തത്തിന്‍
ഉന്മാദം പ്രതീക്ഷിക്കുവാന്‍ വയ്യ.
മൂഢസ്വര്‍ഗ്ഗത്തിന്‍ ത്രിശങ്കുവായിടാന്‍ വയ്യ.
തിരക്കിന്‍ ചുടുവെയിലില്‍ നിന്നും
ഏകാന്തതയുടെ ഇളം തണുപ്പു വേണം
ശബ്ദങ്ങളുടെ ചടുലനൃത്തങ്ങളില്‍ നിന്നും
നിശബ്ദതയുടെ കുളിര്‍നാദം വേണം.

കവിതേ ! വിഷാദത്തിന്‍ കണ്ണീര്‍ക്കണങ്ങളും
പരാജയത്തിന്‍ മുള്‍മുനകളും
നിനക്കായ് ഞാന്‍ സമര്‍പ്പിച്ചിടാം
എനിക്കായ് അകാശത്തിന്‍ വിശാലതയും
കടലിന്‍ അഗാധതയും കടം തരൂ.
അവയിലല്‍പ്പം ചരിച്ചു ഞാന്‍ മടങ്ങിടാം
എന്‍ മുള്‍ക്കിരീടങ്ങള്‍ തന്‍ പുനര്‍ധാരണത്തിനായ്

23 march 1931

The yellowish light lit along the empty corridor gave away only bleak illumination into the room through those iron bars. But it didn’t matter much. He was voraciously going through the miniscule wordings of the book as if a hungry child eating his long awaited food.
"State and Revolution" by Vladimir Lenin. He had read lot about this revolutionist and his thinking. But reading this book is much more than that. It was like talking to the man himself.
"What a clarity in his thought." Bhagat sighed. He felt as if he will miss this knowledge most after this day, only second to his love- his country and fellowmen. For him it is just another day. A day of thoughts, a day of enlightenment and a day towards the social good. But whole nation was suffering from agonising pain as they saw the night lowering its curtain. Every inmate- political and non political together gazed at them with enormous love and sorrow. Even the stones in jail lay lustreless as if moaning into the darkness of the night.
Both Sukhi and Guru was lying in two corners of the room with their eyes shut. But Bhagat could feel that both of them are still awake deeply buried in their thoughts. In hours they together will face their destiny. A destiny much awaited. A destiny which thousands of young fellow men are craving to reach. To die as a martyr for the beloved motherland.
Outside the jail room silence ruled the night. Bhagat was sure that very few could sleep tonight in this jail. But as always, silence ruled the night. Intermittent footsteps and low whispering sounds did nothing to avert his attention from his newly found friend-Lenin.
He was always patriotic. It ran in the family. But the thing that shook his heart and soul was that massacre. He could clearly remember the blood stains, its noxious smell that stayed in the park for weeks and still thumbing in his head. It made him the fighter he is today. Soon came the days of confusion, anger and frustration. Days went by, reminding him of his destiny. Time played games with him. And here he is, face to face with his destiny. But that now he is not the lad, angry and frustrated, weeping loud at his helplessness. He has matured as a revolutionary. Now his vision is full of hope and clarity. He has foreseen the redemption of his people in an India which transforms itself into a socialist republic. May be the time is not ripe till now. But he was sure of its ultimate success.
The jailer and the guard were marching through the corridor with their heavy legs. Their minds were as gloomy as the starless sky outside. Nobody had a little desire of the task they are up to today. Those three lads were little adamant but never on whole earth did they deserve such a punishment. As they approached that particular cell room they saw one of them sitting close to the iron bars reading a book. And the other two were sitting upright behind him as if eagerly awaiting their arrival. The one with book was Bhagat, most vocal and appealing of the three.
" What is the book, lad? Something religious? " Queried a guard.
"Sought of !" Young man raised his head from the book with a smile and soon buried it back.
"I am sorry lad. Your time is up. You must get up now." told the jailer, sympathy clearly breaking his strong voice.
Bhagat singh hurried through the last paragraph of the book and smiled to his friends with relief
" Its just one revolutionary meeting the other. "
He told as he left the cell room along with his friends into the roaring slogans that made the jail erupt---
" Inquilab Zindabad"
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"The aim of life is no more to control mind, but to develop it harmoniously, not to achieve salvation hereafter, but to make the best use of it here below, and not to realize truth, beauty and good only in contemplation, but also in the actual experience of daily life ; social progress depends not upon the ennoblement of the few but on the enrichment of the many; and spiritual democracy or universal brotherhood can be achieved only when there is an equality of opportunity in the social, political and industrial life"….. Bhagat Singh
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Me and Her

Kept starring upon her graceful eyes
Those, like ocean, beneath lay umpteen prize
Kept reading her voiceless signs
Those, like stars, elude us by shining nice

Ah! Dying for those dimple cheeks
Would kiss it as if a blooming rose
Oh! Heaven that awesome smile
Me diving into sweet porridge rice

Come along my beautiful heart
Hand in hand we'll walk those tracks
Where love has sown those seeds so thick
That fragrant flower grew plenty aside

Alas, apart from those shimmering dreams
With sorrow, I gaze into those twinkling eyes
To make sure my heart knows just it is-
A lifeless picture on my laptop screen.

A TRAVELOGUE
"Liberty will not descend to a people. A people must raise themselves to Liberty. It is a blessing that must be earned before it can be enjoyed"
The bullets have produced everlasting scars in those red bricked wall. They are narrating their not so glorious story of security breach that registered those wounds on them in a December 13 daylight. We stood there picturing how things unfolded that day through the elaboration given to us by our guide.
This is the epicentre of Indian democracy- our Parliament. The voluminous structure built in our imperial past with huge pillars and eye-catching corridors. We were following our guide as a herd following its shepherd. When he was rushing us through things the large pictures that hung on the side walls of the low lit corridor caught my attention. As always was, I stared at them with utmost interest reading every little details given below. The pictures depicted the evolution of Indian civilisation admixed with characters of our epics and puranas. I wondered how much our past is mixed with our beliefs and folklores, to such an extent that one couldn’t be delineated from the other. Making his impatience clear, our otherwise pleasant guide instructed us to move fast as we haven’t till reached our main destination yet.
Yet again the sheer size of the structures around made my jaw drop down. In the first floor we walked through the corridor viewing the outside world between its huge pillars. A mild breeze was flowing right into our face. We were walking through the corridors of this great institution and the very thought filled in me much pride and well being. Before entering the Loksabha we again entered a creepy low lit corridor. The guide knocked the doors and as he went toward it a low beep sound suddenly creaked into the silence. The scanner fitted outside each door read the identity card hung over his chest and made that little beep.
We entered the Loksabha viewers gallery as he lead us and sat in it as the guide started explaining things to us. He explained us about the various seating arrangements, the method of operation, the voting system, so on and so forth. He also told about the two "translator rooms" with all enthusiasm and we were amazed at the sheer work load of those sitting there and interconverting every word that is said on the floor of the house. Then came the "prize question" from our commentator. How will you distinguish the look alike Loksabha and Rajyasabha from each other? We were dumbstruck. Even after being regular ‘viewer’ of the parliamentary proceedings in the television I didn’t notice or think of any difference in the two apart from the title given by doordarshan as to whether we are watching rajyasabha or loksabha proceedings.
" Look at the floorings"
Uttered our guide as he turned out to be the winner .It was green. Now I see it –green, green all over the place. He explained –as the parliament was built on the model of the British one, Loksabha represented the House of commons and the Rajyasabha the House of Lords. Green of Loksabha represented the people and its representatives (the commons) and the Red of rajyasabha represented the royalty (the lords).
The Rajyasabha was definitely looking more royal than Loksabha with its red attractive floorings, its cushion seats and with its entire look. I was amused by such a finding in our "modern democracy". May be it represented our attitude to democracy, our irresistible link with our imperial and feudal past.
Now we descended through a narrow little ladder which our guide aptly introduced as the "secret passage". We entered the common hall for joint house of parliament. A large hall with interesting upturned fans. The pictures of our great leaders, former prime ministers were hung all over the place. A sedately smiling Mahatma stood behind the president’s chair. All our eyes were straying through those photos when my eyes stuck at one. It was hung exactly opposite Gandhi at the far end-of Savarkar. I was caught in the paradox in it. Savarkar an early revolutionary who later turned abruptly into a "hindutva" ideologue was even alleged of links with the assassination of the Father of nation. He was staring right into Gandhiji with a sheepish smile. May be all this are the representations of our "evolving" democracy and nation.
We took ourselves then to the central park with towering statues. All these created amusement and belonging to the visiting tourists in daylight but terrorised the staff around in the night ( in the words of our humorous guide). Finally we were coming to the end of our memorable parliament visit and as we collected our things from the security area and thanked our guide it was already twilight outside.
We walked from outside the parliament to the area of ‘South and North blocks’ and towards the Presidents palace(Rastrapati bhavan). The well built black roads along with beautiful fountains attracted our imagination.
We took our turn in photographing each others. Walking into the Rastapati bhavan we get south and north block on either sides. When we were returning, the awesome sinking sun made us ecstatic. The huge red globe was descending rapidly behind the brownish building giving it an unusual charm. Between the mesmerisation produced by this whole experience my attention got stuck at those few words that are written over a doorway of North block. It said-
"Liberty will not descend to a people. A people must raise themselves to Liberty. It is a blessing that must be earned before it can be enjoyed"
On besides this great institution of our democracy these lines made me think whether we the people of India are ready to earn our Liberty. Has the time come for us to raise ourselves? To free ourselves from the clutches of our ‘coloured lords’ who have taken the baton of power from the ‘white lords’ 60 years earlier. Only time will show us the way.
............................................................................................................................................

അവര്‍ക്കായ് എന്‍ മിഴികള്‍ നനക്കട്ടെ.....

അവര്‍ക്കായ് എന്‍ മിഴികള്‍ നനക്കട്ടെ
നിസ്വാര്‍ഥ സ്നേഹത്തിന്‍ പ്രതിരൂപമവര്‍
അവര്‍ക്കായ് എന്‍ മിഴികള്‍ നനക്കട്ടെ

കടല്‍ പോലിരമ്പുന്ന വ്യഥയും,
ചുറ്റും അസ്വസ്ഥ്ത പടര്‍ത്തും ആകാംഷയും
അവനോടുള്ള അടങ്ങാത്ത സ്നേഹത്തില്‍ ലയിച്ചിറങ്ങും

അവര്‍, നാലു പെണ്ണുങ്ങള്‍,
ഞെരുക്കങ്ങള്‍ക്കിടയിലും
എത്താക്കനികളില്‍ എത്തിപിടിക്കുന്നു,
അവനോടുള്ള സ്നേഹത്താല്‍.

അവന്‍, അവരുടെ കുഞ്ഞനുജന്‍
എന്നും അരുമയാമവന്‍
പ്രതീക്ഷയും ആശ്രയവും അവനില്‍ അര്‍പ്പിച്ചപൊഴും
സ്നേഹം തീര്‍ത്തും കളങ്കരഹിതം
അവയില്‍ സ്വാര്‍ഥതയുടെ ഛായം പുരണ്ടിരുന്നില്ല.

അവന്‍, അവരുടെ കുഞ്ഞനുജന്‍

അഗാധവും അപരാജിതവുമായ
രോഗത്തിന്‍ പിടിയിലിന്നവന്‍
കണ്ണുനീരിലും ഗദ്ഗദത്തിലും അവരുടെ
സ്നേഹത്തിന്‍ അണ പൊട്ടിയൊലിച്ചു
നിരന്തരമായ ചോദ്യശരങ്ങളിലും,
അകാംഷാഭരിതമായ മിഴികളിലും
കലര്‍പ്പില്ലാത്ത സ്നേഹം മുഴച്ചു പൊങ്ങി.

അവര്‍ , നാലു പെണ്ണുങ്ങള്‍
നിസ്സഹായതയുടേയും ദാരിദ്രത്തിന്റ്റേയും നടുവില്‍
അവര്‍ കര്‍മ്മമഗ്നരായ്.
ദുഷിച്ച സമൂഹത്തിലും മരവിച്ച മനസുകളിലും
അവര്‍ പ്രതീക്ഷയര്‍പ്പിച്ചു.
നിസ്സഹായനായ ഭിഷഗ്വരനിലും
കനിവു വറ്റിയ സ്ഥാപനങ്ങളിലും
അത്ഭുതങ്ങള്‍ക്കായ്,
ദേവസാനിധ്യത്തിനായ് അവര്‍ കണ്ണിട്ടു.

അവര്‍ , നാലു പെണ്ണുങ്ങള്‍
‘കൃഷ്ണ, കൃഷ്ണാ’ വിളികളിലും
അസ്വസ്ഥാപൂര്‍ണമായ വാക്കുകളിലും
സ്നേഹത്തിന്‍ മുദ്രയിട്ടവര്‍.

അവര്‍ക്കായ് എന്‍ മിഴികള്‍ നനക്കട്ടെ
അറ്റമില്ലാത്ത അര്‍ദ്രതയോടെ അവര്‍ക്കായ്
ഞാന്‍ കണ്ണുനീര്‍ പൊഴിക്കട്ടെ.

He is one of the greatest poet in human history. One who embraced love and revolution with the same passion. One who offered mankind the only ultimate expression- the expression of love and sacrifice. One who was proposed to be the President of his nation from which he happily withdrew for the greater good and unity of progressive elements in his country. Poet par excellence, arising from the streets of Chile, growing throughout Latin America, Spain and later in to the very consciousness of modern world- Pablo Neruda.
Neruda poems depicts his heart felt love and passion for his nation, its nature, culture and heritage. But he gains his present enjoying position in human mind through his timeless words dedicated to the unambiguous love he had for his fellow men- especially the downtrodden. His words were the best weapon possible, then and now, for the anti-imperialist and antifascist movements not only in his country but also all across the world. He is proclaiming to the proletariat to unite against its suppressors. He tells them to procure strength from the ever rising waves of the sea hitting hard and persistent on the rocks. He stood with the tortured souls shoulder to shoulder and sang their fury out to the rulers-"...We demand punishment......."

Arise to birth with me, my brother.
Give me your hand out of the depths
sown by your sorrows.
You will not return from these stone fastnesses.
You will not emerge from subterranean time.

(canto general)
Even when he was performing his historical role as a motivator and fellow traveller of the proletarian movement, he walked directly into the hearts and souls of all men and women especially youth through his magical poems of love and passion. He sang-

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example, 'The night is starry

and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.'

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.

I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.

How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
Every reader should have a taste of Neruda poems in them as it will take them more towards the Social goodness that humans have procured over time. This Nobel laureate will surely find his place up in the list of men that changed our lives and thought everlastingly.

Cogito ergo Sun

Cogito ergo Sun --- I think, therefore I am
-- Rene Descartes

This is a discussion in which everyone will be interested- discussion on atheism and religion. May be in human history more than anything else this has existed as a basic query of human psyche.
All along the timeline atheism or materialism as one might call, even though in small fractions of society, existed as a formidable philosophy. Although not exactly the same, for the general public atheism and materialism are synonyms of the same idea. Materialism is the philosophy in which matter holds the centre stage. Every other experience is derived from the mutual interactions and totality of this matter. May be an easier example is cited in a computer. Here you can consider hardware and software as the basic matter and the functions it provide, the experiences and usage it provides as the psyche or say " The spirit". It is very easy for an involved user to ultimately forget the basic existence and complexities of the "matter" in it and just think of the "spirit" as the actual truth. Apart from the materialistic ideas pioneered by greats of modern era like Rene Descartes , the idea of materialism existed in every civilisation in ample strength. In India they existed as the Charvaka school of philosophy which included many like Kanaada as its supporters, In Greek civilisation through Democritus, Thales etc, In China through Xun Zi and his Confucian philosophy, In West Asia through Arabian philosophers like that of Ibn Tufail (Abubacer).Almost everyone of them have contributed greatly to the development of Human philosophy and mind to a diverse and rich one that we have now.
But the bulk of the society has always followed theist philosophy in different forms. Here every philosophy (ultimately giving rise to different religions) has slight variations in their beliefs. Some giving a supreme self or "spirit"(God) the highest stand considering it as the only truth (majority of the religions is dominated by this stand-which includes both monotheist and polytheist religions) and some considering the philosophical stand that “God” and Nature are the same and inseparable( pantheism).
All together theist philosophy has dominated the human viewpoint from the time immemorial. It, especially the organised religions have both helped and pulled back the social development of human beings at various stages. It provided the much needed passion and positive outlook to human kind for its survival and civilisation. It provided the helpless with the “opium” (analgesic) by which they can pull through the rough terrains of their life. It provided human race the utopia where ultimately the “good” wins over the “evil”. At the same time it became deeply conservative so that it almost destroyed human development several times. It blinded the masses from accepting the progressive ideas much for its own comfort.It became the most valuable and powerful tool for the rulers to suppress the majority of the society into its clutches.
This discussion will continue as long as humans exist in this world. As science advances the materialist viewpoint becomes more and more logical and gains increasing support. But as human is the only animal with developed psyche more than a particular level, a level up to which it finds itself detached from the nature even able to modify it, he feels more and more isolated and alone. This creates a psychological necessity for a constant support for his existence- some gains it through their social concepts, moral values, various ideologies and philosophies. But for the common masses the only easy support for his loneliness is the belief in a supernatural or divine creator- The God. So even if the discussion over existence of God, dispute between atheism and theism shall prevail, one thing is quiet blatant that the belief in a Divine self is a basic psychological necessity of the majority of mankind for their survival at least for the time being.
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The eternal peace!

The eternal peace
Through the half broken window panel he was gazing at the pile of waste disposed haphazardly in the nearby backyard. The pungent smell has become the part and parcel of his existence and every day he used to gaze in to the shambles of this waste pile as if it is reminding him of something important- his own life. For last one month the hospital and this bed has been his world. Nobody around him and neither does he himself is expecting to get out of the bed alive and healthy. It was only a matter of when and how he will crumble to the uncompromising hands of fate.
Throughout the day he would stare at the backyard filled with the hospital wastes. He would watch how the crows, cats and dogs share and fight for their part out of the pile. He would watch how mothers with sunburned skin and scaphoid bellies would come along with their emaciated potbellied children to explore the remains and find their earnings. He would also watch the municipal workers coming once in few days to carry away the left over. In night the whole place would be engulfed by the darkness leaving only the starry skies for him to stare and that is the time when he sometimes used to let loose his self imposed benignity. The tears would roll over his cheeks before millions of glittering eyes in the dark sky.
Last few days he has been increasingly sick. His already bony body was giving away to bedsores and his appetite has failed him completely. Severe headache was tearing him apart and the nauseating bunch of drugs he needs to swallow was a hell in itself. Over the course of the month attention he drew in the passing by eyes has drastically come down. The common disgusted looks and rare empathetic looks have both given way to the benign passive gaze. As if everybody was wondering about when will this suffering end, for him and for them.
When did it all begin? He was now much disoriented with the past events that he found it difficult to arrange them in order of the timeline. May be everything began in that night-how will he describe it dreadful or sensuous. Or maybe, when he was told by the councillor about his disease across that unusually large table at the ART centre. He does remember the face of the councillor when he uttered the word HIV. He was highly interested in knowing about the details of his sex life- a thing that never really existed except for that one night. He will never blame her for the successive events as she was just a prostitute and it was him who had gone to her on that night. Also somewhere in the corner of his heart now he had developed an unusual love for her as they seems to be bonded to each other by several means. She was the one who had given him his first and last immersion in the pool of lust. She was the one who had with all her heart loved him once even if it may be for some irrevocable spastic moments. They are bound by love, lust and now by disease. He could never hate her. Instead he hated him selves immensely. He hated his family for letting him leave his home to a far off land to endure his professional aspirations. He hated his dream girl for not accepting his unbiased love. Ultimately he hated everything the world seemed to be for him before.
The hate was aroused from anger, which aroused from frustration, which in turn aroused from the love of life he had deep seated in him selves. But the hate is now fading off. He now has a quiet peace coming in him selves. The peace that is bestowed upon him by the disease and through it by the impending death. AIDS has opened a gateway to numerous diseases that he hears regularly uttered by each passing by doctor and medical staff- disseminated Tuberculosis, candidiasis, toxoplasmosis. Aloof from all these medical jargon his eyes are now always fixed on the waste pile in the backyard and sky above it.
Today he is feeling severe tearing pain in his head. It is more than ever. But he didn’t ask for help, he didn’t even show any signs of distress. The municipal workers have come and cleansed the backyard as never before. The sky has hid all its stars behind the clouds as never before. He was expecting something great, something he had been preparing him selves for a while now-he was expecting the arrival of his eternal peace.
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Vilaapam

വിലാപം
പ്രിയേ, നിന്നെയൊരു മഞ്ഞുതുള്ളിയായ്
എന് ഹൃദയത്തില് കരുതി വെക്കാം.
പക്ഷെയീ അറ്ക്കശോഭയില് ഒരു
മുത്തായ് കുരുത്തെടുക്കാനെനിക്കാവതില്ല.

നിന്റെ മൃദുസ്നേഹം, കിളിക്കൊഞ്ചല്,
ചെറുപരിഭവം, എല്ലാമെന് ഹൃദന്തത്തില്
ഒരു തൂവല് സ്പറ്ശമായ് ലയിക്കും....
എങ്കിലുമീ ഉലകസമക്ഷം
നിന് കരം പിടിച്ചുയരാന്
ഞാന് അശക്തന്, തീറ്ത്തും പരാജിതന്...

പ്രിയേ,നിന്നോടെനിക്കുള്ള ഹൃദയബന്ധം
അതു തികച്ചും വാക്കുകള്ക്കപ്പുറം
വികാരതിന്റെ നനുത്ത നൂല്പാലം.
അവയ്ക്ക് ഞാന് പേരു നല്കി തളക്കുന്നില്ല

ഒരു പക്ഷെ അതെന്റെ ഭീരുത്വത്തിന്
ബഹിറ്സ്പുരണമാവാം.
എന് ഗാഢമല്ലാത്തവിചാരങ്ങള് തന്
വെളിപ്പെടുത്തലുകളാവാം.

പക്ഷെ പനിനീരു പോല്
കിനിഞ്ഞിറങ്ങുന്ന നിന് സ്നേഹം
ഹൃദയത്തില് കനലുകള് വാരിയെറിയുമ്പോള്
നിന് ഗഗനസമാനം നിഗൂഢമാം നയനങ്ങള്
എന്നില് നിന്നും വാക്കുകള് തിരയുമ്പോള്
പ്രിയേ, ഞാന് വിലപിക്കുന്നു
തീറ്ത്തും അശക്തനായ്, പരാജിതനായ്
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The paradise on earth

The sun has already receded into the womb of earth, but much of its grandeur is left behind in the darkening horizon as unlimited shades and colours spread all across it. Sitting on one of the rocks in the ponmudi peak starring at the deep valley below is an outstanding experience. The breeze from the west is chilling the skin below my cloth and the steep valley is inducing a bizarre longing for me to jump into its lap all free. A stream is flowing along the valley making mild sizzling music adding to the symphony of breeze in this otherwise silent atmosphere. The solitude, picturesque heavens, the dark illusive valley, everything falls in perfect place out here for a tantalising spiritual experience.

Western Ghats as always pulls you into this mind calming moments, makes you feel one with nature or God as some might like to put. It makes you feel the energy of nature flowing inside you, the same which is restlessly hurrying in each blow of wind, the same which is spreading all over in the cool dancing stream , the same which is proudly filling the huge mountains and steep valleys. The ultimate spiritual experience, which will stand one step ahead of all the posturing of our religious establishment.

Every time I visit the Western Ghats, take my glances through its thick ‘shola’ forests, immerse my body in its cool sweet water I would feel like going back to my origins, dissolving into myself. Trekking through its mountains may be tiring but certainly satisfying. Cruising along its trees creates an everlasting feeling of well being. Its fauna fills you with towering curiousity. The clicks of our cameras will capture some of the glitter but never in the whole world can it transfer the feel that it creates in our mind and soul.

Oh! My dear Western Ghats, I am longing to get back to you. For redeeming my selves from this world of stress. For embracing the peace that you will deliver to me. For retrieving my soul deeply buried in me. ...............................................................................................................................