3 Years screening at The Lit & Phil

The film '3 Years' was screened on Nov 5, 2011 at the The Literary and Philosophical Society, Newcastle upon Tyne followed by a presentation and Q & A on the same. The event was organized by The North East Screenwriters Group, Newcastle. Thanks to everybody who attended the event and shared their varied experiences, interpretations and opinions on the film. Thanks to the group, especially Keith who organised it, for giving me a chance express my views and the unconventional making of this film. Thanks to Tim, the cello musician friend from Northumberland street who helped me make this film with him. Thanks for everyone who made it a success. Cheers.

With Tim - A journey in search of a story

Last Wednesday I went to Hexham to meet a friend who I met in Northumberland Street, Tim – an old man probably of my eldest uncle’s age. He survives on the money gained by street basking, making music with his Cello. I makes film with the tip money I earn by serving in a restaurant. Can there be a better collaboration? I went to his house in Hexham, the nearby woods, a country church on a hill top and a graveyard - in search of a story. Walking through the woods with wild rabbits and birds quietly moving all around was a thrilling experience. Finally it is happening, I am making a film with Tim and I am super excited about it.

A few weeks back a friend asked me what would I call my film style and I quickly replied -‘IMPERFECTION’. Its true. I have made all my short films with an imperfection. I would call them perfect only when those who view, make them perfect in their minds with their own corrections. I admire that mental communication, they are definitely my intelligent partners. So far, I've never written a script for any of my films except for the very first short film ‘My Mirror’. I never had anyone who has prior experience, for both the cast and the crew. I can confidently say that every single person who involved with me in filmmaking is a first timer or just one timer. They are not perfect, I am not perfect and our film is - hence - in simple words imperfect.

I’m on my way to make my next Imperfect film, with Tim. I've all liberty to be excited about it. :)

Life Goes On

Quite touched by this movie directed by Sangeeta Datta. A poetry of life. Life goes on...

The Old Code

My best friend for past seven years, Deepu always says, “Macha, Be a villain or a hero, but don’t ever become a clown. I prefer me as a villain.” For that I always had this reply, “People can forget the hero and the villain, but not the clown. I would rather be that clown. I'm addicted to smiling and smiles.” Till date, neither he accepted my point nor I accepted his point. That was always been my relation with him. 100% a true Liberian-Sagittarian one. Our friendship happened from the college with his routine cigarette break outside the campus. Deepu and me are from two extremes fighting with each other on anything and everything, every single day since the very first day of our friendship. But the result of our togetherness was always been magical. At MCC we did projects together. The documentary we did on Bishop Heber Hall was more than a college project. It is the first video document on Hall Life in MCC. With the screening of our the film ‘Forever Heber’, at Heber Hall day 2003, we set a new trend of video screenings about Hall life in halls on their respective Hall Days, that is being followed religiously since then. From ‘Forever Heber’ we now reached ‘My Paper Boat’. Still busy in our arguments, strong as ever before. I was on phone with him, few minutes back. Blame it on our zodiacs - He is water and I’m fire. I do remember the same with my cousin Sharath too and somebody else who is special to me.

I wanted to write a blog on the film “The Old Code”, but after talking to Deepu his statement on clowns came to my mind. Even now I stick to my opinion and I thoroughly enjoyed performing as a clown ‘Lord Fredric Mongomery Smithers’ as called by the Director Chris and team. Well, more interesting was acting with my adopted daughter Char and brother Stuart, here in Newcastle. I also enjoyed being directed than direction, stepping down from all the tensions carried by director’s hat. Hence I had more than enough time on the set to fool around with everyone, the activity probably best suit me as my identity.

Of late, I had this realisation that most of my friends admire for me being crazy and goofy and expect me to be that way. For one or two months I was not been myself, this year. But the very moment I was back updating a status message ‘I scream, you scream we all scream for ice cream.’, I got a reply from a good friend “Oh God, you are back.” followed by the next one that gave me goose bumps “Walking with you grantees that I will have an extra year to live. You have no right to go.” More than understanding those comments on its surface level, it did realise me about my responsibility as an individual. It was a state of incarnation to recognize what I am probably good at and what I could be doing in future and what others admire me for.

Till now, I never pampered my sister, but she relate to me more with my craziness. Once at Dakshinchitra, while watching a dandiya performance by a Gujarthi community club, I saw my sister quietly following the steps in her mind. Without even telling her I pushed her into the group and asked her to follow what her intuition says. For the next half an hour she was dancing dandiya. Following her, a few other women joined from the crowd. My sister was silent while returning back, but she had a surprised smile on her face that I cannot forget for this lifetime. I have never gifted anything to my sister except for a few such moments and that is what she probably expects from me too. Two days back while returning back from the Hallooween party, late at night, I dragged my friend Soma to the middle of empty Nunsmoor Park and asked her to look at the stars. Well, how many of us are missing such views in life. we returned back touching all possible yellow leaves on the ground. At home once while the music of Yanni’s ‘Adiago in C Minor’ was playing I closed her eyes, spreading her hands, whispered in her ears, about my experience of watching the Atlantic sea from the tip of a cliff at Jurassic Coast. Soma did follow me so well, that she said she felt the ocean in front of her. I was making fun of her saying, I must teach her fiancé the same trick to take it to another level :).

Actor/writer Srinivasan once said, “ The characters's tragedy is what we call audiences’ comedy.” My role model Chaplin (Deepu hates me for that) said, “I wish to cry in the rain so that no one see my tears.” I am not satisfied as a performer or an individual unless and until, I could make someone special smile… that might not happen ever again in life.

A little away

Away away

A way,a way

Again, again

A gain, a gain

With winds I flow

With waves I glow

Words of Hello..oow!

At world’s window

Alone alone…

A long I’ve gone…

Life of my life,

Left, I hope safe...!

Will you say,

With a will to stay !

"If you get me,

Few forget me..."

Away away,

A bit away.

A way again

Alone alone...!

I see me packing my bags for the journey from my home in Chennai… I see every single moment of it... The most sweetest day in my life. I can hear Mary Aunty and her last words to me. I did delay my journey to Kerala for a day, as she wanted me to be with her family on the day of Christmas. I never knew then, it was her last Christmas. Today when I rewind the time, that day’s delay remains so precious than anything else in this world. Yesterday, while video chatting with a wildlife filmmaker, I was saying why most filmmakers or videographers don’t venture into wildlife filmmaking. It is all about right action at right time capturing the right content for right audience. Cannot wait for the perfect light to arrive and subject to pose for the camera. I guess, doing is more important than a decision, for such people. I am one among them. Whether life or film, that is my way. Right or wrong, I don’t trust second thoughts. No regrets about life, while following the heart and intuitions, fully…sincerely. Doing is my decision, than deciding to do and then do. Mistakes remain experience. Regret of losing a moment eats me more than a possible mistake at that moment. Today, sitting back in my room in Newcastle, alone, I did rewind the time. Have I changed any bit? Not at all… I am not far, just a little away... to my true essence, in all sense.

The old code - Making

Precious Rubbish

Fish & the Yesterday Song

Screening at Teeside

Yesterday, at Concept Film Night by Teeside University, Teeside we were asked to perform the task of telling a love story in 5 words. It was interesting to hear the imagination of various people and their one-line stories. I too quickly scribbled one –

“Wind Brought Waves to Beach.”

While coming back home I reframed it this way–

“With Wind, Waves Reached Beach”.

It was quite interesting to be a part of the fest watching some thought provoking short films by filmmakers from Northeast, sharing ideas with each of them and the audience. I was invited to the fest to present two of my own films and another one that I edited for my good friend Brijilin, under the banner of Cockroach in Cocktail and one in collaboration with Trinity Pictures and Rolling Coin. The films were My Paper Boat, Mission Escape and Face or Fall.

While seeing the films on a big screen - seeing it being enjoyed, understood and appreciated by a good set of audience - memories of the making of each of them, the cast, the crew- all flashed in mind so loud and clear. Even those tiny bits of fun and fights we had among us while realising them. Shooting of ‘Face of Fall’ at the street in front of my home in Chennai at mid night hours with an unknown autorickshaw driver as an actor, making fun of my good friends in Hexaware Technologies on their life with mouse by showing all the mice escaping from the computers in ‘Mission Escape’, travelling with the my film crew stuck behind me on the bike seat and the Paper Boat boy ‘Arjun’ in front of me on the petrol tank of my good old Yamaha Crux bike, and the camera bag and the tripod hanging on each of the sides – Well, I have answer to the audience to who asked what filmmaking is about and how much it cost. Filmmaking is sharing thoughts, love and ideas. It cost me nothing but friendship and a collective passion and vision.

As the other filmmakers who participated in the event James Harris, Richard MacLeod, Chris Bailey also suggested films are about passion and it costs nothing but passion. To be honest, one of the most thrilling moment for me was, hearing from Chris that he had seen 'My Paper Boat' in shooting people website, much before. It did surprised me on how far and wide internet can take short films. Glad to meet a filmmaker friend who even went one step ahead creating a campaign film to protect the only green space he claimed to have left in the middle of the city Middlesburgh with the film ‘Beacon of Hypocrisy’. While the animation film ‘Answer Yam’ entertained with jokes, films like Life for Life, Passing and Untitled left questions to think about. I truly enjoyed the evening. It was equally interesting to travel back with filmmaker friend Matthew Burge in his car learning more about the history and geography of North East of UK.

I did say this - I like it when films are not made, but happens from nowhere, the way it was always been in my life.

Copenhagen to Cape Town

Glad to hear that my paper boat is still continuing a successful sail to places with the message of global warming scenario. The film is on its way to Cape Town, South Africa. To be honest with you, until the film won the prize at Copenhagen Climate Change conference, I was never been an environmentalist - though I was always been an admirer of nature. It did hurt me a lot when the trees were cut down at G.N Chetty Road, T-Nagar in Chennai city where I was working. I have experienced the impact of trees on the atmosphere just by living in MCC during summer. The climate inside the 365-acre forestland where Madras Christian College stands is much different when compared to the city outside the campus, during peak summer. The very moment you step into the campus there is a peaceful chillness that gets sucked into your spine and if it is windy, it will give you Goosebumps.

While doing the film, I never thought that the film could have this reach to these many hearts with the message, we believed in. Thanks a ton for the cast and crew for the support and the 1minutetosavetheworld team for taking it to places. The latest news I received from the team is that ‘My Paper Boat’ is on its journey to Africa. The film is now selected as the opening film at Southern Youth Film Festival at Cape Town, South Africa. I will also be performing a different task in my life that I have never done before - being one among the judges for the film competition for this year by www.1minutetosavetheworld.com .Hoping to witness some fantastic films in a third persons eye.

Precious Rubbish

I was involved in this film by best friends Claire and Pete of Skimstone studio with young people of Newcastle since March’10. What makes me happy about this is film is the way I was adopted by everyone as a part their family here… Now I truly feel Newcastle another home. So much of love in life… Hugs to you all. U taught me what is precious and what is rubbish too… :P The film was a brilliant new learning experience. Lessons I learnt from this set of first time filmmakers are definitely something no film school in the entire world can offer me. I bet, no film professional can teach me the same too. This film is an example of what can happen if a set of people joins hands to create a film purely out of passion and nothing else.

Precious Rubbish tells stories of several journeys of self-discovery through experiences of pain, happiness, despair and hope and explores the universal themes of life such as loss, sorrow, love, confusion, bullying and friendship. This is about identifying the precious rubbish in us. Precious Rubbish consists of beautifully shot, photographed and performed artworks by young actors, photographers and film crew in a four centuries old house in Westgate Road, Newcastle upon Tyne and other locations around the city. This project has enabled eighteen young people to work towards their national Arts Award.

Along with the film we had the photo exhibition of ‘Precious Rubbish’, and a special space for people to share their ‘precious rubbishes’ in life. Well, I too have one special 'precious rubbish' to put in – Cockroach in Cocktail and a favourite pic.

At a stage of life losing my trust in myself and world, this film and the crew came as a boon, supported me in a lot of ways in identifying the lost me. Ironically, I felt, the concept 'Precious Rubbish' created by the young people had so much to speak to me and my life too... In one of the hot seating sessions, when we asked the question to each other on what is that annoys us the most, I had this answer that I hate looking at the mirror coz my own eyes keeps haunting me as someone else and that I feel my face is not mine anymore...

After these many months, I have now identified 'the precious' in my life. I guess I love my life more sincerely, with a lot of romance and courage. The face that reflected the phase of pain, anger, frustration etc... was such a fake one that had no meanings to it. Two days back, in a funny mood, I changed the status message in Facebook to - I Scream, You Scream and We all Scream for Ice Cream... remembering the famous dialogue by Roberto Benigni in the film Down by Law. In seconds I got comments and messages form all my good friends - "Thank God, u r back. :)"

I now knows what my dear ones like me for and expect from me, and promise I am there screaming "I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice scream." Cheers. Love you. Hugs. You made me realise that there is something 'Precious' in 'Rubbish' too...

Eric & Me

I met Eric yesterday again. He was always been there, silently standing at all complex-complicated-corners of life, in his branded way of weirdness and wisdom. He thus successfully surprised me again… driving me dive deep in between dilemma and divinity.

I was on my way to attend a meeting with a few artists from North East at the office of Northern Rock Foundation, situated at a place called Gosforth in Newcastle. Even though the exact address was safe in hand - written so neatly on a piece of paper - true to my cranky intelligence I took the exact opposite direction immediately after getting down from the Metro train at South Gosforth station. Again ‘true to my nature’ I was pretty sure inside that the direction could be wrong and I had to reach the meeting arena fast. I showed the address to a lot of people whom I met on the roadside but nobody seemed to have an idea about it. It was at this point I met Eric again.

I saw that middle-aged white man in his shabby overcoat and torn out shorts, knelt down at the footpath on roadside - busy picking up waste papers and plastic covers, filling the sack kept on his side. I didn’t see him carefully when I actually called him for his attention. As he turned back and looked at me with a blank face and an almost ‘cruel-drunken’ eye, an alarm rang on my head and I felt I was doing a mistake. May be, all those words Charles Dickens used to describe Fagin of ‘Oliver Twist’, could suit him well. Instead of walking back I looked deep into his eyes and repeated my question. He nodded his head as if he didn’t hear me and I repeated. He kept doing the same action for 3 more times freaking me out as if making a fool of me and all the 3 times I kept looking more seriously, repeating my question. The fifth time he just caught my hand so rudely and pulled me across the road. In a rough shivering voice he said, “I don’t know anything. But I will take you to someone who knows.”

As we were crossing the road, he did something yet more strange and mad. Right in the middle of road he stopped and bent down without even bothering the fast moving cars, just to pick up a chocolate cover and throw it in his sack. Four-five cars had to wait for us and the drivers kept looking out so rudely. Though I had no idea on things, I was clear something interesting going to happen. He dragged me towards the nearby street and straight to a place where I saw the notice board- ‘Meditation Centre’. The moment he pushed open the door, the guy who was in charge of the space came running shouting ‘Out, out…Go out please…” My friend very politely passed the sheet of paper to him and said, “Please help him. He is in a hurry.” That man invited me alone into the meditation centre, shutting the door in front of my friend and whispered with a 'polite' smile, “So sorry, Eric is a trouble.” He carefully looked into the address and explained me the direction as I walked around the meditation space.

When I came out Eric was there on the roadside, in the same posture busy in his own world. With some authority I patted on his shoulder, smiled and said load, “Thanks Eric, I got my direction right.” Eric turned his eyes up so seriously and replied in a rough tone, “Good…good…but, are you sure? Do u want me to come.” (As if he knows the way). As I nodded ‘no’ he blabbered something. I sat beside him and asked, “What did you say?” He said so seriously, “You are not smiling. This is not smile.” and bent down continuing what he was doing. I became more curious. Disturbing his job I asked again, “How do you know?”. He said, “coz…..it makes me sad.”. The way he said that like a little boy made me laugh again. I gave him a tight hug on his shoulder and shouted in his ears, “Thankkkkk uuuu soo much Mate… You are smart.”

For my surprise Eric was equally surprised and smiled at me opening his mouth wide open showing his teeth. He said, “People are idiots. They dirty this place. I need to clean it all alone. Okaay… You go… Now you knows right way.”

While walking away, I turned back to have a quick look at him. He was in his own world, blabbering something to himself… may be busy cleaning the world...

That was not the first time I met Eric. He was always been there through out my life, popping up at all confusing corners. He always puts me a state of dilemma - at the same time, sharing a sense of divinity. I don’t know whether any of you have ever met Eric. In my childhood Eric saved me from drowning in a pond. Eric invited me to Hyderabad and study there. Eric was an auto driver once, who picked me up in the middle of riots during the time of a festival in North India. He came as a wave, bounced over an unexpected sand barrier and touched my feet at Marina Beech giving me a new life. Here in Newcastle he hugged me as a young girl who calls me ‘Dad’ and a young boy becoming my brother, giving me new relatives. Eric was always been my alter ego at another corner of world.

Eric is someone who dares to hold my hand with an authority, like my parents, sister or that best friend from MCC. They never use to care what I think or the world think, but intrude into my life with a sense of authority. Not many people had shown such an authority on me. I remember liking my girl so much while we were video chatting, when she suddenly asked me whether the bag hanging behind me was a lady’s bag. That was her way of saying, “Hey, you are mine.” I care for that friend form MCC who disturbed me while I was doing an urgent graphic design. I then shouted at her. But immediately after getting out of the computer lab I held her hand in my hand, silently promising to be her best friend for lifetime. It is actually a secret pleasure when someone shows that authority; it means they do care for you a lot. Those people do leave a mark in life. You may even shout back at them, or hurt them… but cannot ignore them when they need you. Life is all about living it happily, knowing and forgetting some nightmares. Eric told me.

Eric is not that selfish someone who just walks with you like a tourist guide all the time showing you directions to all that is beautiful, but he is some one who appears only at crucial points and show you the real path forward, or at least take you to those safer hands who can show you the path forward. He never bothers to look at what you might think or what the world thinks when he grab your hand without your permission. He might rudely push you across many roads of life not even looking you or the fast moving cars… and the fake people inside and around. I felt bad for not taking a photograph of Eric with my mobile cam, but then I imagined him framed on the walls or hanging on the cross. It was annoying…

The last word Eric told me as I walked in my assured ‘right’ path was his 'silence'.

Parijaatham

During our childhood days my sister and I used to go for Hindi tuition class at an Ashram (monastery) situated right behind our house. I have already mentioned about Swamiji - Swami Prushothamanada - in most of my blogs. He still remains the most influential person in my life and the only one who is my 100% Guru. He was the most stubborn and strong person I have ever met in my life. Can call him a true Gandhi at thoughts and Hitler at action. He was my grandpa’s most intimate companion since his childhood days. He was an army man, a scholar and a dedicated teacher before joining Ramakrishna Mission as a saint. More than the Hindi lessons, what we enjoyed the most was his style of teaching, flavoured and garnished by his personal experiences - explaining even the most complicated topics with a sense of creative energy and enthusiasm. We liked to hear about his term as an Army man working at the most difficult highland border regions of India and China. This space won’t be any bit enough to fit in all that I need to talk about him. I truly wanted to be a saint like him exactly the way as he was – a rough and tuff Sanyasi. I may have such a future, I leave it for the time to decide. In this blog, I would like to share thoughts about a Parijatham tree. (I don’t know what is it called in English.)

A lot of memories just rushed into my mind and I cannot be but write about it before saying anything about Parijatham. I guess I need to shift my bit about of Parijatham to the end of this article. Let me just talk a little about those tuition classes. It is my ‘memories of’ and ‘testimonial for’ a few people whom I cannot forget here. The HIndi lesson used to happen in the afternoon around 3 pm. The first thing we both had to do was to wake up Swamiji from his mid-day nap. Most often we used to find him snoring to glory with his mouth mildly open. The very moment our voice reached him...‘Swamiii…’, he used to wake up... quickly hunting for his thick spectacles all around the bed with his hands. Only after they get neatly chaired on his nose, he could bring himself back to real senses.

It was Swamiji who forced my dad to make us appear for the Hindi exams by Dakshin Bharath Hindi Prachar Sabha. In order to make us attend the lessons he used to lure us with Pico classic comic books. Everyday he used to take us to the library and share his treasure of comic books right after the session. Most of them were pictorial books on international classics like Wuthering Heights, The Hunchback of Notre dame, Moby Dick', The Black Beauty, Time Machine etc. We had another reason to attend those sessions - a mulberry plant that grew at the compound of ashram. Through out the session I used to have my eyes stuck on the red-black mulberries. The days I was so desperate for them, I used to make reasons like ‘I am thirsty, I want to pee etc... etc...’ and go out quiet-quick to pluck a few mulberries. I used do a lot of harmless adventures those days. The best of it could be intruding into a local temple in the afternoon without anyone’s knowledge and lifting the sacred sword of ‘Velichappadu’ (the God Man), on my way back from the school after the mid-term exam. Interestingly the Lord Ayyappa blessed me with better marks for mathematics that time as if he knew I was just curious to lift that sword and play with it for a while. Anyway, Swami was not as kind as Lord Ayyappa. He caught me once red-handed. I do mean it. It was right in both literal sense and true sense - my hands were actually red coz of the juice that oozed out of blood-red mulberries.

On certain days the lessons used to be quite exhaustive. We had a few interesting people who saved us on many such occasions. They were Swamiji’s visitors who preferred to come exactly on the time of our session in spite his strict order of not coming at that time. They used to just pop in form nowhere and spend a lot of time talking mostly nonsense, they genuinely believed as total sense. But Swami used to respond to them the same manner yet holding up a serious face true to his brand image as of a Hitler. He used to shout at them, blame them... order them...!!! Still they kept coming on almost every alternative day from nowhere. Now you must be curious to know who they were. As I said earlier, they were our saviours – A hunch back old woman who lived with the little wage she gained by making flower garlands for a local temple and a mentally retarded Christian boy named Jacob. In the entire world Swamiji might be the only one who could talk to them so well, and for that reason we too. Initially we were so scared of Jacob whom we met almost everywhere falling from 'just' nowhere, until we started interacting with him in those tuition classes. Afterwards Jacob started recognising us and sometimes walked with us on our way back from school.

I now realised that I have not many facts to say about our Parijatham. But I consider it as one of the most precious gift of God that I do cherish. It helps me recollect all those moments about Ashram, Swamiji, the Hunch Back woman, our friend Jacob etc. I don’t think there is anything as precious as memories in this world. Good or bad, they remains my treasure. You must be wondering 'from where' does a Parijatham come in to this story, that I titled as Parijatham itself and didn’t say a word yet...

There used to be a Parijatham tree that stood tall close to my favourite mulberry plant at the compound of Ashram. During the season the flowers bloomed, the fragrance filled the whole area around the Ashram. The tiny white parijatham flowers used to cover the soil underneath the tree and a lot of them used to travel with the wind to our table. On one such day my sister Athira and me took a stem of the tree with us while returning back home. Together we planted it carefully on the compound of our house near the kitchen. I remember a few people saying that Parijatham should not be planted on the premises of house as it is a sacred tree.

Today that little stem had grown even bigger than the two floored structure of our house. Last time when Athira and me were there 'together' at home, 'TOGETHER' we touched the branches of Parijatham that covered a small portion of our terrace. Through her kitchen window, my mother had seen that tiny plant growing up to such a height since the time we planted it. Mother had seen us growing up… and the tree too... growing much taller than us. Parijatham still do shower her tiny little flowers into Mum’s kitchen with the help of wind every year. It thus do fill our compound with a lot of memories, as Dad says. I was never been at home continuously for more than two months after my Pre-Degree (12^th). My sister too keeps shuttling between places. But our Parijatham was always been there beside my mum on every single day of her life with so many precious memories about us. I guess those tiny white flowers and the fragrance are the most precious gift Athira and I could give to our parents. As dad says, they are tiny sweet memories… of our childhood.

Animated, Inanimated & Partially Animated

I don’t know whether he was at the right place or the wrong one when he got that phone call, or whether he started drinking before that phone call or after that. He did react to it exactly the same way I expected. First he decided to throw his mobile off from the cliff and then he thought he should throw himself off. But he didn’t follow either of those instant thoughts but sat down sipping his sixth peg of Gin and Lemonade, smoking the last joint left in his hands.

Joy Kuttan was born as ‘JOY KUTTAN’ for those proud orthodox Christian parents from Kottayam district of Kerala, who believed them to be the successors of one of the disciples of St. George. Unlike the other babies born around the globe at 10.30 AM on 21st Dec 1982, he was considered as a surprise… He surprised everyone by a laugh instead of cry as if he was so excited seeing the first light outside. Doctors claimed that he came out much early too. The next thing he did was winking at the nurse who cleaned him. The priest, Mani Achan, from the nearby church who happened to be there by chance, with all heart, wished him with the name ‘Joy Kuttan’. All the Malayalies thus started calling him ‘Joy Kuttaaaaa….’. For a few years he lived as ‘Baby Boy. Joy Kuttan’. When he once shared screen with Superstar Mammootty for a film as a child actor, his name was scrolled in the credits as ‘Master. Joy Kuttan’. Since then it took many years for him to grow up to the status of Mr. Joy Kuttan.
This is the history, geography and cultural background of this character. I had to stop for a while to clean the utensils in kitchen. While doing that I was thinking on what made him plan his tour in his dirty modified Mahindra Classic Jeep to the suicide point of Kodaikanal from his rich rubber estate in Kottayam… and that too all alone. I really don’t know… may be some kind of instinct. Well, we all do follow instincts! Don’t we? What do you think is the basic instinct behind Cockroach’s plan of writing about one Joy Kuttan in joy that no one seems to enjoy?

Though his intention was not clear, he was obviously not in the mood or the mode of killing himself. But the phone call did knock him down. The intoxication of Gin was so tight too. The phone call could be a rude one, an unexpected one or an unexpectedly rude one… what ever. He smiled at the sky and the dead-end for his jeep and the life, lying down alone at the tip of the cliff. After a while he did something really crazy. Even I didn’t expect that.

He opened his bag and pealed a paper off from the book that first got caught in his hand. (I forgot to say that Joy Kuttan was an avid reader.) It was the first page of ‘Broken Glass’ by African writer Alain Mabanckou where he had written the golden phrase ‘in Africa, when an old person dies, a library burns’. He hardly bothered to read it but scribbled “good bye” on the empty sides of the paper and said this loud in an insanely shivering tone “Thanks for those tiny indecent reasons of your own, that I am on my own from now on.”

In a few seconds, a paper rocket flew up from the suicide point of Kodaikanal. It had no emotions. It sailed in the sky- in the air- so aimlessly. The paper didn’t know the meaning of any African phrase. But it had a rich history of its own. It was once the part of a forest tree at Valayar region in Kerala. The tree was stolen and exported as forest wood, later cut and processed at various places. The paper that became the rocket in the hands of Joy Kuttan was once that portion, thrown as unwanted useless priceless pieces, carried away as waste wood and processed at Punaloor paper mills. A different fate was waiting in the hands of small time printers who sold replica of famous books. It thus became the first page of ‘Broken Glass’ of Alain Mabanckou carrying the famous phrase from Africa for a reader like Joy Kuttan, who never believed in gathering knowledge for big money. As I said earlier, that paper didn’t have any emotions by itself. With the wind it continued its journey towards yet another fate… as it was been always…

Neither the emotional Joy Kuttan nor the emotionless paper rocket found the presence of the third character in this story - ‘Joy Kuttan, The Rocket and Chinnu’. Yes, it is Chinnu, I don’t know her exact name so let me call her Chinnu. Well, we humans have this weird habit of giving names to anything and everything without their permission. (I am thinking of all those pets in our lives – David the dog, Ruby the kitten etc…) For my convenience I am taking the liberty of calling her Chinnu. She was a beautiful black ant, and the queen of her colony. Just like her companions she was living a simple life gathering food and bringing up her children. Her fate was quite simple and certain, until Joy Kuttan threw her into the complex and uncertain. It was not intentional. She was caught in between the gap of the paper rocket.

Chinnu’s colony was very near to the place where Joy Kuttan’s jeep was parked. She was disturbed by the noise of jeep while feeding her children, and thus came out to face the intruder. The tyre of the jeep was very near to her colony. She was not capable to understand what would have happened if it was parked one step ahead. For that matter, she was not familiar about anything else other than her little world around. How many of us actually know the ‘Actual World’? How much of the world can be explored by a small little ant, who has nothing other than a colony that can be placed under the tyre of a jeep, living with less than a hundred adult inhabitants and a probable thirty little ones.

The wind carried Chinnu caught in that paper rocket, to her uncertainty… I can’t explain what was going on her mind during the journey. Being a nonliving object, I am pretty sure that the journey didn’t make any sense for the rocket. But the black ant is a living being capable of thinking. May be she is not as intelligent as a human being, but she definitely had emotions. Chinnu was the protector of her children and her colony too… May be she is a creature not capable of keeping memories on their realities… but she definitely had a reality and the sense of existence.

The paper rocket floated up in the sky like a feather. A lot many times huge birds like the eagles and vultures tried to grab it confusing it to the pigeons and sparrows. But it escaped with the difference in the pressure of wind as they approached each time. Swinging and swaying it took nine days for that rocket to reach the surface of land… a village nearby… but by then Chinnu was dead and dried, stuck to the surface of the rocket…

I did imagine a situation a few years later… One day Annamma Saira Philip who was by then Mrs. Joy Kuttan, discovered a black stain right on the nose of the photograph of famous Dr. Joy Kuttan featured in an article that came in the Sunday Suppliment of Mathrubhoomi Newspaper. There was no more African Phrases by Mabanckou except for an always-dull photo with a black stain on the nose … and the paper didn’t have any emotion to carry by itself…

The Squirrel of Ramayana

“They say that I am handsome only because of those three white lines. In fact, I haven’t even seen them as they are stamped on my back. To be honest with you, they didn’t make any difference in my life.” The squirrel replied for cockroach’s compliment, munching some cereals scattered on the courtyard.

“Does anyone remember me now? I am the Squirrel of Ramayana,” he continued moving around in a hurry as if he has just one more day to live. Cockroach looked surprised at his antics, with his mouth wide open.

“For many centuries I walked through the pages of Ramayana, as told by the saint Valmiki. I had grown old now. Still remember that day so fresh in my eyes.” He wiped his face with his tender hands, shaking his body cleaning the grains caught in the grey coat of thick fur. “I guess, the Lord noticed me only because of this habit. I was just helping him to build a bridge over the sea. Saw him so much in pain, missing wife Sita.”

“It was a rainy day in the forest. I woke up listening to a buddy bird chirping loud the news of some monkey’s march to the beach. I was so deep in sleep coz of the routine tiring day gathering food for dear little ones and my sweet heart. In sleep I didn’t even realize the heavy rain that socked me deep in. The whole forest was coloured green and grey with the water splashing from leaf tips and tree branches. Sunlight was struggling to find the way in through the dense green layer that protected us like a mother. Yet a few beams intruded into our world through hollow hallow spaces, blessing us with another new day of action and passion.”

“I shook my body to get rid of the water stuck to the skin. A few drops thus fell into my mouth. That day- for some crazy reason- the rainwater tasted salty like tears. Was the sky kept weeping for someone?”

“Curiosity is my colour by birth. True to that nature, I couldn’t resist the instinct. Rushing through the wet slippery branches I found my way targeting the seaside. I was new to those parts of the jungle and hence a bit scared about the owls and eagles possibly hiding here and there. Each day someone among us needed to be sacrificing our lives being the meal of their children. Now that is the general rule of the jungle, a city dweller like you might not understand.” The squirrel looked at cockroach, “It is all about sustaining the cycle of life and protecting a precious specious.”

“As I moved on, the appearance of the land and trees changed. Instead of monstrous ones like the bearded Banyan tree or the perfumed Jackfruit tree, there were more palms and coconut trees revealing the fact that I am quite nearer to the sea. In a few hours, along with the sound of rain, I heard the cry of monkeys in the air. Whether it is talk or action, no one can be as good as the monkeys. They were considered to be the most restless beings in our forest. But hardly anyone understood their talks; interestingly they themselves did’t seem to have any clue of their own conversations. Whatever ill we say, its them who had the will to support the Lord in his pain and thus the mission.”

“I reached the last layer of trees right near the beach. Sitting on top of a huge coconut tree I had an aerial view of the land underneath. I must say I had never seen anything like that before; it was stunning. As I told you, the monkeys were naturally active, but I had never seen them that active ever before. On the vast sand of the beach, in that continuous rain of agony, they were so busy in building the bridge across the sea. The whole monkey population was there including the old and the little ones; even the young elegant pregnant ladies to the ones who already had their babies hanging on their shoulders. On the extreme end of the beach I saw the Lord. He was obviously dull with the pain reflecting in his eyes. The birds were right; he looked so incomplete without his woman. For that matter, any man is incomplete without his woman by his side. Only the luckiest ones could have a good fate. Sita was still the part of his body and mind. The sea could be a physical barrier, but it couldn't be capable to fence their hearts. I knew the whole story about him and Sita from the gypsy migratory cranes that often visited the pools inside our forest. They all were philosophical in their talk because of genuine knowledge and understanding of the world. An old crane once told me that even the Gods needed to undergo the same struggles as of any other being, being a part of the living world. Hence Rama, the Lord too…”

“Among the monkeys I couldn’t identify most of the faces. But I recognized the monkey hero of the forest Hanuman and the leader of the lot, Sugriva. Without any sense of hierarchy they all were equally involved in sharing the tasks, carrying big rocks, sand etc for the construction of the bridge. The passionate engineers among them worked out many brilliant options to get it done fast. I heard that the big monkeys had to consult with the craftsmen of the jungle, the red ants and spiders, on tips for construction.”

“Immediately, a sense of responsibility stuck my mind and I crawled down the tree and ran across the sand towards the plot. I knew that they still needed more people, and I thought I could be of some help. I carried some sand in my hands and walked towards the bridge along with the other monkeys. They were all so involved that they didn’t realise me walking underneath. I had to really struggle between their massive inconsistent leg movements. As I threw the sand, I understood that it is too less compared to the huge sacks carried by the monkeys.”

“My little hands didn’t help me much. I had do something else. Probably that was the only moment in life I actually looked at my size. I wish I had bigger hands and body like them. While looking on my body, an idea flashed in. In the rain I was wet… I also had so much fur on my skin. Now that could work. I didn’t think much but followed my intuition plunging into the seawater from the bridge. Then swam back to the beach, twisted and turned on the sand, so that the it got stuck on my wet fur. It did work, my entire body including the face was covered by sand in seconds.”

“I then walked towards the bridge. Over there I shook my body, so that the whole sand falls on the bridge. It was quite a good plan and I felt so proud of myself. Yet deliberately, didn’t look at any monkey’s contribution. I knew that mine wouldn’t match them. I didn’t want to get beaten by that complex. So consciously avoided them and continued with what I was capable of. So many plunges in sea water… so many times crawling on the sand… so many times carrying the sand on my body to the bridge… the day just went on, busy on the task.”

“There was so much of energy and enthusiasm among the monkeys, that oozed into my mind too. We all had only one aim and one heart. Slowly, I somehow felt equal to them. I saw all of them, but no one seemed to have noticed me. I was even faster in my movements. In the time a monkey carried his sack of sand to the bridge, I almost finished with three of my rounds.”

“I didn’t even realize the passing time… I guess no one did, but the sun god was done with his ride in the sky for the day and was ready to hide himself in the sea. The horizon lost the blue, turning it red orangey.”

“I felt someone’s hand on my back and in no time I was lifted up from the ground. I shivered in shock. It was definitely not the catch of an owl or an eagle. A few among us who had narrow escapes from the clutches of the owl, had already explained to me how it felt on their skin. I was held so smoothly in the air. Ironically, the alarming shiver of my body changed to a sense of weird security in those hands. But still I was unable to look back and see the one who lifted me.”

“I felt the touch of another hand, with the fingers slowly moving on my back. A touch of care, love and gratitude… I closed my eyes for a moment. It was like seeing the whole world coming into me and me dissolving in the world. All the uncertainties became certain… all the questions changed to answers… I saw my little ones chirping and playing on my body; I felt my sweetheart’s breath on my chest. I realised that they are my world and I am for the world. My duty is to make my family happy... My duty is to make the world happy…”

"The tender hands that held me up, left me down too. As I touched the soil, my mind returned back to the reality of life - being the same little squirrel, crawling on trees, gathering food for children and loving his woman. The Lord did his duty to his parents, wife and the world, living as a normal human being experiencing all the struggles common for mankind.”

“They say that I got the three white lines on my back by the touch of his fingers. I had never seen the Lord close; I had only experienced that smooth soothing touch. Well, those three lines didn’t make any difference in my life. As the visionary gypsy crane said I am born in this world for that experiences of life, both the good and the bad - simple and straight. The Lord himself had to undergo all those hardships!”

“Centuries passed and I am still the same little squirrel of Ramayana… doing all that I am capable of doing. You are right Cockroach; I live as if I have only one more day to live.” He jumped over the fence of the courtyard and vanished in the green, just like any other squirrel.

One day cockroach was sleeping on his book and he over heard someone talking….It was a conversation between I and U.

I told U, “Let’s have a new start. Let’s meet once again in life. Let’s meet at an unidentified place, on an unplanned day and an unnoticed time as two unknown people. Let’s fall in love again. Let’s call it the "Love at first sight". Let’s walk past as if we didn’t notice each other and then turn around and get caught by each other…and then pass a nasty smile. Let’s meet again at the very next day and smile again. Let’s keep meeting again and again with the same smile. Let’s talk to each other and then walk together to all the known places as if they are still unknown. Let’s figure out what looks good on each other and the way we should take. Let’s have a candle light dinner at that lone restaurant beside the beech and let me put a ring on your finger and say that I loved you since the very first day I saw you. Let me give you a kiss and tell you all that you waited to hear.”
U continued, “Yea, then let’s get married, have kids and then grow older and more older. Then one crazy day, let’s realize the fact that you have changed a lot & I have changed a lot. Let’s discover that U and I are different. Let’s feel the difference that U is not straight like I……… Let’s feel that U can never stand like I…. U can never mean anything by itself like I”
I said, “U, I know that you are not straight like me. In fact I understood this the very first moment I met you. U may not mean anything by itself like 'I', but you mean a lot to me. I knew very well that no matter whether the entire world move away from me, you definitely stand by me.”
I continued, “I don’t know whether you have ever noticed that there are 11 letters dividing you from me. I identify them as the 11 months of the year and 12th is 'U' yourself. Each one is special in its own way. They are the need of time. We need the winter and the summer, we need the day and the night ...we need the rain and the ray. Let’s grow older. As long as I and U are connected by LOVE, we don’t need to worry. Let’s forget J, K, L, M, N, O, P, Q, R, S and T. Let’s come close by Love. Don’t worry; there are a million writers like cockroach who are so jobless to do this job. Let me tell you this again, ‘I love U’.”

U said, “But, then if I still feel bad for not being straight like you……….I ?”

I replied, “No problem as long as I believe that U is my beauty. I am handsome only when I'm connected to you by love. We are not living on those old days when they said “I love You”…Today they actually realized that “I love U”. Take Mr. Cockroach itself; he had written “I love U” a million times… coz he don’t want 'I' to be lone… He want U to stand by me.”

U said, “Still………….if I feel the same at some sad moment…..?”

I replied, “Let’s have a new start. Let’s meet once again in life. Let’s meet at an unidentified place on an unplanned day and an unnoticed time as two unknown people. Let’s fall in love again. Let’s call it the "Love at first sight"….”