The Mia Women Of My Life

It had always been there underneath my mind, to pen down about the most influential women of my life. At the outset I would like to thank Tanishq, for giving me the opportunity to share my thoughts on my Mia women.  Yes, its women, since I would like to confer about two women, who made my life utmost beautiful, with their presence, and can’t count out one, as they are the oxygen and water of my life.

I start off with Mrs. Sheela Soman, the first woman whom I saw as soon as I opened my eyes to this new world.  Being a home maker can be the most tedious and multifunctional job, a woman can ever step into, and I had never seen a woman, other than her, who had worked it well with an unusual charisma. I always wondered how she managed to bring us up and supported her husband amidst all other responsibilities. Soon after her marriage, when dad brought her to an unknown land, she never complained, but got accustomed with the new people, culture, language and the aura, with a smile. She always made the food as per our likings, and always up kept the novelty in what she did. She always had a quest for learning. I never felt her so courageous, until when my grandpa expired, and she travelled back to our native land on a single train berth, with two tiny lives clutching her arms. Being one of the most mischievous kids on earth, I always felt sorry for making her cry. All these years, as her hair turned grey, I had seen her performing different roles, of a wife, mother, daughter, sister, mother-in-law, and every role with utmost perfection. I always felt, my dad is the luckiest man on earth to have a wife like her. In my whole life, I had never seen him scolding her for any reason. She was a good reader of the mind, and it was her early intuition which had always reserved my house as a home. I still remember, the evening, when as an enraged child, I plucked out her golden earring and threw it into the sand. She held me tight to her lap, and started searching for it, with her tears drenching me. She never let me down...

Even today I can dare to expect, my favourite snacks aromatizing at the dining table, with a glass of water beside, as soon as I reach home from my office. I don’t know if it’s another usual story, but I thank God, for gifting me with such a lovely mom.

The other woman who had influenced me equally, is none other than Mrs. Parvathy Sreedev. I met her first in my post graduation classroom. A traditionally dressed bookworm, with an innocent smile, and a tender heart to help anyone, was the first impression, I had about her. I got more impressed when at first she denied my proposal to marry her. I had always admired her dedication and will power. I owe my M.Phil degree to her, as without her it would have never been possible. She took all the pain amidst her academics, to make me attain my dreams. At an early age, she lost her father, and it was her courage, which led her to prosper academically, and become an Assistant Professor at present. She always lived my dreams and never failed to encourage, every bit in me.  It might be her concentration over academics which restrained her from being a versatile cook, but I being a foodie, she always loved to search in Google, for new delicacies and made it for me. It always tasted of love. Even in this busy schedule, she spends most of her time in reading and preparing notes for her students. I learned to worship my work from her. She never compromised on that and the feeling of incompleteness, had always led her towards perfection. Every weekend she travelled almost 200kms to meet her in-laws. I had never seen, a father-in-law loving his daughter-in-law with much intensity and longing to see her. The whole family awaits her arrival, as she had become the darling of our house. I always thought her to be impassive, until last week, when she bought me a red rose. Unlike me, it was gifted to me for no particular reason. For the first time I thought woman to be a wonder…

I don’t know if, yet it is another usual story, but here too I can dare to expect, a reserved space in a heart which holds me before I fall and encourages me to aspire high...

The White Revolution Of Arunachalam...

The video by Mr. Arunachalam Murugananatham, was really impressive. He was humble, and begged the pardon, of his listeners, for his improper English language. He was just a metric passed guy, who worked as a helper in a welding workshop. He kicked off the speech in such a manner, that I thought it would be something philosophical, but very soon the topic just deviated towards sanitary pads.  Necessity has always been the mother of all inventions and the thought becomes more meaningful with his fruitful attempts. The idea to invent hygienic and low cost sanitary pads emerged from his own house, where he found his wife using rags during her menstrual cycle. He tried his inventions on his wife and then on his sisters, but when they denied being his specimens, he fixed the newly invented pad on himself. He collected animal blood in a tube and connected it to his belly and rode a cycle. The tube was adjusted in such a manner that when he pedaled, it will get pressed by him and the blood will ooze to the pads. He had to face lots of challenges, which extended up to his wife threatening him to divorce.

Arunachalam belonged to a village in Coimbatore. Even still, among many educated societies, a woman under her menstrual cycle is considered impure and the issue itself a taboo. In India, many women have been reported relying on cotton, rags and even soil and mud to tackle the issue. When Arunachalam was all set to solve the issue, he was expelled from his family and the village. It was his determination, which led him to create a machine which helped in making the sanitary pads at a much cheaper rate. He patented the machine and provided them to SHGs (self-help groups). It was his selflessness, which prevented him from commercializing his invention. Being a responsible citizen of the nation, he not only helped the poor women folk to move freely during their menstruation, but also provided a means of survival.  Now with the help of his machine thousands of trained women earn their living by making napkins.  His Jayashree Industries, took up the social initiative to distribute the machines all over India, which helped in minimizing unemployment, poverty and has led to the upliftment of women as a whole. When a large scale production model cost around Rs.3.5 crores initially, Arunachalam’s machine made it possible with just Rs.75,000/-. This led many small scale industries to plunge into the business. He received 2009’s best Innovation Award from the President of India.  

This is not just an isolated story of Arunachalam, but any one of us with determination can make a change. A small change from every one of us will help the nation to prosper. I loved the way he concludes the speech, that if we want to lead a meaningful life, all we want is a problem. He also suggested a simple way to innovate. We have to switch off the lights and should sit in the darkness for a while and think. The catchiest was the name he had given for his speech “The Second White Revolution”, which in every means is true to the core in this regard. Arunachalam proved that it’s not the education and money which laid the foundation of his success, but his will power, to think and do differently, to deal with an ostensibly social concern.  I was happy and moved as the people greeted his speech with a standing ovation. It had never happened with me, but I too stood up from my chair and clapped...

India requires more Arunachalams....

Franklin Templeton Investments partnered the TEDxGateway Mumbai in December 2012 , where Mr. Arunachalam delivered his inspirational speech

The Lesson Which Mukundan Learnt...

Just like any other day, Mukundan was on his way towards the office. The heavy bag with files, tiffin-box and a water bottle, dangled around his right shoulder. He reached the bus-stop and waited for the bus towards Poothotta.  Since there were very few buses running in that route, the one which came was over-crowded. Mukundan was lucky enough to have his toes firm on the footboard. The bus was moving at a high speed, on the guttered road, to give the passengers a shaking exercise in the morning. As the bus reached the Vytilla –Hub, Mukundan was able to get a seat just behind the seat reserved for ladies. As the bus started moving, Mukundan saw that guy running behind the bus. As the bus braked for him to get in, he doubtfully made his way through the front door, where the ladies stood with much difficulty. The bus was still crowded. Mukundan brushed his memories. He knew the guy. He was the same pervert who got badly beaten up by the mob for groping a middle-aged lady on her way to Infopark. Mukundan felt uneasy and curious. He had his eyes on him. As the cleaner asked him to move backwards, he waded through the ladies and stood between them. As more and more ladies boarded, and the jerking movement of the bus made him feel heaven. The ladies ignored the so called accidental touches. The conductor, who had seen many guys like him, made him to move backwards again and finally he stood just beside, where Mukundan was seated. The moment the guy was about to grope the lady standing in front of him, Mukundan shouted at the guy. The lady turned and stared angrily at Mukundan. As nothing happened, the guy shouted back at Mukundan and called him a psychopath.  The whole bus got silent for a while. Some ladies who stood near Mukundan scorned and shunned away. Now the song from the radio was much audible.

Mukundan felt cold and insulted. As he and God were the only witnesses. The guy got down at the next stop. On that day Mukundan understood one thing, that why in the movies, the cops arrive only after the culprit commits the crime and never prevent it from happening. In fact the cops would have been more intelligent than Mukundan...

Lesson:- Never try to be too humane unless and until it is demanded.

(Linking this to Writer's Post Blog Hop hosted by Suzy  & UBC)

Again Being Her...

I Blinked Open To His Disgruntled Face,
My Dad, & To The Planet, I Was Ill-Favored
The Dowry Lines  On His Temple Deepened,
As I Grew An Year Old, & Sustained To Grow.
Orthodox Classes Of Time Management Were
Taught, When Elder Bro Was Licking Lollipops,
Divine Household Duties & Education Secondary.
Grave Childhood Was Indeed A Narrow Escape
Through Mom’s Superstitions & Societal Traditions.
My Puberty Spots Reminded Me To Pose Matured,
But Development Of My Privates Tempted Their Inners.
The Lusty Eyes On The Road & Yesterday’s Newspapers
Made Me Scan Even The Touches Of My Dad & Brother
My Liking For That Classmate Was Still In A Budding Stage,
& Soon I Lay Bare Beside That Unknown Aged Rustic Man,
Over Years My Vomiting Only Had One Meaning  For Them,
& There I Gave Birth Again To Her, Pedalling My Own Cycle...

7 Tabooed Days of Mrs. Prabha Matthew...

 A Novelette On Certain Uncertain Myths...

Prabha Shankaran Nambudiri/Prabha.S.Nambudiri, is the name she was known by, until she got married to Mr. Matthew, a business tycoon based in Kochi. To the feminist slogans of Identity crisis, I have heard her replying “Marriage might have changed my name but not my identity...though I miss my dad”. Prabha was born and brought up in one of the highly, aristocratic & orthodox Brahmin families, garnished with the traditional & cultural superstitions of the pastoral villages of Palakkad. If you can imagine a narrow path formed by the pedestrians between the lush green woods, leading to a typical Nalukettu, fenced by mantras, with an aura of Ayurveda, yes that’s where she belongs.  Just beside the Nalukettu, there is an outhouse – the Kootupura, thatched with palm-leaves, meant for the women in the house, to stay during their menses, as they were “Ashudh” for 7 days. Shankaran Nambudiri, a local physician & priest, & Narayani Varasyaar, a well adored home maker, never led their orthodoxy to eye their only daughter’s education.  Tradition and culture used to be in a constant conflict in her mind as she grew scientifically. She used to cry silently, when she was helpless and had to follow the ‘outhouse culture’, with nobody to reveal the reason why.