Warrier's COLLAGE June 8, 2021 : Satapoornima, Dr P K Warrier, AVS Kottakkal

Welcome to Warrier's COLLAGE On Tuesday JUNE 8, 2021 1) Satapoornima : Dr P K Warrier turned 100 https://youtu.be/0l3Sca6g8FM 2) Media Report about 1 https://m.timesofindia.com/city/kochi/kerala-tributes-pour-in-for-dr-pk-warrier-who-turns-100/amp_articleshow/83164269.cms (Links Selected by : M G Warrier Mumbai) Good Morning Nice Day M G Warrier M Prime Minister's Address to the Nation: Report https://zeenews.india.com/india/pm-narendra-modi-addresses-nation-here-are-top-5-announcements-2367443.html (Link Courtesy : G Mohandas Chennai) My Blog dedicated to Warrier's COLLAGE : https://www.warriersblog.com/?m=1 A Interaction 1) C V Subbaraman Mysuru Apropos Babusenan's Sita thoughts: There are no doubt single names Raman, Raghavan, etc., but also corresponding single names Sita and Janaki , Maithili without remembering Rama! But some are very thoughtful and do not forget either Rama or Sita. Examples: Sitharaman, Janakiraman, Seethapathi. In fact Sita is given the first position and then only comes Rama! In our official parlance too, when writing the names of ladies, the lady's name comes first followed by spouse's name. Who says women are ignored? And similarly are placed Shiva and Narayana and Krishna too. Subbaraman 2) S Thyagarajan Chennai News you can use* As on 31st May 2021 Almost 23 crore vaccinated. Total of 3 crore infected. Only 16 lakh infected cases at Present. India,at the moment vaccinating at the rate of one Qatar per day. Hopefully from June end India will vaccinate at the rate of one New Zealand per day and one Israel per day by July. India vaccinated one Canada in the first half of May . In entire May India has vaccinated one UK. Hopefully in July India will vaccinate one US. This is the extent of vaccination being carried out in India. Also we should remember that Indian vaccines are the cheapest in the world and India is one of the few countries in the world to have a vaccine of our own. We also happen to be the largest vaccine manufacturing country in the world Let us spread positivity always *Based on messages received B Midas touch : V Babusenan Thiruvananthapuram All of us have heard about the 'Midas touch'. In Malayalam there is an expression 'chevi ponnaakkuka' which means 'turning the ear into gold'. Here the Midas is the tiger variety of the LP/UP school teachers of yester-years who, leech-like, stuck to the dictum: "Spare the rod and spoil the child". The difference between king Midas and them is that, whereas the former needed only a gentle touch to transform the human ear into gold, the latter applied the pinching technique ferociously. These bad teachers were incapable of a hearty laugh along with the children. Here is an example: In those days, that is, when the present octogenarian generation was in the primary school level, such teachers, sometimes, told stories at the end of which they asked for the moral. After narrating the story of Harishchandra, one 'tiger' sought the moral. One boy said: "Sir, God will not come to our rescue personally as he did in the case of Harishchandra. He has given us brains to occasionally tell lies for survival." The answer, of course, was not befitting a child, but the teacher could have taken it jokingly. On the contrary, he got annoyed and gave the fellow the Midas touch. The role of a good teacher seems to be defined in the following Sanskrit shloka: "Ajnaana thimiraandhassya Jnaanaanjana salaakayaa Chakshurulm eelitham yena Thasmai shree guravai namah."* (My eyes were covered with the darkness of ignorance. My master opened my eyes by applying the collyrium of knowledge. Salutations to that supreme master; I bow down to him.‘thimiram’ is a disease that affects the eye, that takes away the eye-sight and ‘anjanam’ is a traditional collyruim, eye wash used to prevent ‘thimiram’. Guru is that divinity that cures the blindness of ignorance, and guides to the light of knowledge.Everyday morning the sun comes to open our eyes, but once in lifetimes a guru comes to open our inner eyes, and he carries us through lifetimes thereafter.) *Link for Guru Mantras : http://samskaar.blogspot.com/2007/08/guru-mantra.html?m=1 C Collage Essay Emerging Kerala Model M G Warrier Born in a remote village in Kerala during early 1940’s as son of a Namboodiri (Brahmin) father and a Warrier (Shudra) mother I have lived through different cultures in several parts of India and had occasion to interact with people with varying views on God, religion, rituals, and rites. I myself got my caste from my mother because of my birth in a Kerala family. I would have been a Brahmin, if I was born in some other state in India, say Maharashtra or elsewhere in the world, as the child gets the caste and surname of the father, generally. The controversy over the entry of women in a certain age group in Sabarimala Temple which still remains unresolved, can be a case study to understand the multiplicity of bondages among communities in Kerala and to research how superficial and selfish motives guide mob behavior. The present temple in Sabarimala was built by a Christian landlord. Devotees of Lord Ayyappa (irrespective of their religion, caste or community) are “Ayyappaas”(The Tathwamasi concept is factored in, once a person decides to visit Sabarimala Ayyappa) during the 41 days ending with climbing Sabarimala Hills and worshipping Ayyappa. Before Ayyappaas proceed to the Sabarimala Ayyappa Temple, devotees worship a Muslim God “Vaavar”. All these points to the harmonious relationship fostered by Ayyappa worship. My personal observation is that during the recent times, Indian courts have been devoting a substantial portion of the precious time of the bench and the bar for dealing sensational or celebrity cases, when millions of cases are remaining unattended across the country and many citizens are in jails even without getting any opportunity for being heard even once. Priorities of the governments (Centre and states) and courts need a relook. Coming back to Sabarimala issue, even before going into the rights and wrongs of the present controversy, let us have a look at one aspect of the issue which is being discussed in media widely. That is the responsibility of the state government (i) to protect the interests of the devotees and (ii) to implement the verdict of the Apex Court. As the present government in Kerala is dominated by Communist Party (Marxist) with CP(M) leader Pinarayi Vijayan as Chief Minister, let us find out what is the Marxist view on government and religion. Lenin on Religion The Marxist-Leninist teachings concerning religion and the attitude of the workers’ party towards religion as enunciated by Lenin in his articles Socialism and Religion, the Attitude of the Workers’ Party towards Religion and The Attitude of Classes and Parties toward Religion are: 1. That all religion is a form of “spiritual oppression”—the “opium of the people.” 2. That the programme of the Marxist Party is based on materialist philosophy. 3. That the party resolutely demands the separation of church from state and fights against both militant clerical reaction and “liberal” attempts to fog the minds of the people with religious illusions. 4. That the party does not include the propagation of atheism in its programme, nor does it demand atheism from all its members, but regards the abstract preaching of atheism and the artificial fostering of religious divisions amongst the workers as harmful and as playing into the hands of reaction. (Source : Reader's Guide to Marxist Classics) It appears the Kerala Government and the Chief Minister Pinarayi Vijayan could not convincingly explain the correct approach they have taken so far on the issue to the people who are carried away by the misinformation being spread by vested interests. The Leninist approach at 4 is consistent with the secular spirit of the Indian Constitution. Simply put, government and religion should remain separate and non-interfering in each other’s affairs. The government should definitely play a proactive role in persuading religious and social groups to change with the times. Inside the state, Kerala has places of worship with multiple rituals and practices. From a temple in Kannur District where toddy is not taboo (Parassinikkadavu Temple) to a Goddess who accepts abusive words being included in songs sung by devotees in her praise (Kodungalloor Bhagavathy). As society progresses, changes are inevitable. The problem starts when religious or social groups get a feeling that some outside force imposes changes in isolation (to a particular region or group of people) and political interests encash the emotions of devotees of any denomination. Kerala Model Viewing from a different angle, I can visualize another "Kerala Model" emerging. Let's believe, there is no dead end in diplomacy. If one door closes, eight others will open. Politicizing issues suits while in opposition. The present CM of Kerala, Pinarayi Vijayan knows that more than anyone else. He has lived through dismissal of EMS ministry of 1957 in 1959, was active during emergency days and has literally survived several attacks, personal and political. The maturity in approach now evident in his thoughts, talks and actions have evolved over a long period of political Tapasya. Sabarimala episode is going to be another tough test for him, perhaps tougher than the August 2018 floods or even the current pandemic. He knows, for him and Kerala, it is significant to prove that every problem comes packaged with multiple solutions. The right one will emerge at the right time. Hurry doesn't pay. Nor does procrastination. Hopefully, a new Kerala Model will emerge during the current decade. Lord Ayyappa becoming "Nimithamathram"* should satisfy people from both the poles! (Believers and those whom they consider "Atheists") 🙏🙏🙏🙏-Warrier *Bhagavad-Gita : https://www.holy-bhagavad-gita.org/chapter/11/verse/33 "BG 11.33: Therefore, arise and attain honor! Conquer your foes and enjoy prosperous rulership. These warriors stand already slain by me, and you will only be an instrument of my work, O expert archer." ****************** D Response Feature Music Therapy : Vathsala Jayaraman Chennai This is in response to Kiran Warrier's Music Therapy Whenever we read something about music therapy, many doubts arise in our mind. If all the diseases can be cured by music therapy there may not be any necessity of so many doctors. Though we have heard about so many miracles relating to music, the healing powers of music have come to the surface only after 1960. How does music therapy work? If we try to understand the scientific facts, it may be explained as under: The entire universe is musical and so is the case with every existence. In simple words, music can be defined as "sounds and pitches organised in time( rhythm) to create a particular chosen artistic pattern". Music is a pattern composed of rhythmic vibrations. Human body is made up of many energy components. Each organ has a symphony of sound, energy and frequency. Every organ should resonate at its own natural frequency which determines its health. If a particular organ does not resonate or vibrate with its natural frequency, it denotes that the organ is not at ease or affected by disease. Musical Therapy consists in providing external vibrations suited to the organ and restore the natural frequency. Human brain is very much receptive to repetitive patterns and the main characteristic of music is rhythmic repetitiveness which works wonders. We know that each Raga has its own speciality and swara patterns and will produce different vibrations. We can rest assured that music has no side effects. Effective and efficient listening to music through microphones in a relaxed manner at least for 15 minutes daily makes the vibrations get repeatedly enter into our nervous system, improves our physiological and psychological wellbeing and enables our body to respond quickly and positively to the other treatments( medicines and tablets) we are taking. Though Music Therapy cannot be totally relied upon as the sole cure for serious ailments, it should be considered as a supportive remedy for inducing inspiration and vitality and strength of mind that are more essential.. Here is an anecdote from the life of Tansen. Every one has heard about the great Tansen, one of the scholars who adorned King Akbar's court. He was a famous composer and a gifted vocalist. Many would have known that he brought rains with Raga Megh Malhar and put lights to flame by the raga "Deepak". Many people were jealous of Tansen. People were angry against Akbar also who supported Tansen. This time they planned to kill both Akbar and Tansen. But through some spies the king was able to detect the plot. He arrested the criminals and gave death sentence. But Tansen said that he would implement the death sentence. The king and other ministers were amazed and expressed doubt as to how an artist, who used to be very kind-hearted could implement a death sentence. But Akbar was sure that the criminals could never escape the punishment. If Tansen could not do it, he would implement the sentence by hanging them. On the appointed day all the four criminals and Tansen were locked inside a glass chamber visible to everybody. As Akbar and all ministers in the hall were watching Tansen started singing with a Tambur in his hand. As it was a glass hall, people outside could only see what was happening and they could not listen to the music. Yet Akbar was wondering : "Tansen has undertaken to kill the criminals, but he is giving a musical treat." He could only see the criminals totally absorbed in Tansen's music. Half an hour was over. The criminals were totally captivated by Tansen's music. Suddenly Akbar saw Tansen keeping his tambur down and he came out of the glass hall. The security guards went inside and confirmed that all the criminals were dead and blood was seen oozing out of their mouths. What did Tansen do? Now it was Tansen's turn to give explanation. Tansen started singing the raga called"PASAND"-meaning 'which is liked'. The raga is a 'panchama varja' raga in which the swara 'PA' will be absent. Tansen brought into all the delicate patterns of the raga and the criminals listened to their heart's content. As they were almost lost in music, Tansen suddenly introduced the swara 'PA', which should not be used. The introduction of apaswara shocked all the criminals. They stared at Tansen, their eye balls did not move, blood started oozing out of their mouths and all fell dead. Just as pure music leads to great joy, the apaswara could just take away the life. Perhaps this is the power of music---- of course, by great musicians like Tansen. Can this be grouped into Music Therapy? Perhaps a way for "Dushta Nigraha". Vathsala Jayaraman E Readers' Contribution 1) Story Time Reshmy Warrier sharing a short story written by her Caferati writers club friend, Raamesh Gowri Raghavan: "Amma’s Cabbage Curry" 6 June 2021 “It doesn’t taste like what Amma makes.” My aunt M had heard this for the five hundred and sixteenth time (she was a banker’s secretary and hence kept count). And she had tried everything. Nine times out often, she learned to ignore it. Uncle (my father’s brother) never said anything about her cooking otherwise. His mother only came up when cabbage curry was cooked. Not when aviyal was made, or sambar, or bisi bele. Not even when she made cabbage koottu. She couldn’t eliminate cabbage because it ruined her budget. Banker’s secretaries never make enough money, and if you were the secretary to a government bank officer in the 1970s and 1980s, your salary tended to zero. And like her, if you were married to a man who was perpetually between jobs, and equally perpetually in debt at the job he left in a hurry, you needed a home budget where cabbage had a starring role. It didn’t matter if your children didn’t like it. They could be browbeaten into submission. They were. They obediently ate their cabbage curry. But husbands were in the pati-parmeshwar class. Even if he could be browbeaten in all other departments, as he was, he could not be trained not to say “It doesn’t taste like what Amma make” when cabbage curry was made. Not that she didn’t try. It was a simple thing. You chopped a cabbage finely, boiled it with salt and turmeric, then cooked it on a pan with oil, red chilli powder, sputtered mustard and cumin and grated coconut. It was a nourishing dish, not the tastiest, but left you grateful for not having to eat karela. What precisely did her mother-in-law do that she didn’t, which caused her husband to miss it so much? When she was first married to him and heard it for the first time, she was terrified. She was either eighteen or nineteen, three states away from her parents in a Mumbai flat occupied not just by her husband but also his parents, sister (my other aunt; I have six with the same name) and brother (my father). As the latter also doubled up as her cousins and knew her weaknesses, it was impossible to complain. Instead, she bided her time and asked Padmaja Mami at the first opportunity. To picture Padmaja Mami, picture M S Subbulakshmi but stouter and with more aggression. She lived in the same building as my grandfather. Mami had no clue of how grandmother cooked cabbage curry. While it was customary among neighbours to exchange little boxes of their cooking with each other, my grandfather (who was the courier) had never brought her my grandmother’s cabbage curry. “It must have been very good if he didn’t want to share even a morsel. Although, he never seemed unwilling to accept the cabbage curry I made.” Aunt M learned Padmaja Mami’s recipe. Yet on tasting the first morsel with his sambar rice, all that my uncle could say was “It doesn’t taste like what Amma makes”. I am told that she cried all night inconsolably, while Uncle snored insensitively, and insensate. Padmaja Mami found out eventually, and to her dying day, gave my grandfather dark looks. Aunt went back to the recipe she learned from her mother. And from other Mamis. And cookbooks. He still made her wince. Over time, the frequency of curry in the household decreased as she stuck to making koottu instead. Her budget still did not permit substituting cabbage, but he ate it quietly each time. It was puzzling. * Uncle went off to Iran for a few years to work as an engineer on an oil rig and pay off his debts. While he stoutly denied it when back home on shore leave, it was rumoured that he treated himself to the best of Persian cuisine, while our extended family including his wife and children soldiered on with TamBrahm cooking. My cousins complained that the frequency of cabbage curry had increased as there was no one to remark about it. * After years of silent suffering, which including episodes of screaming, throwing utensils and locking herself in the kitchen, she decided she needed to tackle it once again. The opportunity presented itself in a railway first-class compartment in the nineties, when she was returning to Mumbai from a conference in Delhi where her boss had given a big speech. Her role in the conference had consisted of carrying his briefcase to the podium and handing over his speech to him, but that entitled her to first-class railway travel at sarkari expense. Sharing the compartment with her was her younger cousin, my father, heading home on leave from his posting in Punjab. Long before he became her brother-in-law he was her favourite cousin, a boy whom she had helped with mathematics and English. Surely he knew his mother’s secret. She sprung the question on him. “Please, Manni, I will answer any questions you ask, but not that.” “But, why? Your brother keeps bringing it up.” Appa requested the TC to give him a second-class berth, if another first-class compartment was not free. Aunt M has not spoken to him in the two decades since. * When we bought our own flat, we had a housewarming party. While dad and Aunt took care not to cross paths, their spouses and children were exempt. Aunt M thus managed to corner Mother. “You spent a whole year in our house when your husband was posted in Kashmir. You must know the recipe of our mother-in-law’s cabbage curry, surely.” “That entire year, our mother-in-law never set foot in the kitchen. She finished writing “Om Namah Shivay” a million times.” “Oh!” “I can give you my recipe instead.” “Forget it. I know what my husband will say.” “What?” “It doesn’t taste like what Amma makes.” “Mine never says that.” “You know how to run a house, girl!” * Forty years to the day she was married to Uncle, at the pooja organized to commemorate that fact, Aunt M decided to confront the source of her troubles. My grandmother was past her high eighties and was showing signs of dementia. The terror of the woman whose husband called a living saint had faded. Grandmother looked up from her notebook. “Cabbage curry? That is what you care for?” Om Namah Shivay. “Not me. My husband. Your son.” Om Namah Shivay. “Don’t you want to be born a Brahmin male in your next birth, my child? Cook for need, not taste. How does it matter what it tastes like?” Om Namah Shivay. “Your son misses it.” Om Namah Shivay. “Learn to focus on what really matters. Radhe Krishna, Radhe Krishna.” Om Namah Shivay. They say Uncle went to bed hungry that night. I doubt that, given his extensive patronage (on credit) of all the street food stalls. As a boy, I was often sent to hand over cash to several of them. * Grandmother passed away a year later. My two aunts M ended a rivalry they had conducted since teenage. It began as a ceasefire at dawn, progressed to an armistice by late morning and ended in a peace treaty in the afternoon. They are said to be the best of friends today, united by a common grievance. My grandmother, of course. Scourge of one M’s childhood and the entire adult life of the other M. So it came to be that Aunt M asked Aunt M the secret of the cabbage curry (this is a sentence I have been dying to write). “You really want to know?” “Yes. It has plagued me all my life.” “You never knew?” “How could I? When mother-in-law and daughter-in-law are under the same roof, who cooks?” “Oh. So you want to know? Seriously?” “Yes.” So she told her. * At the first normal meal after the thirteen days of mourning, Uncle opened a dish to see it full of cabbage. “It’s unevenly salted, all the turmeric is to one side and it has never been stirred. It’s burnt at the bottom, somewhat cooked in the middle and absolutely raw on top.” Aunt, who was holding her breath, sighed. “It tastes exactly like what Amma used to make But why, M?” “You were always saying, “It doesn’t taste like what Amma makes.” “Because that is something I was grateful for, every single day I have been married to you.” 2) My India Seshan Vs Nation : Vathsala Jayaraman Shri TN Seshan had gone to meet Paramacharya in the early 1990s, after he was shifted from the post of Home Secretary and appointed as Chief Election Commissioner – considered a sinecure among Indian civil servants those days. When a visibly disappointed Seshan came to meet Him, Paramacharya, who was 97 immediately sensed the cause of his disappointment and counselled him to treat the transfer as an opportunity granted by God to serve the Indian public. He had suggested that Seshan visit the Utharamerur temple* (15 kms from Kanchi Sri Matam) and read through the details of electoral regulations prevalent in India about 1000 years ago, including qualifications of candidates for contesting elections. In the words of Mr Seshan, ‘The credit for Electoral reforms must go to Kanchi Mahaswami, but for whom this would not have been possible.. At 97, He had such clarity and could describe minute details of the electoral rules embossed on the northern walls of the Utharamerur temple. And mentioned to me that even implementing a tenth of these reforms, would be a great service to India”. The rest, as we know, is history. An inspired and reinvigorated Seshan went back to reform the Indian electoral system, ultimately resulting in the coinage – ‘Seshan vs Nation’ A key takeaway for all next-gen managers from our Guru, is to develop a historical perspective in our respective fields of endeavor both to avoid repeating mistakes and to stay inspired. Vathsala Jayaraman *A related report in The Hindu : Uttaramerur model of democracy: https://thg.page.link/6FgDgLXoLR7rtvHE7 3) Monsoon Session with S Nallasivan Hyderabad The Southwest Monsoon, a reverie! The Southwest Monsoon has hit the Southern tip of the Kerala Coast a couple of days back and is lashing the entire State with heavy downpour. Two days down the line the monsoon came unobtrusively and very softly, like a mother’s caress to the people sitting on the other side of the Western Ghats in the border district of Tamil Nadu. I was sitting in my arm chair in the veranda and the hissing sound of the drizzle which occasionally increased in its intensity as a mild shower was mesmerizing. I was having a book to suit the occasion, “Chasing the Monsoon” by renowned American travelogue writer Alexander Frater. His fascinating narrative reveals the exotic, often startling, discoveries of an ambitious and irresistibly romantic adventurer. The Southwest Monsoon is associated with our school re-opening, and we were accustomed to walk the Kilo meter and half distance to school in the light drizzle and alternating heavy showers with gale blowing as if attempting to uproot anything on its furious path. It was least in the minds of parents to provide their children with a rain coat or an umbrella leave alone the affordability of such luxuries for a lower middle class family. Foot wears were unheard of during those days. We never considered it a discomfort to get wet on the way to school. There were always chances of the wet school uniform getting dried by the time we reached school in the weak sun breaking out from the clouds from time to time. After all, we were used to wearing half dried cloth through out the day thanks to our hand to mouth lifestyle. The only valuable possession to be saved from the rain was our second hand text books procured from our senior students at discount counters, wrapped in plastic. Our lunch box invariably was a long brass vessel with a hand hook safely hung over in a jute string over our shoulders, cold curd rice with green chilly chutney. Some of our adventurous seniors considered it below their dignity to carry their lunch box, and during the one hour break for lunch, they would run home, to devour on the same cold rice we were carrying. Walk to school itself was an eventful one. The roads were lined with towering tress and en-route we had to cross the river in spate and two vast lakes brimming to capacity, and furious waves crashing against the main road. The weekends were another pleasant story altogether. The 3 Kms. walk to the Courtallam Main falls could not be expressed in words. We were to be alert all the time to save our lunch from the monkeys hanging from the trees; My mother would not approve of the weekend journey until I was soaked in gingili oil, which the elixir cascading from a height of 200 feet would wash the very moment you merge one with the water. From Courtallam, we would walk next to Tiger Falls another couple of Kms away, an artificial, man made one to suit kids with a small pool thrown for diving as an added attraction. Our journey next would take a dangerous path and we would climb along the water course in the thick jungle, which would make a dare devil adult nervous. As the Tiger falls is fed from a tributary from Courtallam, the path leads to the top of the mountain from which the stream flows down into the immeasurable deep cavity (Pongum kadal) and travels down at Courtallam. When we cleared the forest we would find ourselves standing on top of the mountain, close to the fast moving stream, hardly about a few yards from the thundering water cascading down. The slippery mountain path had claimed many a live. Still the thrill we underwent found no expression. It was a rare combination of lurking fear, nervousness and pure bliss and ecstasy. The affluent flocked the Five falls which lays another five Kms west off Courtallam Hills, and its poor height made it unworthy of the adventurers, we looked down with scorn. My parting with the Southwest Monsoon was a sad event when I moved to Chennai which the Southwest Monsoon very scrupulously skirt out of its course on its way to the Himalayas, Gangetic plain and further towards the Khasi hills. When we observe the satellite picture of the sub-continent during the mid July, when the monsoon has reached its zenith, the country is found to be engulfed in streams of black cloud, except two dry spots. We can appreciate that the Monsoon, having witnessed the Thar Desert, swallowing the mythical and holy river Saraswati would certainly shun the dry and barren Aravalli Range with apprehension. But why and how it should shun Tamil Nadu is shrouded in mystery. One more intriguing and interesting event with the Monsoon had happened when I landed in the Desert State of Rajasthan, at Jaipur. Could it be possible that the monsoon did a sort of miracle by not only entering Rajasthan, but caused an unheard of floods in the Desert State. The State enjoyed the bounty of the monsoon in the following two years in a row, an unusual experience for the desert State. Now it was my turn to meet the monsoon at its birth place, Trivandrum, where I had spent nearly seven years with a water starved dry spell of five years in between, in Chennai. Since 2004, when I opted out of Bank service on voluntary retirement I am not only back Home and has made our reunion and enjoyed the blissis in close company of the Southwest Monsoon for an uninterrupted seven years. One thing I missed in Trivandrum was the significance of the event, the very breaking of the monsoon and the gait and splendor associated with it. I am grateful to Alexander Frater and the Director of Meteorology, Santosh, occupying the office at the vantage position of the building, next to the heritage observatory founded by Swati Tirunal in 1836, which is the window that gives them a clear view of the sea. An experience in the gloating words of Santosh, the Met Director: “There is a change in the colour, smell and look of the sea. There is turbulence and the water turns choppy. We can see the rain advance from the hill. For days before the onset of the Monsoon, heavy dark cumulonimbus clouds gather on the horizon. They can stretch up to 14 km to the troposphere,” It was a proud moment for Santosh when he proclaimed that the westerly monsoon winds not only brought succor to the sub-continent, the rain clouds, but they brought traders and travelers from Rome and Arabia who were lured and guided by the trade winds, which in a fitting tribute is named with Arabic, “Mausam”, which the English as it was their wont, changed it to suit their convenience. I rather would not torture our friends, with Alexander Frett’s long journey tracking the Southwest Monsoon, commencing from Thailand and Madagascar. But it is interesting read when we find a man, a foreigner at that struggled and wait, catching-up and at times spends sleepless nights when there has been delay in its journey in the sub-continent. But he had to wage a war with the Administration to reach the boundaries of Sohra, in Meghalaya, the wettest place in the world, known best by its British name Cherrapunji. His struggle and trouble some journey lasting about two months was worth, every penny, when he experienced beauty and ecstasy in the valley of the Khasi Hills swathed with pregnant rain clouds, bursting, a labour of pain carried long through the plains of Bangladesh. It is cloud burst one after another that sub-merges the hills and valley with more than 12000 mms of rain. It is another interesting factor that both Southwest Monsoon and winter monsoon other wise known as Northeast Monsoon merge as a single season in Cherrapunji. The Khasi Hills is totally bald thanks to the deluge of a rain which washed away even the sub-soil. It is also an irony of nature that the Southwest Monsoon which skirted away from Tamil Nadu and where it has unloaded all its bounties in a fury suffer water scarcity. The Southwest Monsoon traces its way back to Kerala in September and withdraws into the Arabian Sea. As if remembering to make recompense Tamil Nadu, which it had left it literally, high and dry, on its way to enrich the whole of the Country, returns back through Bay of Bengal as winter Monsoon, to quench the thirst of the Tamil population, The North East Monsoon. S.Nallasivan 4) Today's time is paramount! https://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/readersblog/mycountrymyresponsibility/todays-time-is-paramount-19459/ Posted online comments : "this blog post is not about language issues like which is the oldest language (tamil or sanskrit) but most of the online comments are about linguistics. the blogger has covered the subject \"today\'s time is paramount!\" well. but those who have posted online comments have hijacked the blog post. maybe some technology problem?'" F Leisure Surnames and sobriquets* LR Sharma I am not going to make a comparison between surnames and sobriquets. In fact, there cannot be any comparison, either. A surname is usually worn by the whole family or clan. It depicts the caste, sub-caste or the place of domicile of a person. It does not tell about the character, pursuits and the qualities of a person. A sobriquet or nickname is just the reverse. It is person-specific. While a surname is a legacy, the sobriquet is either bestowed or thrust upon. Very often, a sobriquet transforms into a surname, but the vice versa is not possible. We have occupational sobriquets like Patwari and Pilot transcending into the domain of surnames. Sobriquets like Daruwala and Batliwala in the Parsi community have long become revered surnames. Some sobriquets have an interesting background. A Chatterjee family from Bengal that had settled in my area long back had inadvertently been nicknamed ‘Chatters’, not out of any malice, but for colloquial ease. The Bengali family accepted this nickname with the grace befitting a good neighbour. I once drew the attention of a member of this family towards the Darwinian evolution of their caste surname. ‘This may further evolve to become chatur, like the one in the film Three Idiots,’ he quipped with childlike sanguinity. I have doubts, yet I wish him well. Coming to the more mundane and ‘thrust upon’ sobriquets, the owner of a known dhaba in my area was famous by the nickname of ‘Chacha Zimikand’. Apart from the paranthas I relished, he had introduced half a dozen delicacies prepared from the tuber zimikand (yam). Obviously, he loved being addressed by this sobriquet, because it gave his dhaba free advertisement. At least so he thought! As I settled on a wooden bench, Chacha Zimikand shouted to a helper: ‘Oye Jhawen, babuji ke table par kapda maar’ (clean babuji’s table with a cloth). Now, this was the strangest of sobriquets I had ever heard. A jhawan in our area is the name of an earthen foot-scrubber, which the potters make out of the earth as they make pitchers. These days, we have plastic foot-scrubbers in our bathrooms and this earthen ancestor is on its way out. While exiting the dhaba after savouring the paranthas, I casually asked the owner why he had addressed the boy as Jhawan. He replied nonchalantly: ‘His real name is Jujhar Singh, which seems a bit heavy for a small kid like him. So, I call him Jhawan. Let him grow to earn his full name.’ This earthy explanation made me smile on the way back. (Sobriquet : nickname or an unofficial title given to somebody/something) *Article received by Group email from Sitendra Kumar G Quotes about all religions https://www.brainyquote.com/topics/all-religions-quotes Like : All religions and all communities have the same rights, and it is my responsibility to ensure their complete and total protection. My government will not tolerate or accept any discrimination based on caste, creed and religion. Narendra Modi