When mouse turned cat

Fifteen year old Amini was returning from Gokhale Memorial Govt Girls’school when her neighbour Kala’s mother gestured her urgently to come to their door. Amini quickly ran up to their door

‘. Shhh—not a word to anyone in your house or in the neighbourhood here ,’ Lalita mami cautioned her ,’Quietly go and bring to me the beautiful cross stitch tablecloth and the smart canebasket you made last week.’

To the confused looking Amini, Lalita mami explained briefly-“They are coming for Kala’s bride seeing ceremony. We have to show them some skills of Kala.She is not talented like you. I will return your tablecloth tomorrow. Now hurry and tell no one. Eh…remember “.It sounded more like a plea than like an order.

As Amini shook her head side- to- side rapidly in affirmative and prepared to leave , she caught sight of her Kala Akka smiling weakly from the inner room .

A month later, Kala Akka was married and gone, But Amini could never get to know how far her tablecloth and cane basket had helped in finalizing the marriage. But disquiet grew within her. Wasn’t it cheating? Again, why was a cross stitch tablecloth necessary to get husband? Was it not enough for Kala to be accepted for being a kind and gentle person?

Yet, how could she discuss it with anyone? She had not told even her mother whose crude and loud manner had often embarrassed her.. Her mother was sure to broadcast it all neighborhood and that won’t have been fair on Kala.

As time passed, she was to learn more. She saw a cousin rigorously practising singing ‘Samaja vara gamana’ for days together to get it perfect for the bride approval ceremony. So, decided Amini, this is why my parents have insisted on my learning Carnatic music, despite the distant travel and at the cost my studies, so that one day, I may be approved by the groom. But, what does a groom have to do to get the approval of the bride’s family?

The Question rose in the mind but no answers came.----neither from the mind, nor from the society.

One night, she put this question to her grand Athai, who had come for a short holiday. Athai let out a loud guffaw.’ Hoho, hihi, Boys have to do nothing!. It is enough for them to have a male organ.! Not even necessary for them to earn!!. Do you know that I was asked by my prospective groom’s mother to thread a needle as proof of my good vision? Further, I was asked to stretch out both my hands to show they were equal because my approval photo showing one hand resting on a flower stand aroused doubt in my cynical mother in law.!!

Amini was shell shocked. But Why????? How is it fair? Angry and confused, a lot of stormy questions rose and fell like waves in the mind. How is the matrimony market any different from the cattle market? Amini began to dread her turn.Whenever she saw a cat, she imagined herself to be a mouse in its paws!!How dreadful, this cat and mouse game. And we call it ‘approval’ ceremony??

The time arrived sooner than expected. Everything happened quickly unknown to her. Arriving home from Ashutosh college one evening, she found delicacies being prepared .Before she could protest, she was quickly done up and ushered into the presence of prospective parents.in law. But the groom was absent.” We are Ravi’s parents, I am GK and my wife is Thangam .Mr.Gopalakrishnan began the introduction.

Where is Ravi? - asked Amini.

‘He is in US and like an obedient son, has left the decision to us to choose his bride.’

‘

But—how ??my parents too must see him, isn’t it ?‘– asked Amini logically.

Though taken aback a little,the gentleman smiled genially and said, ‘We have come all the way from Chennai to see you. Similarly, your parents can go and see him in US- no problem! I can show you his photo, though’

. Saying this, the man took out a photo from his pocket which showed a group of boys. ‘Ravi is the one with dark glasses,’ he spoke proudly.

Amini sizzled inside. First, he is in a group photo and then to top it, in dark glasses! Whew! How can one assess?

She could see her parents signaling to her to be silent and behave.

’”I hear you are studying English literature,….GK continued,’ …..Name some plays of Shakespeare”

So,the interview had begun.!!

Amini felt she was drowning in a wave of humiliation.A long pause followed. Her mother nudged her subtly.Her father looked anxiously at her. Amini looked blank. GK smiled complacently like a predator who has trapped his prey.Amini did not answer.

After awhile, the silence seemed oppressing and unable to bear it, GK repeated the question.

‘Who is Shakespeare?-I have never heard of him- Amini shot out with a tinge of defiance, much to everyone’s shock.

‘And also please know that I donot sing, nor cook, nor stitch’ -She quickly added, pouring out all her suppressed collective resentment of years.

Her mortified mother pinched her to be silent. But the words had escaped beyond retrieval. Her father was crestfallen. GK and his wife gazed at the floor.

It seemed like eternity before GK and wife walked out in a huff. The food and drinks remained untouched.

That night, no one spoke in Amini’s house. But this stillness was deceptive, like the calm before the storm. Somewhere, in a nondescript lane of Calcutta, undocumented by media a small spark of revolution had been kindled by a brave young girl.

-

The Grinding Stone

Who knows when it came into existence! But this Attukallu as it is known has been a part of south lndia households since time immemorial. Literally translated, it means ,the moving stone which is an ancient tool used in all south Indian homes, for manual grinding of rice and pulses, mainly to make batters for the ever-satisfying idlis and dosas. Of late, it has fallen into disuse since the launching of electric grinders.

I am intrigued by the massive granite attukallu in our ancestral home which is over 110 years old. This is a fixed accessory on the kitchen floor near the wash area– an ancient concept to facilitate easy cleaning. Hemispherical in shape with a central cavity, the attukallu comes with a companion called Kozhavi, a rounded cylindrical shaped granite tool tapering at one end, and broader at the other. This kozhavi rests with broad end into the attukallu’s cavity.The narrower end of the kozhavi is held using the cupped palm over it to move it clockwise for grinding soaked grain.It is an intelligent device to manually grind large quantities of soaked grain into batter. Rotating the kozhavi in the cavity of attukallu crushes the softened grains easily .and it is a common practice to initiate little girls into this art of grinding early in life so that the overworked mothers have some respite.

If it could speak, our attukallu would surely have many tales to tell –both poignant and interesting. Tons of grain must have been pulverized by generations of daughters and daughters in law over a span of 100 years to produce thousands of gallons of batter to feed large extended families! One poor widowed aunt-Parvatham Athai- whose story moves me to tears, must have slogged over this attukallu for nearly 50 years in the era, when young widows were treated as domestic slaves.

The attukallu too bears the scars and wounds of ageing. Its edges, used repeatedly to break coconuts over the years, are jagged at the rim.The cavity has enlarged and the kozhavi has slimmed at waist due to protracted friction. It is overdue for rest now. At its retirement, it at least deserves some commendation!

Preserving Kerala Mural Art

Changes driven by technological innovations, mass media, contact between societies, competitions, and wars are sweeping traditional societies affecting their culture. Culture includes not only an integrated set of beliefs values and knowledge but also excellence in arts. Today, unfortunately, in our rat race , we seem to give little thought to the damage being inflicted on our culture of fine arts particularly in our temples. A national newspaper recently carried a story on the extent of vandalism happening in Kerala and Tamilnadu temples in the guise of renovation An extract from the report is given below

CHENNAI: An array of striking paintings has been whitewashed out of existence at the Rajagopalaswamy Kulasekara Alwar temple at Mannarkovil in Tirunelveli district. These were images of the coronation of Rama, the Dasavataram, Narasimha, Garuda, a wrestler fighting an elephant and so on. Estimates put their antiquity at 150 to 250 years.

More recently, murals of the late Nayak period were whitewashed at Muthalamman temple at Kodangipatti, near Karur.

Over the past several years, similar mural masterpieces have been whitewashed at the Meenakshi temple in Madurai, the Arunachaleswarar temple at Tiruvannamalai, the Vishnu temple at Tiruvellarai near Tiruchi, and Siva temples at Patteeswaram near Kumbakonam, Tiruppulivanam in Kancheepuram district and Vedaranyam, all administered by the Hindu Religious and Charitable Endowments Department of the Tamil Nadu government.

Similar vandalism has been witnessed at other temples in the State, including the Varadarajaswamy temple in Kancheepuram, the Lakshmi Narasimhar temple at Sevilimedu, and the Sanjeeva Rayar temple at Iyengarkulam, both near Kancheepuram.

This is sad news for the art lovers. Such incidents are only pointers to the fact that persons appointed in HRCE departments are either ignorant of the value of our heritage or willfully indulge in obliterating masterpieces which should make them liable for charges of criminal negligence. This also points to the urgent need to create awareness about this great heritage among our people particularly the youth and children.

Kerala mural art which thrived on royal patronage, has a rich tradition of religious themes based on principles of proportion, poise, gunas-sattvic, rajassic, tamasic which are symbolized by the colour.The uniqueness lies in the selection of earthy colours like ochre, saffron, from natural sources like herbs, grasses, stones, vegetables, fruits, roots etc, and the use of elaborate costume,, ornaments, etc. all of which, results in graceful compositions.

There is some comforting news too! A new genre of mural artists determined to revive this unique mural tradition are bringing about a lot of awareness among public. One such training programme conducted exclusively for women by S.K. Pottekat cultural Centre at Calicut was a trend setter. I was fortunate to be a participant.Speaking at the inauguration ceremony, Sri. K.K. Marar, scholar and artist, remarked that it was only befitting that women be trained as they are the rightful custodians of culture.!! Sri K.R. Babu , a senior mural artist and faculty at Kalagramam, Mahe, conducted the training which was highly appreciated by the participants and applauded by the media. Alongside is a photograph of my maiden attempt in Mural painting

Elephants as guests

Indian culture values hospitality- extended even to the unexpected visitors . I too was brought up imbibing this tradition .Recently, when I had a call from the local temple secretary just before the annual temple festival asking if I could help in an accommodation problem, I agreed to have him over to discuss. How was I ever to know the accommodation was sought not for humans but for three pachyderms?
Taken totally by surprise, I hardly had time to react I had my fears. What if the elephant brought down a tree? What if it kicked the brick wall? Dismissing my fears as unfounded, the team from the temple, underplayed it as if I was talking about handling 3 domesticated goats!

‘Nothing to worry! They are disciplined ‘gajaveerans” of Trichur pooram fame with excellent track records.!’ Having said it with finality , they moved briskly to the task of finding three tethering spots.

Things moved fast and very soon, three majestic tuskers –Krishnankutty, Karnan,and Ayyapan strode in royally and along with them , a large crowd of excited onlookers, and children shepherded by parents. I was dumbstruck to say the least as I wondered how to play host to everyone. But I had to do nothing. Everything happened by itself.!!

Suddenly,my place had turned into an open house . We watched as visitors took up positions volunteers made suggestions, children attempted touching the pachyderms, babies squealed in delight, youngsters clicked cameras. A goods van drew up with a load of palm leaves as dinner for the elephants. People lent a hand and soon unloaded the fodder into a mini mountain. Loads of plantain bunches appeared from nowhere. Someone switched on the pump and using the hosepipe began to spurt forth water at the elephants. The”Gajarajans’ enjoyed these jets of spray and soon the courtyard was one big mess. Alongside, the smell of elephant dung rent the air.

Movements were swift thereafter. People lent a hand in bathing feeding ,decorating the elephants for the function. It was the greatest experience in community spirit and in the togetherness of man and beast in celebration. The gates stayed open for day and night. After three days of festival, when the elephants left, strangely, all of us felt saddened as we do when a cherished guest leaves.. As we cleaned up the courtyard of the terrible mess of palm leaves, and dung, I felt a strange emptiness. The house was back to normalcy but strangely, the silence seemed overpowering. Like travellers in one’s journey of life, Karnan, Krishnankutty, and Ayyapan, came into our lives briefly, only to part forever, perhaps!

Annapoorna-The Food Giver

It is a small brass figurine of a crudely moulded Goddess with no fine etchings or embellishments. It is present in almost every Hindu home, particularly in all homes wherever an ancestor may have undertaken a pilgrimage to Kashi. All pilgrims buy this figurine as souvenir . While some keep it in the pooja room, others store it away where it may lie forgotten for years.
I grew familiar with it since childhood as it was part of the assortment of articles of daily worship in my parental home. I did not like its popping eyes, and found it funny to see it holding a ladle.. My mother would make us recite prayers for all deities and explain the significance of each.-Lakshmi for wealth, Saraswati for knowledge,Annapoorna for food…….. etc.. But, I was only keen to do well in exams and therefore I fixedly prayed to Saraswati alone. After all, father would give money and mother would give food!! I need not worry on that score.I forgot all about Annapoorna!!

Years later, after I had assumed charge of household and my children, I happened to come across a similar figurine locked away in my father in law’s cupboard. Overcome by nostalgia, I cleaned it and placed it in the pooja room. The priority of feeding the family now being uppermost in my mind, I began to dwell on the significance of this form. As all of us know, Fate tosses all of us at times.Unfortunately, our family too unexpectedly plunged into a deep lingering financial crisis . At times, I was not sure if days of hunger were ahead. While brooding sleeplessly one night, wondering how to handle the hunger of growing children, I thought of this figurine. Without loss of time, I brought her to my kitchen, placed it reverentially on the kitchen shelf, and surrendered my kitchen to her imploring her to keep feeding us. Every morning, I recited the Annapoorna stotram before commencing the frugal cooking. As a gesture, I EVEN POLISHED THE LADLE as if making a bid to revive it.
Call it faith or coincidence, the all merciful Annapoorni Devi responded to my prayers and all through the 10 plus years of crisis, there was some food every day. Not a day, my children had to go hungry. Post crisis, I still continue to keep her ladle polished and think that this wide eyed figurine is the most beautiful and precious of all possessions.

Kumaran, the mango man

It is difficult to say which was older- the huge mango tree in our compound or the mango plucker-Kumaran. He was part of the scene when I entered the household as a bride.He must have been about 50 years old then.He'd visit off and on but the visits were more frequent from February when the mango blossoms sprouted forth filling the air with a sweet scent. From that, he could predict how good the crop might be.He earned his livelihood by booking these as his contract to pluck and sell mangoes from most households in and around Calicut.
He 'd then come off and on- to pluck mangoes at various stages- as small tender ones for short term pickles, chutneys,and semi matured ones for curries and finally matured ones for ripening as fruit.His expertise in identifying, grading , sorting and evaluating mangoes could put to shame a qualified horticulturist.He delighted in spotting,handling and admiring mangoes.His eyes lit up when he gazed at any mango tree. In fact, he smelt of raw mango himself
By April, naughty school children throw stones at tempting mango bunches dangling on trees and bring them down. This menance of child raiders is much dreaded by all but nothing can be done except to prematurely pluck part of the crop. Invariably this led to losses in his transactions. More so with growing years when his diminishing vision and hearing let him down badly in the competitive market.Yet it did not deter him from contiuing to be in the trade till the age of 85.For,the mango tree was his bread, his skill, his life ,his delight and his strength.
Kumaran died last month. On a rainy day,the helper lad brought me the sad news.The mango trees, all over Calicut, were orphaned! Kumaran will come no more to them. I stared into the blankness helplessly. The gusty winds sent the branches quivering. the leaves rustled twisting and turning violently in the breeze letting off a deep mourning sound.The trunk shook sadly.The rain poured all night adding to the depressing mood.As the leaves from the highest branches poured forth streams of the water from the skies as their homage, the tree seemed to weep uncontrollably..Rarely can any mortal get such a touching farewell from nature's majestic trees.Adieu, Kumaran , You were Great.

A Childhood Fascination

Unlike the present day, children in my generation were not decision makers. They had little freedom to express desires and had to contend with what they received. As a result, many desires -even simple ones - remained unfulfilled within. Some of these died away with growing years;some lay dormant biding the right time.
One such gnawing desire was to own and wear thin chains of colourful beads knotted in copper wire.These chains, though inexpensive, looked enticing and matched most occasions from casual to festive ones. I craved for owning one but finally gave up.
However,after nearly 50 years in time, when I spotted these chains, recently at an exhibition, I, now a grandmother, was overcome with nostalgia. I donot why I picked it up happily.Having bought it,I brought it home to feel and admire this art object of timeless beauty. Is there a child in every adult?
I donot know what to use it for now . Perhaps, I should give it away to some little girl in the street,who may be yearning for it...... that'd be ideal and perfect way of fulfiling my childhood desire.

A pleasant ritual

A flock of colourful parrots start their chorus beeps and chirrups at 6 a.m on the branches of a bilimbi tree growing in the compound outside our kitchen. They stir up a racket till we hurriedly cool the freshly cooked rice and spread it out for their breakfast, in a thick long line, on a clean narrow stone platform, beneath the tree. It started with 2 parrots initially, but they being good natured, fetched their cousins and friends and in-laws, so that their strength is now 25, which meant we needed to stretch the line of cooked rice- which in turn,required more rice to be cooked.

They are a cautious lot however.They wait up the tree, till some squirrels hop down as food tasters. After ensuring safety,the parrots now descend,sending the squirrels scampering,while they take up positions on either side of the platform. Everybody finds space.They dine hurriedly keeping vigil.Sometimes, the naughty squirrels let out an alarm cry. Fearing the common enemy cat, all the parrots take off in a jiffy.!Then the squirrels take over the clear field !! Soon, the parrots return to chase them away. The game continues....

eh, to be a girl!

They were planning to shift house. A lot of unwanted junk accumulated over the years was being cleared. A tray full of old letters lay among the discarded junk including some broken toys ,dolls, which the 12 year old Amini was forced to abandon. Wanting to have one last look at it, Amini scoured the heap. A letter bearing her date of birth ,caught her attention. It was from her grandpa to her father . The letter said, 'Alas,your third born is also a girl!! What a tragedy, but God's ways are indeed inscrutable!'

It took a few moments for the truth to dawn on Amini that none had rejoiced at her birth. Tears began to flow down her cheeks . She did not hear her mother's call . Then came the yelling' Ah, the foolish girl, crying for her broken worthless doll. Is she?Born a girl, eh, What will you do when you have to leave behind all and go to your husband's? '

The Great Indian Heritage

This happened two decades ago in Calicut during July when the fury of southwest monsoon was at its peak.Ours was an old house , 92 years of age. 

 Like most traditional  tiled- roof houses in Kerala , ours  too  was  was surrounded by open compound spaces  with some coconut palms, arecanut trees, jackfruit and mango trees which provided cool shade  in hot months and soaked up all rain water in monsoon.During monsoon,the advancing  dark clouds hastily  obliterated the sun lending an ethereal  like glow  of twilight even at midday making it a visual feast. The sound of rain falling on the roof provided a musical treat.The smell of earth and gurgling sounds of flowing water, the rain- drenched palms swaying in the wind seemed a heady mix.  I was young and began enjoying the monsoon , despite the inconveniences  of   high humidity,muddy pathways, slippery verandahs, wet laundry,  mossy walls  flooded streets, choked drains, dangers from snapping of overhead electric wires, loss of crops  and  damage from falling trees. 

That monsoon, it had rained nonstop for 48 hours with no letup. I was sitting in the open verandah reading the news paper. It was almost 10 a.m but the overpowering dark clouds gave no indication of time.I got up and went in to get myself a hot cup of tea. Then I heard a huge thud - The loudest and longest I ever heard in my life. the loud rattling , creaking, grinding, wailing of crashing beams, followed by  blasting sounds of splitting roof tiles ending with the  agonising crunch of total destruction. I stood rooted on the spot. stunned unable to comprehend. And then I saw it all. The majestic mango tree  in the backyard had crashed on the roof, smashed through the wooden rafters  supporting the tiles and broughtdown the frame  of the roof down!!Our roof  in the western and southern side was gone . Rain poured right into the house. And then I screamed and screeched in panic  without stop.

Neighbours and passers by rushed in . Watching me scream they asked if anyone was  lying buried under the heap of debris.I shook my head in reply. I was visualising myself lying dead mangled under this debris.. I was gone only for a minute when this happened, I could have been under it. 

After  long hours of mourning, when the nerves were calm,the focus shifted to crisis management --- emergency was declared ,all activities halted ,other plans cancelled with sole aim of clearing tons of  debris and repairing  the roof.An  ageing but expert carpenter -Assari- as known in local parlance,  was  hurriedly awarded the contract of restoring the roof as per the original design.. He dutifully arrived with his team and surveyed the colossal damage, prepared a list of items to be purchased and  gave the  cost estimates. 

 I was getting restless for the work to start. A little later when I went to consult him, I saw him standing facing east, his eyes closed in meditation , his palms joined in veneration praying .

I stopped short and waited in silence till he  finished and opened his eyes. . Then I saw his moist eyes.  With great humility he said, ' amma, I was seeking the blessings of the  Assari  who built this magnificent structure. For, without the predecessor's permission and blessings , I dare not repair this. His spirit will guide me in the restoration work. '

 Once more bowing his head deeply towards the unseen spirit of his predecessor, he picked up his tools  and began work- rap, tap, snap,  pop, knock, thump, plump, slam, bang, clang-- thereafter the house was full of  such hammering sounds till the roof was restored to the original glory.

 While his dedication in work brought cheer to the mind,  the more ennobling  experience was the sublime gesture in the Assari's humble prayer which almost drenched the soul!!

 

Negating self

Humility was considered a great virtue  a few decades ago, particularly in India .The more scholarly one was, the greater the humility. Greatest of painters , sculptors and writers left no signatures behind on their works.They vied for no public acclaim. They attained excellence  not for  winning any competitions but for their  sheer love of art. Obsessed as we are with rat race today, many of us may find it difficult to comprehend this.

Infact in  ancient Kerala, convention was to refer to oneself either by name or by substituting "ei ullavan' (meaning' this being') but never to say "I" . Pronouns like 'Me, Mine, or I denoted egoism

and humility made people substitute third person pronouns instead of  first person pronouns. It makes me wonder, sorry,  It makes Radha wonder how people understood each other !

The clay and the potter

'Donot take pride in your power", says the clay to the potter as he shapes it to create a form to his liking. 

"One day things will change. I will be kneading you instead', 

Indeed the clay will knead the potter  to dust upon his death - so sang  Kabirdas , the sage poet to give us the simple message of evanescent nature of life.

Voicing Wishes

 My school teacher once asked me" If you could have a wish granted , what would you wish for? I thought it was the easiest question to answer. Goodies to eat,  beautiful dresses to wear, a flawless complexion, long dark tresses-- infact the list was endless! 

Now with greying years, I increasingly realise how tough it is to answer this question. Not because a plethora of choices renders decision making difficult. But for the simple reason that we donot know what is good for us . And because we fail to take other related variables into consideration. For instance, if we were to  seek gratification by wishing for a good feast, it would be easy to get. But , If we were to lose our appetite for some physiological reason, or have  a nagging worry, or be in a situation which does not permit freedom to eat at our discretion, of what use is this feast then?

Similarly, a somewhat dreadful vision conjures up before me-- Wishing for  the company of a loved one forever.Think, just think, what might happen if he/ she stopped loving you and you were forced to go along with this person all because of your own "wishing" 

. A thought  might occur here to you . You might modify that wish to have' his loving company forever'. But  what if your own heart underwent a change ? The possibilities are endless. So it is wiser to leave it all to a Higher Wisdom and not wish for anything. With many such confused experiences, I  stopped making wishes long ago.

Eat less,live more.

Aandi was a thin shrunken old man well past into his eighties when I first met him in my new home in Calicut after my marriage. I was  22 years young with an enormous appetite at any time of the day. Infact I believed that food was the best part of life's purpose.

Aandi was a trusted old worker who had served the household well over 60 years and now been superannuated However he was required to make his appearance everyday as my father -in- law was unable to do without Aandi's chit- chat. Aandi was his local "Google' who was a  repository  of a great deal of useful information like copra prices,  folk remedies,  local gossip etc. What is more, he could predict rain looking at the clouds above!To ensure his regular visits, father in law 'ordered ' Aandi to avail of his retirement  benefit package which included a free lunch  at  noon ; siesta on the wooden bench in the courtyard;  to be followed by tea at 3.p.m.I was  also officially  informed that I was allotted the duty of serving food and tea to Aandi. It did not exactly thrill me to start on my duties , but his word was law and how  dare a new daughter in law voice her dislike?

On the appointed day and time, Aandi , true to his word,was seated hunched over a piece of fresh green banana leaf spread in front of him , waiting for his meal, on the far end of the large verandah making my walk from the kitchen longer. As I neared him, balancing a mound of steaming rice on a plate  and a container holding sambar and ladle for serving, He grinned revealing a toothless mouth gesturing  for restrained serving. He ate very little food   perhaps enough only for 3 peckings.I tried to encourage him to eat by offering another helping but he 'd have none of it. This went on next day too and to me it seemed a waste of time for Aandi to walk 1 km from his home only to nibble at a frugal bit of rice. This time I insisted he eat more, but with a firm gesture he cut me short. Then , he told me the secret. God had preordained the quantity of food to be consumed by every one of us in our lifetime. It was upto us to stretch it over a longer period thus lengthening the life span or devour it faster and make quick exit.Please donot shorten my stay here , he urged. That really struck me hard. And every time thereafter I checked myself when taking second helpings!  

A week ago, a health magazine reported  that research in a prestigious international institute had shown that frugal eaters lived longer and healthier. But Our  illiterate Aandi had preached it decades ago in simpler but striking manner.His message had been indeed highly digestible!

let us talk

Hello everyone,

The world is vast but life is short. 

To make the best of the  limited available time let us reach out to as many persons as possible - 

 to listen , to share, to amuse , to ponder, to discuss, to heal, to console,  to care,to energise and to  simply make  life seem  better for everyone. It  is the gift of the technology (thanks to its inventors) that is making this possible . So let us reach out  as far and wide as possible .