memories of a father: book review

A book written with pain and tears, memories of a father, deals with the grief, sorrow, ordeal and trauma of losing an innocent son to the hands of tyrannical bureaucracy.

The gullible face of a child on the cover of the book and the simple but powerful title made me want to grab a copy and read. Set during time of Emergency, the arrest of a twenty-something-engineering-student for no fault of his, followed by his sudden disappearance seemed to be a good bait for me to read the book.

A hundred-page-book authored by the victim’s father Prof. Eachara Varier, a retired language professor does a remarkable and commendable job at blending words and emotion to teleport you into his shoes. The reader feels the agony and angst of the author. Translated eloquently from Malyalam by Neelan, the book is published by Asian Human Rights Commission.

A brilliant and a fast paced read, a minor setback would be the listing of many names of friends and culprits (to give credibility to the book) could be a little overwhelming for the reader. The author does an impeccable job of creating and keeping suspense alive from the first page, with the title of the first chapter – ‘a plantain leaf and a bowl of rice kept waiting’, to the last page.

Your heart will bleed for the innocent people who have lost their lives to extrajudicial killings and the personal tragedy faced by near and dear, at the same time giving hope that justice is served and showing the true face of human determination.

The PDF version of the book can be downloaded from here.

Freezing Time

Well got another request to write another editorial... read on...
Caricatures. A smile on your face is guaranteed when you look at these loaded portraits.

Revisiting them a couple of years later, what do they whisper? It is as if that moment froze in time, with a tinge of humor and wit laced with it. Nostalgia grips you.

Ask any Infoscion who joined as a fresher, what were the most memorable moments in Infosys? Without batting an eyelid the response will be his or her training days.

We, here at Gurukul, just as artist sketches a caricature; try to etch those unforgettable moments from training in total candor with a tinge of sarcasm and humor so as to immortalize time in the words of a trainee; to treasure the moments now and savor them later.

Our efforts have been a direct indication of the motivation conferred by the huge amount of readership and the tremendous support of educators and the management. And each edition is dedicated to all the folks in production who read it to rekindle their memories of training days and to each and every trainee, the sole reason of our being.

Thank you.

Team Gurukul

Losing Steps!!

Weekends. What would a-twenty-something software engineer do? Get up early in the afternoon. Brunch with total lethargy. Meet up with old friends over coffee. An exorbitant dinner. Crash watching a movie. This was my itinerary too for an unassuming Sunday; until I got a call from a dear friend to attend a classical Indian dance recital.

Unable to either dampen nor weaken my friend’s determination and enthusiasm I agreed to go only if she, a dance exponent herself, explained to me the subtleties of the all the dance movements presented, somewhat like an art-appreciation-crash-course. Because I had promised myself I would not attend anymore dance recitals; after I had dozed off in total boredom years before, only to wake for the thunderous applause at the end of the recital.

As the showdown to the recital fast approached many thoughts lingered in my head. Why do people dedicate their lives to this discipline? What is the joy unleashed in a dance performance to the performers and the audience. How is that I cannot understand what gave my grandparents and their generation such happiness and thrill? As informed, I reached the venue ahead of time which was charged and bustling with activity. I just sat seeing populace, including foreigners, poring in, later only to go back home due to the shortage of space. Not for once had I imagined it would be a houseful performance.

My mentor for the evening told me the first item was one where the dancer plucks flowers and offers them to god. All I could see was the dancer turning around and around making expressions of anger, happiness, disgust, angst and bliss. With total enthusiasm I was explained the reason and meaning of every movement, I could see a beautiful movie being aired in front of me. All this was done without the backdrop of expensive sets, just with the creativity of the choreographer and talent of the performer. This tapped a region in my brain, where I could visualize the entire story with various characters accomplished by just one performer. At the end of the three hour recital I was left in total awe and appreciation for Indian classical dance.

It is said that the affluence of a society is identified by the way it treats its artists. Today we are the beholders of great affluence, but without the knowledge of art. It is time we make an attempt to explore art and keep our tradition alive and for a more selfish reason that we are losing out on something so enchanting and captivating.