On the banks of the Beas

"Three minutes." our tour agent was pretty straightforward, looking at me in between counting the people hurrying into the bus. "You'll have to ask a hotel or something, or do it on the side of the road." 

Public toilets are not a thing in this part of the world, and at -2 degrees centigrade in the middle of a mini blizzard, I wasn't about to complain. 

Manali is perhaps the most lively town in the Beas river valley. The buses that brought us from Bhuntar were too wide for the city streets leading to our hotel on Mall Road. We had to get down outside the city and transfer to these small 10-seater vans.

Hurrying through the snow, I made my way into the parking lot of a hotel. Hotel Neelam. The area was slippery from all the water and hailstones. I carefully tied my new hiking shoes, which I had gotten for cheap from Kasol, and gently walked inside.

'Sa'ab, may I use your restroom?' 

He motioned to the door. Without saying thank you, I rushed to the men's room and let all the day's water out. Hot steam rose as it struck the frozen urinal.

The snow outside was still unforgiving. Once again carefully descending onto the road, I went back to the agent.

"Last van. Get in that one."

It seemed to me that Suraj, Amal and the others had already left in the previous van. Confirming that all our luggage would be brought to the hotel later, I took my knapsack and huddled into the front seat of the van. In it were my mufflers, my gloves and the new Kullvi cap that I had bought in Kasol. In the driver's seat was a Tibetan-looking man who was not in the mood to talk.

Dropping us at the meeting of Mall Road and Model Town Road, he pointed me to our hotel. Snow View. At Snow View I found my luggage and met up with my friends. Shahzad was standing at the reception, ensuring that everyone had a room. I got grouped with Amal, Zeeshan and Amit.

It seemed, however, that Hotel Snow View was full. The agents showed up and directed me to Hotel Ibex, just one block away, where we also had emergency reservations. And so we were to be in Room 106.

In it was one big bed, two sofas, and a television. On payment, we received a radiator, around which we huddled for the majority of our stay there. Amal pulled the sofas closer to the heat and we laid out all our wet things on them. Not long after, our friends called us up and told us we should eat at this Tibetan restaurant near our hotels. We decided to walk out, seeing that the snow was not going to subside tonight.

The walk to Chopsticks restaurant took a while. Most of us, who had never seen snow before in our lives, celebrated their newfound experience by throwing balls of snow at each other. The experience for me was not as comfortable as I had become tired of the element as soon as I saw it. Suraj and I opted out of the snow fight and hurried inside the restaurant. It was a narrow but long corridor with wooden tables and chairs on each side. At the other end was a parlor for couples and families.

Most of us ordered thukpa, a Tibetan soup and noodles dish. Suraj had chicken thukpa and I had the vegan version. This dish is served hot with a few types of sauces and condiments. The hot soup was a much needed respite from the cold.

Returning to our room, we discovered that we were in a pretty precarious situation. The snowstorm had destroyed power connections and the entire town was plunged in darkness. Fortunately, Hotel Ibex was running a diesel generator downstairs for the radiators and lights. We were requested to go to sleep as soon as possible to save up on diesel for the next day, also expected to be without power.

For some reason the power didn't go out, and the radiator kept running for as long as I could remember. We woke up to a somewhat sunny day. I decided to call my parents and tell them about our stay, only to discover that the mobile networks were down. We were effectively trapped. Hotel Ibex Wi-Fi was our only connection to the outside world.

Though it was morning, not a ray of sunlight was anywhere to be seen. The sky in Manali was covered in gloomy grey clouds. On the ground, nearly three feet of snow from yesterday's sto
rm was starting to melt, turning a walk on Mall Road into a death trap. To add to the horror, it began to rain.

Snow is pretty annoying in itself. When it starts to rain on top of it, you begin to question every life decision of yours leading up to that moment. Walking ankle-deep in melting snow while it rains above is a form of torture. I put myself through this type of torture, alone, in hopes of finding the temple of Hadimba Devi that we were supposed to visit that day. Walking up Mall Road and crossing the river Beas, I realized that the temple was much further than I thought. Walking there was impractical, to understate things. I decided to walk back. On Mall Road again, I had the sole accident on this trip. 

My feet sank into a column of snow as deep as a child and got buried there for a full minute. At the bottom, it was not just snow but a sub-surface river of snowmelt, incredibly cold water. It got into my shoes, my socks and stung my pants and thermal innerwear. I dragged myself onto the side of the road, where there were benches, debilitated and in incredible pain. I took off my shoes and my socks and the experience was no different. The freezing Himalayan air felt no nicer. A nice old lady, a local, struck up a conversation with me.

"Squeeze the socks out. Put your shoes on without socks. Your shoes are leather. They don't hold water."

"It's still cold. I need warmth." I replied in the best of my Hindi.

"There's no power anywhere. All of Manali is in the dark. I don't know what you can do."

"Oh."

"Are you working?"

"No, I'm a student. From Kerala."

"I meet lots of people from Kerala. They buy my crochet."

I smiled at her familiarity.

"I know you are a very rich people. Keralites are very smart."

The compliment was assuaging.

"You should go back to your hotel. It's probably best."

I hurried back to Hotel Ibex, with both socks and shoes on my feet. Unfortunately our reservations were over and I could only sit in the reception.

I took my shoes and socks off and secretly squeezed the water out of my socks again. It felt wrong and inappropriate to do that in the reception of a hotel, but I had no choice. Each time a guest opened the door, the cold air entered the hall and sent my feet into shivers again. My gloves were wet, too, now. I took them off and prayed for the power to return.

A while later, our tour agents showed up. They were in 102 and had reservations for a while longer. Tarun told me to come there should I need to. I didn't go for some reason. I think I was too shocked to process that there was no shame in going up there.

Amit Anil Emmatty joined me not much later. He, too, was uncomfortable, but not as injured as I. The rest of the day as I remember it was Amal, Amit and I sitting on the reception sofas and periodically going upstairs to our in-house restaurant, four or five times in all.

The news websites and WhatsApp calls back home were painting a grim picture. The Chandigarh-Manali highway was in shambles. Roadblocks and crisis traffic were going to make leaving Manali impossible.

By sunset, if you could call it that, we were stuffed into those ten-seater vans again and transferred back to our old buses on the highway. By the time we were all in the bus, it was properly night and everyone was hungry. There was a KFC, a Pizza Hut and a couple of other fast food places near our buses. That would be our dinner for the night. I had a pizza and took out dinner for Amit and the professors: the last orders placed at that KFC that night.

For some reason I had been sleeping extremely well throughout the trip. I had dinner and fell asleep in my seat pretty fast, expecting to open my eyes in the warmth of Delhi.

It was 7 when I woke up and not only were we not in Delhi, the bus had hardly moved from where it was initially. We were already on the news back in Kerala: 119 students and 5 teachers, trapped in Manali, forced to spend a night inside their bus.

I stepped outside to a Manali I had not seen until now. There was very little snow on the ground; it had all melted away last night. The Beas river was running majestically and the sun shone brightly onto the valley. The Beas Valley is an incredibly beautiful area of the Himalayas.

Some light tea was served. I didn't risk this local concoction as a toilet was still very far away. After taking in the sights and sounds of the river, we were informed of a new reservation at a nearby hotel.

Hotel Apple Valley was comfortable enough a place to hang out until the highway to Chandigarh cleared up. The sun was high in the sky and it was no longer that cold. It was the type of weather that we expected when we arrived in the valley. Radiators allowed us to dry our wet things.

We left the area around 4pm. Thiruvananthapuram called shortly before the bus and ordered us to inform all students to call their parents and reassure them of their safety. It seemed that they were frantically calling the college after seeing the sensationalized news headlines.

And from then on we slowly descended the Beas valley. We had dinner at Bhure da Dhaba near Kiratpur Sahib and left for Delhi via Chandigarh.

I never would have imagined it, but for once, I felt that there was nothing else that could cure me but returning to the heat and humidity of Kochi. And it did. Since my return two days later, I have been struck by the disease of sweating. I wasn't the sweating type at all, but two days in the Himalayas flipped a switch inside me. These days I sweat bullets.

Kshetra Yatra Day 3

We overslept a bit. We were supposed to be up at 4:30am and to watch the day's first sunlight from inside the temple. By the time I came to, it was 5:30 already and my friends were all fast asleep. We woke up one by one and got ready by around 6:45.

The huge Rajagopuram is visible in this picture I took.

Hurrying to the temple, we saw the magnificent icon of Garuda first, flanked by murtis of Angada and Sugreeva. This huge Garuda is in a sitting position with his palms anjalibandham. The idol is always wrapped in a white dhoti from the waist down. We then proceeded inwards to receive Namperumal's darshanam. Passing through the many prakarams of the temple, we finally saw Namperumal in the company of his consorts, Lakshmi Devi and Bhumi Devi. They are a sight to behold.

The legend of Srirangam

Stepping outside the Gayatri Mandapam, we worshipped the vimanam, itself called the 'Ikshvaku Kula Dhanam'. The Rangavimanam was the vehicle in which Narayana appeared to Brahma at the beginning of creation. Brahma circumambulated the Rangavimanam chanting the four Vedas. The story goes that it was Ikshvaku, the ancestor of Sri Rama, who brought the Rangavimanam from heaven onto the earth. Many generations later, after the Rama-Ravana war, Sri Rama gifted the Rangavimanam to Vibhishana and asked him to take it back to Lanka, of which Vibhishana had just become king. Passing through Bharatavarsham, Vibhishana stopped at the banks of the Kaveri to perform the 'ucha puja' (afternoon puja) on the vimanam. 

Chola legend says that one of the Adi Chozhas, Dharma Varman, asked Vibhishana for permission to conduct a grand festival to celebrate the vimanam's coming to Chozha Nadu. He agreed, but at the end of the 12 day utsava, Vibhishana found that the vimanam would not move from its place. Ranganatha Swami appeared to him and told Vibhishana that he wished to stay on the banks of the Kaveri and instructed Vibhishana to return to Lanka. He did so, and Dharma Varman constructed the first structures of the Srirangam temple, placing the vimanam on top of the temple. Out of love for Vibhishana, the main deity faces the south in this temple, quite uncommonly.

After our darshanam of Namperumal, we went to the various sub-sannidhis in the temple. We first visited the sannidhi of Annamurti. Then came Kampathadi Anjaneyar, a manifestation of Hanuman.

Azhwar Mahatmyam

Stepping outside the innermost prakaram, we went to the shrine of Madhurakavi Azhwar, the author of the Kanninun Siruthambu. In this shrine there were three icons. In the centre was Sathagopan, that is, Nammazhwar, and on his right side was his dasan, Madhurakavi Azhwar. On his left stood Thirumangai Azhwar.

The Azhwars, for those unaware, are 12 highly realised souls who sang of the glories of Mahavishnu in Tamil. In total, they sung about 108 kshetrams, which are now called the Divya Desams of Vishnu. Most of these are in Tamil Nadu and Kerala. Foremost among the Azhwars is Sathagopan, or Nammazhwar, who was born deaf and mute but was given hearing and speech by the Lord upon meeting his disciple, Madhurakavi Azhwar. Sathagopan went on to translate the Samavedam into Tamil, calling it the Tiruvaymozhi.

Madhurakavi has sung only 11 hymns (pasurams) of the total of 4000 of all the Azhwars. Yet he is accorded a special place among them for a single reason. Unlike the others, Madhurakavi Azhwar did not sing of Mahavishnu directly or of any grand temples. His pasurams are all about his teacher. He saw God in Sathagopan and dedicated himself entirely to his service. Madhurakavi is therefore the epitome of gurubhakti. Recently, his 11 pasurams have been put to music in an incredibly beautiful way by the Perumal and Providence project along with Ashwath and Sumesh Narayanan.

Other sannidhis

At the southwestern corner is the shrine of Chakrathazhwar. This is none other than Sudarshana Murti, the disc of Mahavishnu. Behind Sudarshana Murti stands the ferocious Yoga Narasimha, the Adiyogi in Vaishnava tradition.

On the western side of the fortifications one can see the Vasanta Mandapam of Namperumal. It was closed to the public at the time of our visit. It consists of a beautiful garden and a stone mandapam.

On the northern side are temples to Thayar (Ranganayaki), Narasimha and others. We worshipped at both. 

There is a special game you can play near the temple of Venugopala here. Standing at a marked position, you are supposed to bend over and insert the fingers of your right hand into five holes in the floor. If you can see the Paramapada Vasal (a gate into the main temple) of Namperumal while standing in this position, you are apparently eligible for moksham!

On the eastern side one can see shrines to Kodandapani, Pattabhirama and Balagopala. At the southeast corner is the shrine of Ramanujacharya, where his mummified udal is kept to this day.

Amazed at what we had seen, we had forgotten all about food and water. By then it was past 9am and we were ready to eat. Over dosas and filter coffee, we decided to visit the Rock Fort temple in Trichy next.

Malaikottai—Thayumanavar and Uchipillaiyar

This is perhaps the oldest structure in the city of Tiruchirapalli. Malaikottai is a giant rock monument consisting of a number of shrines. Leaving our stuff at the bottom, we slowly climbed upwards through the inside of the rock-cut fort.

The most well-known shrine in this complex is that of Thayumanavar, or Matrubhuteswara. He is an aspect of Sadashiva. The story goes that Shiva appeared in disguise as a woman's mother to be a midwife for his devotee, who was stranded on the wrong side of the Kaveri when her water broke. Hence Thayumanavar—'he who also became a mother'. He dwells here in the company of Sugandhi Kuntalambal, Parvati.

The summit of the hill is a temple to Ganapati, called Uchipillai here. This is also connected in some way to the episode of the establishment of Srirangam. I am not sure of the exact sthala charitram.

Closing notes 

I never imagined this journey to be possible. The initial idea to visit Chidambaram occurred to Neeraj and me in November, when we visited Kanyakumari and were standing at the ticket counter on our way back. I wanted to go right then as a spontaneous trip, but Neeraj recommended that we plan a bit and go later, with more people. That was a good idea.

Eventually, we saw that returning to Kerala from Chidambaram was not possible without an exchange train. I suggested Srirangam for an exchange, and so we fixed that. Basil said he wanted to visit Thanjavur, increasing the number of destinations to four.

My first darshanam of Thillai Chidambaram is something I vividly remember down to the last detail. The incident was like Vishnu leading me to Paramashiva. It spoke to me at a spiritual, personal level. 

We know of many preachers and religious scholars today who bring their respective ideas to the masses through speeches and writings. I have little faith in them. To me, God is a deeply personal experience. It is impossible to talk about God when the speaker and listener have no emotional connection with each other. It is only through love, the strongest and most fiery emotion, that one man can talk to another about God. I think this is precisely what we experienced during this journey, and I am very grateful for it.

With Uchipillaiyar's darshanam, our teerthatana had come to an end. It was a weekend like no other, and one that we will keep talking about for a while.

Until next time,

Om Namo Narayanaya 🙏

Aravindan

Kshetra Yatra Day 2

The train that we were on, the Tiruchendur-Chennai Superfast, pulled into Chidambaram station at the break of dawn. Our second-class compartment was mostly empty by then. Walking around the town of Chidambaram, we asked a shop about a place where we could freshen up. The man directed us to a lodge. The place he recommended declined us, but empathetically directed us to another. We booked a room there for around two hours to shower and get ready.

Sannidhis in the Nataraja Temple 

From there we headed straight to the south gopuram of the grand temple. Adorning the inner walls of this gate were reliefs depicting Indian dance. Thillai Chidambaram is Natarajar, the lord of the dance. We left our bags and footwear outside and walked in. Seeing the vimanas of the grand sabhas as soon as we walked in was a profoundly spiritual experience.

We first worshipped Dakshinamurti, whose sannidhi is immediately in front of the south gopuram. Dakshinamurti is a bhāvam of Shiva representing wisdom and knowledge. Walking anticlockwise, we then worshipped Mukkuruni Vinayakar, who is Ganapati. Then was the sannadhi of Murugan in the company of Valli and Devasena. Reaching the north-western end of the temple, we saw the Sivagangai Theertham, the main temple tank. On this side, there are two large koyils to Sivakama Sundari Amman  (Parvati) and to Murugan. We worshipped at both. We did two memorable things near the Sivagangai Theertham. The first was standing on top of the prakaram around the pond at a point where one could see all four of the gopurams at once. The second was visiting the small temple of Durga popularised by the song 'Chinnanchiru Pen Pole...' (sivagangai kulatharike, sri durgai sirith irippaal).

Onwards in our pradakshinam, we saw the Aayiram Kaal Mandapam, held up by 1000 ornate granite pillars. This was formerly used as a chavadi, a resting place, for pilgrims. It is now closed, unfortunately, as was the entrance to the circuit around the temple tank. We then decided to receive Natarajar's darshanam.

South Gopuram. Own picture.

The southern fortifications. The copper roof of Pundarika Valli Thayar is also visible. On the left, outside the ramparts, is a large icon of Nandikesha and the sannidhi of Dakshinamurthi. Photo courtesy: SJ. 

Aayiram Kaal Mandapam. Own picture.

Thillai Kanakasabhayil Aadum Prabhuvallo!

Walking into the main entrance to the inner temple from the eastern gate, we found preparations for a puja going on, blocking the way in. We then decided to turn left and visit Govindaraja Perumal instead. Prostrating before Vishnu, we saw a glimpse of a sannidhi to our left. I wondered which deity it was. It struck me like a bolt of lightning that I was looking at him, Thillai Chidambaram, the Kanakasabhapati, the lord of countless songs that I had heard over the years. He was draped in red silk when we witnessed him, so much of it that we could not see his dancing feet well. He was covered in flowers of many colours.

After we saw him, the sphatika linga abhishekam began, where dhāra (pouring of offerings from above) is performed on a crystal lingam as the faithful standing outside chanted verses from the Thevaram. We left the compound to have breakfast after this ritual had concluded.

We received Natarajar's darshanam many more times that day... six or seven in all. It shocked us, I think, that such a great source of positive energy was now so easily accessible to us. We kept going back to see him. We got to see his dancing posture clearly from below where we were standing only the last two or three times.

We ate at a small gurukulam outside the temple, near its eastern gate. It is run by a deekshitar who teaches Samskrtam and has been conducting annadanam for over 17 years. We had an enlivening conversation with this deekshitar. He gave us some bhasmam as prasadam. 

A rasika's dream come true

The moment I arrived in the town to the time we left the temple compound, my mind was overflowing with Carnatic music. There are hundreds of outstanding compositions about this temple and the deity here. I alighted the station thinking of 'Saranagatam Endru Nambi Vanden' in Gowla. Then came 'En Appan Allava?' in Punnagavarali (popularised by the 1942 movie Nandanar) and then 'Thillai Chidambarame Allamal Verillai Sothanthirame' (Ashwath Narayan on RagamalikaTV) in Kapinarayani. Walking from our hotel to the gopuram I was reminded of 'Ananda Natana Prakasham' in Kedaram (OS Thiyagarajan for Manorama Music). When seeing the impressive stone ramparts from outside the southern gate for the first time, there is only one song anyone could think of: 'Ithuvo Thillai Chidambara Kshetram?' in Sindhubhairavi (Sanjay Subrahmanyan in Philadelphia, 2021). During the last few darshanams while we were there, when I saw Nataraja's feet clearly, I immediately remembered Papanasam Sivan's 'Aadum Daivam' (idathu paadam thookki aadum daivam, nee arulvaay...).

There is a rather uncommon kriti about the small Durga sannidhi near the pond in Chidambaram, popularised by Sirkazhi Govindarajan: 'Chinnanchiru Pen Pole' by Ulunthoorpettai Shanmugam (Sikkil Gurucharan at Margazhi Maha Utsavam 2023).

Brihadeeswara Temple: the Thanjavur Periyakoil

Thanjavur is around two hours on a train from Chidambaram. We took second class tickets again and awaited the Pondicherry-Kanyakumari Express to drop us off. This train, too, was crowded, but not as crowded as last night's. 

The Periyakoyil is a bit of a walk from here, around two kilometres. The huge vimanam of the temple can be seen from far away.

The gopuram of the compound containing the Brihadeeswara Temple.

This temple is a proper castle, with a huge moat (now dry), high stone walls and other intensive fortifications.  

The Brihadeeswara Temple's vimanam. Note the elliptical top. It is a mystery how the monolithic topping to this gopuram was put there.

Almost like the moon in Paramashiva's hair.

Twilight, when the temple lights were switched on.

Nightfall in Thanjavur. Excuse my astigmatic phone camera. The moon and Venus are visible in the sky, and on the earth, the house of their ruler.

With the overwhelming visit to Thanjavur, we were tired. Autoing back to the station, we took the Cuddalore Port-Mysore Express to Tiruchirappalli Junction, getting there at around 8:30pm. We had dinner at the nearby Guru's Mess, and took a bus to Srirangam, where we had a reservation for the night. The bus journey, 30 minutes as it was, was medicine to our exhausted senses. We saw the Rock Fort temple and the Rajagopuram of the Srirangam temple as the conductor loudly blasted some of the greatest Tamil music of the past 30 years. 

The Rajagopuram as seen from in front of our hotel.

We checked into our hotel past 10 and quickly went to sleep. Neeraj and I got some work done, too.

Kshetra Yatra Day 1

My friends Neeraj Menon, Siddharth S Jayan, Ashwin Pavithran and Basil Joshua Reji began a tour of various temples in Tamil Nadu today. Our journey began at Thiruvananthapuram North station, where we boarded the Kollam-Kanyakumari MEMU to Kanyakumari Terminus. The railway line south of Thiruvananthapuram is incredibly scenic. 

The fields where Kalliyankattu Neeli once roamed. Taken around Nagercoil town station.

The beach in Kanyakumari is a mere fifteen minute walk from the railway station. We successfully evaded auto drivers and walked to the beach. There, we changed into our bathing suits and went swimming in the meeting of the Arabian Sea and the Bay of Bengal. The water in Kanyakumari is always a bright blue colour. The high tide today made for great swimming. No pictures, sadly, as all of us were in the sea together.

Kanyakumari

This bath was a purification ritual for us before our worship at the temple of Kanyakumari Amman on the seashore. This is an ancient temple in the Tamil style. It is basically a stone building consisting of a walled fort-like compound, an inner temple and finally the sanctum sanctorum. The eastern gate of this temple is almost always closed in my knowledge, open only on occasions.

Devi Kanyakumari is a beautiful deity. She was adorned in sandal paste when we received her darsanam today, her nose ring distinctly shiny as always. Kanyakumari is a special temple to me for a few reasons, despite only having visited it for the third time today.

Serious as ever.

After our worship, we had coffee and tea and a couple of bananas to satiate our hunger—we had eaten nothing save some biscuits since rushing out of our examination at 12:30pm. We then boarded a train to Tirunelveli.

Reaching the city at 7:30pm, we had dosas at Gomathi's. We walked around the city centre a while and returned to the station to catch our exchange train to the next day.

Are selfies still a thing anymore?

Nanmalai Nerathu Mayakkam

While leaving our luggage at the railway station in Tirunelveli, the man at the counter told me and Neeraj that there would be no crowd on the train we were looking to board. And he was correct, in fact it was not a crowd, but the population of an entire town that had made themselves comfortable in these two second class compartments. The hurry to get in eventually separated Neeraj and Basil from me, Ashwin and Siddharth. While they got a seat rather fast, the three of us took turns sitting on the edges of seats, squatting on the floor and standing up until Madurai. Once the train reached Madurai, the crowd reduced ever so slightly and we could find ourselves proper seats. As I write this, the crowd has more or less disappeared and we are comfortably dozing off, waiting for our destination at 6am.

Siddharth on a rather cold Tamil night.

Harish Sivaramakrishnan at Changampuzha Park, 16 September 2024

I took a seat in this concert with no expectation of a 'strictly' classical concert. However, the main vocalist of Carnatic rock band Agam presented a kacheri that was as traditional as any kacheri in the modern day could get. Just before the concert began, I heard from the row in front of me that Harish was a maverick and that his popularity was mostly with the new generation of Carnatic rasikas, comfortably disconnected from 'traditional' Carnatic music. He dismissed all such beliefs, proving that he is a Carnatic rock musician precisely because he is a Carnatic musician.

Joining this outstanding vaggeyakara that evening were Sri Edappally Ajith on the violin, Sri Radhakrishna Kamath on the mridangam, Sri Vellattanjoor Sreejith on the ghatam and Sri Paravur Gopakumar on the morsing. 

Harish began the evening by testing the new venue's acoustics on the pallavi of Vatapi Ganapatim Bhajeham. This was an auspicious beginning not only for Harish, but for the renovated hall at Changampuzha Park as well. Singing the sloka 'Krishnaya Vasudevaya' in Reethigowla, he inaugurated his kacheri with the Tamil kriti 'Guruvayoorappane Appan' in the same ragam. It was rendered with the appropriate raga features, slowly, as Reethigowla usually is. The first among the sub-main pieces came next, in the ragam Saramati: 'Enna Thunivai Naan Bhayappattaal' of Marimuthu Pillai (of the Tamil Trinity). Chittaswarams strongly based on the aarohanam-avarohanam of Saramati added to the beauty of this piece. Bridging this sub-main and the next, 'Manamu Kavalanu Thalli' was sung in Sahana. The typical emotion of Sahana was subdued because of the speed of this kriti. Afterwards, raga alapanam and a violin solo in Varali prepared the audience for the famous 'Kaa Vaa Vaa'.

Breathing the mood of Onam into the hall, Harish moved on to performed a scintillating alapanam in Arabhi. Edappally Ajith's response to it on the violin was ephemeral. In a slight surprise, he sang a ragamalika virutham through Arabhi, Saveri, Surati and Bageshri, and thereafter in reverse order to Arabhi. The transition from Arabhi to Saveri he made that day still rings in my ears. Those 30 seconds alone can be used to dispel any doubt on whether Harish is a 'traditional' Carnatic musician. Edappally Ajith's support on violin to these adventures requires a blog post of its own!

The virutham introduced the Pancharatna kriti 'Sadhinchene O Manasa'. The rendition of this extremely popular kriti sent waves of goosebumps through the audience. The swarams were taken up by the violin, leaving the ettugada 'Samayaniki dagu mata ladene' and the charanasahityam to Harish. A little improvisation was performed on the ettugada before entering the swara-sahityam section.

'Sri Valli Devasenapate' in Natabhairavi was next. The ragam-tanam-pallavi of the night was in Brindavan Sarang, Harish's favourite ragam. Two bouts of alapanam and violin solo were followed by a tanam. As the tanam concluded, Radhakrishna Kamath took up the beat. The pallavi was

nathanai dinam ninai maname

brindavana saranga ranga-

No ragamalika swarams were sung. Following many bouts of swarams and pallavi, the thani started. Radhakrishna Kamath was undoubtedly the star of the exercise. Vellattanjoor Sreejith and Paravur Gopakumar both took part in the koraippu. It was an ecstatic twenty or so minutes with the three percussionists.

Harish then sang two famous thukkadas, 'Venkatachala Nilayam' in Sindhubhairavi and 'Kanden Sitaiye' in Bageshri and closed off with a percussion-less slokam in Madhyamavati.

The concert was recorded and will likely be online soon on the Edappally Sangeetha Sadas's YouTube channel.

EDIT: concert uploaded online here.

Building Computers in Minecraft 1: introducing logic in Redstone

Foreword

Minecraft is 15 years old! I can think of no other phenomenon that belongs to the children of the 2010s at such an emotional level. We grew up playing it, though some of us were too poor or too strictly raised to be able to buy the original version. I myself played it for many years in trial mode: playing in one world, in survival, for only 90 minutes until Mojang demanded that I pay, at which point I would be forced to delete everything I had made. I was elated once when a bug in Minecraft: Windows 10 Edition allowed me to use cheats in a world and extend my play time, and also enter creative mode. To me, this game has two disciplines: the crude and bitter realities of survival mode, and the godlike powers of creative mode.

This month, I bought Minecraft with the winnings from a quiz (another pastime of mine). Both family and friends have come forward to condemn this as a poor financial decision. But I do not regret what I have done, even a little. Minecraft is worth much more than its face value, around $50, to me. It is an indelible part of my childhood, as it is for millions of young men (and some women) around the world. Can we ever forget the antics of DanTDM, ExplodingTNT and the late Technoblade?

Minecraft's children are growing old. DanTDM is in his thirties and has a child. ExplodingTNT came out of the closet, revealing himself to be Armenian. I am myself 20 and just stepping outside the cradle of a carefree adolescence. While a fifteenth anniversary may be nothing in the grand scheme of anniversaries (it doesn't even have a special name), Minecraft's fifteenth is a remarkable event for our generation. In tribute, I have decided to write a series of posts tackling one of the least lucidly discussed attributes of Minecraft, which is Redstone engineering.

Redstone, for the non-miners, is Minecraft's equivalent of electricity. Different in many ways and similar in many to current, Redstone has been used by our elders before us to do amazing things, such as creating an x86 computer in the game. Microsoft even codenamed the Windows 10 OS 'Redstone' in honour of this wonderful mineral, that one can find deep in the tunnels that run under Minecraft worlds. In this series of posts, I will be discussing at a layman's level, how a rudimentary computer can be built with Redstone. I hope that I can interest at least a few people in the nuances of logic system and computer architecture design at a high level.

In order to accommodate the community of newbies, I have deviated from technical language and strictness in many places.

Let's get straight to it.

Features of Redstone

Redstone, by itself, refers to an underground mineral. Mineable by an iron or higher pickaxe, Redstone drops itself as a dust that can be placed by the player on top of any solid block. This dust immediately joins any similarly placed dust on the four blocks that share a side with its block to form a 'wire'.

If you place Redstone dust in the slot above a stick in crafting, you get a Redstone torch. This is one of many devices in the game that generate Redstone signal. Signal (non-standard word) is what simulates electricity in Minecraft, and it is transmitted by Redstone wires. Just as some things produce signal (think power source), some things can be activated by signal (think an appliance). An example of a Redstone-activated block is the simple light block, or 'Redstone lamp'. It turns on and glows when there is a signal on top of or laterally to it and is otherwise dark.

Redstone only joins vertically and horizontally. Diagonal wires are not possible. On the left, a Redstone torch's signal is transmitted by laid Redstone.

Redstone signal, when produced by most sources including torches, has a strength of 15. The strength of a signal decreases by 1 with each block that it is transmitted in any direction by a wire. Naturally, after 15 blocks, the signal disappears completely (= 0) and has to be reinvigorated by a special device called a redstone repeater.

If you ask me, this aspect of Redstone will infuriate you and me in the articles to come. Infinite strength Redstone would have made our job so much easier. I have not been able to think of a single application for this dissipation property in the context of logic design. For most of the applications in these articles, signal strength has no consequence: its value can be happily ignored as long as we avoid signal death using repeaters. 

The two light blocks are the same distance from the torch: 17 redstone wire. The signal dies out in the top wire, but is repeated in the lower wire and can power the light.

A Redstone torch can be placed not only on the ground, but also on the sides of blocks. This is of immense application as in this position, the redstone torch can be switched on and off by a signal. Look at the figure below. A Redstone signal approaching a block from the sides will turn off any torches on the other sides of the block (but not any on top).

A signal comes in, and turns off both torches.

No signal in. Both torches work as usual, transmitting through the wire on the ground.

Logic gates

Computers think and work in binary: 1s and 0s, on and off, redstone signal and no redstone signal. They do all of their computation with three basic operations, basically.

1. NOT - the 'NOT' of a signal is simply its opposite. NOT 0 = 1. NOT 1 = 0.

2. AND - this is, as the name suggests, an 'AND' gate that is 1 if both of the inputs are 1. A AND B = 1 if both A and B are 1. 1 AND 1 = 1, all other = 0.

3. OR - this is 1 if at least one input is 1. A OR B = 1 if A or B is 1. 0 OR 0 = 0, all else = 1.

These three things, implemented in hardware as 'gates', underly all computers. Every operation you can think of is achieved through some combination of these, some highly complex.

Does that first gate, NOT, sound familiar? Recall that a signal turns a torch on a block off, whereas no signal means a lit torch. This is a NOT gate! It gives out a signal if there is no input signal (0' = 1) and gives off no signal if an input signal is present (1' = 0).

The OR gate in Redstone is perhaps even simpler. If we join two Redstone wires, and both of them have an independent signal running in them, the joining will give an OR of the two: it will be high if at least one of the input wires is high.

From left to right: 0 OR 0, 0 OR 1, 1 OR 0, 1 OR 1. If either input is 1, the output is also 1.

The AND gate requires some thought. If you do not know much of Boolean algebra, skip the next few lines. We use de Morgan's law

(AB)' = A' + B' 

to construct a NAND gate. We then NOT the output of this with the earlier block-torch arrangement to get the NAND. All in all, there are three NOT gates at work here: not A, not B and the not of their OR combination.

In case you have skipped that on account of having enough direction in life so as to not blindly take STEM, here's another explanation. The "AND" gate is supposed to produce a signal if both its inputs have a high signal. To do this, we use the block-torch arrangement discussed a few paragraphs ago to get the inverted forms of both inputs. If both of those signals were originally 1, their inverses will both be 0. In any other case, at least one of their inverses will be 1: (0, 1), (1, 0), or (1, 1). Just combine the two signals with redstone wire. This is the inverse of an AND: it is 0 when both are 1, and 1 in any other case. It is called a NAND in technical language. Take the NOT of this using another block-torch arrangement to get the AND gate. 

An AND gate

Adding a single block-torch thingy to the output of the OR gate will give you the NOR gate, the inverse of the OR. Removing it from the tip of the AND will give us the NAND, of course. These gates in combination create all of computer science. They are all you need to understand the workings of a computer.

Some things:

1. Redstone can transmit vertically in many cases. Redstone wire can climb up one block at a time, in steps. This opens up opportunities to make our gates smaller. Smaller gates = smaller, more powerful Redstone computers. If you're feeling brave, figure out how to do this. Otherwise, leave it to my abstraction: I'll gloss over it in the coming articles.

2. There is an item known as a Redstone comparator. When it was designed, Notch (creator of the game) knew what it did and God also knew what its purpose was. As of today, God has forgotten and only the Swede knows. I don't quite understand what it does, either.

Next

In the next article, we will discuss the binary number system for dummies and create two basic elements of a computer in Redstone: an encoder and a decoder. These two components show up all over the computer system.

Chien de la Casse: a review

Alliance Française de Trivandrum recently screened the French arthouse production Chien de la Casse by Jean-Baptiste Durand. Short (1hr 33m) as it is, the movie is pure artistry, packed with philosophy and meaning. I've never brought myself to watch French movies before, and this was a good experience and an outstanding introduction to the world's oldest cinema industry for me. 

The movie is set in a village in the French Riviera whose name is mentioned only once ever. The main characters, Dog and Mirales, have been thick friends since the age of twelve. Their life is confined to their small village and their gaming and drinking parties, other than playing with Mirales' dog, Beefcake. Dog is aloof and disconnected from the world: he isn't very outgoing, doesn't talk until prompted and doesn't know where Quebec is. Mirales constantly taunts him for his lack of general knowledge, calling him un imbecile heureux (a happy idiot). Mirales himself is a low-key drug dealer with a surprising intellect, picking up knowledge from books and the French philosopher Montaigne. 

The plot begins to unfold as Dog gives a ride to a girl in their village, returning from university in Nantes. They start seeing each other often, to the distaste of the jealous Mirales. He is shocked by Dog's lack of care about him and his never-before excitement about spending time with his new girlfriend. The all too common trope of a straight man torn between his love interest and his male friends.

The movie has a lot of messages. The characters are trapped in the small world of their village. No one is trying to escape, and no one wants to. Mirales, downtrodden as he is, is one of the few who have any sense of life outside their area. His world has been expanded by his habit of reading books and his love for philosophy. However, Mirales struggles to keep a good friendship with Dog and seems to secretly envy his life. Dog is the mirror image, the negative print, of Mirales. He does not know much about anything except the village, but is more successful with people.  Like the villages of Kerala, this part of the French outback is also home to an aging population. There are few people there under 40 and almost of them are wasting their lives away to vice. The few who are staying afloat are struggling. 

All in all, Chien de la Casse is a great watch for those who like art films. The institute is set to screen more movies in the days to come, and I can't wait for more.

RIP Ustad Rashid Khan

Yesterday, the Indian music community lost one of the greatest Hindustani vocalists of the era. I think it is impossible to talk about Hindustani music today without talking about Rashid Khan; to borrow an expression, it would be like going on and on about the Ramayanam without ever saying the word 'Rama'. He entertained and inspired two generations of singers, instrumentalists and rasikas and his death at a tender 55 has come as a shocker.

 
There was a phase in my life (2017-20) when I listened almost exclusively to North Indian and Pakistani classical and semi-classical music. On those journeys, I came across many great musicians, and Rashid Khan was perhaps the greatest khayal singer on that list.

Yaman: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oSEuCJSnu94

A khayal piece. An amazing Tarana (thillana, as its rough equivalent is known in the Carnatic system) begins at 16:30.

Puriya Dhanasree: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0VB7jujlb5o

Half an hour of great khayal.

Another Puriya Dhanasree: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r07elWu_ksA

This is a composition, a bandish, called Payaliya Jhankaar.

Ahir Bhairav: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5k_QRPlk3w0

This is the composition Albela Saajan Aayo Re.

Bhairavi: https://youtu.be/ypptEgFcT88?si=cIKB5JMaBz1L0ycM

This is a very popular thumari in Bhairavi, Bajuband Khul Khul Jaye.

This last composition here, Bajuband Khul Khul Jaye, has quite some depth to it. I've been told that it means 'bracelet': from baju. Here, khul jaana means to fall off. Apparently, she or he is so madly in love that she is not eating and their arms have grown frail. Another interpretation is that their bracelets have been taken off by their beloved. The rest of the poem goes: Sawariyan ne kaisa jaadu dala re. What kind of magic has my sawariyan, 'dark-skinned one', brought unto me? This is referring to Krishna, and perhaps the poet or (more likely) poetess is imagining themselves to be a gopika. Jaadu ki pudiyaan pal pal maare, kya karein baid bechara re? The arrows of magic are striking me each moment; what can the helpless doctor do?

Redesign

 I imagine that many posts here will be about Carnatic music and technology in the days to come, and so a redesign from my old "public diary" style felt necessary.

The title, Ennamo Vagaiyay Varuguthu Maane, is from a Ghanam Krishna Iyer composition beautifully rendered by Sanjay Subrahmanyan, music by T S Sabesha Iyer. It roughly means ''O deer (deer-like girl), some strange feelings have conquered me." This is my exact mental state when it comes to making any decision, writing any article or just sitting somewhere on a fine sunny day. Although for me, those feelings are far less romantic than what Ghanam intended when he wrote the song.

The layout is also a lot simpler, reminiscent of the good old days of the Internet in the early 2010s and late 2000s.

Sanjay Subrahamanyan at the Navaratri Mandapam, 2023

One fine September afternoon in Trivandrum. Own picture.

As I wrote earlier on this blog, Carnatic stalwart Sangīta Kalānidhi Sanjay Subrahmanyan performed in Thiruvananthapuram at the Padmanabhaswamy Temple's annual Navaratri concert last week. These concerts, one for each of the nine evenings, are held in the Navaratri Mandapam in the Kuthiramalika Palace, near the temple's eastern gate. He was performing on the sixth, for which Maharaja Swati Tirunal has composed the Kamavardhani kriti 'Saroruhasana Jaye'. Only the compositions of Swati Tirunal are performed here.

I was slightly late to the show. The city's traffic held up the bus I had boarded, and I could only reach the temple by 18:05. I felt embarrassed: concerts like those at the Navaratri Mandapam are not meant for people without a sense of punctuality. In fact, Prince Rama Varma had written on his blog that no one would be allowed to come late. There is also the rule that patrons cannot leave before the concert ends: this concert is not for those in a hurry, either! Fortunately, I could still enter. I quickly changed into the temple's dress code and left my luggage at the cloak room (I had two large bags with me because I was catching a night train after the concert). As I was late, the Mandapam was already full and I had to take a seat on the walkway outside with many other rasikas, including a friend from college who lived near the temple.

Sanjay started his concert with a Sanskrit song in Kedaram, 'Paramānanda Naṭana Mām Pāhi'. This was a meditative piece that correctly set the mood for the rest of the evening. It was slightly surprising that Sanjay started a concert at a Vishnu temple with a song on Shiva. Up second was a more popular kriti, 'Sarōjanābha Dayārṇava Mām Ava' in Chakravakam. This song has been immortalised in the Keraliya consciousness by Dr K J Yesudas.

That song was followed by an ālapanam that seemed (to me) very Huseni-esque. My friend reassured me that the ragam was Bhairavi, and it was easy to see then why that was the case. I am terrible at distinguishing the serious sounding ragams. The violin solo ensued, confirming Bhairavi to me. The song was 'Pālaya Dēvadēva', a relatively lesser-known composition. There was outstanding swarakalpana with the piece, and Sanjay and his regular violinist Varadarajan got to bring out their typical chemistry.

The next ālāpanam was in Chalanatta (identified by the friend's sister). Once I heard it was Chalanatta, I knew what song it was going to be: the version of 'Jaladhisutā Ramaṇēṇa hi Sō'ham' popularised by Sanjay in that ragam. I have not been able to find who composed the Chalanatta rendition of this song, and so I will desist from saying anything more than that Swati Tirunal originally composed it in Behag. The Chalanatta version has also been adopted by Sanjay's students; Vivek Sadashivam sang it in May this year at his Edappally Sangeetha Sadas concert on the occasion of Swati Tirunal day.

Two short bridge pieces connected Chalanatta to the day's main kriti. The first was the familiar 'Vihara Manasa Rame' in Kapi and then 'Ānandavallī' in Neelambari. Then came a long ālāpanam in Panthuvarali/Kamavardhani, and the violin solo. Then an elaborate tānam. The night's main kriti, 'Saroruhasana Jaye' was then sung. There was a fantastic swarakalpana afterwards. The Kamavardhani episode went on for nearly an hour, including the thaniavarthanam by Neyveli Venkatesh and kañjira vidvān Alathur Rajaganesh. It was only then that I realised there was no ghaṭam in the concert!

After the thani, Sanjay sang 'Japath Japath Hari Nām', a kriti originally in Todi but put to music in a chaturrāgamālika by Prince Rama Varma: Mand, Sushama, Behag and Sindhubhairavi.

The entire concert is available online on All India Radio's (Trivandrum Studio) YouTube channel.

Intercity Diaries, Pt 1

 He took out his grey earpods and stuck them in, deep. He was now seated in the train, in a car that by its looks seems to have been coupled onto the others ages ago and repeatedly dragged from each end, back and forth, for hundreds of miles, every day. The unreserved cars on the Intercity were packed with people as usual, but fortunately, no one could be seen standing anywhere and a few of the three-seater chairs had only two occupants. He could eventually find a seat, and retired to his favourite music.

Indian classical. Not many people are into that. Especially not people his age.    

The train hesitated to leave Trivandrum Central. It was already two minutes past five-thirty and the crowd was not in the mood for a languid, laidback journey. Youths, probably here because one of their friends' sister got married, stood in the vestibule after realising how late they had arrived to secure a seat. The crowd clears after Kollam, someone consoled them. Proud government officers with their glistening blue ID cards asserted their punctual arrival, leg-on-leg, sitting comfortably on the edges of the old seats, hoping their importance would drive the train faster. Somewhere, a police officer was offered a seat by a young girl who wished instead to stand in the doorway with her boyfriend.

By the time the boy had taken in all of what was happening around him, the train had left and was slithering out of the city, waiting for the opportunity to pick up speed. He glanced at his phone. 17:37. Another four hours until his destination.

He recalled his journey that morning for some reason. He had hurried out of the house, his stomach mostly empty, and bought himself a sleeper to Varkala on the Trivandrum Mail. Near the seat he found sat an elderly Brahmin. He did not look a day younger than eighty. He noticed what the boy was playing on Spotify, and struck up a conversation about Carnatic music. He told the boy, like a proud grandfather who had fought a war, how he listened to G N Balasubramaniam in the flesh, how he shook M S Subbulakshmi's hand, and how he had procured the autograph of Madurai Mani Iyer. The 19-year-old had never been so piqued by a man ever before.

Before he knew it, the train had brought him back to Varkala, where he was earlier that day. He checked the app on his phone, learning that the train was running 12 minutes late; actually a handsome kind of punctuality for this shaky contraption. As some got up and alighted the Intercity, a few got on. A noticeable figure among them was this other boy in a white shirt. He looked out of place in that coach, surrounded by travellers bored out of their wits. He almost looked happy and content.

Seeing him fumble for a seat with his bags still on his body, our original character led him to the seat right next to his. He smiled and sat down. He realised how good he looked for someone doomed to take the Intercity. As soon as he sat down, he took out a pair of earphones and stuck them in, proceeding to connect the other end to his phone. Our hero, now with his ears free, slid his phone back into his pocket and attempted to strike up a conversation.

    "Where are you getting down?"

The rattling bogey assured him that his charisma would fail. His new friend did not hear him. A while later, he lifted his eyes from his phone and looked around, and saw his neighbour trying to communicate. He promptly pulled his earphones out, stopped what he was doing and started to talk.

---

This story was interrupted as the mental peace of its author was disturbed at Kollam Junction railway station by an influx of loud women. To be continued.

Sanjay Subrahmanyan at Thureeyam 2023

Source: MD Madhusudan, Wikimedia Commons.

My parents and I visited North Kerala last weekend merely to listen to Sanjay Subrahmanyan, undoubtedly my favourite artist, who was performing at Thureeyam. For those unaware, this is an annual music festival organised by the Sampujya Krishnananda Bharati Swamigal of the Anandabhavana Ashramam of Pothamkandam, Kannur. Many great musicians have performed here, and this year's iteration Involved TMK, Jayanthi Kumaresh and Hariprasad Chaurasia, to name a few.

The evening of the 15th of July, Sanjay was joined by his regular team of S Varadarajan on the violin and Neyveli Venkatesh on the mridangam, and on the ghatam by the illustrious Tripunithura N. Radhakrishnan. He began with a medium-paced padam in Gambheera Natta, 'Hara Hara Shiva Shankara', which rasikas may know from his Tamizhum Naanum concert in 2019. The piece soon escalated into the next speed. The percussionists got to show their mettle as he stepped it up yet another kaalam, each letter of the lyrics being distinct nevertheless. The night's next piece was 'Janani Ninnu Vina' in the serious Reetigowla. As in most of his concerts, he followed up a Tamizh introduction with a Telugu starter.

Up next came the first piece that night that kept ringing in my head for days after the concept. Begada is one of Sanjay's favourite ragams. He does not like calling it his favourite, and as he said in one of his YouTube videos, it is just one that his guru parampara treasures in their unique style. It was the Telugu kriti 'Anudinamunu Kavum Ayya Adi Venkateshwara' by Ramnad 'Poochi' Sreenivasa Iyengar. His treatment of the ragam was extremely memorable. 

Then came a long alapanam and violin solo in Ranjani, and the kriti 'Bhooloka Kumari',  based off a poem of Bharatiyar and set to music by Sanjay's gurunathar, Calcutta Krishnamurthy swami. My lack of familiarity with this ragam prevented me from appreciating it fully, but I can say without exaggeration that the piece did not bore me—even a cough from Sanjay could not possibly bore anyone! He followed this up with a 'bridge' piece, Swati Tirunal's 'Maamava Jagadeeswara', in the ragam Saraswati Manohari (think 'Enthavedu Kondu Raghava').

Crossing that aristocratic bridge, we came to the evening's main piece, and the one that we most thoroughly enjoyed. Muthuswami Dikshitar's 'Sri Subrahmanyo Maam Rakshatu' sent the audience into thrills after an alapanam and violin solo in Todi. Sanjay's garlands of swaras reminded me of his various Todi recordings I've listened to over the past two years. 'GA-RI-SA-ni-dha' seemed to be a pattern that he comes back to a lot during the swara rain and the preceding neraval. All of a sudden, his stunning bombs of swaras were gracefully interrupted by Neyveli Venkatesh, who began an elaborate thani with Tripunithura. The two battled ecstatically for close to fifteen minutes. The sad end of 'Sri Subrahmanyo Maam Rakshatu' was then marked.

The beginning of the end of the concert was 'Payum Oli Nee Enakku' in Khamas, a romantic Bharatiyar kriti. The music is by Sanjay himself. This was an enjoyable kriti that all in the audience savoured irrespective of listening experience or their liking for Raga music. The rare Salaka Bhairavi ragam followed in the Purandara Dasar composition 'Enu Madirenu'—also strong and likeable, though I was left scratching my head for the identity of the ragam.

He then sang, as he does a lot of mangalams, the Thiruppugazh 'Amudham Ooru' in Sindhu Bhairavi and bid the audience goodbye with the Sowrashtram mangalam. It was an unforgettable 2.5 hours of music with him and most in the audience were brought to their feet.

Meanwhile, I learnt that another concert by the Trichur Brothers was scheduled in Trivandrum the next day. While I would have gone had Monday been a working day, we decided instead to hang out in Malabar for another day: it was my first time in that part of Kerala. The next day we did a little sightseeing, went to the beach near Bekal Fort and stepped in the ocean for the first time in my life. What a weekend it's been—I listened to Sanjay for the first time and got my feet wet by the ocean for the first time.

Here's to many more kutcheries! Sanjay will probably be back in Kerala for concerts at the Kuthiramalika Palace and the Navaratri Mandapam, and I will hopefully be in Trivandrum to attend them both.

An untitled story

The old man took his umbrella, turned around and walked away. The boy looked on at the figure hurrying somewhere in the rain and thought a hundred things. They were light years away from one another when they met and now they were moving yet many tens of meters away, the boy thought. Their lights, propagating through the ocean of lives, met for a brief instant, likely never to meet again. But what is separation? Many tens, hundreds of meters, light years the man must now have walked. He felt he himself had walked that walk once, in another life, another time, another pocket of reality. The rain fell on their earth incessantly, washing away the last starlight of a conversation.

The boy then recalled how their meeting had begun. The man wanted to board a bus and he had to tell him that there was no stop anywhere nearby. A taxi, too, was impossible to come across. He told him as well as he could the way to the nearest stop. The man then sat and undid his satin black umbrella, coercing the boy into a chat. His school, how well he studied, his parents, friends. Then he looked out into the rain one last time.

The boy now stood in his position. Looking at the white sky and the unending rain. Another river of thoughts flowed by. A current of water washed down the dust from an ancient gutter. Leaves laughed in the wind. Time passed slowly and languidly, ferrying the boy's thoughts through the valley of life.

Then the old man took his umbrella, turned around and walked away.

I was forced to write a story in 'Professional Communication' class, where engineering students learn and forget the intricacies of language and good communication. I was told that it had to end 'and then the old man took his umbrella, turned around and walked away.' —AST