In recent times I started the habit of reading blogs by some well known bloggers. Most of the pages I found were a reflexion of the weeping hearts in the memories of their homeland. Yes, it was true for me too in all respects. In the struggle for existence race, I am also weeping inside about my home land. For some persons in my generation, itz the greatest sorrow that facing. Because most of us are in the new path opened up by the IT giants who were working outside kerala in 24 X 7 shifts. For most of us the environment is limited up to the next cubicle. Yes, the world is reducing to a small global village, surprisingly our thoughts and mind also reducing to the small cubicle that we are in, friendship is limited to the scraps in the orkut profile or the sms thatz being forwarded or maximum to the G Talk buddies.
Now it seems like a fairy tale to me, the childhood memories. The rains that we drenched, the muddy village roads that we used as our playgrounds, the big banyan tree that we used to gather in the evenings, the morning rush to collect flowers for the “pookkalam” during onam days, the “pooram” - the temple festival - that we loved to attend, the golden memories that might never come again…
The weekends that I used to spend with my grandfather and grandmother were awesome. The scenic beauty of the village house and surroundings attracted me a lot. They were the less explored villages by the modern amenities and extravaganzas till date. The river flowing nearby was crystal clear even in the monsoons, directly carrying the beauty of the forest that it hails from. The temple nearby the river and its surroundings remains as the unforgettable memories. The coldest mornings in the winter, the sunny days we like to have tender coconut in the midday, the monsoon rainy evenings I enjoyed. It was true that whenever I was living in my homeland I was not at all aware of the value of the surroundings I am having and how lucky I am. Now living in this concrete forest, running along with the city in the never ending race towards time, the purely artificial relationships that I am experiencing here, the abrupt monsoon that I see here, the crowded streets that I see every evening, make me think of the homeland.
Now changes are visible everywhere, and it is drastic. The festivals are changed to the celebration of television channels. The “Block Buster Films” are consuming most part of our festival days. Media has taken complete control of your routine life. I remember those days, were the morning radio programs worked as clock in the morning rush. They were coinciding with the daily routine. But now the program timings make you to finish work before it commences. The seasonal changes and traditions are now marketed by the multinationals. Recently in the month of “karkkidakam” where people refreshes themselves with the traditional medicinal plant and extracts. I happened to hear my friend asking his mother about the instant medicinal kit that available in the market under the label karkkidakam special. Yes, everything comes under the label instant and ready to mix. Life is changing….
Now changes are visible everywhere, and it is drastic. The festivals are changed to the celebration of television channels. The “Block Buster Films” are consuming most part of our festival days. Media has taken complete control of your routine life. I remember those days, were the morning radio programs worked as clock in the morning rush. They were coinciding with the daily routine. But now the program timings make you to finish work before it commences. The seasonal changes and traditions are now marketed by the multinationals. Recently in the month of “karkkidakam” where people refreshes themselves with the traditional medicinal plant and extracts. I happened to hear my friend asking his mother about the instant medicinal kit that available in the market under the label karkkidakam special. Yes, everything comes under the label instant and ready to mix. Life is changing….
Even though I am laughing outside, the life in the city I enjoy, the original “me” inside is weeping. But for my generation these are enjoyable as some childhood memories. For the coming generations they are more likely to be a fairy tale, which they never experienced… may be the one they never regret about….
