Horses unknown

 A strange spectacle of two horses amazed me when I was returning from a place near Triveni Junior College of Bhadrachalam. The two gorgeous animals trudge back and forth in the limited space of the street. Clueless and mysterious as to where those ones ended up here. Fortunately, they were lingering amicably in the close proximity of onlookers.

Animals do understand the body language of people swiftly and act accordingly. Perhaps, they have been brought in by some nomadic people. It is quite common to see nomadic shepherds from Madhyapradesh, Chattisgarh, and Kutch, rearing their own cattle across the fields.

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Bhadrachalam

 The statue of Bhadra Maharshi can be seen once you disembark at the roadside of the temple town's entry point. The town's name is derived from the sage, and a statue of him was established some years ago. It looks beaming with a colorful presence. In the background, a dhwaja sthambham can be seen, taller in front of the Abhayanjaneya Swami temple.

Visitors coming from far-off places to have a darshan of the temple have to cross the bridge to enter the town. Some people who used to come in their own vehicles would take a turn from the alley of this temple and end up at the ghats of the Godavari River to take holy dips. Weekend days seem to witness more footfall compared to other days.

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Looking out of the window

 The first thing I saw when I woke up was my window. It lets in some fresh air and offers a fascinating scene of green trees, where birds chirp without making a loud noise. Usually, I see parrots and sparrows. I thought that whoever was there made them awake at a certain time to start their life afresh daily. There was another pertinent question about how they remember their route to come back to their nests. The trees were exactly in front of my window, and every day they didn't skip their routine time to wake up and start chirping. It was such a beautiful place to be, but I happened to get left at the house for some reason.

caption: Way to my residence

At present, looking out of the window is interesting in some other way. Different plants would be seen soon after opening the window. Sometimes, monkeys would come and linger around them. They are very clever and fearless. If we try to hoodwink them, they start on their other side to disturb things. Until or unless we maintain eye contact, they don't try to harm us. They don't like people staring at them. For some reason, these days monkeys are not being seen around here. They must have gone somewhere. The window gives a micro presence of the world. 

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If I could relive one ordinary day...it would be !

 

We have been in a serene and spiritual ambiance today. It has materialized at this moment due to our stars unfurled into blessed realms. Siddhasramam or Pothuluri Veerabrhmendra Swamy Asramam is located in a hillock, and the place is exactly at Peda Bandirevu. It's on the way to Parnasala.

When I saw it at a certain distance during the bus journey, graffiti-like letters beamed on a plank as there was an asramam. On inquiry, people said that on the hillock, there was a Sadhu in a hut, and he was living in his yogic practices. It seemed that he was not a publicity seeker like many others. I was enthusiastic to meet him. But it became a reality this day, almost after three decades.

I usually care not a fig if it's about a fake swamy, but here he was well known for his simple manners and spiritual practices. Let me get into my own account on the visit. Now, a modest temple is there on the hillock dedicated to Lord Siva. And the photograph of the Swamy or Sadhu is hung over there on the inner wall. What a heavenly atmosphere with such a variety of greenery.

A cool breeze started exploding across the hillock, and eye eye-feasting surroundings made us awestruck. Mango, neem, and peepal trees, apart from other naturally grown thickets, are there. An ethereal destination sans the hustle and bustle of daily life. It's a place where a yogi performed penances and left so peacefully without much ado for worldly comforts.

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Hardest good bye said

 Sabbati Vishnu Murthy (ACP) passed away a few days ago. He was our batchmate from 1984 to 1987, when we graduated. As far as I know, he was one year younger than I was in our studies.

And he was two years younger than me in age. Memories flooded my mind while watching his death memorial service card, which will be held in line with Buddhist rituals.

He has been a firebrand since our college days. He actively participated in all kinds of student agitations. He was well-built and his baritone voice commanded respect.

Occasionally, he would tell his friends about his plans to join the police department. He fulfilled his dreams and rose to the position of ACP.

I lost touch with him after he joined the department, but I would read about him in the news. I never imagined his death would come so early.

Our lives are not in our hands; it's all in the will and wish of the Almighty. Life offers different things to different people, and we cannot predict our final journey. My sincere condolences to the departed soul.

--- Murthy Kvvs

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The most unexpected teacher

 The most unexpected teacher in my life is more than one. However, I would like to mention one teacher in particular, namely our local library. Learned many lessons that are useful throughout all these years. Read many novels, stories, and daily papers without fail. Moreover, it gave me good friends who are interested in reading and traveling. The library is not only a platform for reading, but is also used for different cultural activities. Learned the value of silence from the ambiance of the library. I maintained cordial relations with almost all librarians.

By reading various travelogues, I got inspired to take journeys at an early stage of my life. One such effort was to meet a writer cum painter, Sri Sanjiv Dev. He was living in the Guntur district in those years, and my first travel was aimed at meeting that great person at his house. Thus, my travel life continued for many years, and I learned many valuable lessons throughout my life. All this became possible with only our local library. That has become an unexpected teacher if I look back now.   

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Skills learned outside of school

 Diplomacy—that's what I learned by focusing on the ways of society. I was not aware of the importance of diplomacy in everyday life.  I was used to expressing my ideas freely. I was, in short, open-minded. Always following the academic books as the ultimate truth makes one naive, and it happens due to a lack of real-life experiences. Revealing our plans at their earliest stage is certainly doomed, and it's how some people around us work against us to achieve triumph. In this uncertain world, when a friend turns into a foe, it is unimaginable. Therefore, it's not always advisable to express our opinions freely.

Relatives are another level of people who are always jealous of our success, of course, in secret. On the same grounds, we can't cut off all our transactions with them. That's even more dangerous. One should be careful in revealing our new projects. Otherwise, they grab our opportunities and foil our efforts. As we have been interacting with different kinds of people in the world, we come to know them. And no school teaches us the intricate ways of the human mind. Self-experience is the only true way to gain insight; at times, we misinterpret sweet words or displays of affection as the individual's genuine character.

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Something I once gave up but returned to

I began writing throughout my plus two days. It's tough to remember my first poem, but the first one that was published in Praja Sakthi, a Telugu daily, occurred while I was studying for my degree. Happiness knows no bounds, which motivates me to write more in succession. 

 Many of my early essays and stories were published in the magazine "Kathanjali," which was published from Chennai but is in Telugu.

 Unfortunately, the monthly journal was discontinued following the death of its publisher/editor, Sri Raghavachary. I should be grateful to the gentleman for encouraging me as an aspiring writer. 

My writing has taken a back seat since I got married. I should clarify that the key causes are a focus on employment and additional businesses undertaken to supplement income. 

 Both made me a practical person rather than a dreamer. Writing requires imagination, as well as interaction with others who share your interests. There was no internet available there. Those days were completely different.

 I had a strong desire to write, but my idleness kept me from making any headway with my pen. What immediate benefit will I derive from devoting time to that? My thoughts were such. In reality, I stopped writing for over ten years.

It's very interesting how I came back to writing articles and other creative pieces. A friend suggested that I translate an English novella into Telugu. That novella was also my favorite one, and I started translating.

 By the way, that translation work has been sold in a good number and has made me popular among the readers of the Telugu language. That's how I got returned into writing habit. Writing can never be a profession in our country, with a few notable exceptions.

--- Murthy Kvvs

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Small act of kindness I will never forget

 Almost seven years back, I was at Berhampur. I had just arrived for a friend's book launch. As you all know, a considerable chunk of Telugu people are there, as it is a neighboring state. I have taken a room near the railway station.

 The program is scheduled for the next morning. So, I have leisure time in the evening. I decided to take a guided tour of the town. The railway station in Berhampur is adorned with artistic walls that depict local luminaries and folklore details. Kept watching bit by bit with enthusiasm.

 I have taken some refreshments too. I also enjoyed reading local English publications.  Oriya people who write in their vernacular language also mostly write beautiful English. I understood it by going through several Oriyan writers. I also gained insight from reading local English publications.

They have created towering bilingual authors like Manoj Das, Sitakanta Mahapatra, and Jayanta Mahapatra, and so on. But the Oriya people are down to earth and not boastful of their greatness, as I discerned about things there. 

My respect has increased more with one particular incident. I checked my wallet to buy a book at the station. My heart started pounding. There was no wallet in my pocket, and I found it missing elsewhere. But I certainly missed my wallet at the station; there must have been skillful pickpockets around here.

 All of a sudden, my judgment changed about the state. Deep down somewhere, my conscience was warning me against my unguarded thoughts. Helplessly lingering around the ticket counter.

A young person, who could be 20 years of age or older, approached me and asked whether I had lost my wallet. I said yes and gave some details about the wallet contained in it. He told me that it was found on the floor while he was having tea, and fortunately, he was the first one to see it. 

My happiness knows no bounds. He handed me the wallet and refused the amount when I tried to give it to him. It may have been a small act of kindness for him, but I was filled with immense joy, and I will never forget it in my life.  

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The book I have read the fastest

  Ruskin Bond's novella The Blue Umbrella is the one that I have read the fastest in the recent past. Both children and adults can enjoy the narrative of Bond's unique style. Children would go to their imaginative world while the adult readers slip into their childhood. His descriptions are quite natural, and the theme selection is deceptively alluring. Even the way he names the characters sounds prone to hearing in our surroundings. This novella is all about a fancy umbrella that is owned by a village girl, Binya. It caused jealousy among the villagers, including the petty shop owner  Ram Bharosa. He wanted to own it, but he failed to get it even by offering money.

The umbrella was a unique one and not available in the nearby towns. It was fortunately owned by the girl Binya from a family who arrived in the forest for a picnic. She bartered for a tiger nail. The family thought that the tiger nail brought good luck; thus, she had the blue umbrella. For her, it's a prized possession, and she keeps it held always whenever she goes to rear cows in the forest. Ram Bharosa offered money to own it, but was denied by Binya. Raja Ram, the boy who works for the shop owner, took it as a challenge to grab it from her. He snatched away while she was working in their fields.

She lamented losing such a beautiful umbrella. Her brother Bijju came to know it and caught Raja Ram in the forest near the village. There was a duel that took place between them, and the umbrella reached Binya, fortunately. Villagers got to know the cunning attempt of Ram Bharosa, and they all stopped buying anything from the shop owner. In that way, the business of  Ram Bharosa took a dangerous toll. How Binya and Bijju came to terms with Bharosa was a smooth twist in the story. This small book reveals the value of honesty and forgiveness. Archana Srinivasan's illustrations are suitable and eye-feasting.  Available on the Amazon platform.

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