Edible Shoots

      I  often slip into thinking that our son Ansu serves as a kind of metaphor for my own mind. Before I tell you how, let me say a few words about something that has puzzled me for a really long time. I haven’t really solved the puzzle yet. Here it is: I just don’t know if I should thank God or ask him to pity me for giving me a mind with unbridled curiosity. I guess this is a more dangerous, and at the same time more desirable, time for a curious mind than any other period in human history. It may thrive if it can dwell in one place and on one thing at a time, but perish (or just survive) if it keeps pursuing everything that irresistibly tempts it to wander. There is a constant array of fascinating things that jumpstarts the mind, making it hurtle along like a hound in hot pursuit of an unexpected prey.   Curiosity, as a matter of fact, does favor those who can keep it focused until something concrete or useful can be brought about from it. But what if that doesn’t seem to b

      Of all the love letters I have ever seen, the most poignant and enchanting ones are from two  literary works.You may call it novellas. The first one is   Letter from Peking  by Pearl S. Buck and the other one is Premalekhanam by Vaikom Muhammad Basheer.I strongly recommend both of them.Especially for those who cant stand a thick volumes of prose fictions.   My dear wife, First Before I say what must be said, let me tell you that I love only you....( The novel begins with this letter which is something we cant forget for life) Here is the original work in Malayalam from Premalekanam.     "My dearest Saraamma, When life is at its most intense state of youth, and one's heart has reached its most beautiful state of love, how does my dearest friend while away her time during this rare and short-lived beautiful period of life? As for me, I am living each moment of my life with my mind stirring hopelessly in love with my Saaraama. What about Saaraamaa?

  The word “capricious” is often found naturally paired up with the word “desert”. It took a few years of living in a desert country for me to really understand the spirit of this union. Mood swings could be a genetically inherited disease for desert-dwellers. And the desert seems very proud of its capriciousness, so it never misses a chance to wear it on its sleeves. We may observe the same among our friends and acquaintances. But none of them appear to be exhibitionistic about it, whereas the desert is.  The desert changes its moods more often than its inhabitants. Just think of the wide range of colors, and the ever-shifting weather, which forces the desert-dwelling animals, birds, reptiles, and insects into their own survival modes like aestivation or hibernation. These animals know their habitat best and are highly adaptable. Hence they make their homes – their own microenvironments – in the oases, depressions, holes, and rocky inclines. Surprisingly, they are very cho

     Every time I take a tea break during my teaching hours, I ponder how it came to be that “tea” forms the first three letters of  the word “ teacher” or “teaching”. And ironically enough, no teacher education program ever mentions even a single word about this. The English faculty at King Khalid University in Saudi Arabia, where I work, consists of teachers from 15 nationalities. One of the most obvious common traits I get to notice among them is taking tea. It provides me with the social proof that at least one thing I do as a teacher is commensurate with international teaching standards.Hats off to all tea-taking teachers from four continents.      Recently, I was selected as an invigilator for IELTS examinations. IELTS, as you may know, is  co-owned and administered by Cambridge English Language Assessment, the British Council, and IDP Education. In their special instructions to invigilators, I found a word of caution against having tea in the examination hall as the aroma ma

                   I was born into a world of Marigolds, and grew up with them. I used to marvel at this romantic monsoon guest in our front yard garden every year. The display of colors it showcased, the fragrance it spread in the surroundings, the bees and butterflies it attracted, the very ambiance it created with its vigorous growth of aromatic rich green leaflets ... what a carnival this created in my little world of wonder.   The monsoon was a kind of fajr azan (morning call for prayer from mosques) for the Marigold in hibernation. All the seeds lying buried under a thin layer of dust coated in dry leaves emerged after the first drop of rain. The growth of the vegetation after the first rains blanketed an entire geography in emerald green. Nothing amazed me more after the daily light, sound and color show of dusk and dawn giving a backdrop to the day-night transition rituals of every day. The first drop of rain, the exotic scent of the soil, the variet