Nair, who later became the managing director and managing editor of Mathrubhumia widely circulated Malayalam newspaper. Sreekantan Satya Pal Wahi. Padmanabhan Anand Kovilan C. Vainu Bappu Prafulla Desai A. Balamani Amma Umashankar JoshiK. Posthumous conferral — — — — — — — Guptan Nair Kovilan O.
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Therefor,my son, Go forward. Because ,the the last part makes it clear that they are the ancestors who control the stary heavens. And they are eagerly watching over to find the inner growth of the child as their successor to take the torch of wisdom forward.
From Balamani Amma used to write to me regularly. She was 51 and I was at that time. My attempts at poetry and literature were looking forward to get a helping hand from her experienced mind. She watched over my progress just as the ancestors did in her poem. What beauty! It was not pearls or silk skirts or land that I expected ,but the word of wisdom,the blessing of her word as a protective armour.
And she gave it to me freely and happily till she lost consciousness in her old age due to Alzheimers disease. The poem of Mother Ammayude kavitha In she wrote the poem of the mother.
The same year as my letters and poems were bombarding her with doubts and new poems. She writes. Amma has no time to waste. Amma is getting older. Has to write so many books. Amma is trying to embed the temporary nature of this body within the ice of fame. Amma has already traversed the plains and reached the empty mountaintops.
She reminds Amma about her olden days. She binds a net of love around which is stronger than a wall. She disturbs and changes the day to day activities of the old mother. About her Amma writes: You have separated from me As a moonray from a grassblade With bright mountaintops In your eyes ,as goal And inky pen Stands in the path of eternity Immobile and sad….
And the creative urge of the daughter reaches her as a farcry from her own past. She feels that this new generation is a moonshine and not a grassblade to be ignored. Then she remembers that the smile of the girl brings the truth of light to her poems. And the ecstacy of the art is less than her loving embrace for mother. She keeps away the books she has to finish in her hearts corner and finds time for the daughter. When I read this poem in and read her letters to me pregnant with meanings,my eyes moisten with love and gratitude and bliss of being loved.
We are taught that old age is the burialground of love and bliss. In its ice ,no leaf will show its green in human thought. But what a wrong idea! It is in old age your love lengthens and measures the entire earth and universe like a lengthening shadow. In every thought there are several white roses in old age. Winds are soft ,not in morning but in evening. Only then the heat of earth is reduced and earth awakens to a new consciousness. The softness of mind is increased in old age.
The soft mind watch the new generation with alove and compassion unparalleled. In the first stage of life-infancy-the poet was watching the mornings red fruit and she had the support of her fathers strong arm. She saw the beauty of the creation in her teens. Then reaches the urban citylife with her husband and see the winning glory of youth. The egoistic man can enjoy only the flower grown in a pot outside his door.
She wonders. The city is complex and different from the simple village she is so used to. From satisfaction ,her journey was to desires and fulfillment of desires.
The head of the poet is used to bow before the creation of universe. By habit it bows in front of the city also. The light and soul sits in darkness and body. Village gives arghya with a wick and city with a electric light. The root of human civilization is village. But city is its branch. The branch is lucky because only it bears the fruits of future. The eyes that see blemish even in moon,is finding fault with everything.
Who am I to count the thousand and one wrongs of the city? Thus ,Balamani Amma survives the urban life by her selfanalysis and purity of mind. Even in the passionate colours of the city she is able to see the whiteness of purty. How does a poet visualize her own poetry? Balamani Amma says:The experiences with beauty and swiftness of lightening become eternal in poetry.
Poetry wears the diamond diadem of dry tears,and the jasmines of life long blossomed and forgotten as memoirs,and poetry has the fragrance of divine altars of soul,and covers the body with the waves of inner moonshine. Even if the sensory mandal aof the poet is lost by death,her life and ideals live through her words.
But how would the next generations see it? The emotions the world of experiences created in me,the atmosphere of my inner mind where there is always space for hot ovens and for the loved ones,the creative bliss of heaven made each day with clouds ,virgin sunlights ,and fragrant jasmines —Will they be able to enjoy these? The poet expects that they should experience them through her poems. But she knows many may not be able to enjoy it that way.
For those who are led by a swollen ego,and breaking away all domestic ties of love,running busily to achieve many things-For those children her words may be just some ricegrains scattered after the ancestral rites ,on the rivervalleys of world civilizations.
An archeological find,a remnant of ancestral worship to be remembered only on death anniversaries. She is aware of that possibility.
Such abeautiful similie is never used by any other poet in Malayalam,as far as I know of. And this is what is happening to several poets and ancestors make this similie a predictive one too. These cruel people will Take away Unni.
When she awoke from meditation she heard the cruel world of sensations taking away Unni from her. She could hear the cry from behind a curtain. When she takes the pen,the pained mind of the child appears.
Does the child understand her feelings? Only when the child becomes amother and her children taken away from her,she understands her mother. Poetry is the rhythm of the dance. The rhythm of bliss. But many mothers tell that world is painful and watching a flower or moon is waste of time. For many ,loking after a cow is just to get its milk. Those who show compassion will become poor. Those who have imaginations are mad people.
Thus adults destroy the natural rhythms of childrens minds. The sound without the rhythm is only a noise ,the husk devoid of the inner seed. The spoken and written word without poetry is only the husk. But people use only that husk.
One can make a bouquet with ideas just as with flowers. Words with maturity give a sweetness just as mature vegetables give taste after cooking.
Balamani Amma congratulates women of the modern age who understands these and who has ability and willpower to do these. It was in these years that Balamani Amma gave me Muthuchippi first book by Sugathakumari to read and enjoy. The horoscope Every child is born with a birthchart. In one stage of her development poet finds her birthchart. Written in an ola palmleaf it is a sign of that moment in which or from which her consciousness as a seed awakened from eternity. We cannot remember our birth moment because we were not conscious of our birth.
But imagination can grasp it easily. The face of mother blissful even in pain of creation. The worry and kindness of friends and relatives. The birthchamber ,narrow as auterus with a lamps golden light unshaken. The waterclock swimming inwater ,to record the correct time of birth. A crying tiny mouth.
An eye that drinks the light of earth for the first time.
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