please note if you are interested

I have been writing on so many  subjects and publishing in social media like Orkut, Facebook etc for the past fifteen year or more..  And  I have not kept  much record of what I have written.. Except what I post in this blog Kanfusion.. Even this is  14 years old.. a full period of equal to Rama's Vanavasam 

I am now inactive completed in social media except for some whats-app contacts..  I am here posting only things which I could discover from old  archives or from the daily Whatsapp messages I continue to give till this date to  a selected band of one dozen friends..

If I am to be contacted,  my  whats-app is 9446508855  India   

Just for information.  

K V Ananthanarayanan 

(Ananthanarayanan Vaidyanathan)

IRS  Retired  Additional Commissioner of Incometax 

Karthik   Kavu Street 
Sekharipuram  Palakkad  678010

Reading.....

Reading.....

To read something to understand what is conveyed or what is intended to be conveyed.. just for understanding and enjoyment and without any necessity to analyse or interpret to an audience, and without dancing to their fancy.. is much more comfortable than reading with a hawk's eye always intent on finding fault and with the sole aim to coin, and write some sarcastic or sour remark and waiting for the reaction or "review" s..

However, sensible reading takes a lot of training and discipline.. we just grow into it..
True, in the process of graduation, we may spend a few nights in the wayside inn of "reading for the audience". But that is merely a temporary phase,


Like listening to music or enjoying a work of art, reading can be sheer pleasure..
We get transposed to the world of the author, laughing, crying and even dancing with him, as he interacts us through the printed words.. And that is an experience.. sublime, for a lover of words.. almost on par with realization of the Supreme.

As we read on, at once stage we would become conscious of the style or lack of it in the writing..

But we progress further into a stage where grammar and syntax would hardly matter.. We just resonate in sync with the ideas and emotions conveyed by the author..

And then we read a book from its flyleaf to the last page...
without caring for time or space..
and can shed tears of ecstasy for having shared with the author those unearthly moments
and also tears of agony that the book has reached its end.. .

Maybe, such things happen rarely in one's life, one's reading life..

RIP Mohammed mama...

RIP Mohammed mama...

a memory which is more than  sixty years comes back.. I was just a child of one and half years.. born at Kottakkal in a predominantly Muslim and non brahmin area..and having not much of exposure to Iyers and their ways till then..My constant companion in my infancy was a mohammed mama..Our family migrated to nearby places like Tirur and Parappanangadi. and still he was with us. I never found anything queer in having a Mohammed mama with us at that time, and even now I cannot find anything amiss..
He is now dead and gone. He was sort of assistant to my father and he used to occupy the front of our house when there was no other work..

Once I remember, I was venturing out of the house
-- it must be in Thrikkandiyur, Tirur--
 a small boy of one-and half years, and fell down and hit my lower jaw on a sharp stone and there was a free flow of blood.. No doctor nearby and the gash needed stitches. Mohammed mama saw me fall and get wounded, and he would not even wait to warn my mother about it.. my father had gone out on some work..Mohammed mama simply ran carrying me to the dispensary four miles away, and got the wound mended.. Doctor's fee was not an issue because the latter was known to my father..

But Mohammed mama had ruined the only white shirt, that is his sole possession to give him the  semblance of modern man.. the entire shirt was soaked in blood..

Of course, my father gave him a blue shirt in place of that white shirt and I have seen him wearing that every day afterwards..

That deep wound scar is seen in my lower jaw to this day..

At our house whenever food was cooked those days, one member who was included was Mohammed Mama. This is in spite of the fact that our parents were orthodox to the core.. Poojas, Japams... Ganapathi homam and what not..

But Mohammed mama was always there..

Subsequently, we migrated to Palakkad and Mohammed mama could not come with us because of his personal commitments..
When the news was received  that he had passed away a few years later, I know I have cried as if a close relative, an uncle, and a benefactor has left the scene..

RIP Mohammed mama...