The world has in its expanse ocean, mountains and terrains. Men, animals, and reptiles occupy that available space both in water and land. Along with them trees and plants exist extending a habitat to insects and birds. A conglomerate of living organisms defining Existentialism to the word.
Literature is the one which is dear to my heart. The reading expands my thoughts and the writing extends my beliefs. Culture is the twin of Literature. Both grew in the past and grow now hand in hand. Their repository and depository enforce a travel to the realms of imaginative regimes.
Well, I dream of culture. Not only a dream, but an obsession which gnaws me with such a composure that I do not sleep without thinking of the cultural paradigms I experience knowingly or unknowingly.
I own a land of twenty-five acres on the outskirts of my city. It is with me for three decades now. In my prime years, I manufactured yarn. Had to wind up when the industry was hit hard by the recession.
The land and the building lie vacant. In my travels abroad and during my visit to places in India, I saw many outfits where they promote culture. I really want to do one such project on my property.
The dream haunts me for years. I hatch propositions not once but a hundred times.The pity of it, they never see the light. It is not due to the deficiency in execution, but because of the paucity of funds I confront. I am not able to mobilise. I pause and drag.
In my dream trail, I start a school, being not a regular one, where the children learn by rote and write the examinations. It is a school where the children are let to play, chat, discuss and create. My school will not follow a curriculum, will not have a timetable , and books. Classes will not be segregated All the children irrespective of their ages assemble ,pursue their interest, read the book of their choice, go out , explore and then sit down to pen of what they went through the whole day.
Next , I want to build replicas of the homes of our ancestors.The Tharwad and the Nalukattu of the Kerala Namboodiris, the Mutham, and Thinnai of the Nattukottai Nagarathars of Chettinad, the Goan-style architectural homes and the Agraharams of the Brahmins.
The traditional arts are losing grounds. I like to revive them , bring out their significance and place them in the entertainment programmes. I propose a schedule- training on the folk dance of each state, teaching the martial arts and the culinary expertise of the communities in my Puradhana- the name of my dream project.
The age old method of pounding rice, sieving them, and the cooking utensils like the brass utensils, big and small, one used in the household and those needed for weddings and festivals should be displayed. Thrilled would be the present generation.
The practice of extracting the oil by installing chakku or oil machines. A pair of Oxen is tied to the wooden frame and made to go round impelling the machine to rotate. As the rotation gains momentum the coconut filled in the chakku yields and the oil drips. A slow way but certainly a proven method which will ensure a freshness and the longevity of the oil. It is free of chemicals.
The Vedas, a treasure, passed on to us by the ancients are not taught. The Western influence dominates. Sanskrit is a divine language. It is dying. Catch them young strikes me at this juncture.
The younger kids with their memory fresh and enthusiasm overwhelming would in no time master the language under proper guidance.
Cultural Renaissance is my dream. It is not a one night dream but one of a decade.
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