A Day in My Life

     As directed by Professor Dr. P.J.Cherian, Director, Kerala Council for Historical Research & Pattanam Excavations and as designed to be included in the DKP project, I am delighted to offer ‘a day in my life’, as a token of the times of 2016 when I lived. It is offered to be reviewed as a vestige of the bygone eras, to get a glimpse of how life was lived, with all its preferences and passions that may be understood, respected or derided by the then prevailing customs, preferably a few millennia into the future.
     As one who believes and boasts that my life, my eight decades of existence on earth has experienced the most remarkable changes in the history of humanity, I would hesitate to envision similar set of changes anytime in the future, even including some miraculous metamorphosis of technology, gene modulation and manipulation of biological norms as we conceptualize now.
     Being born into a middleclass Kerala Hindu Nair family during the pre-independent, colonial British India and raised with minimal availability of resources in the global depression era, I claim to have been blessed with a unique childhood that conquered all the inadequacies with abundance of love from all the family members, relatives and friends who surrounded me. As a child who received the first set of footwear in the sixth grade, one who studied in the dim light of kerosene lamp until electricity came in during my high school days in India, it would be ludicrous for me to attain the enviable status of the president of a nationally reputed American organization. But that is precisely what happened in my life that remains an enigma even to me, a destiny that can certainly be considered incongruous by any standards.

     Life with all its uniqueness and extremism is to be embraced as a distinct honor bestowed on each one of us, a blessing to be accepted and cherished with the divine reverence that it deserves. Let me make an attempt to depict it and how I performed.
     My day begins with a prayer of recognition of being ‘here’, of appreciation of all the individuals and circumstances that allowed me the privilege, and with a commitment of making an earnest attempt to offer the best I can to live up to that distinction. And at the end of that day, the scrutiny of my own conscience, the most stringent of examiners would decide my rating how I have lived that day.
     ‘A day in anyone’s life’ who lives for eight decades goes through tremendous adjustments and modifications as the individual grows, meets new demands, and faces new situations and plays a variety of roles. As a child, I was pampered by my grandparents who danced to all my tunes and often disciplined me until my skin broke out. Thathan, my paternal grand father, took me to every festival in the temples and functions in town exposing me and inculcating in me the rich and varied traditions of our precious culture. He sat with us and participated in every activity that was observed during those times, the difference of age melting away with his enthusiasm as we enriched the understanding of our traditions.
     Education was enforced on me as essential an ingredient in life as air and water and food. And excellence was emphatically implied as a component without an option. As an adult I was consumed by an inevitable sense of duty, obligation and responsibility, whether it was in furthering education, performing in profession or fulfilling the role of a son, brother, husband or father. I was also drawn into being involved in the community to extend my resources and contribute for larger causes.
     Looking back, I have no regrets, feeling comfortable with a sense that I did what I could and that I did the best I could. I am emphatically content and ardently convinced that it could hardly be better. And without a trace of conceit I remain humbled that I was blessed by divine sanction that allowed me to do my duties.
     As a routine, I made a list of chores that needed to be completed during the day and made an earnest attempt to reach that goal. Often, I succeeded. From a list of people to call, things to buy, people to meet, pieces to read or write, and a variety of assignments to complete. During my late seventies, I was often surprised to observe that I stayed as busy and involved as I was when I was three decades younger and professionally involved as a busy physician.

     Routine as I retired, was interesting: Waking up by six with a prayer to my parents, ancestors, teachers, and God, freshening up before proceeding to do my yoga and pranayama, leisurely going through the paper over a large cup of coffee, briefly checking my mail and pressing demands before taking a shower and having my routine breakfast of steel-cut oats and fruits. The next two to three hours were spent calling India about once a week, on my book, papers, or social errands of writing for various organizations before we had our lunch, the traditional Kerala style. Then took about two hours of rest that often included a short siesta. Tea with some small bites followed another few hours of reading, writing, making calls and finishing up chores. Temple events were often in the evening routines, meeting my spiritual and social needs. There were also meetings and discussions interspersed as required through the week and weekends. After dinner I usually watched television – English or Malayalam movies, interesting and disappointing news, sports events, or others. I would rarely go to bed before midnight since I hardly needed more than six hours of sleep. Occasional outing to meet friends, to have dinner, to celebrate social or cultural events became rare and sporadic as I aged. Travel as I loved during my youth became strenuous and slowly dwindled.
     And that essentially was my routine as I hit the bed and went to sleep, as I chanted the Mahamantra (Hare Rama, Hare Rama, Rama, Rama Hare, Hare; Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna, Krishna Krishna Hare, Hare!) until I faded for the day.

Author: Dr. Venugopal Menon

Was born and raised in a loving family in pre-independent India, became a doctor, served Indian army, got married, then came over to America with wife and a daughter, established as a successful Allergist, raised a family of three children, was involved in many social establishments, retired, and wrote memoirs, 'My Mother Called Me Unni, A Doctor's Tale of Migration'.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: