In the future, I had started plotting to kill Parashu who in rage had put the axe against my neck threatening to slit my jugular vein, In times before those terrible days, Parashu was my guiding light. These are happy times.
We mostly talked about issues of the land and people. Kerala was the center our universe and malayalees, the chosen people.
Parashu had walked the times, like the vampire of the west, he had been there from the beginning. i asked him how life was then. he told me stories of the ages. stories of insignificant people whom history had no consequence recording. Parashu always called people and individuals insignificant. He had this macro view of events and time, it probably has something to do with the fact that Parashu was always there seeing everything, been there, seen all, done that.
Parashu said, "If i were to talk in the language you understand now, history is the point of view of the historian and a PR exercise of the people who commissioned the venture. It recorded certain words black and certain letters golden and certain sentences blood red. The histories have different tones. indian history recorded by british is of a different tone from indian history recorded by indians. Russian history recorded by Americans, American history recorded by europeans, different hues"
-What is the color of history then?
-True history is colorless, tasteless... it can never be recorded accurately. Because ink always has to have a color.