Blessings of 'the blessed'

பெண்

2010-01-27T03:37:00.000-08:00

"பெண் சுதந்திரம்
பெண் முன்னேற்றம்
அவளுக்கு இந்த உலகத்தில் நிம்மதியில்லை "

அகோரம் பேசி அவள் மேடயிந்திறங்கி வந்தேன்
பனியில் அந்த இளமை பெண்ணுக்கு
சேலையின் கம்மி தெரியவில்லை
வாங்கிய சாப்பாடு பிடிக்காதே தூக்கி எறிந்தேன்

இரவின் மறைவில் துடைபனில் என்னமோ தட்டி தடைந்தப்போல்
.....தன் குழந்தைக்கு கொடுக்கரபோம் பரிசை
பட்டி புகல்கொண்டேன்
அவளும் ஒரு பெண்ண தான்
தாய் என்று மற்றும்

The traveller in me-1

2009-12-27T06:29:00.000-08:00

What is that which inspires or interests me is something which I always search for. I do not have a perfect answer. But still I would tell that it is mobility. I hate the stagnancy and loneliness of living inside four walls. And just like water,I am good when I flow and am unpleasant when I pool down somewhere.
I was born with a peculiar love for trains, railway lines and stations. In my childhood, whenever I got to travel overnight to north kerala or tamil nadu, I had a peculiar habit. I used to stay glued to the window to take note of every station which we pass on the route and record the time at which I reached that particular station. Newer stations and railway lines merging and coupling at junctions interested me. i used to run to the door to see rivers and lakes under railway bridges.But I never howled when we passed through tunnels. Truth is that I still do watch such stuff with the same awe I had when I was a kid. The change in the geography when we crossed the Western ghats from Palakkad to Coimbatore or kollam to Chencottah created a rare happiness in me. I used to visit one of my relative's house just because I was so excited about the whistle and sounds of the trains and the awesome sight of the blue trains pacing through the rail near their home.

I used to love trying the permutations of trains one can catch for reaching one's destination. One example was when I wanted to go home in the midst of one of my summer internships. I somehow reached Chennai central station and understood that the last train westward , Cheran is my only hope. I entered the train to see the horror of people being literally packed watertight in the compartment. I became yet another part of the big pile of people. Train passed Arakonam and Jolar pettai. My calculation was being proved wrong. There was more influx of travellers than outflow. So due to the sheer lack of oxygen inside the compartment, I got down at Salem. Then I saw Lokmanya Tilak-Coimbatore shunting into the station. I got into a sleeper compartment. Here I got sympathy of some Kannadiga couple to use their berths as they were alighting at Erode. Now I was happy that I got a two hour sleep till Kovai. At Coimbatore, I had to make a quick decision. Due to the westward trains avoiding Coimbatore junction, I never had a train to reach Kerala from Coimbatore... except a passenger. This train literally linked me with the main line of Kerala. This train is very popular in North Kerala..The Coimbatore-Mangalore passenger. At last I reached Shornur. From there I got the Proud Day Express of Kerala, Parashuram express, struggling in the congestion of which I reached home.
For a normal person, this would have been tiresome. But I was very happy for it.The child like joy of having tried out more trains for a routine homeward journey was making me brimming with joy.

A day

2009-10-15T21:58:00.001-07:00

The mornings you rise
impregnated with loads of ideas and feelings
and you are strained now
as if you have fought over something
throughout the night
the ones which get disappeared beyond recollections
after a shower as if it cleanses

the Lasya and Shrinkara which hides and seeks on your face
the Athbutha which blooms in you eyes
the fingers which clusters to form mudras unknowingly
the Beebhathsa-"yuck" you eventually emerge to others

cacophony when ragas of unknown names and origins code-mix
and code switch within you and emerge
thanks nobody listens

The late nights you are confused
between the books and the phone

the random night-walks you make
beneath the trees filtering the moonlight

Friends and their children

2009-10-11T09:52:00.000-07:00

Even my best friend in college tells me that my blog-posts are depressing. Pardon me , my dear unfortunate readers..
Now I thought I will write about the awesome period about my life- my childhood till when I was 13 in my village- a village with traditions co-existing with the miracles of the first generation NRIs and their gulf-money
Women have always played a great role in my life. I always had a gr8 and benign influence of my mother, grandmothers, aunts of all kinship terms, sisters , child hood friends....... I had really good relationship with womenfolk around then.

What I want to write about are some friends in my life , with whom I spent my childhood , playing pranks , who now shifted to another generation when I remained still the same child.
One was my immediate neighbor. She would evoke sympathy in you at the first sight. She was so thin and shriveled that she will make impression about the poverty at her home. And the truth was contrary and her mother was an awesome cook. I ate the best "Kinnathappams" from her home. It seems from the lores of my grandma that she was a close pal of mine in my early child hood. And the change happened like this. My elder brother, myself and others including her were discussing about marriage (marriage and its pomp and splendor always interested us in our childhood). The question arose that whom would she marry. And she indicated towards my elder bro. And It seems I was damn angry at her non-choice of me that I took a knife and hurt her hand. She never remained the same cordial with me after. She remained the same- thin and shriveled. When I was in my 12th, her marriage happened and later I could not believe myself when I saw my would be-wife holding her child when I visted my village for a college vacation.

Then was this niece. She was the daughter of supposedly my sister in my paternal line. She was my classmate in my Madrassa. And look what, when all my classmates used to call me by my name, she called me "Kochappa"- meaning uncle. She continued calling me this throughout my childhood. She also married when I was in my school. And I later saw this niece meeting me in a recent family function with two grand-nephews of mine.

Then it did not stop there. There was this family of the "Imam' of our local Masjid. his fourth daughter was less than my age. She was a good -friend of mine and she used to make use of the fear of something called "Brahmana Shapam"of mine. It is told among Hindu folk that making a Brahman angry would be disastrous and he should be always made happy. I interpreted in my context. Imam was supposedly a religious man like Brahman . So I should never make his daughter angry, lest she curse me. She very well knew this. She would make me do her bit of home-works and above all, used to make use of my bicycle. Riding bicycle was forbidden for Muslim girls , at least in her family then . This was also at the risk of scolding of my grandparents. She too married, but very early, when she was fifteen. And her brother who was another friend of mine and of similar age married two years back. Needless to say, if both of them come with their familes to my home, it would turn into a war ground for four or five naughty little ones.

This tradition of these early marriages irks me because...........whenever I meet these friends in the family functions , and take their children into my hands, I find my parents and elders mock me...that I still play pranks or show my instinct for childish deeds and they tell that when u r supposed to have one of your own in ur hands by now, please grow up...

P.S The recent Malayalam Movie "Ivar Vivahithrayal" inspired me writing this- according to my bro

Eid nostalgia

2009-09-21T00:55:00.000-07:00

Today is Eid, I must confess that I am nostalgic. Cheriya Perunnal as i should call it rather still lies as a loving sweet memory in my life , in the distant past. Today with my brother, I had good mallu mappila food (non veg.. ob )in a good restaurant just after the morning Eid Namaz prayers
Thanks to the insistence of Assu(my bro), I went to mosque... Else , I was even planning to bunk it, because I feel I have no more Ids in my life
My parents had a Perunnal with vegetarian food... they had cut down the food luxuries as their austerity increased...
I had to perform Musabaat (Eid hug) with my bro repeatedly after we found ourselves alone in the mosque after namaz so as to compensate the warmth of the hug with the long queue of my dear ones back home
Looking back...........
The joy of the news of the Shawwal Pira (sighting of the moon) announcing the festival..
the anxiety before it..
The thakbeer filled atmosphere-Allahu Akbar allahu,,,,,,, valillahil hamd
The fitr Sakkath- the alms to the needy one the eve of Eid and the moring before Namaz
The big rice heap from which Baapa would measure out the sakkath in the form of rice
We children would stand with big papermade cones which are to be filled with rice and then packed .
We get the route maps of which house to go and whom to give the Sakkath
The Joy of the person who recieves it
and the infinite invitations we get on this way for the first breakfast after the 30 long fasting days of Ramzan
The white cap- clad white population in the mosque
The scent of Arabian athar (perfume) breezing through the mosque
The little boys and girls who wonder what their elders while the latter are doing in the namaz and why are they standing so still..
these kids playing pranks, playing hiding and seek with each other in the mosque in the safs(rows) of the mosque
I remember Jabbar Kochappa who dressed up little Hiba as a boy to the mosque on Id
The competition of the most colourful Perunnal Kodi(Sherwanis with golden embroidery and white kurtas)
If hyderbadis have haleem and what ever kebabs... , we in south kerala are not far behind
The aroma of neichoru(ghee rice) and mutton curry
The sight of thinnest aripathiri/palaka-rottis ...
dissolving in the scented coconut milk and then in the kuruma
Neimeen biriyani of Junaida Moothumma
The tables filled with best of the mappila delicacies
not those chattipathiri and Pola sort of Telichery stuff though
The semiya payasam served when we come back from the mosque
The afternoon nap after the heavy -heaviest breakfast and lunch
The evening tour with the big family..to the backwaters or the beach at Quilon
The commotion in the kitchen and fight for caseroles and 'adukkupathrams'
for packing out food for individual homes
The glitter on the face of Baapa when we are around him
Umma's repeated attempts to perfect her Biriyani
the actual recipe of which she does not know , truly
the visits as "food inspector" in houses around to taste the different preparations of
Biriyani and Neichoru and Mutton curries
The last Iranian dates(bought for breaking the fast) left after the month-long Nombu
which we steal, along with the Kaju and Kishmish from Biriyani-Payasam recipe
We had no Eid special films though, Doordarshan days na!!!

Yesterday's rain

2009-09-16T00:04:00.001-07:00

Yesterday it rained
I opened my umbrella
to hide from the rain of the trees
walking on the wet tarmac
I saw pools of water
over which sunrays played
I thought I can match them
with my tears everynight

Then the previous night I sat near that window
when my hairlocks flowed in the monsoon wind
the raindrops sprayed onto you so romantic
drowning my giggles
recalling those moments of ecstasy
my chat-chatter over the new mobile with 'him '

Then the next morning
I would literally fly
through the air from home
like the girl in that TV 'ad'
less for the boredom of academics
more for he meeting 'him' in the corridors,
cafeteria or the woods behind the classrooms

Yesterday when it rained
The sound of the rain
could drown my sobs
I took in my cupped hands
pure pearl-like raindrops
to soothen the red swollen patch
on my face after the slap
gifted by the same hands of 'him'

நேக்கும் நோக்கும்

2009-09-09T21:35:00.000-07:00

மாநகராச்சி பேனந்தில் பாத
கலைஞ்சாரின் சொலல்
" நான் நீ என்பது ".. அப்பிடி என்னமோ
சரி அது என்னமோ

அனால்
உனக்கும் 'நோக்கும் '
அவநேயோ அவளெயோ "அவாளெயோ "
என்னது
சரி புரிஞ்சிது

அனால் எப்பிடி ஒருவனே சுயம் 'நேக்கு' என்பது கூப்படறது
அவனவனே 'நேக்கு' என்னும் எனக்கு ஏன்னு வித்தியாசமனே கூபிடும்போல்
அவனிலும் என்னிலும் வாழும் என்னதோ அதிநே
உச்ச- நீச்ச கண்ணாடியில் சவயம் பாத்து ரசிக்கிறார்

இனிப்பு

2009-09-09T20:58:00.000-07:00

வாழ்க்கையில் இனிக்கறது என்னது ?
நேற்று பாத கனவோ
அதோ
இன்ரிக்கு தெரிஞ்ச நள்வரத்தயோ
நாலேக்காக கேட்ட நல்வாழ்துக்களோ

-home

2009-08-27T04:35:00.000-07:00

Dear
you think that with all this I should be ok.
Good!
But I do not feel so
There is more which is involved
You know that I can't today be in my home of my .. what should i say
ancestral home? somebody else's
it is not my own
nor it was my own any time
where I am rooted in

through the eastern windows of which,
I saw the teaks and palms dancing
when 'Edavapathi ' flew from west
the dampness of the cot near Umma's
where I sat hearing her tales of benevolence
not to my Baapa nor her kids even we grand-kids ..
but the neighbors who visit her often and the servant girls at home
the wooden window plates would close with a bang
the 'thoovanam'-drops of rain driven into the house by wind
falling on me and the bed-wrap

the sweat darkened-karimban thalliya-chair
where he sat
he was a despot and niggardly,
his children punned recalling their childhood
of inadequacy in spite of affluence
but for me, he gave me eyes through which
I heard about the world around and the world left behind
of Rambuttan fuits, the days during second war
of Madras and Nagappatinam and the ships which set sail from there
language in which people asked "Saaya nama appa nama "
of how he met Netaji in that city state
of the kings and people of yore
the one who bought me a frooti. when I cried.which his children would have yearned for
and bought guavas from the far away city for the grand-kids(NRI) visiting at home
the one whose features , every son wished in his child
the smell of the "athar" touched cotton he gave me before the Eid
you smiled inside you(did not you?) when I danced before you all then
Baapa. where else I can find you today than in that old chair in the Verandah
the table on which you read Quran and did Namaz and wrote the (notorious) accounts
the diary which the scion never parted with me,
where I know are the deepest secrets on the births and deaths of your kids and grand-kids
stay in those petite handwriting
the cot with mosquito curtains and the pillow below which you kept the torch-light, hidden
you never know what I lost when you "Rooh" left behind that crowded room in "Shankers"
when I left behind you in the train to Madras
not for an extra-pie or inheritance
which the gullible and simple Umma can't understand
for whom everything is the same
but once when it was yours , there was life in my home,,
even when you complained of the long list of ailments you have
after all Vaapicha says I am the one who inherited "hypochondria" from you
it was yours .. so that it was ours

the home into which my uncles brought us new aunts (even my mom)
who conspired to break the home , the joint- whatever it was
because it was never theirs..
after all they were women from 'better' families
Baapa you only told.... that proverb about gold and women
the home from which my aunts left with tears

the uncles who came with items ought with the oil-Riyals
when their luggages were open in the "Thekke Pura"
garments, perfumes , toffees, toys, ...
not for their "nuclear"unit
but for all of us- the ritual of 'Petti pottikkal"
better buy them from duty paid shop today

The Thekke Pura to which Puthiyappila and Puthiya Pennu entered
replacing the earlier/ latest reigning newly weds
some took away even the fan they brought with

The first home here I , as a kid , pissed , drooled, rolled on the floor and danced
I got astonished at the number of mothers , I had
one to suckle, one to feed and one to tell stories when I sit next to the kalladuppu
where I learnt the skill of cooking
later I cooked with my 'child-wife' on the sand below the guava with chiratta and brought out the best mannappams I could have

The Tapiaco field , with big holes , housing the pest-
mice- Baapa's rival
Did I feel happy when I saw Baapa dipping the 'Elipathayam'
in the pond, with air bubbles coming up?

The mango tree under which , led by my great Ithatha ,
we sat together, making instant pickles of the "Thambori" Mangoes ,
with hot chilly powder, salt and coconut oil
Maalu knows how good I prepared it later
The Tamarind which rained even after the monsoons
you killed it though
The Ambazham which graced our north side
the pickles we made on that Onam you remember
you even killed it
for the worthless timber from a shriveled tree
Now the Egg-fruit which stays,,
hope i will not hear its obituary
the cashew whose nuts we stole and sold..
Baapa do not know this

the cement-ground we fell on the east-side
where we fell and created really black knees
Swamis' room nearby, -
the tales of that Arogiya Swami,
who came from beyond the ghats and
became a son for my Umma as it should be ,
after all all servants were her kids
and disappeared without even a letter
The "Erithil" - for the Cattle
where the Bufflaoes and Ox and innumerable cows ruminated
and lived in the mess of straw and the precious cowdung
Baapa you never told us how much is innumerable
The smell of the urine of Palm-civet which played on the ceiling beneath the tiled roof

You all tell me that I am insensible
I am Ooruthendi- for having prolonged the stays there
why did I fight every year for a longer stay there?
and why does even after knowing everything,
I crave for being back there?

But I did not realize that it was not my own then
even today I do not

after all ownership is the criterion
but you can't prevent me from owning my memories though

***
Shankers- a hospital in Quilon, Kerala
Erithil- cattle shed
Baapa-Grandpa(not universal- specific to my family)
Umma-Grandma(not universal)
Vaapicha- Father
Ooruthendi- a wandering beggar
Edavapathi- South west monsoons
thoovanam-rain drops which fly in with wind
Rambuttan- a fruit popular in Malay
Saaya nama appa nama- What is your name in Malaya, or some dialect of it
athar- perfume (Arabic)
Rooh- Soul (Arabic)
Thekke Pura- room at the southern side
Petti pottikkal - opening a box
Puthiyappila- Newly wed groom
Puthiya Pennu - newly wed bride
kalladuppu- traditional chulha
chiratta-coconut shell
Mannappam- 'dishes' made by children out of soil
Elipathayam-a kind of rat trap
'Ithatha- eldest sister
Thambori- a variety of mango
Ambazham-hog plum tree
Egg-fruit -a rare tropical fruit tree

Nightmares

2009-01-10T20:55:00.000-08:00

dark faces which may rise from every crowd.
the lean and skeletal"unassuming"
the cunning and lusty "throw after use"
the desperate but restrained

Snakes crawling overs snakes
the drops spilling over from it
the shower which cleanses the silvery from the surface

nightmares
during the day
in the crowd

Hands

2008-08-20T09:24:00.000-07:00

How smart you are
energetic and bubbling...
always in forefront, leader he is
Oh God.. am I ?
Yes I am.. in the top of the world
walking, jumping and running, as if I am way before others
I suddenly look around
Oh God! I am falling
I can only manage to walk,
No I am at a snail pace
Longing for those hands which took me always within their warmth of safety
I never realised those hands of support all the journey back
when they forgot to tell me,
dear, those jubilant self praise and admiration were never for you
but those ones who took till you here

Cycle

2008-08-20T08:53:00.000-07:00

Life is cyclic
because the same flood and drought of emotions repeats itself
every year
I am thrown helter skelter by the rising tides of enthusiasm
Eloquent and full of promises
None can understand the secret of the bubbling energy
while it does not take much of time to be in the next phase
the slow ... not steady ... travel of mine
silence pervading me... funeral like
now it is my turn not to believe myself
what is happening all in me
the inflated balloon with its air oozing out
I am alone at this end to realise when must I stop
this cycle to a steady state
do not tell me that it may happen after my lifeline becomes steady and horizontal

Coincidence

2008-08-20T08:17:00.000-07:00

Both of us wanted to.....
But we were about to....
dark is she , siver lining all around.......
but she was the one before me to succumb to the pressure from deep within
she burst into what was a thorough downpour
but I, the one late, hid my outburst in the rain outside, thanks to the darkness offered by her
clear and sunny she became after her turn
But I was the same

Impasse

2008-08-05T03:28:00.000-07:00

I am restless, wanting to run off from the room
when those uneasy thoughts do not spare me

A clouded view of the future
gory glimpses of the past
a sleepy lonely present I walk through

I am asked to survey the frontiers and limits of mine
But I am no where interested
to see myself incapable

Nothing interests me
When the book of equations are rendered invisible
by the looming shadows of instability and uncertainty

The rise and fall of my spirit
the spurts of joy and anger
the (evil) consequences of my words told in absolute insensitivity
the divulging of the truths of life
and later the regret for these unthoughtful words and deeds

Often I am left with the dreams about the pictures of the green country
when I take the train back home
the thoughts of the warmth of my mother's lap
and the dear ones

But the sudden realization of the clutches of bondage
and precepts of responsibility
takes back the joy of them

But amidst all these
adding an ice cool and crystal pure feeling to my psyche
memories of my lost purity
which gives me a momentary spell of happiness

a rope to climb out of this dilemma
a drop of water to fan the fire out deep inside

The Real

2008-06-27T17:55:00.000-07:00

Uneasy I am
in this world so bizarre
where i am denied the both
one for the sheer fear of the wierd
and
other for the fear of the normal

the restlessness to send them off
and to communicate with the unseen
the frustration to run off
the fantasies of the unwarranted
the dirt within oozing out
the water cleansing in and out
the frantic searches in them

the boundaries set by others
for me to live a life very my own
Oh God! This is my life

the wings which I grow to fly
the dreams which take me to the heights
the realities which shook me from those heights
the sweetness of the well knit plans
the sourness of the setbacks

the ones whom I love
and the ones who love me
what sets the frontiers between them?
the contours of aesthetics or the crystals of the sweet words
the mix of the dark and ugly or the bitter syrup of truth

a setback after another
may be that I am tired
But am I defeated?
confused between the pairs
of reality and a dream world,
where I am happy
but all else are unhappy
and the platform from where I wish to jump
to touch the skies
to invade the heights
to whirle, twist and recoil
but to kiss the ground
the sad reality!!!!!
Ya ilahi....
I stand on these scorching sands
eyes unable to be opened
to see the fierce sun, the truth
a mind which feels duped
for having mistaken it
for yesternight's cool moonlight,
the sweet mirage which I believed in
to be left orphaned in this world of reality
The truths which come out
when you become the inobedient
when you become the unreliable
when you cease to be a taskdoer

The Visitor

2008-04-25T22:19:00.000-07:00

Is it that way?

I can't believe...

Oh! why the hell I did not get to know about that earlier?

I hate you all

He left with the door slammed

both on me and my long bondage

I felt terribly uneasy

Suicide!

that is never a solution

it is easy to counsel.. dear

but sometimes it becomes the single choice

yeah! there is yet another alternative

what?

be someone else

feign as someone you are not

mask yourself as somebody you would yearn to be

but never be what you are

else how to live

keep it within yourself

all your.....

I felt terribly uneasy

those sleepless nights

those wanderings

those strangers whom I met on the way

when past does'nt flush out of the p-hole

but comes up like vomit every moment

but now in the disguise of the present

why do you then promise me that you shall not comeback?

what else I must assure you would you be comfortable with me every moment in your life?

it is that I would like to visit you often,

trouble you and

make your life uneasy

make you feel odd and terrible

I shall come back again and again

just that you have to find your own ways to manage me

and how and what to do... are all your business?

and the war is still fought

between me and him every time

he comes to me

like an uninvited visitor storming to one's room at odd times

Every Night

2008-03-20T21:23:00.000-07:00

Every night
when the world outside enters the last laps of slumber
and there is an eager wait for the dawn to break
I am there in my cabin
the Apple computer before me, unique and exquisite,
the coke bottle and half eaten burger,
the accounting tables of an American firm,
the undeveloped websites and the softwares in making,
different files , different folders,
the g talk and the orkut profile open,
the blasting sound of some jazz or rock which I can't distinguish
my ears soar, that's all ..who cares the music, the lyrics unimportant
but it is important to look modern and different
look out the glass planes with dew drops sticking to the exotic glass
the hot and humid atmosphere outside this glass interface
the cold and pleasant air conditioning inside,
it is humans who decide the temperature here

the cheques and emoluments at the end of the month
neither my dear father who slogged as a clerk
nor my dear mother who burst her throat before the school kids
got a 5 digit salary even in their last year or best year
here I sleep every day and slog every night
eat at KFCs and CCDs
drink at pubs and dance at the best night clubs in the weekend
travel in company's own buses, fully air conditioned
has never seen any slum nor a layman in this big metro
trips abroad, partly official partly entertaining
life so beautiful! so good!

you are mistaken, my friend
I duped you ... that was me for you, the society
middle class mentality- a professional job by any means
engineer, doctor or manager
names do not matter
astronmical salaries
social status-who decides this one, God Knows?
and good market value in the dowry market
that's what I want

No, that's what I am supposed to want
not the village I always wanted to be part of ,
its unpaved roads and pristine nature and dear people
not the stone benches I sat on with her in the campus
telling how much I loved her
but she always asked me about pay packages and placements
crushes, proposals, girl friends, dates;, blind and seen?
but my true love went unseen and unnoticed
the graphs, drawing tables, projects,

the mindless designs I drew and
the laws and formulae I by hearted hours before
the GPA I only cared for
the teetotaller and pious at home
the boozer, the fagger and
the pursuit of novel adult experiences, both vicarious pleasures and not
the night outs for the subjects
whose books are opened for the first time the previous night of the exams
and the night outs so as to be intelligible in student discussions
about the films of Nicole Kidman, Angeline Jolie, Tom Cruise

those ones were the only parts of me
which accompanied me after my campus life
outside my cabins, in the posh flats and guest houses
the mechanical life I live.....am a robot or calculator?
the lust and the love of pleasure with which I go for bodily relationships
and the sudden shock that I am even mechanical in that,
satisfying somebody but never myself
trying to mimic the pornography which I watches,
the play boy magazines which I read
the phone sex and cyber sex I am addict to
gasping and sweating in between, but thinking what am I doing
the cigarette butts filling the room ,
the cocaine (imported! not the local ones) I succumb to
the bottles of liquor which I never take number of,
but drink till I puke to the disgust of my pub buddies
the God I forgot, but I visit to make my parents happy

at the end of it,
the night becomes my day
and day is distant like the dawn break which I may not see
before I doze off on the cosy bed in the posh flat of the company

Ode to Feminity

2008-03-11T09:50:00.000-07:00

Feminity!
none can monopolise it
neither you with breasts and the sacred womb
nor the nature being overpowered by the masculine and the mechanical
it is in me
though not as much as you

the gestures
the movements
the voice
the expressions
i can't hide them, oh dear mother

abuses and annoyance from the audience
rebukes, ridicule and cruel mimicry from friends and foes
muffled voices, nick names,stares with strong meanings and sexual advances
gay? homo?
speculations of third sex and comparisons to transgenders
isolation from the machos and the realfeminine
share my woe and know my pain, oh dear mother

when legs start tapping and moving to a classical hymn
when Sringara or Thandava dances on your face
it is Bheebhathsa from the elders
you are not child, dear, grow up
when the muscular and merciless becomes the model
a tear from your eyes becomes a curse for the the entire tribe
how can a man cry?

trembling heart and helplessly shivering hands
when you see a word or deed against her honour
she being raped, molested and teased

the jasmine garland which i bought for none
when onlookers giggled at the adolescent's arrogance
because i could not stand her agony and despair
an elderly flower seller uncared in the corner of the market

dear mother, don't you remember
me assisting grandma in her kitchen
me cooking and playing family with my siblings
me dancing at the school festival with you anxiously viewing till my last step
me sleeping close to your warm bossom

and suddenly why did you
scold me for myself helping you in your kitchen
thrash me for the unconscious dance step
hit me for being with my foster mothers and aunts for long
and keep me away from you

what is wrong in you ?
Oh! what is wrong with me
may be a Djinn inspires me
let them exorcise it
genetic/psychological/sociological
plenty of theories to account for it
but i don't care

let me live as i am
accept me if you can
oh my mother
who else shall understand

Foeticide

2008-02-20T05:52:00.000-08:00

I know what is awaiting me
but I ask you dear,
do I really deserve this
is'nt it something that you can't vomit or cull out or amputate
was it not something which grew with me every moment of my life
unknowingly and unwantedly
was it not there in every breath, every action, every reaction, every thought and every desire
was it something which I never asked for
tell me dear
in every moment, I smile, I laugh, I bubble,
I shudder in my heart of heart
for the shady path which I travelled
to where, I do not know as much as you know it
When each thought of the past prickles you bitterly
you want to cry
but tears stop some where inside
because they know that they are illegitimate children
begotten from the non-pardonable sin of their mother
and none would care for them when they come to this world
it is far better to die inside. is'nt it?

It is raining

2008-02-10T01:10:00.000-08:00

It is raining outside
after a long, but mild summer
when the dry foliage mixes with rainwater
the smell quite familiar
of my home hiding in the shadows of jacks and mahagonies,
the mighty tamarind, most dreaded by mother
the coconuts which sway and swing in the wind
it seems they were making merry
when it rained then

it is raining inside me
the dense dark clouds are no more
and the sky is blue and beautiful again
with this heavy rain
neither a thunder nor a lightning struck
may be that i hid them within.
deep in my heart,
there are more of them
to clog into clouds
and burst into shower
worthy of a thunder and lightning
hope they don't kill or burn
i feel the prickling pain deep within
of having them secured
from preventing them to the rain
like the mother of the little boy
whose father is busy away in a distant land
buying him his dear toys
but buried deep near the Mango tree
in which he swings and hides and seeks
with his bossom friend,
boasting about his father in the treasure land

To You, Both of You

2008-02-07T20:08:00.000-08:00

Dearest……….,
These are my words for you, my dear ones
Both of you, from where I derive my essence and existence
The ink in my pen clogs as
The heart in me chokes
When I realise myself
The dreadful past of mine you know
And
The more horrible past of mine you do not know

A request of pardon
Is it the one I have to write?
Or
A word of confession
Would you bear it?

When day after day
It becomes
A sore in the throat
A hurdle on my road (to nowhere)
A prickle on my leg
An image, I would hate to recollect

When night after night
It dances on my eyelids before letting you to sleep
I jump up from the bed soaked in sweat
I hate the loneliness which ties up you with that past
I tear every shred and burn every bit which reckons it

What do I fear from you?
The days of silence with me
The faces of anger and contempt
The hands beating that breast
Whose nipples nurtured me
The hopelessness which eats up even the last spell of happiness
On the face of the one who saw happiness in the ones around
Whose hands which comforted me cups before the almighty
For a way out this dilemma, unintended and shocking

Am I fearing that?
Or the whims and fancies to be uncared of
Of the unsure or unsecure world outside
Or the rivers of milk and fresh meadows I have to leave behind
Or the warmth of the loving beside me

Then what lies between me and them?
A whole life of self deception
which started where it should not have started.

The night forays

2008-02-02T07:26:00.000-08:00

Silvery moonlight .
i hated it
else it would have been entirely dark
and one except...
would have seen me in this...
moments when u realise the wolf out of the sheepskin
hands sliding on the wet surface
fingers dancing through them
let the nails don't hurt
and near it reached
that i shuddered
and the wolf was back in his sheepskin
when the eyes fell
somewhere a voice told
am i right?
back was i
for the next foray

tears for sale

2008-02-02T07:12:00.000-08:00

Yes it had happened.
So what?
How does it matter?
It had to happen
Then why are you this way?
because i have to mourn
or else what would they tell
let them go to hell
no, they are important for me
you mean?
i rely on them for my life
so you are a parasite!
oh not but yes
so even your tears are sold out?
may be
yes when they cry outside and laugh inside
at least i cry outside and a mind so cold and uncaring
i closed my eyes
shrinked them close
but not a drop of tear came
sincere and true

The journey back

2008-01-27T20:02:00.000-08:00

A sudden instinct drove me
to get up, pack up and move
where to?
i was unaware of
but i reached the station
entrained
to an unknown destination in an unknown train
escape! escape! escape!
that was what mind chanting to me
but then the one next asked.
where to?
and
from where?
and
running away from what?
the luxuries afforded by somebody toiling away
the warmth of kith and kin, papa and mama,bro and sis
the fertile ground to grow and nurture
to
the more happy world outside!
mind you
it is wild and dark
i am sure of
but.but.but....
i pulled the chain
but it was not the same easy journey back
the questions of the security cops looking out for a terrorist
the rugged bus from a distant town loaded with laborers for the metro
the long wait at the stations for the only train back home
the few remaining coins i had with me
the hard water which i got to drink at the wayside pipe
the tiring journey back
i fell down on my cozy bed back home
and sighed
the world is not easy outside..

An effort towards Shape poems

2007-10-25T00:06:00.000-07:00

I
pity
myself wholly
for the dreaded folly
of a life totally
hopeless it
due to
me

Caught Between

2007-09-26T00:14:00.000-07:00

Yes, I am caught between,
The mother and mother surrogate
she who gave me birth
and the one who wished to have me in her womb
the questions ,
are you a sum(\product) of your father and mother
or whether you would have never got born without one of the both.
or your origin owes to both or one or none
Yes, I am caught between
many such questions of birth and origin