Shadows

Your words dance across the pages,

They swirl and twirl and laugh.

Mine are like bits of coal before them,

I hide them away in embarrasment.

When I miss you, I seek their laughter,

Your lightness and your fooling around.

Then I remember that though like coal,

You hold them close to your face.

How else can I put a finger on my joy,

That comes to me during saddest hours.

How else can give a reason for your face,

Dark and long for so many dreadful days,

The dark shadows are still on your face,

Though it's been a long long long time.

One last word

In the bright season of May

years ago our paths diverged;

not that I didn't love you,

yes, I did but there wasn't time.

Time, for us to start afresh

with stubbles of old loves,

for you, with your silences

and me with my clowning...

after the tears wore away

and my heart forgot its pain,

nothing remains of the old,

except a few flashes in words.

But now the world forgets not,

even after years of tears

it brings your name to me

in whispers and laughter.

True love it may have been

No longer live but in words.

Butterfly

Harmony

In the first three months of marriage, there was no reason for disharmony. Theirs was a marriage that was the fruition of five years of love that began somewhere at college.

Yes, they had kissed under the stairs at college and they had fun at times. But they had troubles that began when their names and their religions clashed against each other.

Akash Nair and Meera George were not meant to be together, so said her parents. When Meera ran away one morning it was not at all surprising to her parents.

It was an ordinary day like all the other days. It was Akash and Meera who made it special by getting married in an empty church. He loved making her happy.

The church was open and they said the prayers, Meera reciting them from memory. Afterwards, they went to see Akash's parents who received them with love.

The days of love were lovely and beyond words. But when she started retching, she felt sad. May be it's the food, it might not be suiting me, she thought.

Then the days began on thinking of her mother getting up in the morning and running to work while managing to survive with her sloppy cooking.

What do you want? Akash asked her. In her mind, she said, I want my mother's sloppiest cooked pickles, the better ladies finger fries and the best potato fries.

Nothing, she replied and went on sulking. Was there any way in which her cravings could be answered? With the newly understood feeling of carrying a baby inside, she thought.

She hated the smell of Akash's sweat and even his shirts could make her puke. He walked out angrily on seeing her puke and slept anywhere but near her.

Tears began and so did sleeplessness. Then one day, she bought some raw mangoes and tried to pickle it in the sloppiest way possible.

The aroma was unmistakable, the same sloppy smell of home. She ate them hungrily and hastily. As she found herself happy again, she felt a nauseating feeling and she puked.

She puked in the kitchen and ran to the bathroom, where she puked again and again. When Akash turned up, he was horrified at the sea of vomit around her.

Mango pickle, she said and as he swept and washed the floor, he swore and swore at the stink. She felt a movement in her belly and she felt the baby kick.

Look at this, Akash, baby is kicking. Though there was danger written on his face till a while ago, he came near her and said, “It's my boy learning how to head”.

No way my dear, it's going to be a woman, may be she will join police, Meera said. She thought harmony was restored at least for some time.

The Spirit of Christianity

Once every hundred years Jesus of Nazareth meets Jesus of the Christian in a garden among the hills of Lebanon. And they talk long; and each time Jesus of Nazareth goes away saying to Jesus of the Christian, "My friend, I fear we shall never, never agree. Kahlil Gibran 

The poetry of trees

Trees are poems that earth writes upon the sky, we fell them down and turn them into paper, that we may record our emptiness. Kahlil Gibran

The Indian Terminator

The world as portrayed by books and movies are fragments of a bigger world, events and people and objects given importance based on one's perspective of life. Jane Austen's world view was influenced by the importance she gave to love and marriage; while George Orwell saw a world that was afflicted by forms of political power; the mainstream commercial movies of Bollywood told love stories, the old wine in many new bottles.


Given the amount of publicity given to the movie, Ra-One was disappointing. The movie is only Bollywood's version of Terminator 2 : Judgment Day though not as good as the orginal. As you start viewing the movie, you are shocked by a kind of comic beginning starring Shah Rukh Khan, Priyanka Chopra and Sanjay Dutt. You feel a surge of disappointment as the movie progresses. The graphics dominate the plot and you feel that may be this movie was made for kids. But the jokes on condoms and poweryoga startle you into realising that it cannot be. As G-One bids farewell to Sonia, you are suddenly reminded of the farewell scene in Terminator 2 : Judgment Day. 


The movie comes alive somewhere in the last 45 minutes and you feel that you have wasted a lot of your valuable weekend time, watching a movie that is badly arranged anyway. The world view of the creator is rather confusing: to defeat a machine you really need another machine. The saving grace is the song "Chamak Challo" that somehow makes up for the entire movie.

Beatrice and Virgil

Yann Martel's novel Beatrice and Virgil is an allegory that represents the Holocaust using animal characters. The novel is about writer's block and has the character of the writer Henry L'Hote talking about his writing experiences and also of his encounter with a taxidermist called Henry. This metafictional novel has it all in terms of its several inserted genres including a play, an essay, a brochure, a short story, extracts from Flaubert's short story "The Legend of Saint Julian Hospitator" , a poem in the form of a list and a set of imaginary situations called Games for Gustav. These inserted genres were written by the taxidermist Henry and later recreated by the writer Henry while on the hospital bed after being stabbed by the taxidermist Henry.


Just as in Life of Pi, Martel manages to create more than one dimension of the story and the story flits back between the story of animal extinction and that of the horrible massacre of the Jews during the Holocaust. Martel, through the voice of the writer Henry remembers the six million Jews who were killed during this historical event of genocide. As survivor testimonies show those who survived were no better than those who perished. Martel brings in echoes of several survivor testimonies including that of Primo Levi.


The animal characters Beatrice and Virgil are named after the poet Dante's guides through heaven and hell in The Divine Comedy, the medieval allegory about the state of the soul. From the innumerable allusions to several allegories, it can be deduced that the allegorical form was deliberately chosen by Martel. The allegory commonly spoke of the state of the soul and also gave lessons about humanity's place in the whole scheme of things. Here, Martel brings in an allegory that can be read in both ways and due to the metafictional nature of the novel, there are clues as to read the allegory in terms of animal slaughter and racial purification. Using this allegory, Martel blurs the line between cruelty to animals and cruelty to fellow-beings, showing a belief in the unity of all beings in the universe and an exhortation to live and let live.

Othappu

The Novel Othappu by the celebrated Malayalam feminist writer Sara Joseph has a strong woman character Margalita. Set against the life of Christian Thrissur, the novel depicts how Margalita, a nun hailing from one of the ancient Syrian Christian families flouts all traditions to fall in love with a Christian priest Roy Francis Kareekan. Their love is made intense by the vows of chastity that both of them have to keep and they throw away everything just to be together. But is breaking all rules to be with the beloved worth the trouble? Which is more important listening to your heart's voice or listening to the world? These are some of the questions posed by the novel.

Instead of creating a melodrama out of a delicate subject of love between a nun and a priest, Sara Joseph has delicately handled it but at the same time creating a very strong woman character before whom every other character pales in comparison. She is like a rock in times of trouble and creates her own identity in a society that has divested of all her previous roles- daughter, sister, believer and nun. For her, "love is joy; the joy of love is God; and when you can keep the joy of love in your heart, the whole world will be at peace and the earth will blossom" as she lives a life of sacrifice with Nanu, an orphan child and her unboby baby in her womb.

The English translation of the novel by Rev. Dr. Valson Thampu and published by OUP is also available as Othappu: The Scent of the Other Side 

Warrior of Light

Warriors of light always keep a certain gleam in their eyes.

 They are of this world, they are part of the lives of other people and they set out on their journey with no saddlebags and no sandals.

They are often cowardly.

 They do not always make the right decisions.

 They suffer over the most trivial things, they have mean thoughts and sometimes believe they are incapable of growing.

 They frequently deem themselves unworthy of any blessing or miracle.

 They are not always quite sure what they are doing here.

 They spend many sleepless nights, believing that their lives have no meaning.

That is why they are warriors of light.

Because they make mistakes.

 Because they ask themselves questions.

Because they are looking for a reason – and are sure to find it.

A tryst with Food: Salt n Pepper Movie Review

The story of romance of the not-so-young, the delicacies that come in one scene after the other ( young viewers, I am not talking about Asif Ali or Mythili) and the unusual songs (I mean AanaKallan), Salt and Pepper , directed by Aashiq Abu is a trendsetter. It combines culinary adventure and realistic depiction of  a love affair that happens  from a misunderstanding.

A misunderstanding is the shortest cut between two hearts, Kahlil Gibran has said . Maya and Kalidasan are unmarried, passionate about food and lead quiet lives. Until a misdirected call connects Maya and Kalidasan and they start talking to each other about their lives and their passion for food.

As the conversations progress, they decide to meet. But both of them are in their late 30s and not so happy about their appearance and decide to send in their young friends. As both of them do the same thing, this twist adds to the comic element resulting in an affair with Manu and Meenakshi, the young friends who come disguised as Maya and Kalidasan.

The songs are amazing especially “Kanamullal” and “Premikumbol”. The most interesting part of the movie, however is how the two foodies share a recipe for baking a multi-layered cake known as Joan’s Rainbow, which was cake made by a loving wife who waited patiently for her husband to come back from WW II. As he was delayed by the four days, she made three layers of strawberry, pistachio and orange flavours and melted the chocolates he brought and poured it on the top. This is the rainbow of love that they had created and which they infuse into the two lovers who create the rainbow magic individually.

The stunning Swetha Menon and the realistic Lal have acted superbly. One unforgettable moment of the movie is when Kalidasan goes for a pennukanal and brings home a cook, played by Babu who has amangaed to break out of his  villain stereotype.

A tryst with food, Salt and Pepper has a feel good effect about it! Hope, for the sake of my friend Swapna from Hyderabad, who loves Kerala food and can’t understand Malayalam, the movie gets remade in Hindi soon so that she can tell me, “Yeah Suni, stop raving about that movie. I have seen it too!”

Cross-roads

Your coffee will be cold, the very words,
That fetched you back to me just now,
When I felt years could erase a memory
That I do not wish to bring up again.

Drawing a boundary separates the terrain
Into many different nations on a map.
But is erasing a person from life the same,
For us who were so much like each other.

Conflicting memories the mind brings back,
One of love, one of hatred, one of desire,
All etched against the summer rains
And cross-roads in our individual lives

Yes, I had taken a lonely path away from you
I remember, drinking coffee.

Eternal Silence

A couple walked past us
On that rainy day
Huddled together.

While you and I
Moved on hurriedly
Drenched in silence.

Your shy eyes lingered
Now and then on me,
Wet and wild with glee.

With throbbing heart
With hungry eyes
I stowed away your magic.

You never said a word
I never said a word.
Only silence and the rain spoke.

When we spoke at last
It was with indifference
To the magic between us.

So threw away the words
And the magic between us
What is left is just silence.

Better Tomorrow

Looking at her hands, Akash asked her, “Why don’t you wear any bangles? If you want I will buy you a few. Do you like glass bangles?”

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you? The moment I said yes you have started behaving like a nut! I should have known. Why do you want to change me?”Meera said in an angry voice. 

“Oh, you look so pretty when you get angry”, he said and she laughed and walked away. As she was walking away from that favourite meeting place in the college campus, beneath the tamarind tree, she just looked at her thin arms. Why no bangles? Akash had already told her that she was a tomboy, more like man with no qualms about most things that girls would worry about. Bangles? 

In the History of the world class, her mind drifted to a memory. It was so clear before her eyes. When she was fifteen, when she was at school, she had gone with her mother to a reputed gold shop in the city. 

It was the first time that she had been inside a gold shop. This much of gold in so many forms, it amazed her. So did the cash counting machine at the counter. Her mother showed her a beautiful pair of bangles among the display items and asked her, “Do you like them?”

 Meera was surprised that it was for her. May be something to do with the fact that she had become a woman recently. Girls were gifted so many things and fed so many things. But being away in the city with not many relatives around, nothing had happened and she had gone to school as usual. 

“Try it on”, the salesman was offering it to her. She put them on and suddenly was dazzled by the beauty of her frail hands with these pretty bangles on. 

“those look really good on her hands. By the way do you accept credit cards?”?The salesman nodded and her mother was already at the counter signing the bill. “let them remain on her hands, okay”, she told the salesman. Meera was shocked and soon they were out of the shop walking along the busy street. 

Mother was holding Meera’s hand and told her, “Now dear, we have to go and sell this to the shop over there. I have to give some money back to your aunt. I had taken it from her some two months back when I was not well and couldn’t go for work. She has been pestering me for it because her son’s first birthday is this week and she wants to give a big party”. 

“Doesn’t she have any other money with her?”, Meera said. She knew her aunt had lots of money buying clothes every other week, travelling with her children and her house full of guests. Why did she give the money if she wanted it back so soon? 

“see dear, I have just got my salary this month and I have lots of debts to clear. I cannot ask anybody. If I do this gold business, I don’t have to ask anybody, just pay back the bank in instalments. It may be a loss financially but not a loss of my self-respect”, mother said. Her whole manner was so serious as if she was talking to an adult and not to a fifteen year old kid hardly aware of anything. 

As they entered the next shop, mother told the shopkeeper quietly, “I want to sell two bangles”. The shopkeeper looked with surprise as she showed the bangles on her daughter’s hands. Glistening, new and lovely. “Are you sure, madam ? They look new and look beautiful on her fair hands”. 

Mother, always to the point and proud just said, “Meera, give them to him”. Now, he went to the gold weighing machine and weighed the bangles, rubbed them against some stone to check the purity and finally said, “Madam, you won’t get bangles like these anywhere. But I cannot give you the full price. Only four thousand rupees for both of them”. 

Meera just looked at her mother. She had seen the bill signed at six thousand and she knew that her mother would be losing a lot of money through this transaction. But her mother was quick and she kept on looking at the bangles on the counter. 

Back home, she could not forget the feel of those shiny bangles against her wrists and how fair and beautiful her wrists had looked all on a sudden. Even her tiny blue veins on her wrists had looked lovely against the shine of those bangles. 

In the evening, her aunt came with her children. Usually she is fun with the children but now she saw them in a different light. All new clothes and gold and rich manners, but no love for her mother who has just recovered from her hysterectomy. She saw her aunt take the money from her mother and she was counting it. “Oh, I was so worried about how to get money for Deepak’s birthday and Chacha was pestering me about the money I had given you”. 

 Mother went on with the talking as if nothing had happened and it irritated Meera that she did not mention how she got the money. Was it not enough that her mother was a widow who lifted the entire burden of her family on her frail shoulders and to listen to all this nonsense. She wanted to make it all right in the future. There has to be a better tomorrow when she can prove it to her aunt and everybody around her that life is not about spending money on clothes or on throwing big parties for people you hardly care about. 

 Meera heard the bell and walked out of the class. Akash was again at the favourite spot beneath the tamarind tree. She thought, now he will call me a manly woman, an amazon and so on. As he came near her, he just waved his hands and she saw that he had red and green glass bangles in his hands. 

“If you are not wearing them, I am going to. A womanly man for a manly woman”. Meera laughed and tried to snatch it away from him. Finally, when she managed to snatch it out of his hands, a few of them had already broken. “Now, I will have to marry you”. Both of them laughed as it was a line from a lovestory that both of them had read together.

Woe-man

Out of the rib of man, she was created,
The source of life and mother of all men,
(And women), her yoke made heavy
By the first sin of disobedience.

Yes, she was not alone in her sin,
But his paradise was taken away
Though not as condemned as her,
In sinning against the Creator.

Thus sorrow became her fate,
She shrieked as her flesh tore
And brought forth her children
And her husband smiled proudly.

A strange tale is a woman’s
Whose flesh takes a man’s name.

Better Tomorrow

In the campus, this seat beneath the tamarind tree is usually unusually crowded. The noises were scary at first, guys singing songs to the girls who walked past them. In some quiet places, you could spot young couples talking as well. But today, being a hartal, there were not many around. She went and sat on the steps beneath the tamarind tree. From where she sat, she could see the canteen and the MA classrooms. 

Third day at college. Already she has made friends with half the class, with the canteen manager and with the co-operative society guy. At hostel, she knew the names of almost all the girls on her floor. She opted for a single room as she wanted to read as much as possible in order to be the writer of her dreams. Having another girl in the same room might lead only to those interminable conversations as she used to have during her eleventh and twelfth classes. 

Her friend from school Anusha was in the same class as hers. Both had opted for BA in English as they both loved reading. But Anusha was quite unlike her. Happy, cheerful and fun. Meera always opted for the hostel as she hated home. Her parents quarrelled from, morning till night and it was very difficult for her to concentrate on studies. She empathised with people all over the world who lived in war zones. They never knew anyday what was going to befall them. 

These were her thoughts as she was sitting in the class when RJK was narrating a particularly interesting question. “For example, you take a lot of things for granted. Like home. Does anybody doubt that when you get back home it won’t be there any longer?” There was a pause as it was a rhetorical question. “No, right?”. Meera suddenly was distracted and she was not able to concentrate for the rest of the time. 

“It was a horror, going back home on weekends, she told Anusha. “It’s like I’m going to face a death sentence or something. When I reach the gate, it’s like I’m dragging myself into it. Monday comes and again the sun shines”. 

Just in front of the hostel, they saw Aparna, the college beauty talking to a tall guy dressed in black. As he turned, Meera was surprised. She had seen him in front of the MA class on the last three days. He smiled. She thought for a second and smiled. “Oh, you have already made friends?” Anusha teased. Then to her surprise, this guy walked towards her and said, “ Did you study at Trinity?”. Even before she could answer, he said, “ I’m Pradeep. I was your brother’s classmate. Now you remember?” Now it became clear to her why this guy had looked familiar. But Pradeep, her brother’s classmate was a geek not the stunner that this guy was.

As she walked away from Anusha, she was thinking. At times the heart is so crazy. During her school days, she was feeling lonely and sad. A stranger in a strange land, she had felt amidst the crowd when she joined her eleventh class at the new school. After the first term, a miracle came in the form of Anusha, whose mother had a transfer and had joined the new school. It was like she was dropped from the sky to be Meera’s companion. 

As she took out her books for reading, she felt a strange feeling. It was the metaphysical question of home that made her upset. When she gets married, she will not fight like this, she made a firm resolution in her mind.

Inspiration from writer Chetan Bhagat

Better Tomorrow

As he mixed the dough, he calculated in his mind the amount he would need for paying his son’s fees. If I made, a hundred porottas today may be I will get enough money. His wife had told him as he left for work, “Why don’t you ask any of the teachers?”

“No, I can’t. That won’t be fair”.

“They get a lot of money every month, chetta. All you need is just ask and you will six hundred rupees for sending him for study tour. “

“I know it’s his twelfth standard and he needs to study things. But how can I ask them? They might be getting money, a lot of it. But they also have families, children, car loans, house loans and the list is long. Unless they are like RJK who has a lot of money, no children and no sense of humanity.

You and your stories, Jaya laughed.

Now, when mixing the dough, he was counting all the time. What can a small college canteen bring in a day? Not much but he was well loved by the people as he was an honest man who did his work and never complained. Well, today was different.

“Three porottas and vegetable curry”. A little voice said. It was a girl from the first year. Not that he knew her name or class but could easily make out that she was from the first year by looking at her. First years are of three types- the glam girls making lots of noise wherever they are, the bookworms who are never out of the library and the shy ones who try to make themselves as invisible as possible.

 As he was giving her the plate, he noticed that how small she was. May be too young to be in college. She smiled and said “thank you”, which reminded him of his little girl Lakshmi.

“Where are you from?” he dared.

I’m from Kollam. I stay at the hostel here. Where are you from?”

In his twenty years at the canteen, nobody had asked him such a question. He was surprised.

“What happened? Are you not keeping well?”the little girl asked.

“Nothing kiddo. I was just worried about something”.

Then he thought of how he could offer a special package today and make fees for his son and for his little Lakshmi who has to go to college someday.

There has to be a better tomorrow someday, better from this hand-to-mouth existence. He wrote a fresh entry on the board. “Take home packages of porotta and curries. Book yours now”.

Love at first sight

She stood before the holy place hands folded,
Her face all aglow with the beauty of her heart,
Her eyes closed as she muttered her prayers,
Enough wisdom to live well and nothing else.

Stepping out into the courtyard, her eyes met,
A radiant face, equally aglow with radiance,
Purity and love so much that she forgot herself
Felt as if she was looking in a mirror.

Climbing down the steps, her racing heart,
Flashed to her a future of mutual joys,
Her heart, a butterfly fluttered and flew
As she saw the rituals around the holy fire.

She mused wisdom indeed God has given
To walk away from love at first sight.

Where knowledge is free

 “You and your Google Books”, that’s what my friends keep telling me all the time. A few years earlier, friends teased me about quoting from books and living by some book or the other and planning to write books. 

But now with the changing times, I swear by Google Books. Anything from Literary Theory (I’m a student of English literature; the fascination never ends) to cooking, I find this library extremely useful. 

Even the MLA handbook has a format for Google Book entries. So, this is a season of reading but not in any library but from where I am. Thanks to technology!

Orchids

Trojan Horse

I, dweller of a modern city loves to wander in yours, 
In that enchanted world you collaged out of lores,
The worlds have changed but man is the same ever,
So do your ancient words resonate in my ears.

A Trojan horse means not the same for you and me, 
For you, it was a false step, a free gift regretted.
For me in an age of virtual lives and technology,
It’s a sign that soul is dead, so are god and love.

Starting from an ancient stealth trick of war, 
The modern free gift is across the world,
In the guise of one world and friendship
 To steal, to harm and never to feel remorse. 

What lessons do we learn from Odysseus,
Are the lessons most needed in this world.

Expression

  FIVE years have past; five summers, with the length
  Of five long winters! William Wordsworth 

A mere string of words
A string of musical notes
All come from the soul,
Of an artistic mind.

A harmony that creates
When from all around
Noises scream at you
Real and imaginary.

A monumental silence
Eclipses everything else,
Unspoken unuttered
Unlived unspent.

Five years have gone,
Since I lost my words.

Paradise

With laser eyes, my paradise open to me,

With hungry eyes, I savour the words given me.

Little did I know how much I am grateful

Until I had to write a few lines about you.

The smell of books- new, fresh, musty, old,

The thirst of knowledge, ancient, new,

A plethora of tongues give us news

Of what happens around in the world.

A familiar terrain when fraught with doubt,

When dumped with work from all around,

A haunt of silence and discipline,

A place to complete education.

For contemplation or for distraction,

You still are to me my inspiration. 

Blog

Blogs are dying, the newspaper said,
And just remembered one that I had,
So thought of checking its pulse,
To see if it is still alive or dead.

Reflections of Madison County: A Visual Journey

In every bookworm's library, there are permanent residents or books that you return to time and again, to derive from them the same comfort and understanding that you felt the first time you had read it. These books can bring you back to the sacred space of your soul.

One such book is Reflections of Madison County: A Visual Journey by Mark F. Heffron. This book combines photography and poetry. Against each beautiful photograph of the Madison Country are a few lines from a classic writer like Rainer Maria Rilke or W.B. Yeats.

The visual journey offers a glimpse of the paths through the green fields, the serene rivers and the bridges that are synonymous with Madison County. The ordinary views of nature are transformed into the extraordinary in these pictures. The sunrises and sunsets reveal a landscape glowing with magical light. The fall season transforms the green landscape into a russet-clad one.

Adding to the visual treasure are excerpts from lyrical poets given along with each picture, making this book a form of soul space. I love this one by Rachel Carson:

Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts. There is symbolic as well as actual beauty in the migration of birds, the ebb and flow of the tides, the folded bud ready for spring. There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature- the assurance that dawn comes after night, and spring after the winter.

A sheaf of corn, the mist clad banks of a river, the shade of sunset in the river-water, a swing- impressions that remain in the mind even after you leave the book. Nature and art combines to create sense of serenity in the reader, so much that this book is sure a collector's treasure. 

Bliss

The days of darkness are over finally.
I had waited for the dawn to come for long;
One little wrong word and too much veracity
Had killed this free spirit too early.

Thirst for knowledge and love of life lost,
The soul had shrunk as if pickled in brine
And lost its freedom, its love for life,
Become like an empty vessel thrown in mud.

Now you have brought so many joys and smiles,
You have changed the face of this terrain,
With your dash of luck you sail forward
Taking us both in your pleasant stride.

If I had not known this darkness, my dear,
I'd have never known the value of your smile.

Creative Writing

This is from an article that I read the other day. Motivation and Creativity: Effects of Motivational Orientation on Creative Writers by Teresa M. Amabile of Brandeis University. The study focuses on creative writing as an intrinsic activity that writers do with no expectation of any reward. Many people who participated in this study named the following as reasons why they wrote:

• You get a lot of pleasure out of reading something good that you have written
• You enjoy the opportunity for self-expression
• You achieve new insights through your writing
• You derive satisfaction from expressing yourself clearly and eloquently
• You feel relaxed when writing
• You like to play with words
• You enjoy becoming involved with ideas, characters, events, and images in your writing. 

Remembrance

You and me,
These magical words,
I can never utter,
About another.

You and me,
Like day and night,
Never meet but to play
Hide and seek,forever.

You and me,
Carry an unspoken love,
Unfulfilled yet deep,
Hidden like a treasure.

You and me,
Away but together,
In sleepless nights,
And lonely hours.

You and me,
Wordsmiths who love
To coalesce liquid pain,
Into songs of remembrance.


And you and me,
Like parellel lines,
Stretch across miles,
Strange before strange eyes.

water lily

Perfect

Someday, I want to write the perfect words for what I have in mind. Perfect words written to evoke the perfect feeling. The best of all phrases, wrapped together with the right mix of spices, none too much, just right, none too serious nor too trivial, just mixed like life.

Someday, I would like to gather all my gains and losses, inheritance of words as well as silences and create new music out of them, blending words of joy and love and pain and everything into a perfect little potpourri just like life.But such a perfect day, when perfect thoughts melt into perfect words is yet to be. 

Tiny Feet

May your tiny feet walk beside our big ones,
May your tiny, rosy, tender, toes learn to love the touch of earth,
May you know the night and the sunshine,
May you know your own darkness and light
May you hear the music of rain pitter-pattering on the roof,
May you believe in fairy-tales and epics, dreams and God,
May your eyes, bright and wild shine with laughter as kisses rain on you.
May you touch the tender velvet of flowers,
May you learn simplicity with grace,
May you bask in the beauty of your own souls.

May you learn to love the word and use it to heal all wounds,
May your light shine in our lives and make it lovelier than before,
May you love God as lovingly as you love your father.
May you spread the joy of life in everyone you commune with,
May your eyes be deep and discerning to know the world around you,
May your laughter and smiles be the sunshine in our homes,
May Lord bless you in every step, every dream, every moment of your life,
May you learn the art of transforming thoughts into action.
May you connect with goodness in every dimension,
May you love knowledge and use it with wisdom and serve.


May your heart be lifted by simple joys,
May you sing cheerfully and dance to the music,
May you heart be filled with love for God and others,
May you accept all blessings with gratitude,
May you value time and its passage.
May your thoughts flow in a clear stream of purity,
May you face the world with courage and love,
May your presence be a delight, your love a guide,
May you see change as a rule of life,
May you recognise the good in the rude and the shrewd in the nice.


May the fire of love burn bright in your heart,
May your dreams touch the sky,
May you heart bounce with joy at the sight of a bright blue sky,
May your soul move in unison with the winds, the waves and the orbits of planets,
May your being listen to sweet music sung by the tender moonlit night.
May you live by your own thoughts and dreams,
May you see the inner light in another's eyes,
May you trust in Providence for helping you every moment,
May you love beauty and create for yourself a beautiful life,
May the memory of lullabies bring comfort later in life.

May you value the lessons of life; its sudden turns and tides,
May the seasons teach you lessons of life,
May nature teach you the symbols and signs,
May spring bring you fresh flowers of joy,
May summer teach you courage and endurance,
May autumn talk with you about moving on,
May winter tell you hidden secrets of rebirth.
May you protect the earth from destruction and contamination,
May your life be spotless and pure, may your actions be wise and guided,
May your heart swirl in joy and weep in pain,
May you be courageous enough to weep and show your affection.

May you be kind, considerate, truthful and loyal in your dealings.
May you know life as a tough race as well as a beautiful day in the woods,
May you know its calm flow as well as its torrents,
May you learn the paradoxes and extremes,and find your own balance,
May you use humour to takethe dreariness out of tough times,
May you learn to love deeply, purely and passionately,
May you know our own strengths and weaknesses and strive to see them in balance,
May you learn what to love and what to hate,
What to choose and what to discard,
May you read with a smile all the blessings that a fond soul wishes for you!

Eternal game

You and I were meant to meet; like two streams joining to form a force, entwined to travel through miles and miles to become invisible specks in the endless sea of eternity. But you and I were destined to struggle about identities, independence and possession- that make such a natural blending impossible. Like two opposites, fire and water, who cannot co-exist; we have become feuds in one eternal struggle for life. But this is enough for this life, for without being possessed, without following the rules of the world, this love has turned into a game that can played forever.

Favourite words

Make your own bible.  Select and collect all the words and sentences that in all your readings have been to you like the blast of the trumpet.Ralph Waldo Emerson

Every reader has certain idiosyncrasies, words that s/he loves to visit time and again. But not every reader is able to gather all the words that opened new vistas and changed the boundaries altogether.

Once upon a time, I had a book of favourite verses, of course handwritten and very valuable. It was given as a gift to a very special person. Now, if I write a collection of inspiring quotes and poems, the starting entries might be the same as in the previous book.

Different kinds of entries might follow marking the growth of a mind during ten years. Some of the entries are already posted in the blog under the tag Inspiring words

English silence

I remember reading a tribute to OV Vijayan in an English daily. It narrated a story about his attempts to write a novel in English. Being an MA in English, it should have been an easy job for him; but once he started writing, he understood that his hand was blocked and that he couldn't write with flow. So he tried his mother-tongue and we have the historical Khasakinte Ithihasam. This anecdote stayed in my memory, because at that time, I was an MA student, eager and enthusiastic to devour whatever literary trivia that came my way. Now, five years later, I find that I'm still enthusiastic about writers and their idiosyncrasies.

Home

The metaphysical question popped someday;

When you wondered how a home could crumble,

Tremble and crash without digits on a Richter scale,

Without physical quakes or forces of destruction.

Certainly, it could crumble everyday with a tiff;

Might remain joyless, empty of sunshine and light

By premature deaths that leave eternal chasms,

Or by calamities silently borne with muted tears.

How else could you describe that fleeting security,

A little sunshine and feelings of coziness and comfort,

The cuddling warmth and the elusive happiness

Juxtaposed against violent fights and silences.

It still crumbles everyday with little misunderstandings,

As it has always done since you started all raging fires.

For Baby

My soul you are; my child,
My baby fluttering inside.

My days are full of longing,
Dreams of being your mom.

You were a dream before;
Now waiting at my door.


What bundle of surprises,
Wisdom, virtues and vices.

What a bond will ours be? 
I wait for time to tell me.

Unborn child, my little one,
Teach me again how to love.

Silence: a newly found bookshop in the city

The intelligent person will go inward first. Before going anywhere else, he will go into his own being; that is the first thing. Only when you have known yourself can you go anywhere else. Then wherever you go, you will carry blissfulness around you. OSHO

The first book of Osho that I had read was Krishna: The Man and his Philosophy. Later I started reading Osho Times, a magazine that was so relaxing to read. Recently, I felt an urge to read some of his books and started reading them free at http://www.oshoworld.com/.

Mainly because of the inability to sit and read for a long period of time at the computer (it’s quite a strain for my already myopic eyes), I decided to buy a few of his books. It was quite accidentally that I came across an Osho bookshop called Silence in the city.

To my surprise, Silence was not just a bookshop; it also lent books to its members and offered a discount when buying a book. Cozy and cute, this is a haven for Osho lovers and I was amazed by their large collection of Osho’s writings.

Right now, I have taken a lending membership and I’m reading his books on Zen and Tao at a rapid pace. Thought of sharing my experience with you!