Thursday, November 17, 2011

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

Tuesday, November 08, 2011

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.

Wednesday, September 07, 2011


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.

Wednesday, August 10, 2011


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.

Friday, July 08, 2011

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 kid. 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.

Monday, May 09, 2011

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!

Sunday, May 08, 2011


Friday, May 06, 2011

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.

Sunday, May 01, 2011


You have stolen all my words. I pause in the midst of things and smile as a thought passes my mind. That summer long ago and I know that I am a fool to think that I lost you when I never had you in the first place, I cannot croon love-songs liked I used to nor can I waste my life wandering around searching for you in every crowd. But to get back my words, I know that I have to cure my funny little heart that has loved with all its mighty silences of years. 

Thursday, April 07, 2011


  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.

Wednesday, February 02, 2011


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. 

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Amy Tan’s novels serve as cultural documents that describe the immigrant experience in terms of communality and identity. They con...