Goodbye Again

For you, no words are enough; no goodbyes enough,
For you were always there besides the River Green,
Looking at my small and big steps with lots of pride
For all these long years from early childhood.

Now you are like a child with a weak heart and mind,
That trembles and forgets who you really represent,
Still in your shaky voice heard over the distance,
I hear the same pride that I have heard before.

You taught me my first words and the first songs
You sang in that hoarse voice, your many boatsongs,
That later formed the wild rhythm of musicless songs
Written in a language you have forgotten to understand.

Now, all you know is a strange language of goodbyes
That makes my heart tremble and grow old so early.

I

I am the taste of pure water and the radiance of the sun and moon. I am the sacred word and the sound heard in air, and the courage of human beings. I am the sweet fragrance in the earth and the radiance of fire; I am the life in every creature and the striving of the spiritual aspirant.

The Bhagavat Gita

Resolutions of 2009

It's been a long year, this 2009 and somehow I was not able to stick to  my  New Year Resolution that I had made this year- to write a page a day. 

Till June, I faithfully continued writing a page a day and blogging regularly. But then, ill health took over and I stopped my writing altogether. Still, I believe that I was able to do some work regarding my blog, which has occasional posts and is not at all a disappointment for me. I guess I bragged about writing a page a day and that finished my writing habit!  


Regarding my other New Year Resolutions ( to lose weight and get up early), however I was more or less successful. The first resolution was an indirect result of watching how the Indian actor Aamir Khan worked hard to gain his six pack abs. However, my plan was only partially successful because it was ill health that brought down the scales and no hard work or dieting. 


Getting up early in the morning was a mirage for me because of my habit of sleeping at around 2 a.m. It was solved when I got a job and started waking up at 7 and later paying off the sleep debt after work. This has been the practice on weekdays since September but on holidays, I sleep till noon. Still a far better me than before! 

A wish

One wish can travel far
Or wide through time,
Whatever the day might be,
A wish that was never made
Aloud with words.

One wish with love
Uttered in silence
Before the altar of souls,
Can bring peace to you,
Wherever you are.

I have heard that you're gone,
Far into the unknown land,
Where I can never reach,
With my wishes or prayers
Or with loving messages.

May be it's another lie,
Like that one said
To win an epic war,
One told out of spite,
Just to bring tears.

One wish can travel far
Or wide through time,
Whatever the day might be,
A wish to bring a smile,
Wherever you might be.

Hatred

The thin cold fingers seep through every chunk in the soul,
Hatred of a high degree, much hidden by concerned words,
Much disguised by painted smiles and sharp insults,
For you to swallow and digest like those bitter pills daily.

Whom shall you trust in these times of embittered silence,
For each and every shoulder listens and remembers all,
To spring sudden surprises at a relaxed carefree self
That somehow is taken aback by the venom of words.

The venom of words that you spit when you are angry,
The tone of voice that carries deep dislike and jealousy,
One wrong word somewhere and you are driven again,
Once more into these same alleys that witness fights.

For a hatred of a higher degree bad words aren't enough;
It requires the art of cleverly wrapped insults and smiles.

Can you communicate freely without using the word "I"?

Childhood

Where have all those days gone, those of laughter
And of tears, when beside the huge river green,
A childhood was spent in thousand creepy fears,
Taken out of my grandmother's long night tales.

Where have all those tastes of childhood gone,
Mangoes plucked from the neighbour's orchard,
The sweet bites of freshly cut sugarcane stems,
Along with jaggery sweets from next-door kitchen.

Where have all those big dreams of life gone,
Playing doctor with sharp pencils as syringes,
Of travelling around the world in eighty days,
Of being Edmund Dante or the Musketeers.

Those childhood days beside the river green
Are now long-faded photographs and memories. 

Learning

You and I have come so far after travelling the miles together and apart. If you look back, the growth has been amazing. For you will see that I have changed beyond recognition and am much devoid of my often boasted scholarship; instead what i have gained from life is a sour temper and vaguery in every field. While you , who never bothered to read any scrap of paper except the titillating have become a bookworm, who boasts of every little piece of knowledge you have gained. Still the contrast is amazing in that you still look forward to me like you used to do; while I live a dual life- the past and the present.

Brilliance

What learning can books give once you lose your head?
Once you lose your head to the voices inside your head,
The conflicting voices that opine for and against,
Each and every action and emotion in your mind.

For whom, will you turn to when your heart speaks,
In two languages, one of desire and one of fear,
Hesitating between the two like at crossroads
And shudder at the thought that your life is gone.

Gone with the web of thoughts that doesn't exist,
Gone with the lack of concentration this state brings,
The original you is buried somewhere someplace,
Somewhere in the past when brilliance shone.

All you can ever do is make a show of brilliance,
When your head is empty; just like others do.

Silences

The silences formed her nature;
When for others words came easy,
For her words were clumsy, gauche.

They came in left-handed strokes,
At inopportune times and slashed,
Through many hearts like knives.

That’s not what she had wanted,
All she wanted was to bring smiles,
And show people how she cared.

Instead she watched others do it;
Bring smiles and wipe others’ tears,
Or soothe a lonesome broken heart.

Silences remained her language until,
She was loved; made to laugh aloud, 
Forget her tears, with loving words.

Sunset

We sat on the sands watching the sun set,
Splashing many hues from a vibrant palette,
What shades of blue, grey, red and orange,
Etched against a mass of blue ocean.

The waves beat against the sandy shore,
While crowds gathered to step into water,
Toddlers and children, laughing wildly,
While we watched and took in the scene.

Now, many seasons have come and gone,
The shades have become only lovelier,
While the light of love that once was there,
In your eyes have faded with the seasons.

No words are enough to describe that light,
Or the brilliant hues of the setting sun.

Funny Advice

Beauty Advice given on my Cleanser( I don't think I need to explain it):

Apply on a cotton pad mornings and evenings before using any other care products.

Reconciliation

You pretend to laugh at my jokes; but I see your face clearly though I may not always see it. Your voice betrays your hatred at what I have done and what I failed to do.You think that your hesitation is much better than my total change of plans. But looking deeply, you wil find that the spirit is same; too much thought that leads to much inaction and nowhere in life.

You think about finding answers in logic; while I depend on intuition and the flow of the moment. Who are you to blame me for crumbling before mighty forces? For I would never have crumbled, my dear, if you listened to what pained my heart when it mattered. Nobody did. All you did was to laugh a queer laughter at my craziness and sudden loss of intelligence.

Now, I find that you and me, the best of all allies have become strangers in a strange land and crave for love from kind strangers, though what lies behind us is a mighty past full of great dreams and common likes. For you, who never cared for the word "honour" shirk at my sight because I have thrown mud at your so-called honour that never mattered anyway.

Playlist of the Day

These are the Malayalam tracks that I'm listening to right now at raagaonline:

1. Chandana Cholayil from Sallapam
2. Mounasarovarom from Savidham
3. Pathiramazhayetho from Ulladakam
4. Saagarangale Paadi from Panjagni
5. Manjal Prasadavum from Nakhaksthangal
   

Empty Pages

A page a day was a dream,
Except on space-less Sundays
Which had no blank pages
In my diary with green cover.

I bought this at first sight,
When this shade of green
Brought back to my mind,
The sheen of a river green.

This river in a distant land,
Shimmers in sunlight,
Flows with a graceful ease
Unlike these words.

For words have seasons;
They've dried up with years.

Opportunities

There are days when life is swamped by opportunities and lack of them at the same time. Like there are two three people ringing you up with some project or the other that has to be completed simultaneously. Sometimes all turn out to be in vain as well. But who can explain such a phenomenon of attracting several possibilities at the same time, all glittering and bright; only to feel the pain of rejection.

novel

I like reading about authors and how they create their works. Earlier, I wanted to write a novel that contained the best possible writing that I could do. But somehow writing a novel looks like a daunting task now because of its too time consuming and I realise as years pass by that I'm turning too unimaginative for such a kind of literary effort.

This is no sob story; but that kind of visualisation or imagination is not there with me right now. But even this hue and cry about being a kind of literary failure is illogical; but that's what makes me churn out all these words right now. Reading about NaNaWriMo has spurred this outburst; mainly because there are people who try and fail; but I sadly belong to those set of people who logically analyse the probabilities of winning and never try.

Scattered thoughts from a rambling pen

I don't know when this started; but somehow life has fallen into a maze. The main thing that I notice about it is the simple inability to put things in their right places; like a disordered life, a disordered mind and a disordered room. It's like I know what's wrong but lack the energy to lift a book that has fallen from the table, to set right a calendar that runs two months late and many other lazinesses.

May be it's my health or may be just inertia. But there are things that interest me everyday like getting up in the morning and checking mail ( or reading the newspapers) first thing in the morning. Earlier as a young maiden, I was a orderliness freak that could make my classmates cry in amazement- easily readable home-made labels on bookspines, file divisions for subjects, cleanliness, lists and what-not.

Now, life is full of inertia. Add to it, the pain in my shoulders when I strain myself for a long time. Never thought of it as a serious medical problem or anything but that prevents me from doing quite a lot of things that I want to do. Still at some invisible level, there is an order to days; an invisible level of control that keeps a check on reality and divides all the chores into the urgent and unimportant.

But a few tasks like folding clothes or doing a complete cleaning session of the room and all its contents is too improbable; for they are made of tiny ignored tasks that piled up one on the other.
May be writing it out helps this inertia a little!

Words at midnight

At times, I have found out that my otherwise lazy mind works overtime at night and produces word after word in perfect order as if somebody was using my mind as a blank page to write upon. At such times, I feel that even if I record these words, I might not be able to record them all.

Last night was such a night and I couldn't sleep at all, thinking of all the unwritten words. When I finally put them to shape, they had lost their original magic. Just words on why I cannot write as I could do earlier. So if at all I write a classic that will definitely be titled "My story about why did not succeed as writer, person, teacher or a social being!" Amen!

Senile

He sits silent in his favourite armchair. No words, nothing ever comes out of him. One so famous for order and discipline, now sits crouched in a corner. His senses have discarded him.

Now and then, he poses a question about the time, place and welfare of his kids. Some pretend not to have heard him. But when a fond face steps before him, though it has grown much in age and in pain, his dispassionate face breaks into a smile and he asks: “When did you come?”

Once more an era steps before him when he danced to the whims of a fatherless little girl who watched television sitting in his lap, for whom he bought sweets that vanished in a few minutes and with whom he wandered in this new city.

All the stories that are told about his partial loss of memory, his absent-mindedness and lack of consciousness are proved wrong when I, who call him Bapu, may be the first grand-daughter who named a grandfather (with a name that he used to sign his letters) steps into his view.