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Category: 30-day challenge

Killing the unborn!

I don’t know if she even existed. Like, I don’t even know if she were born. But I’d just love to see her dead. Rather, with my own hands, strangle her to death. She who personifies all that I am not. She who desires all that I dont. She who destroys all that I would never. She who creates all that I couldn’t ever. She who wants to stop me from writing this. She who puts a leash on me being me. She who claims to be a twin of my soul. She who disrupts my life. She who destabilizes my hold on life. She who kicks in when no one’s around, and makes me unreasonable. She who wouldn’t just let go of me until I sneeze her away. She who hunts me down, day in and day out. She who scares me. She who I despise to be with. She who I hates to have known. She who wrecks my inner peace.

“Hey, its high time we broke up. I am so tired of you hanging on to my neck. You want a parasite? Go find someone else. I am so done with you. Just so you know, you’ve done enough. To wreck me and my life.” “I am sorry but I didn’t know. Like , I always thought you liked things this way. Weren’t we perfect this way? Life was getting much..” “Duh! Look at who’s talking about life. What do you know about life? When have you gotten outta your little fantasy world, to even acknowledge there’s a real world and life going on out here!” I tell you I am breaking up with you. But you know what’s it I am gonna really do? I am gonna kill you. Finish you off and wipe you off the surface this world. I wanna wash my sins away in your blood. May be you’re a total piece of crap. But your intangible blood has such marvelous charm. You won’t see another sun rise. Go to a calm and peaceful sleep tonight, and you’ll never wake up from that eternal peace.

P.S. Lately, I have been contemplating metamorphosis. And this is how I see it in me. Went through some past autographs from school. And the one constant line, in every page, even the ones written by people who don’t know eachother, matched so perfect and identical. They all said just one thing. ‘Never change from what you’re. Your attitude stands unique.’ However fancy may that sound, do people really do this copy-cat thing in autographs as they do in tests? Or is it that they all planned on making a fool outta me, by writing out the same thing to freak me out? Or is it actually that, they all thought the exact same about me? Oh mother of god! Where the fuck is that attitude of mine then! (The one that I too loved! Where am I!)

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Another rock night!

Its total injustice to call it a rock night, to all the other real stuff out there. This was about the Idea Rocks India show and some associated promotional show by Shankar Ehsaan Loy team. The highlight ofcourse was the SEL, though there were supporting events and other artistes. Now ask me how grant the event was! Its a personal question for me, coz I haven’t had enough exposure to this kinda music and beats to actually judge. So if I compare today with my other music night experiences this year,(the first time was in this year only!), I guess today was just average. The crowd didn’t move. The music didn’t give you the ‘kick’. And the beats didn’t shake you. It was dull. Was it boring? No, but wasn’t it too dull. May be it is a dumb remark. So the music fanatics, who happened to be in the show as well, forgive my ignorance.

I liked my Agnee experience better. May be, its coz Agnee tops SEL. Or may be, Trivandrum zeal wins over Kochiites’. Or simply be that, being in an event with the general public and family sucks so much. They aren’t anything like having an enthusiastic and energetic crowd of youngsters, brimming with zest, and a liberated gang of friends! Agnee really rocked us. My heart popped out, pounding in thrill with the beats, like in animated cartoons! I really want to shake myself up and dance it off. I want so much more ‘rock’ nights, and let go off the gripping pressure on our lives. It’s great to feel so liberated and rejuvenated, in a crowd of people you may not even know! But, today I caught myself yawning like I was trying to read an academic text!

Mind you, it wasn’t Shankar Mahadevan who made the night drab. His voice and his singing, are the only things that made the crowd glued to their seats. He sings so divine. Effortless and elegant, if I were to be a reality show jury! But that’s not the point in a musical night. The show wasn’t crowd pulling but dull. His songs, I’d rather pitch up my headset and listen to, from an mp3 player or something. I wanted that spark the show didn’t have. The vibe that throws you outta the chair and makes you shake and move with the beats!

ശവപ്പെട്ടി

സുഷിരങ്ങളില്ല്ലാത്ത ഈ കൂട്ടില്‍
പ്രാണന് വേണ്ടിയുള്ള തൂടിപ്പ്ഇല്ല
രക്ഷപ്പെടാനുള്ള വെമ്പല്ലില്ല
നിസ്സഹായതയുടെ നിശ്വാസമില്ല
ആകസ്മീകതയുടെ പരിഭ്രമവുമില്ല
പരിണാമങ്ങളുടെ തിരിച്ചറിവ് മാത്രം.
പരിഭവങ്ങള്ക്ക് സ്ഥാനമില്ലാത്ത
പാരാതികള്‍ക്ക് കാമ്പില്ലാത്ത
വിരഹവും വിശ്വാസവും വിചാരങ്ങളും
വെറും സങ്കല്‍പങ്ങള്‍ മാത്രമാകുന്ന
സന്തോഷങ്ങളും സങ്കടങ്ങളും കൈകോര്ക്കുന്ന
സ്വപ്നവും മരണവും ഇണചേരുന്ന
ഈ ദിവ്യനിമിഷത്തില്..
ലോകത്തിന്റെഈ കോണില്..
മണ്ണിനടിയില്..വിണ്ണിന് കീഴില്‍..
ലയിക്കാന് കൊതിയ്ക്കുന്നുഞാന്‌..
സുഷിരങ്ങളില്ല്ലാത്ത സുരക്ഷിതത്വത്തില്‍
വീണ്ടും ഒളിക്കാന്‍ കൊതിയ്ക്കുന്നു ഞാന്‌.

Futile!

Do I call my life futile? Do you call your life futile? From what I know, only the dead have the right to call futility upon their lives. Its only in the afterlife that you can pass an actual judgement about life, its usefullness, pointlessness, effectiveness, purpose, lack of it, and all about its futility. Till the last moment, till the last miniscule of effort you put into life, everything has a chance to be useful or productive or helpful or whatever to someone, atleast some random person, in this huge world. May be, now is not the time. May be, now is not when you’re useful. May be, now is not when you’re looking out for me. May be, now is not when I am the most wanted in your life. But may be, there might be a day, when all that someone wants in their lives, will be given away by you. You the single entity, which at some earlier point of the same life, may have been regarded unnecessary. Its not about you or me or someone else. Its time. And comfort. And needs. And situations. That decide the wants of any person, at any given point, in the parameter scale. Not you. Not me.

Superannuation!

“Dad, how do you spell rimpersement?” “Dear, I thought you knew. Make daddy proud about his little girl! Don’t be silly and stupid like this. Anyway, r-e-i-m-b-u-r-s-e-m-e-n-t.” “What’s VRS and CRS daddy?” “Where did you hear them now! Voluntary and compulsory retirement from service.” ” Why don’t you take them dad! That means you’ll no more have to work and can stay with me at home. You could drive me to school, we could come back in the evening and pick up mom. And you know the best part? I could skip the after-school nursery! That lady is so…” “Dear, that’s not gonna happen now. If I quit, who’s gonna get you all the stuff you want? How will we pay your school fees? The books..” “Oh daddy! I am so stupid. I’ll study and get a job, and then you take the VRS thing then?” “My sweet little thing! It’d be time for my superannuation then!” “er..your what?” “Honey, let’s keep that for a while later. Now walk fast, so that we don’t get caught in the rain.”

….

How much time passed by, after that one little conversation! Nobody ever knows. Nobody ever knew what happened to that sweet little girl and her daddy. Over the years, things changed. Drastic, dramatic, diplomatic. All kinda changes had come over people, places, things, but memories. Next to change, I think memories are the one other thing that doesn’t change. It either stays or doesn’t. So her memories, or his memories, were now lost in the deluge of the new striking events, that has brought their lives to this moment.

So now is when he retires. Filling out the PF forms, he had obvious difficulties. He didn’t care enough to ask for help, she didn’t bother to offer help either. As he was filling them out, the moment of silence loosely hung on a thread. And the thread was so broken, and words so came flowing in, when the mother and the rest of the family joined the father and the daughter. He was almost done with a nominee field left out. And he asked, “Sudha, what’s Bhavya’s DOB?”. Her world just crashed right in front of her. Why was he asking mom about her sister’s date of birth? Is she going to be the nominee? Why not me, she thought. It wasn’t about the money. Now that everybody earned shitloads of money, nobody cares. It wasn’t about the authority either. But didn’t she and he have a pact? A superannuation-slash-VRS pact? When he finally promised to be with her, spending more time with her. And when she could finally reach out for her dad, at all points enroute being daddy’s pride! And now, all of that’s gone? Misunderstanding? Miscommunication? Mis-what? She just missed that one pact she had hoped to exist. The one that she was sure would be kept. Why do people change like there was never a past? Like, there was no history that they shared with the others in their present! She died a little inside, but casually sat there, right opposite to him, with no emotions.

….

Could Sudha be right? Did I unnecessarily make a fuss about the whole retirement thing by calling the return-back party at home? She seems too burdened with the chores. But then, did I have a choice. I so wanted my little girl to be here with me, while I retire and step out of my office. I have finally made enough space and time for her in life. Perhaps, Sudha was right. I shouldn’t have wanted her to come. She seems so uninterested. She’s right about moving on, from daddy’s little one to the woman she has become now. You make me proud, dear. But I would have been a lot more happier, if only things were slightly different. And if we could still get back to our old VRS pact! Or did that already slip into our cold mask of oblivion!

Cleaning spree!

Lately, I’ve been complaining too much about boredom. To myself, to people who care enough to ask, and to myself again. Like, I’ve never been this bored in my whole lifetime. So much bored that, even saying out that I’m bored is a tiring boring exercise. But, as a matter of fact, I’ve not sat down for a minute, idle and relaxed. All day, I’m on a cleaning spree. Like my home is never swept or cleaned. Like, nothing is organised here. Like, my home is a total mess and that I’ve to start from the scratch. But none of that is true. I’ve a moderately neatly maintained home and clean surroundings. May be it’s my boredom kicking my ass, and making me toil like I’m to do something ‘big’ about my cleaning activities every day. Like, I’ve co authority to report to. Even before bed, I’m not getting the usual retrospective times. I’m busy blogging, making up to the challenge.

So, I’m busy like an ant. And Yet, unmistakably bored. To the core. I’ve more assignments. You want your home cleaned, or book shelf organised, or furniture re-arranged? You could contact me. But then, I’m kinda busy here. So next time may be?

Of all the cleaning and dusting, there are some special things I’m so proud of. One, I got an awesome and elegant setting for my books and the library they constitute. Two, three, so many in between. The last and the most special thing is this old picnic table that climbed all the way down the attic to my balcony, with this welcoming umbrella shade! I’m so worked up that I still haven’t found an ideal moment of peace to go to the balcony and relax on my umbrella chairs!

The yellow glow!

She turned to his side of the bed. The spread was wrinkled and still had his warmth. She rolled over, awake the rest of the night. When did he leave? Did he say anything? She couldn’t think straight, still caught in the unfulfilling sleep. Wasn’t it obvious he’d leave anyway! But somehow, she wished otherwise. It has been a tough time thru this. And she couldn’t handle it anymore. The yellow light shimmered.

She loved the light. The yellow light. The dim flickering filament bulb. And the yellow glow. The best part, as she saw it, was that, when you shut your eyes close, the light just stays off. It doesn’t penetrate thru eyelids and poke your retina to acknowledge its presence. Unlike what the fluoroscent tubelights do to your eyes. And when you open your eyes, it still stays there, causing no difficulty to your eyes, adjusting to the brightness. The yellow light shimmered.

When was the last time she had the yellow light? Was it way back at home? The only apartment her parents rented was so dimly lit. She could recollect faint glimpses from there. Everything had a yellowish hue. The glow of the yellow light. And the yellow flame of the candles during the ‘power-cut’ hours! Again. The yellow light shimmered.
She never liked the yellow frock her parents got her. The only one they bought together. She despised the pineapple jam coz it was yellow in colour. She adjusted with the mixed fruit. She didn’t like yellow coz her aunt died of jaundice, all yellow and pale. She didn’t like the sun, coz it was yellow and hurt her eyes. She loved the moon. Is that how she turned into this night person? But at all times, she loved the yellow glow and the filament bulbs. The yellow light shimmered.

What did he wear last night? Was it a yellow shirt? And the same yellow pants? She doesn’t remember. It needn’t matter anymore coz the night is over now. The yellow sun had risen up. But it still bothers her. Did he actually wear those yellow things for her? The yellow sun disturbed. She pulled the blanket over her head and went back to the slumber. The yellow light shimmered.

The yellow sun gave up and the moon came back, welcoming the yellow glow. The bulb was turned on, once again. The yellow glow spread all over. The room had the yellow charm back. And she silently sneaked out of the blanket. He was at the door. Wasn’t he better looking than the guy from yesterday? Rather, wasn’t he the most good-looking, of all the men who stood at that door? She was mesmerised by his glow. And she let her hands open in a huge embrace to welcome him into the bed. Before he could move, she let her hands go asked him to leave. His head hung in apprehension, he turned away and walked in silence. He didn’t wear yellow. His glow wasn’t yellow. She wanted yellow. She embraced only yellow. She kissed only yellow. She could please only yellow. She loved yellow, perhaps. The yellow light shimmered.

She closed her eyes, taking on last glimpse of the yellow glow, before she drifted back to her sleep. The yellow light glowed even brighter, noticing her looking at it. What colour would be the blush of the yellow light, you may ask her. And she’d say, what you see as flickering, that one moment of fading away, is my yellow glow blushing at my gaze! The yellow glow beamed. And she slid under her cover. The yellow light shimmered. And flickered. And faded. And was putoff.

She wakes up into the new red glow. She fits back into the routine. But this time, she doesn’t filter out the non-yellow-outfit men. All are welcome. All are accepted. The room no longer glowed in yellow. The charm was lost and the glow was stolen. The yellow absence filled the room. And her soul. She hates light. She is in love with black. Her face no longer seen in the dark. The glow disapperead into the abyss. And, the red light flickered at the door. Not blushing, but annihilating. The red light doesn’t shimmer.

Kalaaba kaadhalan!

Iravin madisernthu
irulil marainthu
uruvam yeranthu
udalum pirinthu
unnil sera thudikkiren
unnodu kalara yaasikkiren.
Oruvalukku oruvan endra
sattathai naan indru arukkiren.
En kalaaba kaadhala..
Neeyennai avanai vida
anpoda aravanaikkirai.
Un nesathin soozhchiyil
naan avanayum marakkiren.
Unnodu ondraaga yengukiren..

Intha ulakin sodhanai
ennai vittusellumendraal.
Intha vazhakyain verumai
nammai theendathendraal.
Un manathin thavippu
en maranathil theyumendraal.
Vidaikal naan kekkavillai unnidam.
Vidaivaanga mattum azhaikkiren.
Ungalirunthu en puthu thozhanudan sella.
Selkiren naan…
Intha mutrupulliyin mudivil
yaavum mudiyumendraal.

P.S. Every blogger has those days when you have the nerve to attempt on ANYTHING, just coz you don’t wanna stop blogging. One such day here!

Pulse!

When I say pulse, I am not sure about what exactly am I trying to say, even within myself. It could rather be interpreted as some ‘symptom’ of life!  Or, in more contemporary terms, the pulse of something is the essence of the thing itself. Essentially, breathing and the beating heart and the neural throbbing symbolises the pulse of life and staying alive. But, often, we come across mannerisms and habits (aka compulsive obsessions) that let you know they sure are alive nd kicking, beyond the inhale-exhale routine. And most of the time, its mockery upon people’s OCDs. But at once, I realised there’s some fact in this.

As on most weekends, we set off to meet our grandparents (mom’s). But this time at my aunt’s place, as they had come over there. By the time we reached, grandpa was sick. Low sugar. He was exhausted and lying down. Everybody got worried, stuffing him with as much ‘sweet’ness as they could. Mom went uber crazy, under pressure, which used to be typical of aunt. Hustling around, I thought people were nnecessarily making a fuss there. After all, thatha (grandpa) is old and he’s used to be of a weaker health for the past decade. But he’s always strived and came out good. So I sat down on a chair, across the hall, facing him. Everybody was still standing, and I went WTF in my mind! It’s not like I loved him any less. Perhaps I’d say, I am the one who loves him the most, second only to ammammai (grandma). May be that’s not true from somebody else’s perspective, but definitely for me. So it was not like I wasn’t concerned. I was just sure its all gonna be fine. But then I notice something. I saw his hand, awkwardly clenched, like he has no more control over them. Could it be a stroke? Is his mouth slightly awkward too? Did he just get paralysed to his right? Infinite questions and my head would have just exploded. I got up (calmly or in a mad rush, I don’t remember) and went over to feel his right hand. The reflex he showed surprised me and soothed me all over. He held my hand, not too tight, not too gentle, as always when we depart, and we shook hands and he managed a slight laugh. I laughed too. Did I everyone else in the room too? I was too soothed to notice. I left him, with the still-concerned daughters and sons-in-law! I went over and continued the conversation with lechu (the cousin, as most of you know by now!). For now, we had made a pact over the handshake! And we’d made our peace to eachother.

And later on, as my uncle reached, thatha was still not stable. He was dizzy and disoriented. It was evident he hardly understands his environment. So then, mama (uncle) tries his usual prank on thatha. “Appa, ethra manikku serial thudangum? Rathri ennathu? Bhairavi thaane?” (Dad, when does the TV series begin? What’s it tonight? ‘Bhairavi’ is it?) And thatha prompty responds, ” Aamam, Bhairavi. Serial pathe kaalukku thaan” (Yeah, it is ‘Bhairavi’. The series begins at 10.15 only!). Mami interrupts, “Appakku ellam sheriyayachu ippo!” (Dad is all good now!). And now, the silence in the room breaks into laughter, as everyone’s sure thatha is fine, that he now grabs back on to his biggest OCD ever – Tamil TV series!

But to me, it was the unique handshake that told me he’s fine. It was never the usual handshake. Back then, he used to chide me and accuse me for trying to steal his ring, as we shook hands. Later at some point, he perhaps thought I am too grown up for that prank. But we still continued the handshake ceremony, even if we never talked the whole time. It grew into an OCD between us and I was immensely happy to see that he related ‘our’ thing to my casual touching of his hand. A while ago, mom had called to check on him. He’s fine expect that he has no memory of us coming to see him today. But I guess, the OCD would work anyway. That’s how it works!

Life is that. From interests, to cravings, to yearnings, to obsessions. Things that you wouldn’t let go until the last breath. Things that certify, that you’re more than a piece of breathing flesh. Things that define you and your existence. Things that you are hated for. Thing that you are loved for. Yet the same things that you are identied with. Things that make life, and help you live beyond inhalations and exhalations!

Visual vestiges of a cherished obsession!

An endless journey through the seamless rails..

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Towards the horizon, vanishing and uniting with the ultimate..

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A delayed arrival @Trivandrum Central. An evening blend of colours above the rails..

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Ahoey! I reserved this for you, my invisible companion! The vacant face..
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Barred and unbarred!

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Aqua power – captured and un-captured!

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MEMU days – The scary double doors.

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MEMU days – Share the window – Single Window System!

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The bridge to traverse – unfinished as ever!

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What I never got bored of – the curves and the bends – drawing spirals in my head!

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This is not all about my train journeys. But this definitely is an indispensable part of my rail-days!