It’s dark everywhere

What is darkness my friend?

Is it when the light fails you,

Or is it when the mind fails?

What is being alone my friend?

Is it when you have no one around,

Or is it when this question echoes silence?

What is it to be sad my friend?

Is it the loss of happiness,

Or is it when you forget what’s it to be happy?

What is the end of sanity my friend?

Is it the beginning of a new world,

Or is it the continuum of end?

What is death my friend?

Is it when the soul leaves the body,

Or when the will just ceases to be..

The light is inviting

White gown and the lavender lillies,
The long trail and my flower girls.

The brown shade of drying mehendi,
And my own troupe of dancing gala.

The turmeric paste and the saffron bindi,
And my flowery garlands and the three knots.

The well-begun tale of my dreams,
And the ill-fated days that followed.

Says every men and women,
Embracing the halves that make them better.

Like yet another fly and its drawing to the light.

The Clichéd

Withering flowers and the fallen leaves

Do they think life ends there?

Kissing the soil and hugging the ground,

Do they relish a new beginning?

The flowing river and merging flows,

Do they finish the journey at the sea?

Meeting new friends and exploring new levels,

Do they begin their endless trail?

Beauty in nature and peace in life,

Do poets preach what they’ve seen and felt?

Lost in the crowd and unheard in the chaos,

Do they yearn for the unknown?

Why do poets sing of trees, and flowers, and rivers, and the Sun and the rain?

Why do they say what’s been said,

Why do they see what’s been seen,

Why do they want what’s never there!

Tears make you…

Strong, or weak? It’s a debated topic. Boys shouldn’t cry, men shouldn’t show their weakness and so on. Sometimes it’s beyond gender. Crying is somehow always associated with weakness and fragility. It’s weird though, that the other extreme of emotions aren’t associated with weakness or vulnerability. If you ask me, I think a person is the most vulnerable when they are angry. Of course, crying is perhaps the saddest phase, but anger is when you have no control on your words, your body language, your psyche as such. Anger is when you say things you wouldn’t have said otherwise, anger is when you lose your mind – anger is your vulnerability. When you cry, you expose your vulnerability, of course. So do you, when you are angry. The difference is, one vulnerability is exploited in favour of others but not necessarily against you, and the other vulnerability is almost always exploited against your own interests. When in tears, you might agree to give away half your wealth to someone empathizing with you. But in anger, you might just end up breaking the most expensive vase you bought last week. Without having to explain, wealth and the vase are all just metaphors and not literally about their physical worth. I always fear being exploited in a way that I lose something cherished, than someone else gaining something from me. But again, I cry as often as I lose my temper and throw stuff around (atleast inside my head!). It’s a balance most people struggle to establish. I would totally like to say crying makes you stronger, but that could be very one-sided since I don’t know how strong you get without crying. One thing I can, however, is that anger makes you equally fragile and weak in the knees. Should we not start a saying that ‘Boys shouldn’t be angry’? Perhaps, take out the gender and rephrase – ‘People who make it are people who start with inner balance!’

The irrelevant void

Voids. Those tiny little empty spaces between life and its monotony. There are way too many voids in each person’s life. Some get filled. Some may not. And some others, may even go unnoticed as they get filled without our knowledge or appreciation. I have been thinking of such ‘irrelevant’ voids in my life, say, for past two weeks. Now, two weeks is fairly a fair amount of time to spare on ‘irrelevant’ things!

I walk a decent distance of half a kilometer every morning, towards my bus stop. And one my way, I have quite a lot of ‘irrelevant’ details to look at and often smile at. The ‘petti-kada’ auntie, the ‘chechi’ by the corporation water supply, the repeated questions about my college and morning greetings from a acquaintance, and the occasional black dog and the dark faced man. And there are (scary) dogs and cats and scary hussle of bikes and cars. And there’s the occasional glimpse of the black dog and the dark faced man. Nothing specifically that I look forward to, but all the more a part of my mornings.

And then one fine day, I walk along and see a black flag by the black dog’s and dark faced man’s house. There’s death in the air, but no matter what, I get my daily bus. So I walk past the house, not looking out for anybody in specific. And so passed a week, and I wonder where the dark faced guy disappered, along with the dog! A death at his home and all I see are stangers around, and kids performing the final rituals. Funnily now, the obvious still hadn’t struck me. And on the seventh day ritual, ‘sanjayanam’, I walk by the place again. Dramatically, through the gathered crowd, I see the dark face photographed and framed, with a garland around it. The obvious finally occured to me. And for the first time, I gazed at the board that bore the dark face’s name and occupation. He was an LIC agent. The irony didnt stop me, but something else did. I was tansfixed for a breif moment, for an awkward amount of seconds.

It is irrelevant, isnt it? Someone I haven’t talked to, have had no association with, whose name I didn’t even know while he was alive! It was just a ‘someone’ who died. But suddenly, it gave in for a large void and deep flow of thoughts. Thoughts that took me in for two weeks or more, and I have been thinking of the dark face and the black dog that suddenly vanished. I wanted to ask around. Did he have cancer? Did he die of a tragic accident? Did he commit suicide? I wanted to ask a lot of things. Almost a month, and I have been still thinking on it. And finally today, I got the answer. He just fell in the bathroom, hit somewhere and just simply died! A plain simple death!

It’s not the death. But the absence. The sudden void that shook me. I am not even sad for him. Come on! I didnt know him at all! But I miss some presence in that road, in my mornings. A haunting feel that makes me realise how many such irrelevant voids make up our lives! Or my life atleast. I missed my acquaintance’s queries and greetings. He too passed away, but the absence wasnt felt this intense.

It’s often not how much you talk or how much you know, but simply if the absence is noticed. I choose to believe my presence may go unnoticed but not my absence. For me, I have always mourned upon absences even when I missed to relish the presence! To go back and look at someone else’s life, and see if your absence is felt, may be a crazy thought. Dare not to do it, anyway. It hurts like hell when the realisation strikes hard! Most presences in life are unacknowledged. Even more, most absences are unnoticed. Voids are, after all, irrelevant by nature!

Yet another year..

All those optimistic ********, stay away. This is so not for you. This is not happy new year. It is just another year. Just another night giving in, and a morning taking it over, in an overly repeated boring cycle of ‘life’! Aw! That’s just dusk and dawn! Not life or anything! Well, my bad I guess.

So people! What’s the whole hungama? I just wanted to cuddle into my shell for one single day without disturbance. And the whole world was out celebrating! Ah come on! It was just another night. Okay, pathetic self realisation. This is not about the world. This is just me. Haven’t you quite heard of ‘denial’? Even the brightest of the world’s minds are found to be intimidated and victimized by denial! So it’s not surprising that a humble soul as mine gives up too! (If you haven’t, you must quite give a read on denial!)

I have been having a rough patch in life. And this is what I do these days. Read about ‘denial’ and Doom’s day! Talk about ‘Inferno’! And in this mindset, when I think about new year, ah chuck that! I dont even think about it! (Denial again? Perhaps!)

One major thing about 2014 – I no longer have a classic phone. My last C5 died of a heart attack on 31st December, 2013. Now that the company has stopped production of the model, I guess, I am left with 2 choices. Either, enter the ‘touch’ era! Or, step back to the ‘classy’ 1100 days! Ah denial!

Hola! Happy New Year pal, for reading thru and not frowning yet.

Randomness!

Scene # 1

“Onnume sonna purinjukka mattengaradi. Thookathila kanavu kandu bhayappedaralam. Thoongave mudiyarathillai. Enna seyyanam theriya maatengarathu.” She talked on and on. What is to be said now? I turned around to him. He is not smiling. Why isn’t he? He always used to. Didn’t he appear healthier in the hospital? He even cracked a joke or two. And we laughed all afternoon. Yeah, laughed. But now, he is not even smiling. Is this what’s like being unstable? Shuttling between extremes! I inched forward,and slid a finger into his palm. He held tight on to it for a second and then let it go. He wouldn’t hold it anymore, no matter how long I waited. Like a baby who plays with your finger, only till its fascination. “Antha hanumanoda manthram sollindu padutha porum. Appo pinne swapnam onnume varathu. Illatalum, enna swapnam kandu bhayappeda! Ellarum irukkomillaya inga.” Did he hear that? Yes, he did. He’s thinking now. Even trying to say something. He’s trying hard to recollect the stanzas, uttering the first line. Did he seek help? Perhaps not. He was trying to revive it back, and fill in the voids between the lines. And I was trying hard too. I couldn’t recollect it either! Was it a bad thing to remind him now, about the better times of life? He was visibly struggling to get words out of the brain, and sound out of the throat. One stopped cooperaying when the other gave in. It’s like, his thoughts and voice won’t ever give up for eachother. Could he ever say what he really meant, ever in life? I couldntjust stand there anymore. Others had left already. I told her and got up to leave, went upto him and held his hand for one brief moment and turned away to leave. And there he took it over from, “Budhir balam, yashodhairyam, nirbhayathvam arogatha. Ajadyam, vakpaduthvamcha, hanumath smaranath bhaveth!” Did he not smile now? I smiled.

Scene # 2

To be continued…

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Echoes of the silence!

Can silence echo? Does silence take a form of sound? I am wondering. How do mute people think? I mean, I think in English when I communicate in English, or Malayalam or Tamil, or whatever is relevant. How does a mute person think? Aren’t thoughts associated to words? And words to language? And language to syllables? And syllables to sound? Don’t we all need sound to think?! Obviously, no. I know. It’s not the knowledge. It’s the amazement. It’s the sheer marvel of life around you. I see a lot of mute people here. In bus. In the road. Mostly, coz there’s some school/institute for them nearby, which I haven’t come across with yet. So my awe is not totally out of place. I always see them communicate with each other in those crowded buses. They want a seat to sit down so that their hands are free to communicate thru their gesture. I used to feel bad. But then thinking about what might they do in the dark, I often let the thought just pass by and close my eyes in silence.

Ganesh chathurthy. Grand procession was on its way from the heart of the city, to the beach nearby for the auspicious ritual. Huge statues of Lord Ganesh would be thrown into the sea in reverence. The festive mood had stricken the city and the crowd hustled in the backdrop of deafening audio systems. Devotion was at its peak, with the blaring woofers. And I was to get a phone call exactly then, as I maneuvered myself out of the chaos, of noisy people and shrieking sound systems. I could do nothing but to put the caller on hold until I was out of the vicinity. On the way, I spotted two people. Probably, somebody whom I have already met but hard to recollect. The one thing I could connect, however, was that they were mute. They were talking. Calm and uninterrupted. The deluge of the sound systems hardly made any impact on their conversation. Life stood still. As the moment passed, I walked away, turning back at them once more. They were still talking. Unaware of the deafening sound. Unaware of the marvel. Unaware of the admiration.

Dreams in Prussian Blue!

So I hear, the book “Dreams in Prussian Blue” by Paritosh Uttam is filmed as the latest Malayalam release, “Artist”. The book was a pleasure to read – very intense emotions conveyed in simple terms. Filming it was out of the question, from a reader’s perspective. But considering it was Shyamaprasad behind the screen, the same man from “Rithu”, (Forget the commercial success, the movie had a natural flow of life!), it is imaginable to see the book illustrated on the big screen. And lately did I notice that I have turned into a Fahad Fasil fan, owing to all of his movies’ impact! What’s so special about his movies? And there comes the obvious! Every single movie of his, that I have seen, speaks about nothing but betrayal. “Chappa Kurishu”, “22fk”, “Diamond Necklace”, “Friday”, “Red Wine” and on and on and now “Artist”! Even in cameo appearances, he has always been associated with ‘betraying’ story lines, as in “Cocktail” or “Indian Rupee”!

I doubt if this is even an interesting piece of information. But if atleast half the movies from my list above were a success in theaters, its solely coz of the relativity that people see in the movie, identifying with their on life. The extramarital affair, the rape, the gluttony, the robbery, the corruption, the lobbying – all forms of betrayal! The life around, the people amongst, the world outside, the soul inside. Until the book, it was a black. Everything about betrayal was black. But now, after the book, after so many movies on ‘betrayal’, I assume betrayal is colourful. As bright and as affluent as the charm of the vicious life around our esse.

Prussian Blue. Because, Blue is the colour of loneliness. Blue is the colour of sorrow. Blue. The colour of betrayal. And standing at that point, from where there’s no turning back. From where, there’s no falling back to things. From where, all we are left with, is to move on and accept things. And from that point, all we see is the rainbow – the brilliant shades of betrayal.

Blog-o-phobia!

Nay, I am not afraid of blogs. But people at my home are. They are worried that I am spy to netizens, leaking news from their privacy. 😛 Lately, at the end of every conversation, my dad makes it a point to add, “Daivame! Sollandamayirinthuthu. Iniyippo ithum blog-la varume.” (God! Need not have said this now. This is also gonna come up in the blog!) While my dad remarks this jokingly, my mom’s is a serious concern. She’s worried I dont know to draw the lines of discretion. She’s of the assumption that I let out my ‘secrets’ out here in public and I am so exploited by my readers! What does she know! Essentially, I am proving their fears genuine, by posting this one too. Thank god my sister aint much bothered!

A part of me seems to be affected by the same fear as well. A hesitation to write, worrying if that one unnecessary line might slip off my mouth (fingers, for that matter!). The whole idea of staying wound up in the irrelevant concern is stupid and I obviously know it. Shedding the cloak off me, I am trying to pitch up. I’d rather ruin my blog with stained words, than spoil my life in strained silence. Back again, hoping to stay.