Tag: Love

Katha kettutha…

~ Soumya ~ Leave a comment

Katha kettutha.. – the words echoing in my ears for a month now. Did you hear the story? That’s the literal meaning of it. But the depth and profoundness of those words are unfathomable to me. Every time he asks if I ‘heard the story’ , there is a great deal of wisdom, love and thrill in his words. The undying spirit of a man eager to live life to its fullest. The man who’s only a memory now. But his words and his stories are etched forever in my thoughts.

So he died. Big deal. People die. Hundreds of thousands of people do. A hundred lives passed as I typed this sentence, all over the world. But when it’s close home, that’s when it halts the world. It was unexpected now. He was doing good, going by his life and taking care of ammammai, and watching over all of us. But I wouldn’t say it’s out of nowhere. He was old. And I thought he was dying a decade ago when he was hospitalised. Somehow with a certain age, you think people are ‘die-able’. And he was in that category. More than anyone else, he was the one who made peace with it the most. He wrote down his obituary, funeral arrangements, last wishes, and namesake will of all his and his wife’s belongings to the last detail. Neatly folded the document and entrusted with my dad for safekeeping, only to be presented when the ‘time’ comes. Without exaggeration, I literally wrote down his exact words with some fillers for his own obituary in the newspapers. I couldn’t believe I was doing so but did that without a thought anyway. Thatha never stops to awe you, never ever. He was a meticulous man, even in death.

It’s been exactly a month now. Am I seeking closure? A week ago when I started writing this, closure is what I sought. From the time of hearing the news, until this moment, I can’t stop hearing he asking me ‘katha kettutha’. Through the rites, I hardly cried. I was in a trance, shocked by this voice in my head. It felt like there are more stories he wanted to say, more memories he had to share and more about him that we all had to know. With time, of course the voice is fading. And that’s when I realized what I seek is not closure. What I seek is for his memory to stay with me. Not once a year during thavasham. Not when I taste a food he liked, or when I hear his name, or see ammammai. I want to bear him in my thoughts as a constant. A random story he once said, his mannerisms, his appearance, the ring he never let me have but always let me try steal..

I thought seeing ammammai without pottu would be the most heartbreaking thing after. It is the empty arm chair and the missing ring to steal that kill me though. It’s not what he was to others, it is who he was. S. Narayanan.

The Wait

~ Soumya ~ Leave a comment

Until I come, you said.

Until I die, I said.

The wait was a promise,

For you, for me, for us.

Time wouldn’t wait, nor

Would the world around.

As everyone and everything,

Embrace change and transience,

The sea of change stood still,

Waiting at the shore, for

You and me, for us.

Until I come, you said,

Until I die, I said,

Until you be, the sea said.

Janaki ammoomma

~ Soumya ~ Leave a comment

Janaki bhai. Or Janaki ammoomma? She made a transition to and fro between the two. She came into my life as my pseudo-nanny. She didn’t really baby-sit me, but picked me up from kindergarten and walked me to a day-care nearby. I’d spend my evening with Valsala ammoomma till dad came to pick me up. Valsala ammoomma had many kids my age to cater to, and an assistant, Mani chechi. By the time I reach the day-care, everyone would be up, having their evening snacks. Mani chechi would play with us for a while and soon leave, as the kids start leaving. One by one, all of them would leave, and it’d be just me and Valsala ammoomma. She’d then take me to her home adjacent to the day-care. I’d watch her make tea and crush the areca nut, layer the tobacco and make a cute betel leaf pocket with a touch of slaked lime. It is a beautiful sight to watch her meticulously prepare the murukkaan (paan’s Kerala version). Then she’d offer me a piping hot cup of tea to relish. I was hesitant initially, mostly because tea was a new thing and I was worried if parents wouldn’t approve of it. Mind you, I was barely 5. But when I finally took the cup, I tasted the most exquisite ‘chaaya‘ and the taste still lingers in my tongue. Every ‘good’ chaaya ever since takes me back to Valsala ammoomma’s kitchen and the kitchen doorway where I sat watching the bustling traffic. Memories like these come with a tinge of loss and a lot of happiness.

That was an unplanned digression. But one is incomplete without the other. Back to Janaki ammoomma, somewhere in the middle of all these, she got promoted as a house help for my working mom. As kindergarten came to an end and when day-care was not very exciting, I started coming back home to Janaki ammoomma who waited for me at the door. She’d clean and I’d watch TV, and she’d keep me company till parents come. Things changed when sister came into the scene and I grew old enough to be home alone. Amidst and beyond all of that, some things haven’t changed. The memory of she running to reach home lest I be alone, the rare occasions where the ‘auto chettan’ who picked me up from school picked her up too, panting and running on her way to our home. Her overgrown mole in the middle of her chin, her frail build, her rough hands that used to hold my hand walking from school to the day-care, her alcoholic son, and most of all her calling me “Soumyakkutty…”!

P.S. Ammoomma is Malayalam for grandma.

Alone with You

~ Soumya ~ Leave a comment

The breezy walkway that leads up to you,

The fine grains of sand that crumble under my feet,

The stone-laid pavement that’s still warm from the afternoon Sun,

And the shimmering light that beckons me to your door.

Those are my memories of a past with you,

The days of love and the days of despair,

The days when I rush to you for a word of solace,

When all you’d do is the incessant smile,

Without a blink, without a thought, without a word.

I look around for the cues you leave,

The silent chat and the momentary pause,

And in a quick swirl, I turn around,

Walk away like I wouldn’t return,

But between you and me, I never leave.

When the crowd is gone and the sky is dark,

It’s just you and me, over and again.

From the darkest of the night,

To the brightest of the Sun,

It’s just you and me, over and again.

The yellow glow!

~ Soumya ~ 3 Comments

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!

~ Soumya ~ Leave a comment

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!

Poornathrayeesa!

~ Soumya ~ 3 Comments

I’m no atheist. I dont say I’m not a theist. Does that make me a believer of God or a non-believer? That’s tough question, though it basically is simple. I dont want to prostrate myself in front of the Almighty and show my submissiveness. (Looks more like I’m never so!) But that doesn’t mean I dont appreciate the wonders in life and marvel of this world. I’m grateful for my life. And I am spellbound by the nature’s bounty and the universe’s vastness and on and on. All appreciated and acknowledged. But those aren’t enough reasons I bow to someone everyday and let them know how huge a fan of them am I!

But somehow, there’s this one person, Poornathrayeesan, who totally gets me bowled over that I wouldn’t mind always bending low before him. (Not that I’m a regular visitor, but he knows.) The temple, the shrine, the very premise of the temple and my Poornathrayeesan. Everything feels so warm and soothing that I always imagine coming down till here and catch up with him once in a while. I so much love him. But I dont carry around his photo. Nor do I cry out his name in peril. I dont expect him to solve my problems. Now does all these make me an atheist? Looks like it!

Had gone to the temple. After something like very long. Not willingly, but had to join the family. And as ever I dont regret going to the temple. Nothing was the same, with respect to my lack of attention to the temple premise, though I cross it multiple times every weekend. The temple had two new entrances, by both sides of the main entrance, which, as a matter of fact, looked very awkward. But yeah, they had it for some purpose, may be for the elephants during the festival. The banyan branches were brutally chopped and made the tree look like some dry lifeless structure. Again, for some technical reason of convenience, may be. The inside of the temple remained more or less the same. But the first few minutes were strange as I couldn’t spot a single familiar face. (I usually walk into some of my old schoolmates or teachers.) Soon enough, I gave up that exercise and things were better. Familiar faces popped up alone and in groups. And it is only then that I realised that I really didn’t want to meet anybody at all. Sitting down on the sand, by the ‘pradakshina vazhi’, (the outer path circling the shrine), I felt like I’m at Shangumugham. Instead of waves kissing my feet, it was eyes locking with mine. Too many of them. Familiar faces. New faces. Strange faces. One after the other. It wasn’t soothing. But I got accustomed to the situation, almost started loving it. Playing the game that filled my childhood temple days, I was wondering how I’d forgotten it all these days and how I instantly remembered it as I sat down there. I wasn’t playing it as good as I used to. I couldn’t even consider the idea of running behind my sister, chasing her down, like those days. (She wasn’t there anyway. She was in search of her friends. So was dad.) Nothing was the way it was. The ambience is changed. The comfort has been damaged. The sense of possession is lost. It’s not ‘my’ temple. It’s not ‘my’ shrine. I see things I dont wish to see. Hear things I dont want hear. But still, the lord is mine. Or may be, within every mind, there’s a fence of possessiveness that doesn’t let anyone see what’s inside. May be the lord has split himself into pieces, and be present in every mind. But as long as I dont see that, I’m obsessed on my possessiveness. And claim my divine right!

I dont know of miracles that God does. I dont even know the wonderful sagas praising Poornathrayeesan. But I believe in his unquestionable power in making me write again. I never thought I could write so blissfully again, this soon. It’s indeed his charm that I write endlessly about miracles and theism and faith and fate. I’m a believer. No matter I go overboard expressing it or not. I’m definitely bound to my Lord. Taking a last glimpse of him, through the Pancharimelam, only to see him again and again, a million times.

The degrees of like!

~ Soumya ~ Leave a comment

How much can you like something or someone? It is only as much as making somebody else jealous of your like. I have liked a lot of people in my life and still like a lot more of them. But then, now it feels like I’m on the nth degree of it. How plausible could that be? Can ‘like’ or ‘love’ have a saturation point? Seems like they can. Do not confuse with satiety. At the nth degree of love, (like replaced by love, coz all references herein are made to people and not to things), I am not done loving anybody. But the love feels saturated. Like, more of love can make no difference. Being so intimate to someone that moving any closer will only crush the person’s soul. As though, a bit of gap wouldn’t harm, but instead give us some air to breath. Loving people so much makes it really hard to let them take a step away from you. Taking a decision for themselves, missing out on wishing you on your special day, unexpected delaying of a scheduled meeting up. Every single one of them makes you feel like your entire world collapses there! Don’t label this obsession already. I am not talking about how obsessed am I with people.

There’s a state in between. Between love and obsession. Between hatred and falling apart. A stupid crappy state! You don’t budge. You want it done implies you WANT it done. No matter how much you push yourself into the realisation of things as simple as they are, it always seems complex and ciphered. You dont read along the plain lines of life and complain how bleak it is between the lines. As ever, simple things get complex in frail fingers like mine. Its not easy to understand straight aspects of life, when you struggle to define its implications symbolising lives! Not catching up often, missing to reciprocate wishes, forgetting to look back and failing to notice are not things that ends the world. But then, knowing is not enough. Never enough.

I love people. Have always loved them and will always do. Loved enough to make others jealous. People envy my love!

P.S. I am not in ‘love’ as in ‘love’. So please don’t ring me up and yell at me, “Why didnt you tell me earlier??”, “Dont you have the sense to keep things private?”, “Tell me who who??”. Lol. Dont do that to me coz its not what you think it is.

Changing images..

~ Soumya ~ Leave a comment

“Alone in the crowd”.What does it mean to you? A clichd sentence? That it sure is. It is a very basic emotionally crappy but mercilessly over used statement. But when at times it really grows beyond the hollowness of the words, the whole weight of the world settles down on your self. No sound would come out. No signs of life would be seen. All in life, you’d wonder why isn’t even death giving you company. It’s as though, everyone and everything is afraid of you. Running away from me, I am not sure if they are safe or get hit in their running spree.

In my initial days of ‘socialising’, (ie getting introduced to orkut and chat), the images with tags amused me. As a matter of fact, I still am a fan of images with words on them. I was so greatly addicted that I used to switch my display pic every now and then. Back then, I had this image that said, “My presence intimidates you, doesn’t it?”. It was not suggestive of anyone. It rather included everyone then. My world then, comprised of my random group of friends who had ‘immense’ respect and fear towards me, a obsequious sister, a protective brother and parents who’d rather stay aloof from my things. None of them seemed like they shivered in my presence, but evidently, it wasnt difficult for me to make it happen either. However, I never chose to intimidate anyone.

Images changed. Things changed too. Then came the gtalk image collections. The ‘autumn leaf’ and the ‘pen in hand’ were my favourites. Albeit, I switched to the freshness of the ‘green leaf’ or the playfulness of the ‘monkey face’. The ‘red rose’ tempted and lingered. I never budged though! 😛 Out of nowhere, ‘my’ snaps proved the best to me! Made a resolution to myself that all my photo statements would be trademarked, all copyrights to me. All because, ‘somebody’ commented I am good with photography, that my hand aint shaking holding the camera!! Anybody remembers?

Ever since then, it has always been my clicks that spoke. The ‘shadow’ era was then. Nothing but the shadows of everything! I didnt miss a single shadow. The flowing hair can be shot in the shadow, without the flowing tears. The proud stride can be seen, without the frail smiles. A silhouette leaves a lot to the viewer to imagine! That was my lesson number one for myself with photography! But the underlying principal, the zeroth lesson, was given to me by my bro. He never managed a click as good as mine(no offense, lol), but still gave me the best lesson in photography. I should have known it for myself, but he had to tell me the focus of the image is the corners and never the centre!

I took photos. From the 2MP phone camera, I moved on to the 5MP digital camera. Then further, got pushed down to a 3.2MP phone cam since that came in more handy. The railway tracks, the hairpin bents, the endless road, the splashing water.. everything was clicked. Somewhere in between, I lost track of my snap and display pic sync. I moved back to my ‘image with words’ style. On with, “Walking away from everything…”, “Do not dare touch my phone.”, “I have my own rules..”. All those were my phone wall papers, at various points of time. Even now, I’m stuck with something that displays a false message that the phone is locked! I miss those awesome snaps of mine! I need a camera. An awesome one! And I have to win a photography competition! Lol. Never in life have I had such a clear goal. 🙂

All these ramblings are here now coz I went through every single snap of mine from the past today. Was searching for an image to set up as Google+ image. And what did I get!! LOL. I am badly in need of an awesome collection of pics! Life can be awesome or gruesome. It never bothers enough. For all that it is, life is still picturesque! A photograph yet to be perfected. Waiting for a bold camera. My snap is not done yet.

Random thought!

~ Soumya ~ 1 Comment

Most that I write are random things. Everytime, though, I manage to channelise what I write so that it fits under some category and title. But today, I dont feel like hiding the randomness. Its just too huge to be hidden. I’m in love. With my letters. My words. My phrases. My clichs. My accent. My writing. My language. So with yours. So with theirs. So with everybody else’s. Does that sound vaguely insane? Practically, yeah. Its kinda absurd that someone likes all that they say and read and re-read them . Its like licking your own ****. Lol. Or is it? I dont care however it is. I’m just all in love with what I write. They make me happy. When I read them again and again, they give me a tickle in my stomach. I take pride. 🙂

But now, is pride wrong? Vanity is. But pride isn’t. It makes a person. How can it be wrong then! But what you take pride in, is also important.
Words are precious to me. I’m proud coz I still have words for myself. May be not eloquent. May be not elegant. May be not appropriate. May be not even linguistically correct or socially accepted. May not be worth a read at all! But they are still mine. Having them as mine, and mine forever, with no one to claim over, I’m proud. I take pride in myself. Regain it for me.