Tag: Writing

Lessons in Forgetting

~ Soumya ~ Leave a comment

Kavitha kurikkuvan kaminiyayi, omanikkan ente makalayi,

Valsalyamekuvan ammayayi, nervazhikattunna thozhiyayi,

Pinneyen jeevante spandanam polum nin

Swararaga layabhava thalamayi. Arinjathalle nee arinjathalle…

Ninakkai… Aadyamai… Ormakkai.. . iniyoru sneha geetham!

I was probably 10-12 years old when East Coast Vijayan released his music album series – Ninakkai, Aadyamai, Ormakkai, Swantham (For you, For the first time, For remembrance, Yours truly). Music albums had only started being a ‘thing’ then, atleast in Malayalam. Despite how long it has been, I find myself humming these lines quite randomly even today. The image of the hero and heroine of the album and their poetic love have made a very deep memory in my mind. Though I’ve relished many other romantic poems and versatile lyricists, East Coast Vijayan and his trio series pop out of nowhere every time. Being the first has such lasting impressions. It is just not about music for me. I seem to remember an unnecessary load of things from the past that I just can’t get rid of. I remember my first (and only) dentist, first hospitalisation, first time of hearing about someone’s death, first burn, first conversation with my longest standing friend (it has been 24 years), first news of heartbreak (I very clearly remember how my mom broke the news to me – that I won’t be the only apple of their eyes – that’s 20 years again). Just too many of first time memories – all well before I was 10 or 12. There’s nothing really wrong about remembering things. I remember the good and the bad equally – from random conversations to life altering moments. But I wish a part of it just fades away. I don’t want to feel the pang of nostalgia every time I hear a music, see a person, be at a place or notice the date. Ah dates – don’t even get me started! You remember your birthday. Family’s. Friends’. Significant other’s. Some anniversaries. Some deaths. Maybe some more. Do you remember the birthday of a colleague you worked with barely for a year? Do you remember the anniversary of your distant cousin? Death anniversary of a relative you never really knew? Naming ceremony of your neice? Birthdays of classmates whose faces you’ve forgotten? Well, I do. And that is such a painful experience. You remember it’s special for someone today, but you don’t even care about it sometimes. It is an ugly reminder of some memories from the past and some people you’ve lost on the way. It’s just a memory of your memories.

By no means does this mean that I’ve a stellar memory. I forget routine stuff like a normal person. I can’t find a book I read and cherished just a year ago. I misplaced the title ‘Lessons in Forgetting’ by Anita Nair and it’s frustrating!

Lackadaisical days

~ Soumya ~ Leave a comment

I am tired all the time. When I say tired, I am not tired to go out and buy grocery for the house, or offer a helping hand in the kitchen, or help someone fix something that involves mental or physical strain. But again, I’d do all of these just because someone else wants it of me. I am tired to move a muscle for myself. I am tired when it comes to official responsibilities. I am tired when it’s about working on personal growth. I am tired when it comes to taking one step that can make ‘my’ life better. I am still doing all of these tasks too. I perform well officially, I joined swimming classes, I work on some ‘me’ time – but all of these come with a baggage of an afterthought – do I really have to do this. That part of the question is where I get stuck. I am often lost as to why I am doing something for myself. I just don’t see the point at times. I love writing. It feels like some kinda elevated relaxation to me. I feel lighter and heavier at the same time after I scribble something. And that’s one thing I have tried my best to keep up with. You see, I wrote lackadaisical instead of just plain lethargy – voracious reading in the past paid off finally perhaps. I am eager to put in new thoughts every time I think of writing. But over the course of time, I am not sure if I have been fully fair to myself. I just caught myself shuffling through an old diary to see if there’s something I can use for tonight’s blog. Suddenly, I find myself too tired to even write. Why! I am not sure if this the end of a beginning or the beginning of an end. Sure doesn’t look like a phase to me. Too tired to bring this to a logical closing, or too lazy maybe, I give up abruptly again.

Blog-o-phobia!

~ Soumya ~ Leave a comment

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.

Escalation..

~ Soumya ~ 1 Comment

Escalation instead of rising above. Seriously! What’s even wrong with me! Why don’t I just use simple words and be in simpler terms with people and things. I guess it’s my passion towards big words, or the show off attitude! Should I even consider the possibility that, may be, its actually that I have a complex stream of thoughts, and the crudeness in it, is just reflected in the choice of words of expression. I believe its ‘I assume’ than ‘believe’ in my brain. ‘Elevated’ instead of ‘high’. ‘Crude’ for complex. ‘Indispensable’ for ‘essential’. ‘Survival’ for living. ‘Beseech’ for …what..I don’t even know a simpler word for that! That’s how wound up I feel. Never letting go of my ways. Never understood. Never fought for. Never won over. Never acknowledged. But not to forget mentioning, I totally don’t regret being misunderstood or not being understood at all. What hurts is the lethargy between doing something, and not doing that something. I don’t even know how those polar opposites things could have been connected in my brain. Perhaps. that is what my cousin read out of the health magazine and diagnosed me as a typical case of Bipolar Disorder!

Recently, every psychological write up on mental health and stability is kinda held against me, as I exhibit most of the symptoms, or so claim the people of my life! Whatever may that part be, I am assuming myself to be a sensible person. Sensible enough that I could write a book that generations ahead may find useful! But what should it be about is what confuses me! 😛 May be on how to gloat more euphemistically?!?

P.S. I suck! So much in writing. And so much more in other things. I am so confused about my own writing and lately I have totally stopped making sense. Did anybody even get any tinge of the sarcasm I intended at the last line of the crap above? If yes, a comment would be greatly appreciated. Only if you got the sarcasm. Just a self evaluation process for me.

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Blog leave

~ Soumya ~ 1 Comment

As I am suffering from God-knows-what-pain and can’t really type, I’d be grateful if you could grant me one day’s blog leave…
Seriously who am I kidding! Once again running out of topics to write, I don’t know what excuse to find now. Let me just randomly glance thru some random stuff around me.

# Seeing my little sister pack her school bag every night is one of the most painful things these days. I so much miss going to school, with all those geometry box stuff, last min English essays, scribbled math problems and all those tiny things that I didn’t even care about, when I was actually doing all of them. I wanna join some back to school programme!!

# My annoyance and irritation knows no limit. I don’t even think about who am I talking to, until I actually yell and scream at them, only to regret later. I am not able to have it under control.

# Every morning starts with me getting all geared up with some text book, convincing myself that something’s gonna happen today atleast. But as ever, the night just comes back again, as I retrospect and evaluate the academic futility of the day.

# Some days are just so random. I am not even sure what am I looking forward for. Its almost like there’s no reason at all, to start over with another day. But I am just doing it anyway.

# Lately, got back with some friends, over messaging, thru phone and in person. Guess it does good to you, once in a while, reminding what you were and what you are no more. But this time, it was more pleasant than disturbing.

# Off and on with some serious psycho issue. I am acting totally weird, shuttling between persona, writing stupid stuff like this, making stupid self evaluations and finally brooding on them.

This typing with left hand is **** tiring and annoying. Off.

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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.

Yet another marathon!

~ Soumya ~ 1 Comment

All geared up for yet another 30-day blogging challenge! This time with a friend, with whom I shared all of my school-days writing passions! Like, only I’d understand what she was attempting to say to the world and vice versa. We both sucked in what we did. But funnily enough, we never got tired of trying again and again, to improve and prove to the never-pleased critic in both of us! Is it too common to find people who’d put in infinte literary activities in their New Year to-do resolutions? And actually take the pain of cross-checking with eachother, if the literary ‘resolutions’ are being kept! Well, you just found us. Its like, we’re good at almost nothing else but playing with words. The not-yet-pleased critic says, we’re not even good at this. But as ever, we aren’t tired of trying again and again. To you all, who are supposedly the ‘vivid readers’ of my blog, check out my blog-mate here. Read, comment, criticise. (Compliments are also welcome!) 🙂

Hope the co-blogger does the same, as a token of forgiveness to me for sharing the link and publicising the blog! Seriously, why would someone have a blog if there aren’t any readers!

Official flag off to the marathon!

Through the land of windmills!

~ Soumya ~ Leave a comment

The title is what I named my feature on Nuclear Power Plants at Koodankulam! In Malayalam! I found that very amusing and beautiful. Kattadikalude naatiloode… But perhaps, that’s not how you write features for a magazine. What do I know about it anyway! Well, I am making another point here. May be its not always about what you know, but about how you express it. I am not an excellent writer nor an expert with words. But I am ardent in expressions of thoughts. In words. In speech. In action. Somehow. Thoughts are to be conveyed, shared and thought more upon. And there, I have a lot to share. My eloquence is one thing that makes me proud of myself. And only recently did I find out that, the blog is just one of the many forms of my expression, and not the ultimate of anything. There’s more talking to people, more interaction, more sharing of thoughts, more pooling of ideas, and exhaustive brain exercise! More like, I am just out of a long hibernation, and I feel revived now!

Going back to my feature, I have left that pending yet. Not that I can’t put down a few words and a liitle thought into them, and come up with the matter. But as I pointed out to myself, it’s not just about knowing but about the expression of it! Words are too few, for the infinite expressions of the multitudes of a mind’s knowledge. Waiting for my chosen few words, I think it’s worth it to give myself a break often. More than writing a lot of things, the focus is to be upon the expression of things. And to give away the best expressions of thoughts, thinking is what you need more than writing them down! Taking away a writer’s block, I am with a thinker’s pause!

Limbo!

~ Soumya ~ Leave a comment

So now, Rekha akka, I officially lost the challenege. I didn’t write yesterday. Did I forget? Or did I run out of things to write? Well, in reality, I just slept it off. Like, 24 hours are really not sufficient for anything. Lately, I have been losing a lot of time in ways I can’t even identify. And lately, I am not being myself. I am suffocated with words brewing in my mind. And blogging everyday is really not sufficient expression of it. Words are enough to express, only, time isn’t ever. Lost here, with a deluge of words in my head, I can’t explain myself.

This morning, I was shook from sleep by something and the first thought was to confirm if I had blogged yesternight before dozing off. But I hadn’t done anything more than the title “Happily ever after!”. I always wanted to write,but always had excuses to run away from the actual act of it, with trivial justifications. I was of the hope that atleast a challenge of this kind would cheer me enough. An article for a major magazine, or so I persume, is due tomorrow and I haven’t even begun with it. And for the record, the deadline was a month ago, and by some luck, I just got it extended. As if even those magazine people were keen on publishing what I might write! And, I don’t write at all. My college magazine is on the go and I haven’t done anything there either. I have an essay competition today. What miracle am I expecting to happen in that constrained one hour and thirty minutes!

I don’t want to be here, caught in limbo. I don’t want to experience this block in the flow. May be, me writing or not writing doesn’t change anything in this big world. But, there was a time when it changed a lot of things in my little world, filled with satisfaction of having expressed myself! I am waiting to be once again back there. Waiting to be kicked out of this limbo!

The editor!

~ Soumya ~ 1 Comment

I always wanted to be an editor. An editor of something. The newspaper editor we see in movies, who make controversial story appear in their daily, and contribute in the making of a socially aware society! (Like Murali in the movie Pathram!). Or the magazine editors who cover interesting features and meet so many people, for every edition of theirs! Like my cousin Rekha. I wanted to be something near an editor at least. I wanted to read and filter what others might write. I want to make my own comments in the editorial, and still get people to read it. And on one awesome day, my English teacher asks me for an editorial for the school magazine! All the while, I was one of the two student editors who didn’t know what we were actually doing with the magazine. Coz, we never saw a single article in the magazine before its publication. And even to get a copy of the magazine, of which I was an editor, I had to pre-order with juniors and wait for, coz by the time of the magazine release, I was already out of school. That was one unfortunate editor experience, except for the joy, for God knows what, that I saw my name against the title ‘Student Editors’! The fellow editor also blogs somewhere here, but she is yet to grant permission to bring her out in public. Hope she does, at least after reading this.

So by ending up with a professional course, I almost fully bundled up my ‘editor dreams’ and was facing reality with a smile! And then came my second year of college, with a college magazine boom! So I hope, I work here now, and may be someday I can at least get into the editorial board of it! And guess what, I just back off and sit at home, teaching myself to forget about all magazines! I re bundled my ‘aspirations’, for which I never worked for. Yet again, the time came once again when I could unravel my bundled up desire! But not anymore, for I now realised final years are never gonna be editors, by University norms, and I have less than 2 months in my pre-final year! 😛

Need I say more!