I

Should I remind me I am an animal

Or call myself an individual

Identity-choice is formal

Instincts remain primal

The Sun, the moon and the stars

They scare me with their consistency. Day in, day out, I see them, ignore them. Why shouldn't I when they do the same? I avoid the sun and look forward to a moonlit night with stars twinkling their happiness. 

Lovely!

Unfortunately, I don't know who the artistes behind these are...

Dad

Bountiful

Truly amazing! I am dumbstruck by the abundance I see around me. Beauty, love, laughter, talent, kindness...there is no dearth! Melodious voice, graceful feet, loving disposition, sharp wit, high intellect, so much to admire and appreciate. When words are put together by the masters of the craft to create such meaningful depth, when colours are brought together to dazzle, you just feel blessed to be a witness to the glory of creation. Life does shine through all the chaos.

Goodbye dad...

I knew you had to make this journey. I didn't want you to but time willed otherwise. We did have our silent farewell, though I never wished you a goodbye. Here I let go... Dad, goodbye

Tearing my hair out

Rites, rituals...such crap! Why should these take precedence over emotions, rational thinking, human values...how much of these can or should one tolerate? The day my dad died, society swooped down on us like a pack of vultures. Shockingly, when alive he was ours, dead he was theirs. They took over everything. They tried to decide what was right for my daddy. To them he was just a dead body. Rituals like removing all clothes, pouring water over the body etc. can be sheer torture to the grieving family. In our society, what you are is not relevant, what you project is what matters. Loving your parents is not enough, blindly following all rituals the society deems necessary to demonstrate your concern for your dead parent is more important. If you don't walk in drenched clothes with a pot of water around your father's dead body then you are not a worthy offspring. Whereas if you neglect your parent when alive but do multitude poojas after the parent's death then you have fulfilled your responsibilities. Don't eat, don't go out, ask mom to remove her mangalsutra, how many dos and don'ts - all meaningless. Questioning them is blasphemy; mute adherence guarantees society's approval. I find it difficult to understand these blind beliefs.

Many live with the belief that a dip in a river on a particular day can wash away all sins. When religion can give you the outlet to get away with evil, why not believe in it?

The only truth

Life can be understood only through death. I look at life in the eye and throw a challenge at her. I won't give up. I won't. I will fight till the end.

Death

I had never felt such bone-chilling coldness. Death is the coldest, loneliest state to be in. Nothing prepares you for this realization. It hits you and then, numbness takes over, and the acceptance crawls in.

Where is he?

Aisa bhi hota hai

I was very surprised to read a news article about the marriage of Mahatma Gandhi’s 45-year-old great-granddaughter, Sonali Kulkarni, the President & CEO of Fanuc India Pvt Ltd., with the 47-year-old chairman of Microsoft Corporation India, Ravi Venkatesan. Their love story began a decade ago but they could not marry as his parents were against him marrying outside the community. He is a Tamil Brahmin. So, Ravi and Sonali waited – for a decade.
I was baffled by the story. What made the man and woman wait for the parents' approval? If they had been very young and financially dependent, then one could understand their wait. But in the given situation, no logic or reasoning explains their decision, leave alone the stance of Ravi's parents. I am shocked that caste system still wields such power over the educated affluent class. More shocking is that Indian children still think that it is their duty to gratify all the whims and fancies of their parents. What good is education if you cannot even fight against the crap happening at home?
The fact that she was the great-granddaughter of the father of the nation seemed to have had no impact on the oh-so-brahmin parents. 

State of mind

Most of the time I am occupied with trying to forget. I try to push thoughts of my dad to the bottom because they end up being nothing more than just very sad thoughts. I try to impose other positive thoughts over it. At times I succeed; at times I don't. Night is the real enemy. It is long and cold. The sun brings in some warmth. Survival instinct takes over. Laughter, banter occupies my mind; the fear about the unknown is pushed aside.

Real men and women

Kundamveettile Lakshmikutty teacher, Oduvankad Bhargavi, Raman, Narayani, Kochchunniaar, koma Panicker... these are some people who will remain forever etched in my memory. These are the kind of people you may love or hate but definitely not ignore. They are the symbols of a period of time when people were original; there were no fixed notions of accepted behaviour then. You were what you were, not what others decided was the way to be. I got the chance to see them on my short visits to kerala during my childhood. Then, when I moved to kerala after class X, I got the chance to know them. Villages are made of strong individuals. People here have their own unique character or individuality. Today, in the fast-paced world, most of us are more or less like clones with similar behaviour, attitudes, aspirations and even looks. Cities are usually made up of armies of people marching to the orders. Only few have the scope to be strong individuals...people who dare to be themselves...
Kochunniaar, the cute old man with ear studs, had the habit of caressing all women on the pretext of being very old. He was also known for his miserliness and for having a karinaavu (whatever he said supposedly came true). It was also said that he had evil eyes, his look was supposed to bring bad luck. He used to lend money on interest. Every morning, he would dorn sun glasses and go on his money collection trip, having free cups of tea and all possible things from shops and houses that owed money to him.
Lakshmikutty teacher, the firebrand woman, was once married to a man from AP. The rumours were that she threw him out of her house and life. Till her death she lived all alone in a big house set in an acre of land. She fought with everyone in the village, never bowed down to anyone. Aggresively independant, she was a terror in the village. Again, she was known to be very stringent. She never wasted one dry leaf from her land. Till her death she worked hard. She preferred male company and never let society decide for her. People were scared of her because she said whatever she felt like to whomsoever.

Mera Bharat Mahaan

You don't really need the window seat to see India. She is in display inside the compartment of the train itself. Difference in the flora, terrain and weather outside as we cross different states is clearly visible; inside too, there is so much variety on exhibit. People from different parts of India, brought together in a moving vehicle, bring with them alluring slices of India. The attire, language, food, behaviour give away their origin. The uptight southies and the loud northies are ubiquitous. West and East Indians also display their uniqueness. South Indians with the exception of mallus carry the essential rice-packs (curd rice, lemon rice). Mallus get their fish curry-rice and act oblivious to the stink they spread around. The Punjus and the north Indians take over the bogie with their booming voice and parathas. They have many complaints against the food (especially south Indian) available on the train, nonetheless, they eat everything. Gujjus make the best co-passengers (where food is concerned...rest, I won't vouchsafe). I have been advised by (wise)friends to praise their food and be assured of being well-taken care of throughout the journey. They do not compromise a teeny weeny bit where their food is concerned and even carry raw vegetables and knife for the journey. So, you have this gujju family making bhelpuri in the train and gulping it down with bottles of homemade chaas; and there you have this family from the Hindi belt gorging on puri and aloo ki sabzi.

However, there is rarely an attempt to appreciate the differences. Everyone is smug about his way of living. There is no real sharing, just a semblance of co-existence...All are in their own little compartments. This is my India...

My dumb, cute, stubborn lil birdies

Every morning, diligently, they would start their hard work. This pair of lil birdies would carry blades of grass and little twigs, throw furtive glances at me and start their day's work. They didn't seem to realise that their efforts were futile. I have been watching and interfering in the lives of these two little birdies for more than a month now. It is not the birds' fault that they found my chimney duct the perfect place to built their little home. The mistake is mine. I should have had the chimney duct closed. I still remember the excitement they exhibited when they decided on the site. I was not aware of their plans. I switched on my chimney one day and lo! a ball of dry twigs came flying out. I panicked expecting eggs in it. Fortunately, that was not the case. Then I realised the meaning of the commotion I had witnessed the other day. I knew the birds could not have their nest in the chimney duct. It was highly dangerous. Anyone could switch it on any time and it would mean catastrophic for the birds. I tried scare tactics. I tried to keep the chimney on when they were around. The only thing that seemed to scare them was me. Every time I got back home I found an almost-complete nest in my chimney duct. This became a routine...they assumed the role of bramha and I became shiva. My tandav had no affect on their determined efforts. I realised that birds were a dumb lot indeed! I kept telling them "fools, go away, you are wasting your time and energy". The onle response I got were more determined efforts. Then I got the idea of stuffing the chimney with a towel. It worked, they had to quit. They seemed dejected. Their land deal had gone sour. I was happy that before it got too late they would build a nest at a new place. Last week I found a ball of blades of grass on the gap between the chimney and the wall. Ah! my stubborn lil birds..

Roses

A bed of roses for me
Adrift in the luxury
Of absolute beauty
Smelling like heaven
Drunk with happiness
A pampered soul for me
Gentle is their caress
Soft as a whisper
Every touch makes me blush
Roses as red as red
I ask no less no more
A bed of roses for me

Most beautiful smile

That smile lights up my life...brightens my darkest days...In that smile I see the promise of love...In that smile I see my tomorrow...In that smile million flowers blossom...In that smile is the warmth of hundred hugs...In that smile I quench my thirst...in that smile I see so much wealth...in that smile i see honesty..in that smile i see sunshine...in that smile i see care...in that smile i see the world we share...in that smile i see gifts I cherish...In that smile my fears vanish...In that smile new hope is born...In that smile I see spring...in that smile i feel fresh raindrops...in that smile I feel music...in that smile i taste chocolate...In that smile burns a desire...In that smile is the answer to all my questions...in that smile i feel wonder...in that smile i see my world...in that smile i see sheer beauty and joy...in that smile i get my wings...in that smile i see love. I collect those smiles...they are my treasure...I am a very rich person...

Not yet dead!

No amount of rain can wet this dryness inside nor can anything dry this wet, drenced part of me. A half of my heart is dry, withered. Time has squeezed out every last ounce of feeling out of it. Every betrayal, every rejection, every bad or sad experience has hardened it. It is dead. A half or maybe just a small part still beats with hope. Hope for love, hope for justice, hope for happiness for all still prevails...

Another onam?

Dad in his new brown shirt with blue stripes playing cards with his friends, less noisy than usual...his face darker than normal; Mom too in new clothes - a veshti-mundu set gifted by a relative - looking tired, sick and much older than she did just some months ago. My bro in his usual clean white kurta and dhoti; eyes shining with hunger, anger and strong convictions. My slimmer and smarter bhabhi, in new red leggings and kurta, still feeling out of place in our home. My niece in a smart checked skirt and white top engrossed in hollywood movies, egg and milk inspite of a slight distraction in the form of her first menstrual cycle. My skinny nephew in the tiniest shorts and a green t-shirt walking around collecting hugs and kisses from everyone by looking deep into their eyes, especially his appa. Rajesh, in a new red oversized shirt and dhoti, trying to remain sane in the mad lot by staying connected to his world through mobile and internet. Vishnu, in his new arrow shirt, oscillating between being the rajesh type and the kelath type. I, in a dirty brown churidar, looking for signs and signals from within. This was the onam spread at home. An exhausted Dad at the end of the day said, "so this year's onam is over". The silence that followed was eerie

Nanga naach

The nanga naach called life is a show with no audience; all are players, all are naked and all are dancing to the tunes of time. The music has a mesmerizing effect. Only those who can feel the beat are in rhythm. Oblivious to everything man dances away...the waltzing, the head-banging, the tandav-the kind of dance is based on the music one hears. Mankind rocks to this beat. Earth is a sweaty, pulsating and throbbing dance-floor. There is no stopping...

My dad

The initial shock, anguish has turned to gradual acceptance of the inevitable. Malignant cells are taking over my dad's body and we, humans can do nothing about it. At night, with my eyes closed, sometimes open, I see them multiplying. I see myself-the powerful one, exterminating them. I want to wipe them out. I can't accept this helpless state. Neither love nor knowledge is of any help to him. Yet there is this faith that nothing can defeat my dad. My daddy is the strongest. I have never seen him afraid or weak. Now when I hold his hand to help him I abhor time with such intensity. Those strong hands that held my hands to help me through life have become shaky and weak. Sometimes I look at him and wonder how can there be a day when he is not around...it is impossible. These days he talks a lot about the past..about his childhood, his youth, his struggles...his parents and lost friends. I hope for a miracle.

Daddy's girl

The only way a woman can stay young is by being with her father. She remains the apple of his eye and his little girl even when she struggles with her wrinkles. I realised this the day I came to know about my dad's terminal illness. I felt old, terribly old.

Those Sundays...

Then, every home buzzed with activity...lots of cooking, eating, talking, friends and family. Roads were empty and homes were full. Now, roads are jammed, malls are crowded and homes are empty.

Special delicacies...dad at home...morning TV...oh those Sundays...it was a weekly festival day. The pungent smell of cigarette smoke and the aroma of mummy's chicken curry...the remnants of those days that I still carry...Getting up late, excited about watching Rangoli and Spiderman on TV. Afternoon carrom matches with dad and daughter on one side and bro n mom on the other. The little fake skirmishes; calling the other cheaters...the warmth at home...Sunday was truly the family day. Sunday is still the fun-day but perhaps the definition of fun has changed...

A heavy heart

I feel weighed down by my heart. The weight is dragging me to the abyss of self-pity and anger. The uncontrollable urge to let go of this overflowing turbulence...the anger at being so vain....I can't feel the beat...just this wet, drenched feeling...

Joy of being a woman

Men...the powerful ones...the rulers of the world...are they? Aren't men mere soldiers or workers taking care of the queen bee? The woman with her finer tastes enjoys the wealth of nature. She nurtures nature and naturn in return bequeaths her all her secrets. I thank life for giving me the female form.

I and We

When I become part of a group I go away from myself. The WE takes over the I. I came into this world with on-birth memberships in groups like female, Indian, Hindu, dravidian. So even before I opened my eyes I belonged to many groups. I had already started to lose myself. I am no more...

The dirty word

The need to have accomplishments has made living a task. Accomplishment? What is it? Maybe it is a misunderstood word...Real accomplishments are when you work towards making life happier. But our endeavours seem to be taking us the opposite way. The real meaning of life is lost. Gradually, it is fading out of the collective memory of mankind. We are being programmed to believe in false goals. We, like maniacs, chase these goals and then the happiness that was always within our reach seems so faraway. The whole rotten system has to be kept rolling...now, we can't stop. Men, like machines, churn out whatever crap they are programmed to. Man-created false notions of productivity has made the precious commodity - time - even more valuable. We feel compelled to produce results. It spoils the joy in living. We carry this burden day and night. The thoughts at night are about the chores to be done the next day. Where is the time to enjoy the morning sun or the chirping birds? The constant irritant is the need to strive, to accomplish, to excel. Accomplish what?

The fly episode

I am 6 yrs old. I am waiting at a road near a stadium in Pune for my brother. I am anxious. It has been almost half-an-hour since he turned into a housefly and vanished near a drain. Whom do I tell my predicament? I want my brother back; I am scared. I have tears in my eyes and just when I am about to break down there he is! my bro in flesh and blood! I start crying with relief. I had expected the worst. I had thought that my bro had failed in turning into a human being ...But there he was...laughing at me for crying...We reach home and out of sheer frustration I narrate the incident to my mom. My mom turns out to be my mom(dumb)...she questions my bro about his extraordinary powers. Very seriously, without batting an eyelid my bro admits to having such capabilities. The light questioning turns to a full-fledged investigation. My bro is taken to the ultimate judge, Guruvayurappan(Lord Krishna), for the polygraph test. He is asked to take an oath in the divine presence. With the sacred ash smeared on his forehead, unflinchingly my bro says, "Yes, I can turn into a fly". He resolutely sticks to his claim even when mom tries to torture him into confessing to the contrary. Our friends and neighbours gather; a discussion ensues. Amidst all this commotion only my faith in my bro's supernatural ability does not waver. Afterall I had seen it with my own eyes.
Some days later my bro confides in me, "I will tell you a big secret, don't ever tell it to anyone...noone will believe....uma, I can turn into a peanut as well".

The war is on

Love, affection, attraction, admiration, rage, irritation, frustration, dissappointment, boredom - contrasting feelings assail me. The war of feelings has been raging on for ages now. There have been some casualties. Yet endurance, solid survival instinct pulls me through, though not unscathed. No feeling proves to be stronger than the need to love and be loved...

Going nowhere

I have travelled from my mother's womb to this alien fate
I have matured from my birth to this vegetable state
I am drifting through space
Legs tied, hands bound; my mind and heart race
Weary hands of time lead me to dust
After spinning round and round; a deserved rest

The leaking men

I empathize with our men. Most of them suffer from urinary problem(one in the long list of problems). They have frequent, urgent urge to urinate. These sad people can't control their bladders, let alone their lives. They gotta pee when they gotta pee. Place is of no concern, afterall... uska bulaava hai... Men from no other country, except maybe from the subcontinent, can boast of the privilege of unzipping and relieving themselves whenever, whereever. So, they may not be going great guns in athletics or aesthetics but when it comes to sheer shamelessness none to beat our men. Our men take the crown hands(pants) down in this category. Moreover, they have to assert their ownership of the land(it is a man's world). It is a male thing to mark the territory. Since the authority is mostly made up of men who truly understand and empathise with this basic need of men we need not worry about any kind of restrictions being imposed on them. The policeman and the layman share camaraderie and pee together all over the land. Our men are safe and happy.

I dream less

Dreams elude me. I wish I woke up every morning with many tales to recount. Tales about my dreams; tales in my dreams. Even when I get dreams I can't remember them. There are times when I wake up due to a dream and can remember it then, but by morning...it never existed. There have been few recurrent nightmares. I remember seeing myself being chased by lions. I don't get those anymore. Another nightmare was of being in a public place and realising that I had not worn my pants. I have never dreamt of myself flying. But I often think of myself floating in air above a garden of flowers. I close my eyes and see myself exquisitely beautiful and blissful enjoying the fragrance and beauty around me. I am at peace with everything. I am floating. This imagination actually makes me elevate. I feel relaxed. I use this picture many times to relax in difficult situations. Another image I see often is me roaming in a jungle with tigers. I am one of them. I lounge with them, nuzzle them and sleep with them. This image makes me very happy. I see myself in beautiful waterfalls, lovely dense rainforests. I have closed my eyes and seen the most beautiful sights. These sights are wholly mine because they are only for my eyes. They are my creations. I see unreal things like unknown colours, unseen flowers, birds and creatures. I can close my eyes and create my own universe; a very different one. I don't dream, I see....

The tiger

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
I feel privileged to live in the age when we still have tigers in the wild. I feel sad for tigers and us that in the future the tiger may only be found in fables or in captivity. These beautiful and graceful animals seem to be made of fire, what else can explain those blazing eyes and fiery colouration? Inspite of its ferocity and power it looks so cuddly. It resembles a soft toy until it demonstrates the hard, cold side of living.
Amazing animal!

My Chigo

He came in a basket all the way from Mumbai to my village in Kerala. He was destined to be a mallu and eat mummy's morukuttan and matti varuthatu. He did try to put up a fight against destiny when he stubbornly refused to eat rice with sambar or diluted avial. But very soon he was relishing jack fruit, coconut, papaya, tapioca like a true blue mallu... he adapted to our mallu ways...he had no choice.

This golden retriever pup stole our hearts the day he gingerly stepped out of his basket and came wagging his rat-tail at us. He hypnotised us with his innocent yet naughty eyes. When he was older the same eyes could look into your soul. The eyes that had so many questions in them became full of answers and very gentle.

Chigo ate, played, chewed and bit everything(including us), drove mom mad, and before we realized, became a handsome devil. He never learnt to shake hands like most dogs. Maybe he was too much of a free spirit to be disciplined. When my bro ordered him to get into his kennel, he very obediently ran away into the fields. He always gave us a soul-searching look before vanishing, as though baffled at our folly. Soon he became the rage of the village. Among the Indian mongrels he strutted his stature. He would run into the paddy fields and all we could see of him was his bushy tail. His bark was heard far and wide and he barked unnecessarily to show off. He had a different relationship with each one of us. He respected dad, tolerated mom, competed with bro and saw me as his harmless equal, his playmate.
The day he died, I was at home but not with him. I had come home from Ernakulam and was surprised at not getting the usual warm and wet (licking) reception at the gate. I called out for him...no response. I asked mom, she told that he had not been keeping well and could be sleeping under some tree. I went looking for him and found him under a coconut tree. I petted him, he responded but didn't get up. My heart went heavy. I sat with him for some time and then my mom called me in. After some time I got to know that he was no more. To this day, I feel guilty about not being with him at his last moment. I see him running around trying to jostle a stick from me, his tongue sticking out and his eyes full of mirth. I see him sitting near dad's chair with his chin resting on his feet. I see him defying my brother's attempts to tame him. I see him nudging out the meat pieces from the rice and leaving the rice uneaten to the annoyance of my mom. I see him looking at the infant Vishnu with a perplexed expression. I see him sneaking in through the fence looking guilty. He was the only one who enjoyed my singing. He is my Chigo.....he lives with me....

Abusive relationships

Why is it so hard to walk away from a relationship, especially an abusive one. Is the abused more to be blamed than the abuser? Is the victim of an abusive relationship emotionally vulnerable?What makes a person tolerate abuse? Does the victim suffer from self-esteem deficit? Why is leaving more difficult than staying? Why is the familiar torture preferred to the unknown future? Why is any company better than no company? Is sympathy for the abuser a wrong emotion? Is there no exit?

The girl with the dragon tattoo

The girl with the dragon tattoo; The girl who played with fire; The girl who kicked the hornet's nest: Lisbeth Salander is the girl who made millions sit up and take notice. What makes her a success? Maybe the fact that she is very different i.e. very original. She is not your quintessential crime fiction heroine. For one, she is not this drop-dead gorgeous damsel; she is a boyish looking emotionally troubled girl. It's her imperfection that makes her endearing and so real. The best thing about her is her utter disregard for the rules of the society or the law. But she is not without morals. She is emotionally strong, bold yet vulnerable. What I don't like about her character is that she is a genius computer hacker. This is quite frustrating as she seems to get all her work done just by clicking few buttons. Lisbeth stays with you even after you are through with Larsson's Millenium trilogy. She is everything I am not and I love her for that....

Another day

There is a lull, as if the brain is wrapped in cotton. Thoughts are safely tucked in; nothing goes in, nothing goes out. Only the beat of existence is clearly audible. I live, I am here. This feeling is soothing. Just being me...I am not uma. I am a woman, a human being looking at oneself and the world around with awe and utter fascination. I am alive and happy that I am here for another day. Every breath I take, every move nature makes leaves me spellbound....I am here....

A perfect flower

Only nature's creation can be perfect...a flower is a flower, each petal a mark of perfection, the feel, the smell...it is the absolute sensory delight. The colours, shapes, fragrances may vary but they are just superficial effects, the beauty is in the soul of the flower; it is the happiness it exudes in its beauty which gives it the perfection. The joy of looking at a flower is bountless. It stays with you forever. The flower withers but the joy it imparts stays on. The timeless beauty...

Reality sucks

In my thoughts I  achieve so much; I swim across oceans, give speeches to a standing ovation, solve complex math problems, find love, dazzle people with innovations, be a star... and yet reality falls so short. These are not impossible feats. If only I could bring out even half of what an individual is capable of.
Aah...I should just stop thinking.....

Only friends

What was supposed to be a fun occasion turned out to be just that, but not only that..fun had brought some accompaniments. It brought with it moments of regret, envy, sadness and helplessness. After an evening of laughter I went home with a heavy heart. I met my ex-colleagues recently. There were the usual hugs and oh u ve put on weight...and whatz up etc.... I watched them and realised that I was not in the group any more. Of course, friendship was intact but the bond that comes by sharing the same workplace was gone. They discussed colleagues and work as usual, only I was not part of it anymore. It is so tough to let go. I wanted to be a part of their world. But I had lost that privilege. We were just friends...

Afghan Star

Setara is made of stuff that makes a person stand apart from ordinary mortals. Her feat may not sound extraordinary. She is neither an astronaut nor the CEO of any top-notch company. All she did was dance. This Afghan girl dared to dance in a show which was watched by one-third of the country's population. I saw a documentary on Nat Geo about the singing contest 'Afghan Star' in war-torn Afganistan. The girl contestant Setara brought tears to my eyes for the sheer guts she displayed by dancing on TV with her veil slipping down her head. Her bravery is so inspiring. Watching her I feared for her life. Many Afghans shared my view and many openly issued death threats, calling her act totally unislamic. Right from the girl who dares to wear a pair of jeans, where salwar kameez is the norm, to the girl who refuses to give dowry are the real heroes for womankind, their seemingly small acts of courage pave the way for major upheavals. These are people who dared, who dared to think and act out of the box...

I can fly

I remember a day in summer in kerala. I must have been five or six then. I was waiting at a bus stop and there was this shop next to it selling grocery, fruits, cold drinks: well, a bit of everything. It had a drink called 'Fly', in orange color, and I couldn't take my eyes off it. I was sure then that if I drank that drink I could fly. I imagined drinking and soaring up, up, up. 

State of I

Is laziness fatal? Oh my god, no cure? Then I hope it's contagious! One nice lazy world would be so blissful....

How much land do I need?

I need land big enough to hold 4(or 2) big trees, 2 humans, a well, and some space to plant vegetables. I do not mind being dependant on the socio-economic network to provide me with the essentials and luxuries but I need a backup just in case the whole system breaks down. I don't want to be a part of the mayhem when water becomes a very scarce commodity and people everywhere, especially in the cities fight over it.
I want a mango tree with a nice canopy, a small house made of wood. Thodi si zameen, thoda aasmaan, thinko ka bas ek aashiya...I will reap my freedom on this land, it will give me my piece of sky and my share of stars and the moon too.

Being mallu

I woke up on Thursday feeling very mallu. Now, this was not as bad as getting chicken pox. Being a mallu means doing different things differently, especially on an exclusive mallu festival day like Vishu. On such days it becomes real hard to turn away from this lineage. Early enthusiastic morning calls from god's own country or god's own people from the other parts of the country reminded me of my mallu duties.
This vishu I was lost in memories of my yearly visits to my native place(kulapully in palakkad district) as a child. The visits are still undertaken but things are different. Have I changed or time? Maybe both...My remembrances of kerala are green (in every way); I can feel the dampness and sexuality in the air, the smell of steaming rice, coconut ...also the smell of burning firewood and still hear the crackling sound of burning wood. I see a much younger mom trying to cook on firewood, the luxury of a gas stove left behind in the city. The overpowering sound of crickets, frogs crying out at night as if telling humans to shut up "you did all the talking in the daytime now it's our turn"... The anticipation of snakes' heads popping out from the million holes all around... Touch me nots... who can forget those hours spent in troubling these sensitive plants. The change in the body language in my parents was palpable then...a new confidence in their NRM (Non Resident Mallu) struts. The excitement of getting up in the morning to explore the flora and fauna around made nights seem long. The villagers giving us undeserving attention and adulation....The feel of wood, mud..catching dragonflies and the kuzhi aanas(literally translated - hole elephants)- those little bugs which are found in holes dug in loose dry mud. Delicious natural smelling food...pure water...nature's sounds..the sound of women drawing water. Dad in mundu(dhoti). . the traditional clothes, the sandalwood paste on most people's forhead...Those visits to relatives' dressed in our best..Looking for fox droppings and feeling very excited on seeing one as though having spotted a tiger . The omnipresent coconut trees and the multitude vines and shrubs, each with its own special quality. The stories of ghosts, elephants and snakes narrated by one and all...Ponds, paddy fields and the smell of fried fish wafting from the kitchen...Early morning baths..giggling girls talking in hushed tones.. the list is endless, as are the memories...happy smiles and content life everywhere...is all the same?...if so, why can't I see...make me a child again...

The killer

Hours of laughter, banter and many rounds of rummy later my dad unwittingly left me shaken. My friends and family had thoroughly enjoyed our night of gambling and these friends were going home. My parents were going back to kerala the next day. So a usual farewell routine was being enacted. Only my dad got very emotional and looked at my friends and their son as if it were the last time he would be seeing them. He shook their hands and said, 'till we meet again'...and I could see it in his eyes and sense it in his voice that he was almost sure he would not meet them again. I felt a wrenching pain and stood mute witness to a 71-yr-old man's feelings. The fear of death looming larger than ever and so near....Time...the meanest, cruelest enemy. I look at the clock with dread. It is the villian that makes a man die a thousand deaths before he is dead. And then people say-nothing is in our hands...yes I stare at my hands and realise they are empty

A thing called love

What is this thing called love? If it is a thing I might as well quantify it. A cup(big one) of love every morning and night should be good for my overall well-being. Or I might as well buy tonnes of love and stock...you never know, at times, the requirement shoots up. If love is a matter, then which state is it in? Solid – so I can eat love, what joy! the two greatest pleasures of life in a combi-pack. I am sure it has high calories and it is, of course, as addictive as chocolate. Too much love can thus be harmful. Love would be that treat you give yourself once in a while. Liquid – drinking love is the solution in this fast-paced age where noone has time for frivolities. Gas – Yes...this seems right...love is just gas ...invisible..no odour (it does stink at times though). You can’t see it till it takes the shape of the container(U may call it a 'lover'). The container has to be changed now and again, otherwise the chemical reaction results in the stinking I mentioned earlier. It plays havoc with your senses and can cause brain damage
Love...love...love...here I come...I will eat u, drink u, and then let u assail my senses

And they lived happily ever after

Marriages are made in heaven...the ones in India definitely are. Why else do you think Indian marriages are so successful. Just see the rate of divorces in India, it is far less compared to some other parts of the world. We are a country of happily married couples. And this is not just divine intervention, this happiness is borne out of the puurrrfect understanding in our marriages. There are no false pretenses over a concept called 'love'. We don't let such alien elements damage our marriages. We arrange our marriages, then arrange it more..chalk out the individual roles and make sure that all the ways out of it are shut tight. Now, if you are thinking all this is easy...you are yet to get to know the grit and determination of the Indian woman.
The Indian woman makes her subtle moves delicately, she is very gentle...She adopts her husband, taking care of all his needs right from his morning cup of tea to his romp in the bed at night.

Intelligence does play a great role in making marriages succeed. For instance, the wife sees to it that she makes an invalid out of her husband. He is like a 3-4-yr-old who needs to be chaperoned. Indian men do clean up after relieving themselves but for the rest, they marry.
The roles are defined. The man earns, the woman spends. The woman cooks, the man eats. The Indian woman is not demanding, she is content with her TV. And if she does get a little demanding at times, the man gives her some children to play with. This is what we call 'perfect understanding'.
What a blissful state of affairs..they love each other so much that they now cant live without each other...So every morning the 4-year-old goes out, works and comes home to his momma, wifey, sister, caretaker, lover...wow..what a package...which man wouldn't want free sex and hot food...
Long live Indian marriages..

The other side of family

Other things may change us, but we start and end with the family ‑ Anthony Brandt
Whether you call it one of nature’s masterpieces, the gift of god or a necessary evil, the family and the mammoth role it plays in the making of an individual and the society is irrefutable. It is a well-known fact that the family is the basic building block of a society and has for ages held a highly esteemed position in most people’s hearts and lives.
Right from the birth to the stage when an individual becomes an active, decision-making member of the society, his ideas and feelings are dominated and influenced by his family. A family brings a new entity into the world, nurtures and nourishes it. It is the haven for most in the world. A family is indeed a highly sensitive and responsible unit. In the context wherein the functions of a family cannot be undermined, one does wonder, are all families equipped to handle such a Herculean task?
Family passes on values and beliefs that are taught at an early stage. It ensures security, support and love, at times unconditional and more often, at a price. Being a part of a group ensures a security which is very comforting but also blinding and binding. This is more apparent in a traditional and orthodox society like India. Family demands unconditional obedience over love. One loves one’s family, not out of choice but because one is taught to love one’s family, again a value passed over by the family. The power the family wields over a person can many a times be unhealthy. It cripples the thinking power of an individual.
With all the good it does, the family structure also has the potential to cause harm. Bodies are nurtured but many souls are damaged forever in a family. Gender roles are learnt in the family. Girls are made to sacrifice their happiness at the altar of the family values. Her family’s shadow looms large over her at every stage of her life. She carries the responsibility of holding the family together all her life.
More than the outer projections of the effect of the family, it is the inner turmoil it creates in a person that is a great cause of concern. A person is what his family has made him to be. The confidence level in an individual is also determined by the family. Knowingly or unknowingly, the family can mar a person’s perception of himself to the extent that he feels guilty at being himself. In the case of a boy, the family instills in him the patriarchal values dominant in the society. He is made to feel superior to woman, being exposed to the gender power equations at home. Peer influence or education cannot change these deeply ingrained ‘values’.
The family prestige and name makes him opt for a career choice not his own. A life spent living for the family creates a frustration that is transmitted down generations. In the case of a girl, she learns to be docile, sub-serving and the peace maker at home. After all, she has the family honor to safeguard. Her personal and professional lives assume secondary status to her familial obligations.
Family takes precedence over the individual, traditions and values over human emotions. But how cordial can the society be if each entity in the society comes from certain distinct units where they have been brainwashed into a rigid way of thinking and behaving.
The family is an ever- changing institution. People opine that it is on the decline or dying. This is not a perfect institution. But then, what is? With all its imperfections it humanizes you, teaches you to share and adjust; be less selfish. And we all do need a family. Reality need not be taken for anti-family views. All one needs to do is look at family, the link to our past and a bridge to our future, more realistically. Bonds of love matter, not just the appearance of being a happy family.
Dodie Smith said, "The family - that dear octopus from whose tentacles we never quite escape, nor, in our inmost hearts, ever quite wish to.