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....