A Mid life Scourge

Sometimes I take life to be a channel filled with melancholic occurrences drawing strong public criticism, hard to understand, harder to forget. I do not mean a physical war with homo sapiens, nor do i mean peace with the same. At times, life pushes me to extreme conditions where i am left suffocated and scourged for no fault of mine. Its that gruelling struggle for survival that helps vanish the nauseating barricade life has put before me with unceasing interest, enjoying every minute of it, that's it. Its time for a change. How long does it take for one to get tired of being tired? The question remains tough to be answered in the literary sense. After lying submerged in the depths of failure for a long time, i reckon its time i reclaim the reins of my life. The path ahead is like a bed of thorns, unavoidable sufferance guaranteed. Torn and shred to pieces, i pick my battered soul and start my provocative retreat through these isles of excruciating pain without a whimper. I walk with heavy thuds yet let no noise be heard. Where is the camaraderie the untruthful tribes of the world showcased? Even as the beads of sweat pour down my mortalised form, lie suffocating, trying to get a new lease on life, the voices of a thousand ancestors thunder in me, whetting my thirst to drain out the taste of defeat that proves an impediment to my emotional quest further. I shan't take an interval of rest even if my blood desires so in times of weariness. I wont let go until the sweet smell of victory hits my nostrils and challenges me to lie on a bed strewn with petals myriad in colour. Finally my head hits the pillow of the dream envisaged and the varied sacrifices have borne fruit. The mystic road less taken has ended. A new sequel has begun.

Fuming Fragrance

The lights are out, the door is shut. All that can be heard is the creaking sound of an old ceiling fan yodeling away its routine cocktail of tunes. Except for a restless soul dwindling in strength, fighting the nuances in life, everything is mellowing into the charms of the night. Engulfed in the colour of darkness and bound by walls of ego, I’m shut tight in a room; I still find no reason as to why I should be. My mind conveys feeble solutions but my soul doesn’t seem to quite fraternize the need of the hour. I’m lost yet to be found. That’s the chant my very existence on earth reveals. I turn a mild left and shut my eyes tighter pressing hard on my pupils. Recumbent, I recover from the random murky bouts of mockery the very household I live with has put me through. This time there burns a candle, a soul in sight never flickering, never abstaining. Between the heights at which the holiest of the heavens stand to the depths of the earth where the darkest of secrets lie buried, I never have experienced such sweet constant flow of love cordoning dastardly inflicted pain. The feeling of having someone to cry for you when you’re sad is far more an earthly feeling. Even more when there’s someone to feel for you and respect your varying emotions, I claim it heavenly. The very thought of a soul longing to be mine following me where ever I go is enough to regenerate the spirit in me taking me miles forward to eternal warmth of love. My aim and reason of existence of life, balances on the tip of this undying flame. Without this unbundling synonym of life I’m nothing and I move no where.

Indian Blues

Caught in the tenacious grasps of laziness and provoked by the enchanting world of sleep, my vacation life was kind of dedicated entirely to the bed, sleeping for a whooping 16 hours with no hypnophobia related syndromes, helping me miss out on a lot this summer had in the offing. Well that didn’t last for long as something as mysterious and as ridiculous as how life could get caught me right in the sleepy eye. The above cutting from a popular Indian daily and the video captured with an ordinary Indian mo0bile phone you have just seen on this Indian blog, blogged by an anglo indian may have left you frozen if you were an Indian citizen brimming with patriotism. If i’m not wrong and if there is no political obsruction in my sense of free thinking, i can pick up various instances on seeing the Indian flag being misused on different occasions, leave alone the master blaster Sachin Tendulkar feat but also actions by other personalities, even the so called khakee clad policemen of Kerala or even the starchy white khadee clad politicians of God’s own country. I rake my brains and find no fuelling reason as to why Sachin tenders an apology. The situation prevailing found team india in the jaws of defeat in the world cup at the time of happening but seriously what if India had won the world cup? Believe me... No such accusations would have existed today and the column that engrossed wide criticism would have ensured praise for the Indian cricket team. Now let me give you a bit of certain comparison between what Sachin did and what the corporation workers did as seen in the video. Sachin cut the cake he was asked to cut in a ceremony that happened outside India. It is absolutely clear in every sense that Sachin’s part was only the ceremonious cutting of the cake not the ordering of the cake to be made in the shape and colour of the Indian tricolour. The corporation workers ,on the other hand, carried out their assigned duty of clearing garbage from houses under the jurisdiction of the corporation. Happened to be that the garbage that is normally disposed in polyethene bags got wrapped up in the Indian tricolour. Ask me why and i should say , the household ran out of plastic bags due to the ban on polyethene carry bags and ended up wrapping the garbge in the pride of our nation - The Tricolour. Maybe the household will get a new one later!

Gloomy Glimpses

Flipping through the pages of my near past, I stumble upon vague memories imprinted in my mind by a scene so pleasant in its heavenly form that I would cherish its happening over and over again. I don’t mean angels singing or playing their harps nor do I intend having experienced any immortal encounter. The entire event from its beginning to its end, from its zenith to its natural dilution created in me an awe for the people involved. Well this is how it all started.
Standing under a shady tree, waiting for conveyance to get me to my proposed destination, my inquisitive eyes eagerly scrutinizes the surrounding layer of the majestically huge world spread forth in front of me. Everything looked good and everything was at its best. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, the breeze was warm and fast flowing, leaves were falling and earthlings were busy with earthly chores. A firm grip by a warm hand cut shorts my unassumed rendezvous with the nature boy in me and I fixed a deep artificial stare into the ruby eyes that kept looking into mine. The ghastly and meek figure of an old wretched woman and the bony clench on my arm was enough for me to understand the existence of poverty and misery befriended by sickness and hunger under that wrinkled face and shimmering eyes. A sudden child like instinct flowed into me like milky water falling from the highest falls, gushing through rocks below to continue on meaningful reasons for life to be sustained. With a twinkle in my eye and an echo of a whisper on my lip I thrust into her palm a coin, which I sensed, would have been of great value to her. A smile, a nod and then with heavy thuds she moved away, searching for solace in another passer by may be. Not recovered from what had happened I was trying to picturize the whole train of events again, when, from no where appears her better half, a lanky old man with crutches under his arm. He gets close to her, calls her by name and then with his bare hand wipes beads of perspiration off her forehead. What happened next was no flummery. With sadness in his eyes and concern in his voice he asked her not to stand in the hot blazing sun, a move that provoked a tear to roll down my cheek. After this impoverished family reunion both exchanged exhausted glances and then continued their life-sustaining disguise. My story concludes here but theirs just continues. It happened, I say, It happened.

Cantilevered Reminders

An inward urge to surpass and diminish the audible vile voices of pessimism imposed on finished and unfinished chapters in my life by the innumerable unscrupulous human elements is one big reason I engage myself on a personal errand with mother nature every time I need to recoup the battle haggard innocuous spirit in me. The long stretch of coconut and palm fringed beaches of Fort Cochin studded with historic souvenirs provides the perfect ambience for a sojourn journey away from materialistic life swelling like a beastly inferno waiting to reduce me to ashes. Squatting on granite rocks well positioned to form a sea wall reminding sand that they belong to where they lie now, I try recapitulating the super powers that once ruled this obscure fishing hamlet years ago. One by one they come to my mind: the Arabs, the Chinese, the Portuguese, the Dutch, the English. After a short stint in pondering over the leftovers by these mighty conquerors, somatic shadows of wooden giants summon me to take part in their daily unbalanced endeavours. Well if you are familiar with the shores of Fort Cochin, you've guessed it right. Yes, the Chinese Fishing nets, part and parcel of the historic remnants that these shores boast of. Each of these cantilevered fishing stalwarts are virtual reminders of the various hands that unleashed havoc after their original masters were forced out of this land. Even though subjects of menial labour and ambassadors of enigmatic diligence, they spread light gingerly with no gimmick, flooding into the mysterious mazes of my mind the need to slaughter forms of envy, jealousy and wretchedness by just being what i am. This tête-à-tête meeting sans petulance with these gentle giants in the lap of mother nature help me realise where I am, setting free the refugee in me. Just before the culmination of this eventful voyage, an intuition in me wants me to be an entrant to this shallow topsy turvy spectrum of varied entities.

Confessions of a Bleeding Heart

It's new year again. All frenzied and scourged on the sloping and rugged terrain of life, i walk down memory lane, knocking on doors and peeping through windows, trying to get a glimpse of my life, my past, my family. Faces i see and time spent in nonerroneous circumstances make me feel it was worth living those cherishable moments. Pondering on the mysterious and weird twists and turns in life, i deeply miss the scenic halts and episodes endured with my mom, brother and dad especially. Now that light is out. The top most branch of the tree has fallen, withered and disappeared leaving just the three of us- my mom, my brother and i with just meloncholic melodies of a song unfinished. Occasionally i try to put right the broken pieces of God's puzzle as to why He put us apart. Is He jealous or is He being rude in His worldy dealings? Coming back to my senses i recollect reality with mummy slogging in a foreign land trying to make both ends meet, my brother and me in a place far away from home and my dad taking his final rest under the clear blue sky with nature to keep him company. All scattered and broken hearted, like fish out of water we crave to get together, live together and leave together on the final journey not having a glimpse, nor messing around with earthly inequitities. The house i stay in and the people i am living with, rather putting up with are perspicuous examples of what this cunning and sly world could force upon a shattered heart. May be I am enduring the perinatel curses of the unseen negative force or may be the perforated prejudiced eyes of the ones who i deem the near and dear ones. But from the chasms of my lamentable heart i bask in the love of my family still langushing, reminding me who i am and what i am. The world is my own and so is my family.