Almost three years not a word written.
Writer’s block, a lack of inspiration to write – if I confessed to such rubbish, it would be nothing but excuses. The truth is that there has been nothing in my heart to trigger my thoughts.
Where there was an incessant flow of thoughts and rants to let the world know that I am alive, all that remains is a rhythm – a rhythm that exists in all things with a beating heart. I know that perhaps the thinking organ is the brain but if you really think about it without your heart backing it, you would not believe in them.
All that remains is a hollow feeling. Not one of sorrow or desperation. Definitely not! All that remains is… well nothing remains where sometime back a lot was residing.
Why? In retrospect, I think it’s mostly because of trying to please a lot of people. Young and old alike. Since the time I can remember, it’s always been the same thing – making people happy so they appreciate and accept you. Right now it perhaps seems like I am going though some kind of life crises, but truth be told, I just want to feel alive. Alive to feel contentment, to feel humor, to smile, to laugh at a joke! I have been smiling and laughing, but it has been nothing but a change in expression that suits the particular situation, the only emotion or expression that I have been honest in is to cry. Though now it seems even my tears have deserted me. The reason for my condition, for my tears, for my lack of feeling alive, I leave in the depths of my conscience. To dwell in them is futile. All I know is that I have been time and again bent to someone’s will, but I will not break. No, I shan’t break for then I shall feel like the failure that some people have always said I am.
I don’t wish for calm, for calm can sometimes be so disturbing in itself. I wish for chaos. I wish for the tiny flutterings in my heart that like a flame resided. A flame that gave me hope, joy and satisfaction for being what I am. A wild pleasure, a sunny warmth that has always been inside of me. I am going to get it back. If that means that I will have to disown those that have such insolent contempt for me, so be it. I shall not feel the cold when I have felt what it is to be warm. I shall starve no more at the cost of my own wellbeing.
Maybe all this makes absolutely no sense to you, but just know that I can. And after ages, writing has brought back a flicker of something that once used to be.
Some people, very few in fact have an actual glimpse of things ‘past’. The others just get to look at aging ancestors, old photographs on Facebook or Geni, or maybe read about it. Recently a young and small reader of our reading group was introduced to RK Narayan. And a few minutes later, he wanted to know what a piece of time would look like — ‘a timepiece was on Rajam’s desk’ the book told him. The group then began discussing about things old and maybe ancient.
The timepiece or clock as we know it, an isthri karan (iron-man Literally) with his huge push cart and red-hot coals, some times his reserve of coals would be like a treasure ( the coals would be used to decorate anything from walls to animals) and many other things,
If you are mallu who visited mother land when young, you would have had your share of cuticura and coconut oil smelling memories of relatives and just the oil smelling mouth-watering edibles out of their kitchens. My experiences with the way of life my ancestors has were half and half —memorable and torturous. Climbing trees, rolling in the mud, giving the dogs an oil bath, watching the women folk buy fish and clean them and then play with the cats that came to feast on the remains, mango search-rescue and hog operations, jackfruit fiascos, and towards the evening when you were famished there would snack time and then a flower picking sessions for the deities in the house and all the cuticura and coconut oil loving I got are so memorable to this day . Sometimes you just aren’t supposed to be doing any of this, like climbing trees of rolling in the mud or playing with strays, not if you are a girl and especially more if you are the lone grandchild for a good period of time.
Visiting an extremely religious, communist, socialist and severely conservative family community was so confusing that even today I’d rather not be in a room filled with relatives – the war of the words on would break out any moment. There in the corner of the room I would sit, tired from lunch, unable to move with the huge meal in my belly. Lunch would mostly be fish curry, fish fry and the big grained rice, and summer specials – mampazhapulliseri, or chakkakuru varutadu basically something with mango or jackfruit and I’d be happy All the women would make sure they have a chance to serve you. And there were a minimum of 7 of them to my recollection. Ever wondered why motherland is called god’s own country, it’s mostly because people are lazy, or maybe people of my large family are and I wouldn’t blame them after all the food and the oil baths. After lunch it would be time for the men to take the noon nap and the women to take on the gossip and I would just lay there like a piece of furniture unable to move.
After nap time it would be war-time. When the war breaks out, some of the women would be busy in the kitchen to bring out the tea and the snacks. The heavy smell of coconut oil would overload my senses. Wishing the elders would keep it down I would wait to know what it was that was cooking. With my stomach just about to burst from lunch even at 4 in the evening, a big tight hug from my grand-aunt would be enough to create room in the tummy for whatever it was that was being made in the kitchen. And the wait… was it jackfruit or banana being fried, or maybe it was something else; such tortuous ordeals daily were too much for a child.
And staying out of trouble wasn’t too much trouble. As long you had your hair long (till your shoulders was good) and visited temples often during your stay and stayed away from everything not of equal social/religious standing was good enough to get you your daily dose of the loving from the classic cuticura beauties and their lip smacking preparations.
I wonder what it would be for my youngest cousin when he grows up – will he ever have any anecdotes from his trips to mallu-land or will his vacation packages every year keep him happy while we older cousins have a total recall gig? Maybe we will just gift him some cuticura and prepare some banana chips once a while for him to sense motherland.
Sometimes we do realize that even if when we were in school, the system couldn’t influence us let alone educate us it does have a long-lasting effect afterward. The system of education in my country has finally begun to make me feel pitiful of myself.
Recent changes in the system of education have honestly traumatized me more than when I was 15. An average 15-year-old doesn’t know the basics of civics or what exactly a republic or a federal government means. It really doesn’t matter as long as the 26th of January falls bang on in the middle of the week and is a government holiday. It is the plight of several kids in our city’s private schools. Some of us may know of some kids who aren’t as such but mostly they seldom are.
As marks give way to grades , schools have started giving out ‘Assignments’ and the poor 15-year-old traumatized brain seeks help. With no help available readily at home, they bang on their neighbor’s door – mine. “Akka math assignment, lets do it” or sometimes its just “I have a match, can you do it and keep it ready. I will pick it up when I am back” For the amount of school work I have done this year alone, I would have been school topper year after year had I spent as much time while I was in school. Anyway, all the benevolence aside, the kids taught me that the keyword was money. So the assignments get done and also get taught to the kid. And in turn the kid goes back to class and helps the other less privileged peers. And for a fee. You can get a project done for as less as Rs. 20, answer sheet copies for 50 minimum depending on the subject and importance of the test. Sometimes it’s not cash, its tickets, or psps, or pirated cds, assorted things. Whatever people had in mind while devising this system this was definitely not one of them. May be we are making a generation that is street-smart and capable of business better than ourselves.
It has been a really long time I decided to write anytime; and even longer since I thought of anything actually worth writing about. Actually it’s been a long time since I did a lot of the usual things, but some how life seems to be a lot nicer without the usual trivialities.
The usual networks have helped me stay in touch with or in some cases stay aware of the happenings with some of the junta. But then I do realize I do not care much about most of the online social networks, or for that matter any socializing. Each day as I log on, being bombarded with so many feeds/updates about what most people are doing, Farmville or just the usual status agonies. Somehow my life didn’t seem to be eventful relatively; the grass is definitely greener on the other side. That’s why the I-don’t-really-care came into being.
Anyway, no more nonsense. Why have I not been writing much, like I said nothing to write about. Writers block some say with a “?” and I just flash my widest grin. Honestly its just laziness. Some one calls for a movie, I have butterflies in my stomach… just the thought of having to get my ass off the chair and going out in the sun is such so agonizing. I could instead watch it online, comfortably. Lazy is one thing I have definitely become over the past few months.
As for the other updates for the long periods of absentia, there is nothing much really to report. I do have learnt a lot more about some good old fashioned stuff, like painting and crocheting. Primarily they are great way to unwind, and now the stress busters have taken the form of coasters or framed stuff hanging off walls.
Oh and yes there have been some dramatic shifts in personality as well. A complete revamp of social skills. I have been in touch with the usual suspects but beyond that, old friends/ex-colleagues/classmates et al, I have hardly been able to write a line to them. I do wish I could back in time and catch up with Johnny, sail, ujji, anusha, lachu, usha, vignesh, cheenu, sasi, sunitha, k, heena and murad – who of course is missing from the scene. Honestly this is a sincere apology for not keeping in touch with you guys. And if you have blogged I have read (is the only consolation I can make for myself)
As for this New Year, there were never resolutions or anything. But this year I may just have some. Hopefully I shall give up on pizza and some of the other vices. Then there is another one… I do want to start writing… here and hopefully some letters as well. I recently realized that I can’t write continuously for a prolonged period… Some practice would get the habit back. So yes good old fashioned letters.
Well, as for you guys, wish you a year filled happiness and pleasant happenings.
Oh and I will try and get back here as much as possible.
I don’t know how many fathom deep I’m in love with you,
but every time I hear your voice,
everytime I see your smile,
each time I feel your touch,
and everytime I look into your eyes,
I fall in love all over again.
There are alot of things we dont say,
but a smile, a wink, a twitch, a look,
convey a thousand words that drive me crazy in love.
There may be a thousand women who can love you more than I ,
but there is only one man who loves me so – You!
Your love makes my world go around,
your love makes me want to live life everyday
only to fall in love with you all over again.
There has always been something written about the topic of death on this blog. Death itself is very depressing, even more so when there is a loss that cannot be comprehended by my meagre existence.
The last few weeks have been very saddening. There has been much written about the death of MJ, but then there is also Lohithadas and now DKP.
These are people I grew up with in my life. I remember the first time I watched color television, I watched MJ, he was the only thing that was ever on then on tv. And the mallu movies, can anyone really forget movies like His highness or kamaladalam or bharatham. and DKP.. MLV and MSS all gone. Leaving behind only their memories and their awesome work .
For the first time in months,I feel words failing me, choking on my own emotions that I cannot understand. Like a part of me taken away from me forever.
I am not someone who would cry or laugh or emote easily,
but you taught me how easy it was.
You helped me make sense of happiness better
and you pulled me away from the trivially deep chasms of human existence.
now that you are gone, I shall not miss you, for I know you are in a better place.
A better place, made better only by your presence.
Now that you are gone, I shall not miss you, but your work.
Work that you tried would make this a better place.
Work that perhaps can never be compared to.
wishes remain unfulfilled, but hopes remain as they were.
Hopes of waking up from this horrible dream.
Hopes of your legacy living on.
my words fail me now.
Life has constantly been changing for ever. And now I realise that we are nothing more a piece of wood drifting along a journey called life. Sometimes u get caught in a branch or dock at a rock and form a certain bond with your surroundings and other pieces of wood around. Some of them stale, some of them precious. It may take any amount of time for one to realise if where you are, or what you do is good or bad. But nevertheless as the journey progresses it leaves you with etched with character.
I do have good memories and bad. But I now realise I have no memories of my school days. Well I know where I went to school and I do have some of my classmates on my online networks, but no accounts of any conversations or anything else to remember. May be there was nothing worth remembering. Maybe no one was worth the time or effort. It does seem to be rude to think as such, but I never enjoyed my school days – not one bit. I used to hate most of my teachers and I don’t remember too many of my class mates
There are times today when a lot of people around me narrate their school time stories and all I have to say is how people at home used to coax me, goad me or even throw me into the school uniform and push me to school. Perhaps I never realised the worth of being a student until I met the right teachers.
This one is a sort of dedication to the people from whom I have learnt my most important lessons in life. I of course, have not expressed my thanks or gratitude to any of them in any way. This is also perhaps a public apology of sorts, for I may have wronged a few of them in the purpose.
Born into a huge family where there are perhaps more books than the walls can be covered with, my paternal grandfather and my maternal grandmother were the first people who encouraged my reading habits. Then came Mrs. RR – my primary school English teacher. She stood with me on the shore and let me appreciate the brilliant depth of the language and by the time I reached secondary school she had moved on, leaving me with an incredible urge to learn and explore. My grandparents were also instrumental in me discovering different other aspects – philosophy, mythology, theology etc. and the parents did their part in giving into my indulgence in music and the other hobbies. But as far as learning/writing or appreciating any piece of writing goes the credit goes to my grandparents and my dear teacher. If not for them my reading would perhaps been restricted to the dailies.
A second most important teacher has to be my biology teacher in higher secondary – Mrs. DT. She kindled the interest and that is perhaps why I am still interested in knowing why flagellate movement is so wonderfully special or which allele does what, so to say. I do feel very shameful that I couldn’t fulfil her desire of me pursuing medical genetics.
Someone who made me realise the one thing that is most important in ones life – time, Dr. MDK – our college chemistry head. Never has a single moment gone by that’s not utilised in his life. Such was his dedication and equally delicious were his musings about chemistry.
And finally the most recent… my first boss – Mr. S J. I know I may not have been the ideal kind but he definitely did his best – to make me learn, to teach me. He was all dedication and subtlety, which perhaps I can only thrive to achieve.
It goes without saying that my parents and my sister have been great influences. Patience – I am sorry dad I fear l will never have, I may never love learning as much as my mom and definitely not cook as well as her – but I do know I will definitely live upto being your molu.
[Daddy I know you keep tab of this blog, I hope to get some brownie points for this one ]
When you look around I may not be there, but I assure you that I am there.
I shall always be there. When you are looking for your glasses or when you need an extra blanket.
I shall do my best to make sure you have the most of the best, and the best of the most.
I would brighten up anything, even the darkest of nights just to see you smile.
I want to make your every wish come true.
If it takes the light out of my life, I’d make sure you will have the radiance of a thousand dawning suns.
The twinkle of a zillion stars when you smile, I wish to never see it out of place.
I have been gifted by luck with you, and pray you get lucky with luck.
Of things divine, may you have only the best.
You filled the emptiness in my life, may your world be forevermore brimming with wonderful moments;
Nothing but the best for the world’s Best Sister!
Paradise or wherever this is, is a beautiful place,
I for now call it so for I am with him,
I swim like a swan in the tranquil depth of his voice wishing it were to be so for eternity.
I shall travel far and wide, if all I need is to seek a glance of his – eternal bliss.
A nice spring day with a silver cloud
Every time the hint of grey shifts and the sun shines down, it is as if he smiles.
Sparkles and twinkles here and there, lilies and daisies everywhere,
Alas, I can’t feel the delicate flowers, or the frozen mist
For in the warmth of his embrace my senses fail.
With a silent confession, a humid kiss
He gave me a ring and I, my heart.
There is no denying, there is drama in every little thing, for life is a stage in itself