Celebrating life!

Mirroring nails he slips on his face greasy green the white skirt encircles and entombs his already large hips. He readies himself for the performance as he imagines how they will see him today Keechaka to be killed yet again by Bhima aka Vallala. Villain Rapist Evildoer What not. Would they ever see him as noble? As a man of great talent? Not just the man Sairanthri asked to be taken care of? After all didn’t Keechaka possess charm and masculinity? Wasn’t he worthy of being followed? Sighing he walks to the stage. Who would listen to a poor actor’s thoughts For Keechaka exists only in the realms of the theatre. The world of the make believe stops at the edge of the curtain for that is where reality steps in to tear away the world of dreams. (Based on a reading of the play Marattam)

Chiselled, hammered, pierced, drawn upon, cut, enamelled, bejewelled, painted, decked out in finery: she was meant to be a testament to their everlasting love as well as his beloved’s resting place. He was never meant to be a part of the picture. Yet today it is the final resting place of two great lovers that history has made known by this monument in white. Now she stands tall, though robbed and raped of all her finery and splendorous garments, millions continue to marvel at her - as she bears witness to great love and passion that erupted in the making of the wondrous - lo and behold - Taj Mahal.

“Your profession?,” they ask. “Dancer!,” they exclaim. Ha! And Ha! They laugh in his face. How is he supposed to look after his family they think aloud in their head and on their faces, for passion has no place in their calculations only a Bharat Ratna can save him from their disappointed stares as they watch his retreating form going for his next successful stage performance.

She traces her fingers nimbly on the ground here, there, everywhere not stopping for a beat. She must finish the drawing before it is dawn. She stops not for breath she stops not for break she rushes without a blink as she painstakingly draws every line. It is her first here. They will judge her today too. The new bride will be measured by the intricateness beauty and dexterity of her kolam . It is finally done. Just as dawn appears and the mother-in-law steps out with a yawn. “Hmmm” “Nothing like mine, daughter-in-law” “But this will do.” She finally breathes.

You confuse me men of home you tell me you want to snuggle on cold mornings. You tell me I am the apple of your eye and yet you surprise me next day with your wedding invitation. What was I to you? Mere chattel? Only to pass your time? Why then did you hound me when I was perfectly happy on my own? Why did my solitariness irk you? Was I another conquest on your list of things? How could you scum of the earth? It is not just my curses you have earned. My tears carry a far greater weight than beknownst to you for they carry the pain of a thousand desires unrequited.

Just when I thought I could quietly sit and photograph the event the student announced my birthday on stage. The entire audience of 200 rose up as one and sang the happy birthday song O my! There was no quiet anymore. Who would have thought I would be cutting three cakes in a day at my age and receiving a bouquet to top it off? Who would have thought That this quiet woman in the corner had won their hearts as well?

You want me to be like her? she who wears a smile made of sugar & ties her hair in a plait & has a featureless face & wears nondescript clothes & has a colourless personality & smiles & smiles & smiles till the sugar melts like her? O     No Even if you have ensured I am totally buried under all her kind her copies her photostats I'm no ordinary woman you ∽∽∽∽∽∽∽∽∽ see I'm extraordinary. 

You ask me the moment I am born to cover myself with that blackish-red cape because my breasts are too big because my stomach spills out because my back shows because my what-not is visible. I wear my cape as you desire as you society asked me to. I wear it like my skin but now after all this time centuries and millennia I grow tired of it. I wish to remove this dastardly skin/cape. B e g o n e . You are no longer mine. Snake skin-like I shed you. I will wear What I please.

Leaky faucet nose exploding bomb cough temporarily blocked ears endless Meenachil eyes blistering barnacle headache facial bones that torture melcow to the world of allergies.