Celebrating life!

  The ship is finally sinking And as a rat, I must flee. As I start running, I turn and see Those who are staying. I did try to warn them And even help with advice But they turned a blind eye And reveled in their bad choices. I recall the Titanic And how some went down With a glass in hand. I can see the celebrations The laughter and gaiety, And also too The sullen glowers At the one who tried to help And bring you good. As I flee to safe ground To carry on with my dreams I pity the ones I leave behind: You could have made hay If you had only listened.    

I never understood what unconditional love was Until she appeared in my life. I never thought she would love me, the black sheep But she was constantly with me. When my heart broke and I lay crying in bed She alone understood and sat silently by my side. When she realized I would be going to work in the mornings Her eyes alone showed how she hated being separated. When I returned by evening Her joy knew no bounds. When I returned from a week-long conference trip to Nepal I had to get her injected: she was sick from her sorrow of separation. And finally when a horrible tenant made a threat on your life Forcing us to keep you safe, away from us I felt your pain… I hated it & missed you terribly too. Yet even then, when I came to speak to you today You were more interested in me then my gift for you. I doubt I have a truer love than you My dearest canine being Achu Because you taught me the meaning of unconditional love.  

Why do I hate you so? What did you ever do but help? Most people wud agree your a great blessing.  Yet I feel only distaste  And I wonder why.  You've helped me too, Despite all my attempts to get rid off you.  But at 44 I think I'm finally accepting my reality, And you my spectacles.

  If only I were as smart as big bro or could cook like you, mom,  If only I could sing & dance like lil' bro or do all the chores like him,  If only I were a boy carrying on the family name or had birthed a grandkid for you, Then, maybe then would you consider me a beloved daughter? Am I really that terrible? You boast to visitors about my brothers but have nothing to say about me? Doesn't love & sincerity count? Or does only money & status matter? Was this how Jesus too felt at home? Alone? An outcaste? It isn't glory I seek, never, ever Just your understanding and acceptance. But I guess I'm too black a sheep ...

  As the sun rises, another Onam comes & I nostaligize an Onam, 23 years ago When my non-Malayali classmates  Traversed the breadth of town In search of a sadhya & was forced to make peace with fried rice, For that was a time when all Malayalis Were busy spending time with their families & at home were floral carpets, swings, Onam music, the awaited homemade sadhya & finally the TV movie with a 100 interrupting ads. Maveli too I suppose must remember those times All too well For today there is home-delivered sadhya with all 27 items & OTT to watch whatever movie whenever  As well as Amazon purchases So that each family member can sit in a corner & forget about connecting this Onam with family Well unless you mean the virtual kind. As Maveli looks at a sadly digital Onam Does he miss those days too when we saw faces not screens? Will his rule ever happen again amidst such virtual chaos? I see him leaving with a sigh Unable to greet his people locke...

  This is the way the world works- cheat lie steal This is what the world wants- falsity acting glamor This is how the world treats the righteous- shun shame isolate  This is how the world treats the corrupt: exalt glorify role model Is it any wonder that we call it kaliyugam ?

 Nighty dearest, nighty dearest how wonderful art thou! You - the lifeline of every Mallu woman who lived in Kerala and abroad. From bright pink to pitch black there wasn’t a color you didn’t know and every woman cherished secretly the space and freedom with you away from the male roving, prying eye. With enough space to house an elephant too while covering her neck to toe, you would be accompanied by an old, worn, clean, whitish thorthu to hide even the smallest of flaws. But alas! By 2024, you seem to be facing the brink of extinction as globalization brought in replacements: pyjama suits, sleep lingerie, bathrobes and what not. As with everything else – you seem to be phasing out yet with a hint of nostalgia let me tell you Nighty, you will always be mighty!!!

  When Brownie dear Crossed the road And died She broke our hearts completely. The silent agreement Was no more dogs That is until one morning We heard a puppy's yelp Coming from our overgrown yard. That's how Achoo entered Our home and our hearts, Freely roaming both. Her favorite sleeping spot Is on my bed (did Brownie teach you that?). She shifts between house and yard And while she's definitely not Brownie I think we all know who sent you here To repair the hearts she broke.

They burned the midnight oil tried and tried and toiled; drenched in the mind's sweat they worked till night became dawn. Herculean tasks were undertaken by miniscule men & women  as they tried their hardest to meet the deadline and impress the spectator who would briefly analyze in a fleeting moment the relentless toil of months. To what purpose and to what end  they wondered, till at last they were recognized as an institution of excellence. Their hard work finally paying off Success was theirs for the taking.

 Dejected they came Inspired they left It was all part of the 7-day camp. 7 days of tolerance 7 days of hard work 7 days of camaraderie 7 days of grueling routine. There were seniors and juniors But at camp they were simply volunteers. Visitors and food galore But what endured in those 77 hearts Was the simple joy of sheer friendship.

  You stepped across my silences you unheard my whispers for help and now that I’m fighting back you call me names and turn your back. I am the child of this soil the backbone of your economy yet you care not that I go to the dogs. And so I stand at your door day in and day out with my brothers in arms, asking, pleading, forcing you to think about the law you passed against me and my kind. You and your co-conspirators can no longer do as you please for we will fight back as it is our sustenance after all that you have tried to take away.

            This award-winning, multi-national production of 2013 piques not just one’s romantic interest but also intrigues one. The Lunchbox is a tale of certainly lunches, but it is much more than that. The movie tells the tale of Ila Sehgal who wants to bring romance back into her marriage by possibly trying to cook delicious lunches for her husband. She sends the lunches through the famed dabbawala system of Mumbai. Due to a mix-up, her lunch instead gets delivered to the widower Saajan Fernandes, who is about to retire from his job as an accountant. Realizing the mistake, Sehgal sends a letter with the lunchbox to Fernandes. The exchange of letters starts of a friendship between them that eventually leads to much more. The tale here is not in the telling but in the portrayal of everyday events, in the life of the characters, through the epistolary mode. One gets to know of the simple and the complex thoughts of Sehgal and Fernandes through the...

 Commission, commotion Surrounded by people and noise I stepped into a world unlike my own. Taking matters into my hands I called together my team and when the counter called my turn, I nudged my way through to get our equipment. And there started the journey through a nightmare of ups and downs, of paperwork and wax sealing, of setting up a booth and a sleepless night, of endless voters and tying up loose ends, of a night of rains and working without electricity, as we worked our way back to the collection point to stand in queues and crowds so that we could know we hadn’t go form A written ‘n’ number of times. The magnanimity of it struck when it was finally sealed and done. The voting was over!

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.