at infosys

i think i should make myself like this place.................

lately revolutionary...

i hv alwys thot am typical...
i am kinda passion driven...
i loved everythin tat i read...
i tried livin wat i read...
there ws sartre whom i liked ...
n i dunno ryt now am findin it all wrong
my perceptions wer really wrong...
it aint the same

Baghdad.....a 100 dreams

Recently heard a poem somewhere...

"ithu Baghdado....
Amma parayum Arabhi kathayile Baghdado..."

(is this Baghdad????????is this the same Baghdad of Arabian Nights of which mom spoke)

Baghdad is completely ravished...Baghdad is destroyed and the innocent child is wonderstruck for baghdad in his dream was a wonderland...now it was completely destroyed..

Baghdad wud be remembered as history's worst ever sin...
the place where a hundred dreams where shattered...

"mushy...."

i hav alwys thot love stories are not worth writing...
i hav alwys thot they are pretty mushy...but ryt now a love story is winding its way outta me...
shud i write it or not?????????/
dunno....will it be mushy???????????

of death...

i imagine myself on ma deathbed,
lost in some beautiful dream,
when death woke me up,
i wished i cud sleep a lil more ,
to dream more,
to colour the landscapes that i saw,
to make the rains more fervent,
to strall the sands once more,
but death wouldn wait.

i wud ask it to wait till my garden was bloom,
i cud see the angelic butterflies wing through the plants i watered,
i cud see them pollinating my flowers,
i cud see love usher in my garden,
i cud see those leaves fallin,
but it wudn wait.

i wud ask it to wait till i cud revisit my past;
i wud remember the days when dad wud bring me chocolates;
when mom wud dress me up;
the man with whom i fell in love;
kisses of passion exchanged;
the son that i bore;
death wud drag me down the memory alley before i cud relish them;

on my flight back to deadman's land,
i wud bid adieu to all that was mine;
i wud ask my son to water my garden;
i wud ask my garden to flower a hundred;
i wud wish it rains for my son forever;
i wud be dead before i complete my prayer;
frozen and still;vacant and vapid;
i wud be dead and nothing more

cravings....

i crave for something...
i jus wish accidents wud make it happen...
for this loneliness is suicidal...
for this winter is too cold...
i walk the banks of this river...
i wish patterns wud appear outta the water...
i walk amidst the crowd..
i search for a familiar face...
for it is so near...
but the ego within me never lets me go near it...
for the heat of life drives me away from it..
for nobody knows how badly i crave for it...
wat is life when it doesn give me wat i crave for?????????

Faiz...

I have always wondered why Faiz is my favourite poet…I have read only a few poems by the poet…apart from a worn out book in my granpa’s collection and a few that I hav read on net there is nothing that I hav read of Faiz…but Faiz still is a pleasure to be read any time…I could while away hours and hours thinking of Faiz poetry…
A beautiful rain is a treat when read with Faiz,a low breeze utters hundred secrets when read along with Faiz,his lines giv you company on a lonely afternoon,gardens rustle a melancholous tune when alongside Faiz…may be am over romanticized by Faiz ..but ther is a certain difference about his poetry…

I came across Faiz during my college days,when I had become extremely wary bout the course that I had taken up and the lecture hours were becoming very boring…I used to read and re read Faiz…I would say Faiz gave me company in my lonely days…
Faiz brilliantly celebrates pain whether it be of love ,war ,separation …
He would never heal your wounds but would poke it again and keep it alive…oblivion would never be allowed to sweep over the festering memories…you spiral up along a memoryline where there has been love ,loss,separation,pain…and you have Faiz for company…his words would intoxicate you…
He would prove by each and every word that pain is inevitable…life is life only when there is pain..
For a college going youngster like me Faiz was more than company ,he kept me sane at times ,
His “prison evening” is one poem which I keep close to my heart..


Each star a rung,
night comes down the spiral
staircase of the evening.
The breeze passes by so very close
as if someone just happened to speak of love.
In the courtyard,
the trees are absorbed refugees
embroidering maps of return on the sky.
On the roof,
the moon – lovingly, generously –
is turning the stars
into a dust of sheen.
From every corner, dark-green shadows,
in ripples, come towards me.
At any moment they may break over me,
like the waves of pain each time I remember
this separation from my lover.
This thought keeps consoling me:
though tyrants may command that lamps be smashed
in rooms where lovers are destined to meet,
they cannot snuff out the moon, so today,
nor tomorrow, no tyranny will succeed,
no poison of torture make me bitter,
if just one evening in prison
can be so strangely sweet,
if just one moment anywhere on this earth.

Another Faiz favourite is “don’t ask me for that love again”

I dunno why am writing this now but at certain junctures in your life you start feeling that its poetry that keeps you going…you derive hopes from poems….i dunno why its so..

at varanasi....i din meet her....

Varanasi.....
the mighty Ganges alongside the mightier river of life...
pyres of mighty men burning....
half lifed humans dipping silently in the Ganges...
barracks of Naga saints,
the silent thread of spirituality entwining with the crude manoevres of man,
.....
i walked along ...dry alleys...crowded markets...
bangle sellers...flower vendors...sadhoos...beggars...
but i knew i was searching something...
searching her....
searching within myself for her...
the gal who had the zest for life...
the gal who dreamed of star studded night...
the gal who loved the rain...
the gal who had love in her heart...

probably she hoped a dip in the Ganges would redeem her,
in fact that was the aim behind Varanasi...
but nay...
she smoked two cigarettes and the smoke burnt her frustration...
she couldn find her....
years of non-accepatance n ego ....
has made her irredeemable...

P.S:i dunno what i mean by this write up.sometimes i find myself completely lost.
i dunno why.i would picture myself wandering in different places for that sense of completeness.i dunno what i am searchin but i hav it in me...prbably am mad...
but ther is certain charm about this madness too...i don smoke too...for me a cigarette is the height of frustration(jus a personal view) and so used as a mere symbol

singer in the train

Aye,the singer in the train ;
The man with the strained throat;
Singing a melancholous note;
Carving a rhythm from the harmonium;
Holding an aluminum bowl for my coins;
Which may or may not come;
But you seldom stop;
You go on singing with the strained throat;
You the singer of the soul;
I would never see you after this journey;
But I would remember you for you gave me the song;
Aye the singer in the train;

One day you would die spewing blood on the tracks;
The train would run over the harmonium;
And you will be gone forever;
They would take you to the morgue;
And when you start decaying they would bury you among many like you;
One day even I would die;
On my soft silky mattress;
With my people crying around me;
They would burn me in ghee;
N post my pic at the corner of the dead in the drawing room;
N oblivion would make me a stranger among them;
I too will be gone forver;

In the deadman’s world;
We would meet again my singer;
N you would still have your song that would soothe the soul;
But I would not have the money of mercy to put in your bowl;
Death would have dispossessed me of my wealth;
But it cant take away the song from you;
For your song is your own;
While I was just a tenant of my wealth;
We would be equals in the deadman’s world;
N your song will be mine too;
The song of the soul….

on a low..

feeling a low today,
a pressure butchering me,
a feeling grippin me,
am on a low,
am .............

"for her ...who is a widow..."

i dont have flowers to place at your altar my friend,

i dont have songs to sing for you my friend,

i dont have a shoulder to offer you,

i dont have tears to cry with you,

my hand is too sinned to hold you pure my dear,



i dont know how to excorcise the ghosts of your youth,

i dont know how to hide you from the world my dear,

probably i would only watch you with my pretended tears,

i will remember you my friend,

as the lil gal who hid behind her mom fearing the thunder,

as the lil lady who would cry fearing the witch,

how did you live widowhood my dear?????

how did you my dear lil lady take the thrash of death,

from wher did you get all this strength my friend????

did he in his last hug tell you he would not be around 4ever??

did he kiss you saying it was his last???

did he promise he would rejoin you at heaven???

i have only questions to ask,

i dont have any answers to your tears,

i dont have life to give you my dear,

i dont have flowers to offer at your altar,

i give you this clothe of white,

i watch them forbidding you from your youth,

probably i would only watch,

i pretend to pray for you my dear ,

i would pretend for a life time my friend

on oct 10th.....on a sleepless night....

“of her dead n alive”


late in the night…
raining heavily…
the entire village is lost in its slumber…
but she is awake ,…every trickle of water down the window is watching her open eyes flooded with tears…
….
Every passing cloud knows she is washing out her sins with the rain..

beneath the skin...

with the mighty spliff restin bw ma fingers,
i think back....
am nothin but a loner now...
nothin more nothin less..
a loner

recumbent.........

In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.
Albert Camus

i lay back,i am thrilled by apostasy...
i remember...
am thrilled am forgetting...
i think n am thrilled am not thinkin anymore...
i think of the red days of misforune n hatred...but
i keep hope that it wil turn green,
the drying summer wil giv way to puply spring,
tadpoles wil wriggle in the puddles once more,
there wil be dirt to dance over,
there wil be rain to wash over,
there will be me ,
waiting for him ,
when he comes back after his ride

at the coffeee table....

i get up very early in the mornin....then
am sippin ma coffee....
scannin the newspaper....
in fact am in the process of wakin up..
its only aftr i v hd two sipsa coffee n hd a brisk readin of
the page3 columns of the newspaper tat am really awake...
in tis process of waking up,
i plan on what am goin to do durin the day...
the journey of the dy proceeds seldom as planned...
but i relish the plannin....

but today is different...
i wanna sleep more...
the process of waking up is givin me bad thots...
i v already presumed the day is gonna b bad...
memories are rampin up its way on my psyche...
i can c the dyin light approachin me...
i can c the fallen leaves...
i can c the dried out tears..
oh god....am gonna live my past again...
y cant oblivion sweep over these festering wounds???
y are they still there???????
y are my thought process so pregnant with them???????
y more pain??????????

scatology at its best.....

"man you should explode,
jive to a savage drum beat,
smoke hash,smoke ganja,
.....cuss at one and all,
swear by him
turn humans into slaves;
whip their arses with a lash,
cook ur beans on their bleeding backsides..."

read this in Literary review...
a certain poet's anthology...

tats the outrage...wudn say bad....its the bleeding soul spewing venom tat was forced into it...

strikin....numinous...

"death is a better alternative to fear...
rather than get buggered,butcher them back...."

read this somewhere....
severe,numinous in its own regard.....silently strong...
a new learning for the day

oct 7th

"i like morinings better if they started a lil late.........."

world starts movin so early.....realised today....
woke up early to go to calicut...
man is on the run so early in the mornin....
....shud agree we humans are exemplary beings...

we are happy sayin...."i am still breathin....come whatsoever"...
tats the spirit...
long live the human spirit..................

oct 6th...Marion jONES..........

"reality is elusive.....truth is often something more than an opportunistic weapon"....

Harold Pinter

"Rage rage rage against the dying light"...
Harold Pinter


Marion jones....i remember...the 98 olympics...hopes,dreams ,energy,power,strenth,speed...she ws portent with all tis....

she retired from track events...CAUGHT in a steroid scandal...
there she was cuttin a sorry figure....teary eyed...Marion is gone...
tis is jus a shadow....I make myself believe....

life jus treats you tis way..........
another great fall after Ben....................
Marion ,u will be rememebered................

oct 5th........companion at solitude

i feel solitude is jus a state of mind...
u can feel alone even in a crowd
n feel happy n wanted even when u r on ur own...
so precisely its jus a state of mind....

ryt now am not in the midst of a crowd...
i withdrew from the crowd...
atleast for the time being i think tis is better for me
am alone...
i can feel the emptied alleys of my mental scapes....
jus the muteness of thousand years coagullated there....

but i need to feel good to move forth..
jus to feel am there very much in the game...

OF LIFE N DEATH...

tis day wud be remembered...
death's conquest over life...
life accepting death....

Prof.M.N.Vijayan passed away...he gave up to death....the mentor,the light,the voice,the thought,
the beacon,
the power,the hope...
its gone with him...

but he remains here...
can hear the echos of all that he wanted to teach,
death never won cos he continues to live among us,
very much in the frame....
very much the fuel,
very much the drive....
very much himself,
he won over us n defeated death.....

OCT 2nd.....The day that gave me life n hopes....

i believe minds are forever,
i believe promises are forever,
i keep faith,
i hope at a dreamy level,
infact at a dangerously dreamy level,
i live cos of ma hopes,
i love this life..................


"life didn't teach me anything.probably life is the learning"

Prof .M.N.Vijayan

at my window....

"off late phoenix was flyin swift in ma dreams.

.lappin its wings,the finest of birds..

..the phoenix..

but when i woke up
ther aint any phoenix..
jus the cloudy sky..
alludin all that i called hope.....
music of sighs roaring real loud..
wher do i search the phoenix....
for it has got lost in the wilderness????????


everyday i wait at my window for u my bird..
hopin you would com in a swift move n
peck at the crumbs that is left as ma hope..


i will wait till i becom a gerontologist's guinea..."


POSTED BY THE BLOGGER
WHO IS TERRIBLY LOST IN THE WILD
N IS PARANOID N WHO HS GOT NOTHIN LEFT AS HOPE

WAYWARD WAYANAD

“More to travel, than to arrive……….”
(Robert Pirsig, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance)

The rusted mike in LH shrieked out loud “Final year batch meeting in the courtyard…All final years come to the courtyard”…OH no…pls not again one of those dumb meetings.I somehow manage to get out of ma blanket n get to the meeting….The batch rep n all those meeting deprived final years…n wut cud be new????it wud be again those impending archi treats???grand plans to teach the juniors one of their lessons!!…but unusually something interesting is happening ..”yeah,it’s the final year tour…!!!!”hot discussions bout one of those destinations…All those spots from USA to Iraq to Kannur are getting discussed….n finally we decide upon our desti…”Wayanad”…some of them shrugged it off but there wer those wild beings who were exhilarated hearin that n fortunately I belonged to the latter group.

When we were fixed bout the desti, it was time to get the permission from our dearest Warden sir.Grand plans were getting laid out to get the positive nod from that spirited (oh pls …!!!!!) specimen in the mechanical dept…The right ppl were selected,the right words selected to get him ok with the plan….but we dunno wut happ ,our warden was more interested in sending us away than anyone else(may be the prospect of a reduction in the number of ‘good-for nothing gals’that he has to look after….wuteva!!!!)

Now it’s the teacher who has to accompany us.Who would take up the challenge of being with 50 odd tribals for two god-damn days????????The search began for the right person.N unfortunately we realized all those lady teachers in our college were all ready with the right excuses “Pregnancy (oh pls…got no other time?????)….husband away(NO wonder….with you as wife….)daughter got board exam(they wil flunk for sure cos u din listen to the wishes of a band of young gals)!!!!!!!,n last but not least accreditation business”.But of our desire to travel(more a desire to get out of mundane LH for 2 odd days)…we decided not to give up and somehow managed to get one of those meek teachers who couldn’t frame up any of those desultory excuses before we reached her to come with us(poor being!!!!!!!!).

So we set out….unlike all the class tours this time no boys with us(therefore no prescribed code of conduct…afterall the ppl accompanyin u r not prospective lovers n u don needa create that good-gal impression…thank god!!!!)….so all Final years got ready in the most weird attires(were we goin for demo week or a tour????????even those souls who r always clad in those churidars wer dressed up in the most funky style…)…

Now its Wayanad –full throttle…
The bus rolled out of LH,we bade adieu to Panchaarakaad for the better Wayanadan Kaadu, shrieked out loud…”jai bolo lhites ki “(phhhh….when will we realize that no one is really bothered!!!) …

Then began the Dance (less of dance n more of ONATHALLU)…all those rappers were on the floor dancing away to glory….n even those intellectuals were there glued to the window seats n enjoyin the natural beauty (phew!!!!) …n all those ladies missing their boyfriends (full time clinging to the mobile phones….)….so the journey began ….no kickstarted.

After a day of rolling in that rickety bumble bee bus ,we reached ADIVARAM (oh my god….u mean the underworld or Paathalam)…now it’s the lofty Thamarasery Churam to climb(we had our own apprehensions….will our driver be able to do it?????)…
N the Churam was happenin…those dangerous creeks,the narrow U-turns,the narrow roads bordered by verdant green forests,n on one side the mighty abyss (one fall….n all is gone..i hav never remembered mom n dad more dearly in ma whole life like I did then )…it was one of those beautiful frames…clouds playing on hills,dense forests with different hues of green n occasional spotting of those red wild plants,pre-medeival rocks,those wild beings……..yeah now we have made it…our driver has done it!!!

We r in Bathery(the most populated n the slightly civilized part of Wayanad)….had a quick breakfast n no not bathes(after that long stay in LH…no we r not used to it!!!!!)..we set off to Thirunelli temple.

The 3hour ride though Tholpetty Wildlife sanctuary(the dense forest ,n occasional spotting of those wild deer,the woodhouses ,the tribals, the beehives …it was nature unadulterated….royal treat for us).But some in the crew were unhappy n were sighing “we could have gone to Banglore!!!!(well wat is there in Banglore??…Forum thronged by gals n boys asking how useless u r …no guy for 20yrs!!!!!….,the commercial street with huge pile of clothes (pls my figure doesn’t even allow me to look at it…or Lal Bagh…pls no)

So thirunelli (I remember coming here with family when one of ma maternal uncles had a nightmare where the ghost of ma great granma asked for an after death ritual at Thirunelli!!!)…. The dilapidated Krishna (frens have tried to replace him with Howard Roark…no way…he remains ma all time romantic hero!!!!) temple on top of a rocky hill,the noon sun baking ur natural foot soles,the ethereal Papanasini,the mystic air of those souls watching you,the spiritual forest rustling its own tune….true treat for a jaded soul!!!!…

Next we are off to Kurava Island….the Archipelago on the river Kabini( this river offers shelter to those alligators…grim reminder of a prospective death as Steve Irwin)…We cross the Kabini on a boat and reach the first isaland..heavily forested by all those wild trees ,the only familiar one being our good old Mangifera Indica ,and those singers of the jungle the bamboos making the groovy rustle….As we tread into the forest…we get the spectacular view of the numerous islands separated from the parent one …As Tagore says in Gitanjali “It is the pang of separation that spreads throughout the world and gives birth to shapes innumerable in the infinite sky.It is this sorrow of separation that gazes in silence all night from star to star and becomes lyric among rustling leaves in rainy darkness of July.It is this overspreading pain that deepens into loves and desires,into sufferings and joys,and that is that ever melts and flows in songs through my poet’s heart…”very true of the Bard,the small lil islands separated and caressing each other with those shallow waters,dried out leaves acting as messengers bw them,….we move from one island to another…wade through the waters (pazhani vel muruga…pls no alligators or those leeches…pls no )…..
The day’s outing gets over with Kurava.The peaceful night at our lodging with the lucky ones chatting with their puppy love partners and the not so lucky ones under the blankets!!!

Next day we are off to Edakkal caves …the Neolithic caves housing the stone age man’s paintings at an odd height of 4000ft above sea level (a lazy bug as me managed to climb it!!!),formed by an earthquake some 30,000 years ago…well grt and wut diff does that make????…but lemme tel ya..the place is just awesome ,worth the effort!!

Next in line was the Soochipaara Waterfalls,the beautiful cascade of water through those rigid waters,dense foliage,the gurgle of water making its way through pebbles…nature’s true preserve!!!!!!(and let me tell ya beforehand…the rocks are damn slippery…never try walkin on them with your slippers on…its better not to fall than tryin to veil the shame of your fall after it!!!!!!!)

So there came the end of our jaunt into one of those rare places where still nature reigns and not those ugly engineers!!!!!

The wayside watermelon vendors, the sambhaaram selling chechi,the macaques trying to snatch our low budget food,the pulimaanga,the tribal bangle stalls,the bamboo pappadam kuthis,those gnarled roots exhibited as ‘soul of Kerala’,those gawky human specimens nurtured by nature,the meen-pollichath and the kappa,…….the perfect symbols of an un-engineered life.
Wayanad is just the perfect hideaway for those non-engineers stuck with engineering.Wayanad is inspiration to remain un-engineered…and say bravely..

“Gonna ride across the river deep and wide

Ride across the river to the other side”

(Dire Straits,Ride across the river )

PS:
Well am not one of those travel writers and I was never bothered about how to get to all these
Places,not even the distance,not the means…I just floated.So better refer a travelogue.

SURVIVAL TIPS IN A DAMN HOSTEL!!!!!!!

More than one-third of my ’not-so important and eventless ‘ life has been spent in that divine abode –hostel.Well take ma word for it…..life is damn different here. All your earlier lessons as a human being are not sufficient to survive in such a place.No laws of civilization holds good here.Its an altogether different set of rules and a completely new constitution that reigns here.As Allen’s Law of civilization goes “it is better for civilization to be going down the drain than to be coming up it” holds good in such places of weird human existence.Any fresher would need those lil guidelines to just exist with the “not so human –yet not so tribal “specimens here.So here are those tips from a veteran who is gonna retire soon.

1)JUNKYARDS –BETTER SURVIVAL GROUNDS THAN THOSE ‘ROOMS’
your mom must hav told u “cleanliness is next to godliness.”But don’t even think of it in such a place.Alwys keep ur room as untidy as possible.In case it has a speck of that vestigial thing called cleanliness pls destroy it immediately cos a clean room runs the imminent risk of being used by the savage inhabitants as their dining room,gets frequently visited by these ppl for ironing their clothes ,dressing up and being used by them as those ‘occasional learning rooms’ during university exams.So perfect anarchy is the only way to keep away these humans with animal traits.
2)GET A STOCK OF SLEEPING PILLS OR BECOME INSOMNIAC
Its been observed that most of these ‘stud’-ents who reside in these hostels are nocturnal.I dunno if they have suffered from insomnia from their very childhood or if they get it after feeling the air of this place….But the truth remains that they suffer from it.At all those odd hours u can hear women shrieking ,taking bathes at 2o’clock,talking with their boy friends (I was just thinking of the guy….or is he also one of those sleepless creatures????.or may be nowadays instead of blindness love gives insomnia….well dunno) and doing all those things which normal humans do during day.There is rap,carnatic,instrumental and even subhalaxmi’s suprabhatham running at all those un-earthly hours.So anything but sleep is possible in such conditions.So its better that u come with your stock of sleeping pills or try developing insomnia for surviving in such a place.
3) DARWINISM IN FOOD MATTERS
The residents occasionally visit their homes to refresh their memories of earlier civilized existence and they come back with huge chunks of home-made food.When these food packets are opened, never even think of waiting for her to distribute the stuff…pounce on it as though u hav never seen it (decency doesn’t count here…its jus how much u hv had at the end that makes u the winner) and get the maximum share of it.You need severe mental as well as physical alertness to make the maximum out of such demanding conditions.So start practicing now itself.The only rule that stays and that has stayed in this game“survival of the fittest”.
4) NEVER OWN,ALWAYS BORROW
Never even think of owning anything because apparently it gets used up by everyone in the hostel and gets lost. Iron-box, Chappal, bucket, soap, deoderant, tooth-paste –all these essential ingredients life should never be owned but must be borrowed from those meek creatures who has never had the guidelines and always be careful about your tooth-brush cos it runs the risk of getting stolen by one of those whackos who worships Ho-Chu-Minn(the viatnamese leader who till the end owned only a bicycle for himself).Even if you own any of these things ,never show it to the others(that is almost impossible cos a hostel offers no private life).So keep this in mind ‘never own ,always borrow’.
5)GOSSIP MINTING POWER
well gossips are the livewire of the hostel.Always be open to important infos as “what did X’s boy fren give her????where did X go with Y????Does X travel on Y’s bike????Are X and Y in love, or are they just frens or even better are they brother-sister???” because in the next gossip session the person coming up with maximum info is hailed the king- the undisputed king of ‘hot and spicy’.So always believe in “nothing is trivial in life”.In case u don hav any runnin gossips jus be creative enuff and entertain others.
6)TV ROOM TIPS
All these A-grade hostels usually have just one TV room for some 300 odd souls.So its alwys better to avoid such modes of entertainment or in case u r very keen about it ,get used to such a watching habit where u don’t stick to a particular channel for more than 2secs,the channels will always be running.
7)GETTING USED TO GB’S
In schools u must have debated for long on how to get UN more effective????,big dams-boon or bane???????….but nothing is of significance here.The GB’s are those high volume sessions(a microcosm of the Indian Parliament with ppl raining profanities on each other) where u discuss all those top priority matters as “bonda or sukhiyan for tea????,whether to dig an underground pipe to new block?????,if clothes for drying should be put on the line at the corner or should we even think of drying it?????”.Always be alert in such hot discussions cos they will decide as to how earth rotates the next day!!!!
8)LIFE IS A CARNIVAL
One good trait about such holy abodes is that ppl here believ in the fact that life is a gala festival. U celebrate for no reason ,the 300th day of your affair with a guy(reason enough to celebrate ryt…u hav actually stuck with the same guy for 300 odd days…great!!),valentine’s day, mother’s day,father’s day,grandmother’s day,beggar’s day and what not???????the inhabitants are jus waiting for yet another reason to celebrate.Then there are these chotu-treats –the usual menu being maggi noodles (the staple food of any hostel),chaat (well they call it that ….it’s a grandiose dish of onion,tomato,chilly,lime and mixture),and bread sandwich followed by this horrible tap-dancing by the inhabitants.
9)GET USED TO THE ‘NOT SO’ VEGE MESS
The mess is the center-stage of any hostellite’s existence.But it is here that u ought to be spiritual to the maximum extent….”never expect anything,life moves on’…that’s the catchphrase regarding any college mess.Pooris have an excess supply of oil (but never mind……its good!!!!),Idlis are always half-cooked(don worry ur highly specialized digestive system will take care!!!!!!!),Dosa is always torn apart(afterall wat diff does dat make?????….its all the same when inside the digestive tract…..cmon…be a sport),currys are always Chinese (with their supply of worms,cockroaches and even beedi….)….well that will be the five-star mess.The golden rule of survival …I din see,I din hear,I din speak …and I just had.
10)VARIETY IS THE SPICE OF LIFE
Yeah u will meet all kindsa ppl here.Ppl who prefers Calvino to Abhishek Bachan,Bible to Filmfare,Malvino to Balarama…..but the key is never complain!!!!!!they have their own business to mind and you have your own.So never ever dare to interfere…its their will.Believe in variety and worship it after all others are taking immense pain to bear with you!!!!!!!!!
So these are the 10 commandments of exisatance in this “not-so Elysian” field.

But my heart still pounds when I think of leaving this place which has given me the most whacko times in life,which has taught me the Martian ways of surviving and which has taught me how to make life a ‘come-whatsoever,I will tread on’ ride for.Hostel life truly rocks……………………….

A TRIBUTE TO THOSE DRIED OUT TEARS

‘people do not live nowadays ;they get 10% out of life’
Isadora.Duncan

It was vacation time again; again it was home for this girl.
It was one of the days when Amma was getting excessively proud of her daughter and decides to take her to her school (where she works) to flaunt the engineering prodigy in her daughter!!!!!!!! She practised for long how she would tell her fellow teachers how hardworking her daughter was, how trivandrum has been so harsh to her and how she has become half her size (mom pls; if I am just half now; ur whole school would run away seeing ma original size….so u cud have avoided that hyperbole!!!!!), how she stands first in her class( phooey!!!!!!!!),how beautiful she was( my foot!!!!!!!) blah blah blah……there is an advantage to this show-off mela. Seeing the pride that amma takes in her, she regains the self-esteem that she lost during her engineering expeditions!!!!
The 4o’clock bell rang when this ritual got over.
We had to start back home.As usual mom decided to take the local passenger train @ 6.30..Till then we did a lil bit of shopping in the “metropolitan malls “of Kasaragod, bought ma favorite Ullithandu;bought Kannimaanga for pickle ;then two saris for 150 (Amma has this passion for low price saris and even more bigger one when her fellow colleagues are buying it.Question of pride ryt??????????).After a tea we came to the station for the long wait for the train.
The same frame of events.The huge population of working woman discussing the usual things ,”which is the best Sambar powder????How good it would be if Indu of Sthri rejoined with Hariettan!!!!,the same old disturbing thoughts of the curry for dinner,the new gossip in office, how rude of the govt not to increase the DA”……
That is when the train rolled into the station,then it was this mad rush towards the train to make your seat in the Ladies coupe secure with towels,plastic covers….all is settled in the Ladies coupe in a split second, women are packed as in a tin of sardines…The train is thinking of rolling out of the station,it shrieked out loud twice…That is when Amma noticed the absence of the big sack of rags ,the huge bunch of recycled plastic bins and last but not least of Chinnamma ,the Tamil lady with the shining nose rings and paan lined lips…..Both of us tried to look around.
The train had started moving outta the station.Suddenly there were these big bags rocketing into the train and Chinnamma climbed into the train simultaneously singing eulogy to the Kadavul who helped her in catching the train….
Chinnamma slouched at the corner seat ,there was no usual happiness in that gawky figure ,sari was clad as untidily as possible, there was this sudden prominence to those wrinkles where tears had earlier meandered and lately dried out.There was this dark curtain of gloom and anxiety on Chinnamma’s ever cheerful face.
Neither me nor amma could figure out what was wrong.We thought silence was a better ornament than human concern @ such hours….after all of wut use can a Tamilian woman selling recycled plastic be to us?????????
Suddenly there was this sudden breakdown from her,the sudden outburst of all the angst she has always covered with her cheeky smile,the heavy deluge of doubts and speculations about Rukku’s and Nalini’s future(her lil daughters)…..then went this sudden raining out of curses to the Kadavul who has given her nothing but suffering from her childhood….The Ladies Coupe stood witness to the hysterical Chinnamma’s venting out…..this is when Girija came with words of consolation and asked her what had happened…
Chinnamma narrated all that had happened…
“that devil ,my husband in God’s name came to take away his share of the daily earning to derive his pleasure from the Liquor den….Rukku is having a chicken pox ,huge rashes have sprouted on her and the girl hasn’t spoken for two days….i had to take ma baby gal to the hospital…for how long can I leave her shivering on the bed with another one of the same age to take care of her????????…..That is when the drunkard devil snatched away ma day’s earnings and ran to the den….i was not givin up….my Rukku should not die when am alive…am not givin up,never ,never ….
There I saw him sitting in front of bottles of arrack,I begged ,perched by his side so that I could save my daughter,….but the devil wont change….he was an animal…
There was no way out…..i trashed down all the bottles,broke all of them .snatched away my money and ran for ma life…the devil sprinted behind me,….Kadavul was merciful at least there ….i could catch the train….else he would have killed me….he would have oozed out the last bit of life out of me ,made ma kids orphans…..he would have killed me…he would have……..” she sobbed.

‘A life on the edge ;a tale of incomplete woman hood ;the same poetry of melancholous existance ;the same rag-tag alliance of simple things that keeps her going; the small savings for the distant marriage of her gals; the dreamless nights ;the anxiety of the scary womanhood going to come to her daughters; the clinging on to the borderline, the rigmaroles of lost passions ;the same miasma of corrupt eyes giving her the sly look all the time…’
The courage to still hold on to the slippery perch provided to her…. the silent hope that someday things would work out her way…. the bravado to never be cowed down by all the bad happenings…the strength to egg on…
There has been times in ma life when I have decided to give up cos of just one lab where I din get an output, I hav seen frens attaching the “lost and lonely “tag to them and resorting to smoking cos of some tough exams or cos of some gal who ditched him….well with a deep breath….i wanna ask…..was it worth all the fuss??????? Is this game that frivolous????
Well I dunno….these silent struggles not asking for any praise ,the profitless entrepreneurship just to survive , the long prayers to just exist…….these makes it the most profound frame of life…….


Thus ye live on high,and then on the earth;
Thus ye live on a high ,and then on earth ye live again;
And the souls ye left behind you;
Teach us ,here, the way to find you;
Where your other souls are joying;
Never slumber’d;never cloying;
Here your earth born souls still speak;
To mortals ;of their little week;
Of their sorrows and delights;
Of their passions and their spites;
Of their glory and their shame;
What doth strengthen and what maim;
Thus ye teach us,every day
Wisdom though fled far away

(BARDS OF PASSION AND MIRTH, John Keats)

" and i write........ "

May 6th, 1986
Yet another night as pitch-black as ever…as passive as ever…. as mundane as ever…. the same old creepy corners of the city, just one or two autos treading through the narrow lanes, shuttered shops, empty kiosks, crowd less markets, the pre-independence sodium vapor lamps trying to win over the darkness, trees lost in their slumber ……the characteristic motionless, paralyzed night in payyanur…….
A baby girl cried her way into the earth…a birth as yet another…born with her were as her kin “the expectations”…her mom’s dream of she turning into this princess to get married to some glorious king some day, her dad’s goal of she getting moulded into this ‘successful’ human specimen bringing glory to his name…

Life-tale

Then it was this mad pursuit, the struggle to escape, the raging desire to be what others wanted her to be, the moments of muteness giving up everything she loved for others who were cared for, the pall of gloom worn so that others wont be hurt because of her…a song of forced silence…

Schooling was as eventful as any other kid’s would be, chunks of homework, fear of the imminent exams, the scary progress reports, the much awaited games periods, the pangs of jealousy when her teacher hugged her friend, the sunny assembly lines where she wished she fainted to avoid it, the excitement of the 3o’clock long bell, the small lil fights, the board exams and the tiring nights………..

Then came college, the windows open to the world of adulthood but the doors still closed, the passion filled years, the youthful rebelliousness to break free, the small defeats, those emotional hangovers, those days of tearless melancholy, the re-reads of Faiz Ahmed Faiz keeping the wounds afresh, the lines of John Keats consoling about all that would have to be left behind

Heard Melodies are sweet ,but those unheard ;
Are sweeter ;therefore;ye soft pipes play on;
Not to the sensual ear ,but,more endear’d;
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone;
Fair youth ,beneath the trees,thou canst not leave;
Thy song,nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold Lover ;never,never canst thou kiss;
Though winning near the goal-yet do not grieve;
(AN ODE TO THE GRECIAN URN)

College is drawing to an end ,its time to pack up ;when all those things that were considered to be for eternity would be packed up in the rucksack of your memory, ……… ….when there wont be anymore labs to give you one of those paranoid strikes…;when there wont be the 6.30 deadline for your active life ,….when there wont be the unending gossip sessions ,when there wont be that mad rush to snatch the morning Poori….;when there wont be the archis coming around saying how much hard-working they are and how jobless the btechs are ;when there wont be those night-out birthday parties waking up the whole hostel ;when there wont be those “high volume “ GB’ s
;when there wont be those waterless days when you would have to take a bath in Impulse-Jasmine,when there wont be days when u can steal chicken curry from the five star mess;
………….all is drawing to a close.

Its time to curtain the bright scenes…time to tread on…. time to leave…time to just be one among the myriad…. time to jus sing along..And I have decided to write about the large space that is permitted to my vision…to jus notice and just be the mute commenter….to let out all those rains that were asked not to pour out….to sing that song of silence aloud……

Between my finger and my thumbThe squat pen rests: snug as a gun.
…………..


Between my finger and my thumbThe squat pen rests.I'll dig with it.

(Seamus Heany, Digging ,1966,Death of A naturalist)