Posts

Showing posts from 2011

Analysing the cover of The God Of Small Things

I have wondered about it quite a bit and each time got lost in the beauty of the cover...I don't associate it with anything negative like death...though I agree with Hope..the lotus flower is one of the eight auspicious symbols or 'ashtamangala' in Tibetan Buddhism in which it represents purity of body, speech, and mind, floating above the muddy waters of attachment and desire; represents the full blossoming of wholesome deeds in blissful liberation. The flower, as you know, blooms out of dirt and mud; so the allusion could be the pure love of Ammu and Velutha blossoming out of the dirt of caste system and untouchability. The plant also has leaves which repel water, which could symbolise the same thing - their love repelling the dirty waters polluted by the likes of Baby Kochamma and her family members. I personally liked to fancy the lotus as Velutha himself - the beautiful man with a "dirty" background...the man with "a leaf on his back, who made the monso…

Describing a tree to a blind man (using the 5 senses)

It’s a beautiful day and I can’t see But today I wish to know a tree. I walked barefoot, As he led me by my hand To nature’s lap, Which he called magic land. A sudden roughness I felt, as I touched, Jagged edges that seemed quite much. “The bark”, he said, was the name, “The colour of your eyes looks much the same.” Alarmed I was, to hear a sudden “knock-knock”, The woodpecker, he said, was building a home in the block. Made to reach out and feel something round, Mango – the fruit was what I found. The smell was different, when I put it to my nose Not like burnt paper; neither the fragrance of a rose. He asked me to bite, and it was then, A juicy nectar transported me to heaven… So today it was the mango-tree That he helped me to feel, to taste, touch and see.

His Eyes

(Poem in hundred words comprising of only monosyllables)



His eyes are black As black as night They give a light That lights my life. Long of lash, Thick of brow I saw them then, I see them now. When he sets them on me, I smile in glee I feel the blood in me rush, And my cheeks start to blush. I so wish to stand and stare, I try to peep from my hair But I feel so shy, Don’t know why. I so wish to lock eyes with him; But guts I lack, and it stays a whim. His eyes it is that I am drawn to, Get close to them, I do want to. His eyes which are black As black as the night They give a light That lights my life.

....

Image
Tomorrow my house gets painted, so had to take off all my posters. While I was completely remorseless, guess who was getting extremely emotional!  Mum would stare and sigh at them each time she entered the room and say with a touch of nostalgia, “kalayaan thonunnilla”…while I shrugged indifferently…. It was only when I climbed the table to take them out, my hands stopped unconsciously at the now yellowed cello tapes, my eyes locked with theirs…..as the years of togetherness passed before me…..that day when I had put them up so lovingly…..now perhaps never to put them up again…. End of an era… End of a part of me…







(written some time in early 2008)

Morning Walk

Image
This morning a most wonderful thing happened to me. It is one of the most beautiful things I have ever experienced. When I woke up in the morning and looked out at my garden…the time being around 8 and the sun had not come out fully….just a few rays streaming out….. My garden looked so white as it was covered with dew. I decided to go down and take a walk barefoot. And as I did I realized it was one of those moments when I could forget absolutely everything and there were no cares at all. One of the most enthralling and rejuvenating moments….almost a kind of meditation…a spiritual feeling seemed to overpower me. The simplicity of the pleasure relaxed me so much that I went on and on till the sun came out and the dew started evaporating. And as I walked on the ‘white’ grass, my footprints left the grass green where I had walked….just like the way it is while walking on a beach. And the dew was so cold and fresh that I felt my entire soul being cleansed……

At the end of it my feet were so…

My first ever poem in Malayalam...

Image
ജനാലക്യരികില്‍ നിന്ന് നിന്നെയും കാത്ത്,ഈ രാത്രി ഒരു ജന്മം കഴിഞ്ഞു.. എന്തെ നീ എന്നോട് മിണ്ടീല എന്തെ നീ ഒരു വാക്ക് ചൊല്ലീല... കനവില്‍ വരുമോ, അതോ നിലാവില്‍... നിന്‍ മുഖം കണ്ടു ഈ മേഘങ്ങളില്‍ നിന്‍ വാസന വന്നു ഈ കാറില്‍... നിന്‍ ഓര്മ പതിഞ്ഞ ഈ ഹൃദയത്തില്‍, ഈ അധരങ്ങളില്‍ നിന്‍ പേര്, ഒരു തുള്ളി ചുംബനം ആശിച്ചു പോയ എന്‍ ആശയില്‍ നീ വന്നു ചേര്, എന്‍ ആശയില്‍ നീ വന്നു ചേര്...




Below is the English translation by Professor Prem Kumar Vijayan from HinduCollege, DelhiUniversity:
Awaiting you by my window
A lifetime measured in one night….
Why won’t you speak to me,
Why won’t you speak one word…?
Will you come in dream or in moonshine…
Your face in these clouds,
Your scent in this breeze….
In my heart slowed by memories of you, the lilting of your name,
Come meld into my desire, desirous of kisses,
Come meld into my desires….

White Shirt

Image
Graduation day gift
She'd wrapped it in purple and gold
"To make you feel like a prince
For a princely rank" - a robe.
It was crisp and bright
Just like her smile
That lit up the world - and mine.
"Wear it on my birthday
With your new Levi's
And when we go out for dinner."
I promised I would, like a good big brother.
Protect it, protect her. Cherish it, cherish her.
Still do, despite the change in colour.
Now no more,
The whiteness gone.
The brightness gone.
It lies there,
Dusty with mud
Splashed with blood.
Still unopened,
The scratched-out price-tag dangling.
Priceless - just like her smile :
Jingling, tinkling.
I pick up the shirt.
I pick up my sister.
Lay her head on my arm.
The soiled shirt, the spoiled shirt.
My beloved sister, my dead sister.
Hit by the the truck
Running towards me
Across the road
To give me my present
The graduation day gift
Just like her smile
Crisp and bright
A shirt - white.

The Resplendent

Image
A resplendent gift was given to me, Whose womb gave birth to divinity. An angel who was sent to earth, She was the one who gave me birth. With all her love, she protected her seed And answered my every call and need From seedling to youth to the handsome tree, She helped me to become the real me. Giver of strength, protector of my soul She is the one who completes me into a whole. As firm as a rock, as gentle as a feather, God sent her to me…and I call her – my Mother.

Pieces of Faeces

Image
The entire world’s a big damn trash Where hopes and dreams meant to crash When stained glass crushes into junk Every next guy turns out a skunk Oh friendship is crap – slurry of shit Just let yourself wrap – in piss and spit When every damn fucker shows his worth You doubt yourself – your existence, your birth Just let it all go It’s just your pieces of shit you know To be flushed down the pot To be remembered not Just be yourself, you are just you These pieces of shit are far and few Just let it all go – all that you don’t need It goes out in your shit – an unwanted swallowed seed Roses can also turn out to be rotten There are some bitches that can’t be forgotten Think of nice things that are cute Not all are bad, not even a prostitute Do not compare – you are divine Though some shits intrude – cross the forbidden line You cannot please everyone Least of all a fucked up chum Be courageous, the world is your oyster Do not yield to fuck and boaster No use crying over spilt milk The world is filled with fuck and …

You'll Always Be In Front Of My Eyes

Image
When I have no words to call you When my hands don’t move to hold you When my ears shut and I don’t hear you Don’t worry, my heart will remain open My soul – with your love will be soaken.
When you called me and I was busy The next time you held me, I felt dizzy. When I wasn’t looking, you were there More sweet waiting, you couldn’t bear. Angry, you turn to go It’s this restless you that I want more.
You play hide-and-seek You run far and wide ‘Cause of you I can’t speak So I wait with my arms open wide Wherever you hide, be it day or night You’re safe in my heart, and that’s alright.
Whether it’s your smile That hides behind the clouds Or even your eyes that set below the skies, I’ll always be the day that follows your night For you’ll always be in front of my eyes.

The Melting Pot

Image
Back from the third round of K Nags It's half-past twelve and we're rushing. The load undisturbed in our bags We reach D-school - weary legs and cheeks flushing.
There's ten minutes to go before class starts Add another five: "Let's go late. Now that we're here, let's sit for sometime, Have some chai, and samosas in a plate."
"In the sunshine, under the trees; Or behind J.P teastall where there's breeze?" "Any place where there are no dogs...pleaseee!!"
Lovers have monopolised the stretch under the trees, Professors usurp the haunt outside the xerox-shop With two chais at a one-rupee discount The cemented area behind J.P's is where we flock.
Then it begins - honing the skills of observation: Chat and churn, Watch and learn: The specimen that throng, Alone, or with friends along. Waste? - We couldn't agree. New taste? Maybe. (That reminds - we're still hungry!)
Next pit-stop - inside the canteen. Is it very crowded? There's a corner empt…

In Wait Till The Winds Blow...

Image
It just took a while for me to knowThe seed from the flower, the leaf from the treeTime comes and it all has to goFrom rain-drops into the ever-widening sea.
Then the winds came and took you awayIt’s all quiet now, and I’m waiting somehowWaiting somehow for the winds to blow again.
Time and space and eternityCould not keep you close to meJust as I try to hold it tightFizzle away the pearls of mercury
Gone away in search of another sunshineMy shadow it was that grew too coldIn certain bliss you kept me, tillThis deep secret you had to unfold.
Then the winds came and took you awayIt’s all quiet now, and I’m waiting somehowWaiting somehow for the winds to blow again.

Getting Inside A Book, Or Getting The Book Inside Of You

Image
It began with the God inside me. Or was it the God without?
Of little things Bigged and Big things belittled Whispers echoing back as a cry or shout.
The 'surprised puff' : Estha - was he really my brother, Rahel - my name, Ammu - mu mother? It's been twenty-three years and I know I am not a murderer Not of Sophie Mol's, not of Velutha's either.
I remember the boat-rides on the Meenachal The history-house is not just my refuge or sanctuary. I still hear Baby Kochamma calling out "Satan in their eyes." Ayemenem - where I was taught : how to love and despise.
The monsoon breeze sprays the droplets on my face I wake as 'The God of Small Things' drops from my hands I wipe my face off the Delhi monsoon shower Wait! was there a drop of the Meenachal on my tongue?
Nah! But that was where I came from - a couple of hours ago Flipping the page of 'Saving Ammu' for the seventh time I realise I'm a part of the book; and the book, mine.
Never before had I smelled th…

Reconciling August and Agastya

Image
English, August comes to you with the aura of something exotic, mystic, refined and mysterious, as the title attempts to make us anticipate. But it turns out to be just none of these. The title turns out to be as vague and ambiguous as the mind of the man whose different names are what the title constitutes. The novel is a candid presentation of the mind’s battle with ennui and disinterest amid an acute sense of mental and physical dislocation. It is the twenty-four year-old Agastya’s (or English, or August) search for self-definition. It documents his quotidian routine of deathly boredom in which he searches for familiarity and a sense of rooted ness and continuity in his need for sex and marijuana, and his half-hearted attempts at maintaining a diary. His boredom leads him to a state of suspension of body and mind – dislocation from everything around; crumbling of his resolutions: avoiding Vasant’s hazardous meals, but eventually getting used to it; a staunch declaration of abstin…

The Samskara of Being

Image
Samskara according to Hindu karma is the performing of one’s duty of cleansing the soul. In ‘Samskara’, the novel by U.R Ananthamurthy, he gives the epigraph as “A Rite for a Dead Man”. While the novel is about the various profound issues of existential paradoxes and the inherent contradictions that plague the human soul; I would like to dwell on the significance of samskara in the context of Hindu ethics. Sanskara or samskara is derived from the root-word ‘samsk-‘ from which also comes samskrit/Sanskrit. Sanskar in the Indian moral philosophy stands for the ethics of right conduct in the public domain. Such a life would be commandeered by staunch idealism and indomitable will of abidance to the right path in terms of words, deeds and thought. The revered sages of the Indian lore are the precedents that parents list out to their progeny ever since they start acquiring the powers of understanding. Leading a virtuous life is the goal of every being. Yet, it is a quality left much coveted…