Yet Another Mullaperiyar Story
At this point of time, its important that we forget our differences, preferences and stick together under one name- Kerala. What we require is ONE loud voice. Not umpteen small ones funded by corporates and organizations.
The Indian Male Syndrome
Wants to screw everything that moves, Rapes everything that refuses. Dreams of sex all night and day, and then, Calls 'her' a whore who thinks like 'him'. And then on the wedding day he asks, Are you a virgin my dear woman? Fascinating really, how absurd he is, Considering the number of 'sluts' he kills at birth.
The Average Indian Woman
She wakes up with the sun, And ties her hair like a bun. Makes tea for everyone, And coffee for her son. Water her green plants, while making the daily plans. Does the dishes, maybe, Regardless of her wishes.
Tuesday, September 6, 2016
Thursday, April 2, 2015
Soon their doubts made way into explorations.
With his lips he wrote on her cheek, "Who are you?"
"How do I know you so much?" her teeth chiselled on his lips.
For every question he asked, she answered in kind. Each time she pushed him away, her hands increased the grip on him, asking him to stay. Over confusion, they bonded. In the uncertainty, they found assurance.
They never talked, afraid that wisdom and conventions would take the moment away from them.
Tuesday, October 21, 2014
I am a gypsy, I see firelies.
Around me they twist and turn, like smoke at Palestine.
Drifting from space to space, they carry light.
I cannot help wonder. Does the wind guide you? Or you the wind?
We met on a monsoon evening, in the city that never sleeps.
You were lost in darkness, tremors the wind brought,
Scared in a new surrounding, yet with excitement hard to hide,
You had seen me sing the songs, of the far away land.
I came to you like a firefly, for light I did bring to you.With wonder you had listened to sonnets and wits, gifts I had received,
From places that you yearned to visit.
But in our conversations, I fell in love and you fell in awe.
There the mistake. For is it not wrong for the gypsy to fall in love?
Like stone eyed Franky says, 'Do they even know what love mean?'
Once struck, what can be more lethal than love?
It transforms your thoughts, it plagues your reason.
Your life becomes still, the purpose definite, to please her beautiful eyes.
You are no more a firefly, the restless and the wild,
That lit up Cusco for the Incas, on their way up the Piccu.
Love they do, for we carry songs and stories from a world they dream.
From the distant lands, spirits we bring that makes wall speak.
But when we leave, the gypsies, nobody feels sad, no tears are shed.
We belong nowhere, we carry wisdom around the world.
But we will not be stopped, never asked to stay, nobody is a Jose Arcadio Buendía.
We shall part, no words need be exchanged, our existence a mere imagination.
Constructed in a fool's mind, who for a brief time, forgot what he was,
And lived in an illusion, a dream, that only love can conjure.
Look around, there is no one who wants us. Not even you.
I am a gypsy, I see firelies.
Green to yellow, yellow to blue, they constantly change,
Like the new moon sky, waltzing to the polar lights.
Sometimes I wonder, do lights guide you? Or you the lights?
I go away today, to entertain another world like all gypsies do.
It was never meant to be. Through the oceans I shall sail,
Mountains I shall pass. But at the town across the Table mountains,
I shall sing a new song, to those curious cross eyed wonderers,
How the pale waters of the Maggiore, or the winds at Wudang,
Could not wipe away, that feeling from this Gypsy's mind.
Thursday, October 16, 2014
Yes, at THREE FIFFTY EIGHT.
'Take care of yourself', she had said, while closing the door.
Ah the sound of door crashing..
The Sikh dude from English Patient had lost.
He had stepped on of them.
Those big nasty mines. Yes mines.
Because Fuck English. A Mine is their biggest bomb.
It was over. The good times.
She had decided to leave me again.
This time, more resolute, than the last.
What she had thought, I would not know.
Were my kisses not strong enough honey?
Was I smelling of the blonde blonde you despise?
What was it baby? What was it this time?
At 2:58 a.m I had checked the time for the first time that night. And we made love.
Saturday, February 15, 2014
Sometimes I am woken up by a dream. I hear screams and prayers. Is it a calling...
The tree folk seem to have stopped fighting. The other day I could hear loud whispers. The gray sky, or 'it who must not be named' had grown darker. His sidekicks were sending out waves after waves of cold winds. "The dark times are here," the trees had whispered. They have begun to fall apart. Some were badly uprooted. Some lost their limbs in protest. They seem to have given up. The leaves fall, as I speak...
In the dream, I hear a voice. It guides me through streets that I have never been to. Through valleys and mountains that I thought never existed. But I do not understand what I seek. Is it a vision of a journey I should undertake?
Gone are the sunny days of our town. There is no more joy. Instead it is filled with a sense of numbness; of the color gray. The 'inseparable mynas' of the North have parted ways. One can't see them together these days. The squirrels which used to roam on the land are hiding in the trees. The eagles of upper-world have taken to land. The monkeys have also begun to show the traits of its evolved kind. Pigeons, contrary to the times when they chewed olive branches, have pledged their alliance the Gray-lord and turned gray.
I must embark on this journey. These visions, these unconventional happenings, are all signs. I think Mr. Coelho is right. The story of Alchemist is true. I realize my moment has come. Dear Sheila, the time has come for me to get you. You, the light of our town, we need you back. Forces that bind me to the town are presently weak and I should make the move before another sunless day arrives. I shall cross barriers, both imaginary and geographical, I shall get to thee. "The time is ripe," as Upagupta once said. Vegetables I might have to eat, cough syrups I might have to drink but I will find a way to you my love.
I could see you. The fragrance, that you have left behind with me in the town, keeps our memories afresh. Each time I rub the face on the towel I feel you. I feel us. Our little moments. I feel you with me when I walk through the corridors. I see a vague image looking at me from behind the pillar. I need you back. Gotham needs its hero back. So today I sign off with love. Wait for me, pray for me. Have faith in me. I shall come to get you...
PS: I have finally managed to get enough money to book a flight ticket honey. The boss gave me off for a month so I am coming. YAY.
Check out this brilliant video from British Airways that will make you fall in love once again : Go further to get closer.