What is a duppata for?

The instructions sheet that was given to us along with the prospectus of Child's Day Montessori clearly stated that a napkin is to be pinned to the dress of the child when he attends school. Well, Samvit hates any such embellishment; be it a badge or a napkin. He would tug it out of his dress with all the force a two year old can muster. Without much choice, I stuffed a napkin into his dungaree pocket and put a couple of paper napkins into his bag. The first two days at montessori, I was with him all the time. But the following day, I was asked to leave him to be by himself in school. After going through the gate, Samvit put his shoes and bag in their respective racks and ran towards the slide. I called out a quick 'bye. I will be back soon' and dashed out of the gate. Poor Samvit cried for one and a half hours. Tautness ! i had forgotten to mention to the teacher about the napkin stuffed into his pocket. When i went back to be with him an hour and a half later, the teacher slowly but sweetly remarked , " Please make sure you pin a napkin to his dress, 'cause when he cries, his nose starts to run. And today, he used my dupatta" !!

My Own

The Sun,
Shines bright and brings cheer.
Everyday,
We look forward to and hold dear.
Our own, we don't own.
Your Smile,
Blissful and joy sheer.
Everyday,
I look forward to and see it clear.
My own, need i own?

To Relate or Not to Relate

We humans learn to associate objects, people, situations to something that we are familiar with, half the time without actually realising it. This habit seems to start at a fairly young age, when the child is about an year old, making logical or casual connections in relation to what is seen or observed. My son is no exception. But some of them are truly imaginative. He was in the toilet carryig out his big job and silently observing, seemingly analysing what his body had created out of sheer necessity. Suddenly, his tiny brain is able to relate. He cries out to me, "Amma, nana" (banana)!!

A mind and tongue of my own

Being twelve months old, i had an intuition that articulation is necessary. After some meditation i decided to attempt to utter my first humanly comprehend able word "aammma" , bearing in my tiny mind the tribute due to my mother and to bring elephantine happiness to her. And to make my little life simple, a universal addressing system, a method people would not mind in the least being addressed as. But these adults! They were all excited and one could easily be led to believe
that they were all instrumental in delivering sight to a blind man. What is worse, each one of them, in their fit of animated joy, decided to teach me to utter at least five different words of their choice. Not to mention, they were all names of what they wanted me to address them as. But of course, i have a mind of my own. So what if it is still developing? It is functional and thinks. I decided chose the word that i attempt to utter. My second word ? "tractor" which i uttered with full glee, much to the surprised disappointment of all the determined adults.

Srivaishnava symbols

For anybody else who browsed the net for the srivaishnava symbols and couldnt find a decent one ... please feel free to use this.

What is in the name?

Football, should not be far from being classified as a disease. During world cup, it becomes an epidemic or even a pandemic that nobody would want a cure for. To make it sound less alarming, lets stick to 'epidemic'. When the epidemic is at its peak, the behaviour of human kind reaches proportions that becomes difficult to explain when the phase finally passes, well, temporarily. But it does leave residue. Sometimes, for a lifetime. I am sure, like me, there are many who are painted for life by the color of this residue.

It was during those times, when the epidemic was spreading through all strata of the society, transcontinent, unstoppably. Those times, when i was safe in my mothers womb. Those times, when i was not even aware of myself. Those times, when nobody knew if i am male or female. Those times, when the excitement of the infecting epidemic had clearly ruled over the excitement of the nearness of my arrival into the world. Precisely during this time, during the heat of the pre-quarter finals, an uncle of mine, about whom i was clearly unaware of, who was consumed by the delirious infection, decided to give me a name, a tag, even befire my parents had even given it a thought.

At that point in my life and his, he decided to label me with the pet name of a popular epidemic causing footballer!

Even before i could see what the world outside loods like, i had to shoulder the burden of the thought that i would have to carry the name of a celibrity in the outside world! You can well imagine that, being safe inside the womb, I had neither resources nor the chance to either react or protest. I closed my eyes and tried to teach myself to accept what was being pushed on me. Even my mother was clueless on what the tag would be!

On the day i arrived, it was imeperatively pronounced by him, proudly, as though i were a child of his imagination , "zizou"!

Oh! the burden of that name. I have just about learned to sit down and i make all efforts to kick the ball whenever one is given to me. An effort which is sincerely hope will bring joy to the one who chose to give me a name and make him proud of his judgmental abilities. (not to mention that i was also physically resembling the star in that i was almost bald at birth) while i could not care less that the Star himself is unaware of my existence.

A Wait

I await.

Like the dry parched earth that awaits the downpour of monsoon,
Like the cold winter air that waits for the warmth of the sun,
Like the lonely sailing ship that longs for the sight of land,
Like the heavy dark evening sky that waits for relieving moonlight,

I await.

Like the old brass lamp that again longs to smell of oil,
Like the hinge of the squeaking gate that aches for good grease,
Like the cracked cup that yearns to hold water again,
Like the forgotten easel that hopes for a creative canvas,

I await, to hold the hand that has left me.

shoonya

shoonya
nishabda
inchara
aankura
samyukta
sampoorna
paripoorna
vispota
bheekara
rodana
nishabda
shoonya

kya aisa bhi sambhav hain?

kya aisa bhi sambhav hain?

ke geet hum gaaye
to awaaz aaye unke bhi

ke hum baarish mein bheege
to sardi lage unko bhi

kavita hum likhe
to ho shabd shaamil unke bhi

pareshaan hum rahe
to bebasi ho unko bhi

to kya aisa bhi sambhav hain?

ke hamari kushi paagalpan kehlaye
aur dard unka bhi?

ke hamari waqt khatam hota jaaye
aur samveedana unke bhi?

Ladder

There exists a ladder of life. Some people climb up the ladder and some climb down. There are some who are just standing around the ladder and some far away from it. People climbing down the ladder hold the hand of the one standing beside the ladder so as to check their fall. Those climbing up the ladder hold the hand of the one standing beside so that the climb is made easier. I am like the one who stands beside the ladder. Neither moving up nor down. Life goes on. People move up and people move down. I am going no where ....

geechufications

geechufications

A Describing Word

What adjective would you use to describe life, when you are asked to speak and are jumped upon every word that is spoken? When every sentence is scrutinised, dissected and a judgement passed? When your silences are scorned? When you are put into a blackbox after being considered despicable, where your cries for help is not audible? when the heart is ripped open in order to see if it is pure? When your dreams are being monitored? When your affections are screened and tagged as betrayal? When you dont matter anymore to those who matter to you? When your feelings are dismissed as caprice? When your sensitivity is measured against the imperviousness of lead? When you are made to feel small, so small that you seem to be reduced to a small blinking dot! When the prudence is such that you are deemd to have received more than you deserve and hence, it doesnt matter anymore whether something is given are taken away from you? When your perspective is reconed as good as a bat's would be?

What adjective would you use to describe a bleeding heart and a wounded soul?

baadithe sumavu?

Novu nalivu
ee olavu
kaarana halavu
vyartha ellavu
bedada chalavu
yaara uzhivu
yaara aazhivu?
murida manavu
kambaniya dhaareyu
yochaneya horaatavu
bhavanegala gondalavu
mareyaayithe geluvu
baadithe sumavu?

The Light

The lids open,
and let the sunshine in

they are reflected,
compassionate, warm and benevolent

it touches,
every soul it meets

fills with joy,
every heart that beats

with love,
the essence of life

the light,
that flows from your eyes.

Close them,
if you need to rest

only to open
again every single day

to brighten,
the day soaked in sunshine

with the light,
that flows from your eyes.

A colourful Appeal

I stand alone, as i have been standing for the past fifty years in the backyard of a hundred year old house that has so far managed to survive in this city that changes landskapes like people change clothes. There i go again. I am yet again thinking of those colorful clothes. The inmates of the house refer to me as 'the big tree'. It has never occured to them to find out what tree i am, it doesnt matter to them. They are happy with the shade i provide and are proud of the green colour of my leaves. Infact they admire me when i flower. As though they behold a rainbow. My leaves are green and can be only green as they have always been other than in autumn when they turn yellow only to fall. My flowers are always the same yellow. Not even a shade paler or brighter, much to my disgust. Every summer i send out a prayer, an appeal to you to change it to some fresh new colour. Why doesnt my prayer reach you, O Lord. Please, this year, turn the leaves crimson red after the fall. These humans talk endlessly and inadvertently about the greenery. I would love to give them a nice surprise. I need a change.

Rain

Thunder. Hailstorm. Alarm. The Rain painted the colour of panic on a green peaceful city, mercilessly pouring down on the animates and inanimates without discretion. The resoluteness of the mighty trees that line the streets, the exhibition of shoddy and substandard work done by the city electricity company in laying of electric poles, the silence and peace of the night and the element which the humans called courage, collapsed attesting the power of devastation displayed by the storm. Proxy rivers ran through parts of the city on self paved paths, culminating into the horrifyingly overflowing stormwater drains, much to the excitement of innocent children at the prospect of sailing paper boats and to the horror of the adults who set their minds busy calculating the damage to life and property. The reaction of the senior citizens was stereotype and consisted mainly of shaking of their heads in disgust and mumbling almost inaudibly about the collective sins of the community. Night could neither turn to heaven nor earth for peace since both assured only chaos. The invisible omnipresent wind that had acquired horrendous velocity made its presence felt to every breating heart. The later part of the day, wept in its helplessness and slept with the inmates of the city, both wanting to believe that they are a witness only to a nightmare.

Its summer. The sun started his journey early, oblivious to the events of the night awakening the day as it always did. The day woke with a smile, positive and promising, forgiving the absense of the sun that caused havoc the previous night. The clouds are far away, there is still time ...