Legs are paining The fog is thick Its cold, you'll fall sick.
I have this crazy idea, in my bucket list, of running a full marathon. Even though my body has been designed with the remotest possibility of accomplishing such a feat, I thought to give it a try. As an initial scare I decided to participate in the half marathons of Kaveri Trail and Ultra marathon events of 2011. To my utter surprise and shock it seems I cannot run 21 km without practice. So I have to (try to) get up every day morning and complete at least a quarter of the total distance which till date I have successfully failed to do. The d day is September 18th, after which depending on my availability on Earth (might as well be Heaven by the time I finish 21km on foot), I will update the status of my venture.
[I hear her voice, in the mornin’ hours she calls to me
The radio reminds me of my home far a-way
And drivin’ down the road I get a feeling’
That I should have been home yesterday, yesterday.
-Country Roads, John Denver]
This life in strange company -
Lonlier than lonliness.
I burn in sorrow
Under the rays of a stranger Sun.
Shadow's a familiar face,
Ever a silent one.
By Faceless Voices
And voiceless dreams,
Pains are poisoned even more.
I suffer in silence.
Miles from myself
On this stranger shore,
Counting time till summer comes
When the tides shall take me home.
[Wow, this blog was dead for a year. Not dead, there are some half dead drafts. Never could complete any of them. I should kick myself in the a$$, beacuse i missed something I loved doing]
It is an unfinished post. I couldn't finish it. Anyway Somethings better than nothing. Its been some time, I know. I was getting adjusted to one of those dreams that I bought. Life in a different city is exciting with lots of places to see, different people, different climate, different culture. But when you weigh all these differences ,there is always the one which makes the weighing machine go beserk. I think you got it right.
That moment was Chance's child, Whom Fate did father wrong. A day to spend,a night to dine, Nothing more - a request queerly odd.
A day we spent in eternal bliss, A day together, forever remembered. Helios' chariots gave way for Selene's grace, He bid his fare and in the shadows retreated.
Never made love in a way as such, Hearts embraced and flesh withdrawn. Never made love in a way as such, In Passion's triumph, lust overthrown.
I know its strange
And the feeling stranger.
But I can't explain how I felt
When I made love with the stranger.
An empty reflection in the mirror,
Of Twenty and hundred pounds.
I, the worthless wayside whore,
Had her dreams for a day crowned.
[ I tried my best to capture a story i had in my mind as a short poem. I hope you guys got the story... :) .
The title is in french - elle rêvait d'amour, which means - She dreamed of love.
Penkodi is taking french lessons, that inspired me to keep the title in french.
For the record, google translate is my tutor. ;) :)) ]
Every day in every sight. So stare, and stare would I, Eyes fixed on a cloudless sky.
I wish that she would dance,
She would fly in a graceful stance.
A silky gown she would wear,
And give the sky a shiny scar to bear.
I wish i could hold her hands,
Hold her close and hold her tight,
Embrace her into a lovely waltz,
Which would even the heavens exalt.
I wish I could survive,
Could dream and could stay alive,
In hope of the day I would unite
With my ever eluding woman of light.
*****
[
I am sure most of you haven't any clue as to what i am rhyming about.
The story goes like this. I have never seen a falling star in my life (so uncool, i KNOW!!). This attempt at a poem is for the lady of my life whoever she might be and wherever she might be, because I haven't seen her either. So I thought it might be appropriate to compare her with a falling star, neither of whom have met in my life. And I wish upon a falling star (some star ought to be falling at some place!! :) ) that I the day I see a falling star, its a sign that I meet my lady as well. So, please do pray that I do see a falling star. I am in no hurry, so you can take your time to include it in the list of things that you will be asking God.
Darkness was falling. He quickened his steps. He had to reach the valley before nightfall. Falling prey to some hungry carnivore was not the best of ideas. Shridharan Mashu ( Mashu means master in Malayalam) checked the time on his watch and also the sky.6:30, the twilight was fading, and that was bad. It would be dark in a matter of minutes, as it happens in this part of the country. The old battered torch was of no use in this dense forest.
Shridharan Mashu was a respected man in the village. Still a bachelor, and in his early thirties (Sweet 30's as he would call it); he was a teacher in the village in Wayanad. He taught at the only L.P. school in the village. He was happy that at least there was a school now. During his days, he had to walk 20 miles to the nearest school where he studied. He was perhaps till now the only person in the village who had gone to college. Being the son of the forest officer he was more privileged than the other children of the tribal village. After his Father had died in service, he had stayed on in the village as a teacher. His younger brother had got a job in the forest department and he had moved on to another range. During his college days he had read extensively the work of Marx .Though not inclined to any political party, he had circulated socialist ideas amongst the tribes. They were all ears and their eyes filled with admiration for him whenever he spoke. He was shunned by most of the tribesmen for his ideas, but they still respected him; because he knew more of the unseen world.
This day he was returning home after taking tuition for the Engineer Sir's daughter. The school had closed for the summer vacations, when the Engineer Sir came and requested him to help his daughter in maths. Mashu wanted to keep himself busy so he agreed after a lot of cajoling from Engineer sir.
He knew the forest well, but after night fall even the most experienced tribesman will find it difficult to find his way out. He had been walking for half an hour now. If he had been on the right path he would have reached the village 10 minutes back. He knew it was futile to continue again and that would result in going into more unfamiliar territory. His only protection was to find an Erumaadam (Tree house built by hunters) and take refuge in it and resume his journey at dawn.
He climbed a nearby tree to see if he could find anything in the diminishing light. He saw a light up ahead. "Ah!! Civilization, at least I am not lost." He thought. The light was stationary and that meant it was a house and not someone who had lost his way as he had. Vanquishing the shrubs in the path with his mighty torch, he followed the light. He cried out aloud, but couldn't get a response back. He was not even sure his voice reached there.
The hut stood in a small clearing. The source of light was a ranthal (kerosene lamp) at the window. He went forward and banged on the bamboo door. No response. Twice and thrice he tried. He went around the house. No sign of life. Just as he was about to push open the door, it opened.
She would be at least 70 odd years old, the lady. She was stooping. She would have been to his shoulder level if she stood upright. Age was showing on her face and hands.
Wrinkled and loose skin on her neck and hands. Her ears were sagged with holes, the size of bangles, where once ear rings had adorned. He wondered what she might be doing here, so far in the woods. And by the looks of it she appeared to be alone.
He suddenly found that she fit woman in the story, he had heard in his childhood. In fact, any child in the village heard from their parents; the story of the old woman in the forest who stole children and ate them for dinner. He was too old for that story now and smiled unknowingly; what all parents cook up to keep their child safe and from going into the woods.
She stared at him for moment through the cold grey eyes. He met her eyes. She seemed startled by the presence of the stranger.
‘Amma’, he called her. 'Do you know how to join back to the path to the village?'
She nodded. She raised her hand halfway, as to show him the way, but brought it down.
'The woods are dangerous in this time of the day', she warned. Her sparingly cultivated teeth showed. What was left had the dark brown colour of chewing betel leaves.
'Then can I stay here till dawn, Amma?' he asked. 'That is, if it is not a burden for you'.
She looked bewildered. Had he asked something wrong, Mashu thought.
She looked down, and said 'If you want to stay here you are most welcome. But let me
remind you no one likes to come here to stay, lest talk with me.'
That was a strange remark. 'It is no problem with me Amma, I will stay here. And I won't cause any disturbance also, I promise Amma'. He smiled. He could see her gaze shifting when he called her Amma.
The hut was a single room. Except for a charcoal stove in one corner, it was more or less empty. A mat made of palm leaves was rolled up against the wall and a few utensils made of clay were near the stove. The stove was cold. A small pile of dry branches decorated another side of the wall, to indicate cooking was done once in a while. She ushered him inside, rolled out the mat and gestured him to sit. As a polite gesture Mashu stood there until Amma had sat down. She sat with great difficulty. But after resting her legs she seemed relieved. Mashu sat down on one side of the mat.
She seemed to be in her own world, staring at the wall, as though it was a screen with a movie playing. Mashu decided to break the silence.
‘Amma , what is your name?’ . She was startled and looked around to see who had disturbed her from her dream. She saw him sitting there and remembered she was not alone.
‘Amma , what is your name?’ Mashu repeated softly. She started laughing loudly, baring her brown teeth. She stopped suddenly.
‘Kakkathiamma is what they call me, the children. They run away on seeing me’. He face turned sad. ‘They run away on seeing me. They think I will hurt them, don’t they?’.
She looked at Mashu, her grey eyes had a glint in them. Mashu had no answer. He wanted to change the topic. But he said, ‘No, they don’t . Who would run away from a sweet lady like you?’
‘They have heard stories. They know they aren’t supposed to come near me. ’ she retorted.
She continued on, ‘I fell in love with a man, an outsider, was it my mistake. They stamped me an outcast. They shunned me from the tribe.’ She continued as though there were many things she had to say, ‘I married the man, we moved off far away from the tribe.’ She stopped. Tears had started flowing from her eyes. They shone on her skin like beads. Mashu understood her and the loneliness over the years. ‘Now I am all alone, couldn’t bear a child, my husband taken by the forest gods and I live because I cannot die.’
He placed a gentle hand on her palm, rubbed it. She clutched it firmly. She looked into his eyes. He could see not coldness in them now. Only the remains of a youth trampled down by customs.
‘Thank you son, for listening to me. It’s been long since anyone….’
‘Say , did you have dinner.’ . Time had well passed 8:30 now. The question made Mashu’s Stomach grumble. Kakkathiamma stood up and picked up a pot. She approached him with a fistful of berries and handed it over. Mashu and Amma ate together. After the dinner, Kakkathiamma, offered him the mat to sleep on. Mashu declined . He helped her settle down and laid down to sleep. Kakkathiamma had left a deep effect on him.
The sun rose as always. Light poured into the house through the lone window.
Shridharan Mashu rubbed his eyes, stifled a yawn and sat upright. The cottage looked as he had entered it yesterday. The mat was rolled up. The only scenic change was the water boiling on the stove and the billowing smoke that rose out through the window throwing patterns of sunlight in the smoke. He stretched his legs and walked out through the open door. His eyes were searching for Kakkathiamma. She was no where to be seen.
He waited in the doorstep for a few minutes before calling out again ‘Amma, where are you?’.
He walked around the house and followed a path he saw.
He heard the sound of crackling of leaves in front. He advanced towards it, and saw a person collecting wood . He had a closer look. It was not Kakkathiamma. It was a tribesman he knew, Muthu. He called out to him. Muthu spotted Mashu standing there and rushed to him. Mashu told Muthu how he had got lost and about Kakkathiamma. Muthu’s eyes widened. Mashu asked him to help find her. Muthu was reluctant at first. Mashu convinced him to do a favour and that no body would know about it. Finally Muthu agreed. They traced back to the hut and started searching the surroundings. No signs still. Suddenly Mashu heard Muthu’s shout. He raced to the grove of cocoa trees.
She was lying there face down, a clutch of cocoa leaves in her hand. Mashu picked her up and asked for Muthu’s help. Muthu took a step back, ran and vanished into the woods.
Mashu took her in both his arms and edged forward. He reached the hut and laid her down in front of it. Checked her pulse. It was feeble. Hearing a sound he looked back and saw Muthu carrying a stretcher made of wines and bamboo.
Mashu helped Muthu to get her on the stretcher. Muthu led the way and in minutes the forest path was clear. A jeep came around the path loaded with herbs to the local market. Mashu stopped it and with Muthu’s help got Amma on the jeep.
Muthu stayed back and watched as Mashu and Kakkathi made way forward. Mashu completely understood and looked at Muthu with grateful eyes. Muthu smiled and went back into the forest.
Doctors and nurses had tried their best at the Clinic. There was not enough time to take her to the nearest hospital. She opened her eyes for a brief moment. She held his hand. ‘God Bless you son’ . He could feel the warmth of her body receding. A life devoured by the ghosts of her past.
Six years have passed since that day. He couldn’t blame the tribesmen, this was how their tradition had survived over the years. Untouched by outsiders, their customs still lived on. And Kakkathiamma still lived on in the heart of Shridharan Mashu.
Happiness: We rarely feel it. I would buy it, beg it, steal it, Pay in coins of dripping blood For this one transcendent good. -Amy Lowell
Gifted with wings of butter and gold,
Out he came from his silky mold. Enjoying the breeze and the morning sun, Fluttering his wings , the journey had begun. No more a life than a phase of the moon, But such a sorrow in his flight is not borne. A small gust of wind does make him sway, But he does cheerfully make back his way.
He settled onto a bed of flowers, Embracing 'em as though lovers. He moved on from one to another, Sucking honey as a baby from the bosom of his mother. He lingered around each of them long, Dancing to a perfectly crafted song, And etching every moment in his memories, Moments forever treasured and savory.
Alas! Now it is time for me to go, To attend to my morning chores. His life - a lesson for me and all , To be happy in spite of any fall. I still watched him mused ,fading from my view, Over the yellow,flower laden hills . Each flower an experience, he will move on , Till time wouldn't stop- to wait for him anymore.
--Rahul Nair 12-MAY-2008
Disclaimer : Image has been obtained from the web and I do not claim any ownership for it.
അന്നൊരു വേനലില് കാല് നനച്ചൊരാ, ആമ്പല് കുളത്തിനിതെന്തു പറ്റി; ഇഷ്ടിക കട്ടയും സിമെന്റും കൊണ്ടുണ്ടാക്കിയ , ചുമരുകള്ക്കടിയില് മറഞ്ഞു പോയി .
കല്ലെറിഞ്ഞുണ്ടായ ഓളങ്ങളും പിന്നെ കാല്മുട്ട് തഴുകുന്ന ഇലകളും അവയൊന്നും ഇല്ലിന്നു അവിടെ - ഭൂമിയുടെ ഭംഗിക്കും ഭംഗമായൊരു നാലു നില കെട്ടിടം മാത്രം .
പണ്ടു പാടത്ത് പട്ടം പറപ്പിച്ചതും, കൂട്ടുകാരുമൊത്ത് ചേറില് കളിച്ചതും , പിന്നെ പോയി കുളത്തില് നീന്തി കുളിച്ചതും , അങ്ങനെ ഒരു മോഹം ഇനിയാര്ക്ക് വെറുതെ.
ആമ്പലിന് പൂവ് അടര്ത്തിയെടുത്തതും, അയലത്തെ പെണ്ണിന്റെ പ്രേമം ചോദിച്ചതും , അവളുടെ ചേട്ടന്റെ തല്ല് മേടിച്ചതും , അങ്ങനൊരുപാട് ഓര്മകള് ആ കുളം ഉള്ളില് ഉണര്ത്തും .
അമ്മയുടെ അമ്മിഞ്ഞ പാലിന്റെ മധുരം
നുകരും പ്രായത്തില് തന്നെ, കംപ്യൂട്ടെറിന് ചോട്ടില് അടയിരിക്കും കുഞ്ഞുങ്ങലുണ്ടോ അറിയുന്നു ആ കുളത്തിന് മഹത്വം ; അത് നല്കിയ ആത്മ സുഖം.
ഇനിയും ഒരു വേനലില് പറ്റുമോ എനിക്കത്, ആമ്പല് പൂവുകള് അടര്കാനും , ആ കല്പടവുകളില് കിടക്കാനും , ഇല്ലിനി ഇല്ല , അങ്ങനെ ഒരു സ്വപ്നം, എന്നതാണ് ദുഃഖസത്യം .
എനിക്കു ഒരുപാടു ഇഷ്ടമുള്ള വരികളാണു ..... കോളെജിലെ ഓര്മകള് വീണ്ടും... അവിടെ വച്ചു കുറിച്ച വരികള്...
സ്വന്തമായി ഞാനെന്നും കരുതിയതെല്ലാം, എന് പിന് വിളികള്ക്കു കാതോര്ക്കാതങ്ങ് അകന്നു പോയി. മൂകമാം ഈ സന്ധ്യയില് ഞാന് ഒരു ചെറുപുഷ്പ്പം പോല് വാടി നില്ക്കെ, ദൂരെ ആ സാഗരം പാടും ഒരു ഗാനം കാറ്റായി എന്നെ സ്പര്ശിക്കവെ.. എന് ഉള്കണ്ണൂ കണ്ടു ആ സത്യത്തെ.. ഒന്നും ആരുടെയും സ്വന്തമല്ല, എല്ലാം മനുഷ്യഹ്രുദയത്തിണ്റ്റെ ചാഞ്ജാട്ടം മാത്രം.
Is solace anywhere more comforting than in the arms of a sister. ~Alice Walker I wrote about her when I was 7 years old, A poem for my school magazine. Of course I didn't write it my Dad did. Maybe I should have written this long Back.
Into earthly hands she was born, An angel without wings to adorn. Her radiant face and her full round eyes, And those looks like she was about to cry, Her childish giggles and her baby talks, Still in my ears do ring with unlost charms.
I remember the moments when her lips curved down, With a tiny trail of shiny tears, And all this just to look her best, In her cherry dyed favourite dress.
Aha! and how would I forget those pillow fights, At the end of which she would run to Mom and Whine. There went the cane on my buttocks, Those are now joyful memories which in my heart do reside.
Times were there when I would cry in a corner, After Dad's treatment on me was conferred. (Ooooh!! the thought of it still pains) She would come and give me solace,(which was of course no good) She would sit beside and see me through the phase.
And look now she is a fine Lady, Who gives me advice as if I am the Baby, Her baby talks now makes more sense Alas.. It hasn't changed- the way she cries. [;)]
But she is to me still the little one, Who cried for her cherry dyed favorite dress; The angel without wings to adorn But with lots of love to endow.
The real religion of the world comes from women much more than from men - from mothers most of all, who carry the key of our souls in their bosoms. -Oliver Wendell Holmes
He stood there so tall and proud, An old wind still lingering around. He was a fine mountain, Enveloped in trees , streams and fountains.
He looked beyond those mountains greater To see his mother his creator. In a warm wind suddenly covered was he, She had come sensing his anxiety.
Soothing the trees, streams and the rocks. She was proud of him,her son All that she in rain and sun had done.
She softened the rocks and - Withered them into fine sand. From which green shoots had - Sprung up high and dyed.
She would blow the dark clouds over For the beasts ,the birds and the flowers. She guarded him from the heavy snows, Lest he felt the bitter cold.
All these years of love and care Had given her moments so proud and rare. But she wouldn't stay there for long, Her babies are waiting for their bed time song.
"We shall find peace. We shall hear angels, we shall see the sky sparkling with diamonds.” Anton Chekhov [image source unknown: contact me if the owner wants it removed] Drops of tears on her heavenly cheeks, Like dew drops on the olive leaves seep. Her eyes were murky,gloomy and dull, Those eyes so blue,so naive, so full.
Why she wept, why these tears, Why so sad a lovely face? May be this madness,May be this malice, Or maybe just she wanted care.
The arms embraced and held her close, The tears dried down to a blissful mood. She felt so secure in those arms, In the warmth of her mother, who loved her most.
This is how an Angel cries - Through the eyes of an innocent child. Because In them do Angels dwell 'til life is under the Devil's spell.
In times of anger,joy and pain I have wanted to find him out; From the depths of me and gain - All those answers ,I had ever sought. I thought many a times that I saw him far, Though he appeared like a star in those velvet skies. In times of calm , i have felt him close beside, Though invisible he is to my earthly eyes. I always thought of ways to feel him near; I have thought of death and of wealth, Thought of love and of prayer. But what is it that takes me there That I need to find ,before the heavens come near. One day I believe he will hear my call, And I will merge into ,him, My Soul.
Drowned in tears my life went on, Engulfed in sorrow;shattered and lone. Life is tough but so am I, Even if skinless on ice I lie. Shattered dreams whose wings bled so, Didn't even show a path to go. A path I laid through rocks and thorns, Where it might lead my mind unsure. The Heart is weak but my Mind is strong, Hope my decisions never were wrong. As I tread along the path halfway, I do wonder if my heart shall cure or never it may. But before dusk i hope to find a mead, Where I can rest until again the sun leads.
She screamed so loud, Her eyes bright red, Her child was scared and so was I, My friend got scared and in bed he lie, For five days through, Brought down with flu.
A Fool came then and let her in, To show her that the toilet's clean, Gone was she in a second's split, Hope that she doesn't get fits.
Then came the maid on a fine sunday, She just cleaned the house and walked away, The house did shine and sparkle for sure, But beware, clean your home; Or your money is gone. ---Rahul Nair
