Monday, March 9, 2015

Planet E

Moonlight. Mountain peaks.
Neon lamps.
Curved archways.
Green, yellow in the light.
hands held.
Crickets. Screaming headlights.

Mists and open windows.
Red earth.
Carpets of yellow trumpet flowers.
Wind, the whisperer.
Thro' beech and jamun.
Dust clouds.
Cheers. Football.

Monday, September 19, 2011

The arrogance quotient of the world goes up due to one single set of people. MBAs - aspiring, WIP and finished goods. And the contribution per person comes down exponentially. Due to same set of people. Inspiration and Disappointment come from the same bunch.

Monday, September 12, 2011

It's in the air!

They are always the same spots. The foundation. The soon to be invisible bases, arm twisted into the right position. And then slowly camouflaged. In authenticity. With love. In myriad colours. They will tell me stories. stories of a gone era or of a moment still, one music vibrant and the other, so soulful, words that one man wrote that have lived since, and will live forever. Of wondrous emotions and joy, walking around in starched cottons & white dhotis. Of sugary syrups, overflowing with conversation. Midnight tramps, everywhere. Lights and leisure, loafing around. Of ecstatic devotion and delirious love. The time of sales and dates. For the love of self. Mandirs, Pagodas, Voodoo style places. The beginning. It is Shringar time. The prime time of all good times in Kolkata. Pujo in the air.

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

What does one week of heavy duty deadlines do to the class? Crazy statuses on, well, deadlines and MBA and life come up on Gtalk and FB. Else Alcohol flows. Eitherway no actual work gets done. Despite the deadlines. Week after week. And then they all live happily ever after? No, they just join work and face deadlines for deliverables.

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

The wait, door ajar...
 Memories, and dreams...
 Light, behind the partition...
 Prints, of a 100 people...
Happy? Could you ever be?

Thursday, June 30, 2011

The red and green swirls,
golden zaris and sparkling stones,
reflected in a 1000 mirrors!

Her own eyes,
behind the veil!

The tawaif!

One random evening, after his return from work,

Dad: Give me one reason why Jesus Christ could not have cleared IIT-JEE?
Me: (seeing the TIME flyer nearby) Because he didn't join TIME classes?
Dad: Because he was not born in Andhra!

*No religious disrespect of any sort meant whatsoever!*
Sunsets and beaches
friends and summer
Ferries and rides
Opportunities and Risks
Forgotten promises
Black gowns and red shoes
Raindrops on window panes
Of curtain downs
Chocolate sauce and Vanilla ice cream
Starched cotton sarees
the Professor
Of phone calls unanswered
Of moments lost
Words unsaid
Of embers of the fire
Tip of a dying cigarette
Of swings, wounds and shared mango bites
A signature on a plain card

A lone twig
And me...

Sunday, May 15, 2011


The wipers swept across the windshield of the car, once in a while. This was unusual for this month, in this part of the world. Rains here were neither uncommon nor light. Hardly had the thought crossed his mind, when the skies opened up. The bolt of lightning split the sky into two, the dark clouds appearing out of nowhere, illuminated in that momentary flash of light. Like hope. On and off. The drops started to fall, one big drop at a time. The heat rose from the tarred road as the freshness of the raindrops soaked them, creating a mirage. Before the car had travelled another kilometer, the individually identifiable drops had become a steady drizzle, finally morphing into a continuous downpour.

“We are at Mannuthy Byepass sir! Do you want me to stop for a while?”

He turned around to ask if Unni wanted something to eat. But Unni was still asleep, fatigued by the long journey.

“No, continue driving please!”

He had always hoped that when the time came, he would die on the land that was his, one that he had roamed about on, as a child. He could picture everything even now. The roofs of his Tharavad, water dripping from the edges of their tiles. The tall coconut trees marking the borders of the land. The rubber estate beyond. The cardamom and tea. The smell of rains and wet earth. The wind in the hair as one walked down to school. The playground in the village. The football matches. The etherealness of the Bhagavathy temple and the regularity of the rituals there, every morning and every evening. The walks by the kulankara. Walking hand in hand. The alternating reds and greens of her mundu, the jasmine in her freshly washed, dense black curls, the kohl lining her dark eyelashes and the soft ring of her anklets. The steely pride in her eyes. The strength of conviction in her voice. The farsightedness of her dreams.

The sleek, slippery wet highways gave way to the muddy, pot hole ridden roads of his village. The car tyres splashed through the puddles that had formed everywhere.

“Make sure you don’t miss the right turn after the estate gates!”

“Yes sir!”

He remembered the last time he was at the Thrissur bus stand. The trunk packed with his few precious books, some handed over by his father and some more gifted by the Headmaster, fewer clothes and even lesser money. Her journey away, soon after. A career in the land of opportunities. Four decades. Meeting Jayadha, seeing Anup and Meera and holding them in his hands for the first time. The promotions. The travel. The snowfall, the multi colored landscape of several autumns. Of all those times, the freshest memories were those of the long ago days, of reading, discussing and debating – from Thakazhi Sivasankaran Pillai to Bertrand Russell, at college in Thrissur, with her.

The little cat purred and circled her feet impatiently, its tail held straight and high. The milk was just off the stove and she blew into it as she transferred it into the bowl and placed it close to the window sill. The grandpa clock chimed 5 and she turned around to see Kuttan at the kitchen door. Kuttan’s sense of timing was impeccable. He always knew when he wanted his food or when it was time for his evening walk. 8 years now, back at Thekkedath Mana. It had been several months after her choice to quit it all and move back, that the phone calls had stopped. They knew no offer could move her. They could only request for one of the most respected heads at the organization to be back. Advisory role, they said. But she had made her decision. Other tasks remained undone. Through those years of trying to change things, she knew the place missed her permanent physical presence. This evening though, Kuttan didn’t have to wait for her to come. She didn’t have any calls to make or people to visit.

“Punarapi jananam, punarapi maranam….” – MS’s divine voice echoed around the house, yet, she heard the whir of the car engine, all the way across the backyard. Kuttan beat her to the front door though.

Savithri Bhattathiripad and Velayudham Chekava. Ammu and Velu. The sun down embraced and carried with it, in its grainy mist, the last 45 years.

He had not found the courage until today. She knew and he knew too though, that they both had moved on. Well and truly. This visit was the closure.

“Appupa – Can I have the chakka pazham please?” Unni stood under the massive tree, his neck craning, eyes on the ripe jackfruit.


* Tharavad – Ancestral house in Kerala

* Bhagavathy – Female Goddess in Kerala

* kulankara – Literally, banks of a pond. Temples/Ancestral homes in Kerala have a pond attached to them

* mundu – Ladies apparel in Kerala

* Thekkedath Mana – Family houses in Kerala are identified by their names, carried over generations

*Appupa – Grandfather (Fathers’ father)

Saturday, March 12, 2011