Friday, October 27, 2006

Take me Home.

Artist : Attanur Dogan

Give me death! I pray every day
Leave me not, to sigh, in every way
Seen I have, those beautiful days
Those little red flowers in an awesome place.

Why these windows, in front of me?
And all the beauty outside, and free
Ran, I have upon the soft wet ground
I walk far no more, just safe and sound

My beloved ones, have all gone away
Laughter, I yearn to hear, to be merry and gay
Tears, I have in my heart and dreams too
Like my youth, won`t the pills vanish too?

Years and years, have I spent in glee?
To sit here and look at the old worn tree
Searched I have, for a leaf of hope,
A lover from the skies, with whom to elope

At every sunset, I cry and plead
Slow and just living, and yet I bleed
With angst, do I cry, take me home.
Please take me away from this old age home.

Friday, October 20, 2006

A Tag in festive times...

While every other blogger is wishing everyone season`s greetings with great aplomb, I am going to do this along with a tag. I am sorry for that but things have been pretty hectic recently, and therefore am being forced to do a fusion here.

My heartlfelt wishes for a very happy and prosperous Deepavali and Ramzan, to all fellow blogger friends and your families.

I have been tagged two times by both starry and scribblez to enlist six bloggers whom I would like to meet in person. These two wonderful people, I believe are already going to meet me, and so apart from them I will tell about six more blogger friends I would like to meet, but not first without a mention about them both.

Starry Nights a.k.a Lalitha - A very energetic and dynamic blogger who, is most loving and caring as an individual and also strives for noble causes, with great vigour. Her posts are completely inspiring and enchanting at the same time. She tells that I am intriguing. I am looking forward to meet her and clear that up, because "interesting", I might not be.

Scribblez to Wakeup - I do not know her real name. Somehow I so much related to her blogger name that never felt the need to ask for her real name. She has been a great source of encouragement and inspiration for me. Her posts about the daily happenings in her life, her philosophy of life and words of wisdom instantly strike a chord.

I am looking forward to meeting both of them. Now to introduce my other six blogger friends in a purely random order, who get automatically tagged to do the same. :)

Maya Cassis - One of my oldest blogger friends who has this great element of mystery around her, and her much so beautiful posts. Her poems are one of a kind and it would really be an exercise in practical philosophy to talk to her and follow her thoughts, I presume. I would like to meet her and see how she carries it off so effortlessly. How she learns to unlearn.

Gaurav Jain - He is not just a blogger, but the very example I find that would suit the word 'versatility'. A great reader and beautiful writer as well. He sketches with elan, and above all writes good software too. His blog and website is a myriad of information and colourful facets of life. I would like to meet him and find out how he pulls it off, so elegantly.

Sreejith - Apart from being my namesake in the blogosphere, he is also a friend, whom I deeply respect and adore. Not just for his beautiful blog, but also for his great initiative and spirit to fight for a noble cause, for Mission Netaji. Such inspired individuals are rare, and he is one good friend, I must meet in person.

Passerby55 - A very strong presence in the blogosphere, her cute little blog, with beautiful verses and colourful pictures has been a must-read. Above all, her beautiful comments are a great boost, with her verses, of style and elegance. I would like to meet and discover this reclusive passerby, who first introduced to the blogosphere another important blogger like Hip Grandma

Ram - A great man, who has been travelling lots recently, who I am hoping to meet. He writes about the nation with a passion and devotion, which truly inspires many. His knowledge about the country`s economical, political and social conditions, remains unmatched. A complete reference base, I must add. He has also been a very old co-blogger and a great friend, whose words of support and appreciation, I shall treasure a lot.

Velu Nair - His blog, and template reveal a lot about his passion for life, his ability to love life and live with a great heart full of happiness. He pens like no other, mixing prose and poetry with such beauty that reading his posts, seem to transform the world around you into the beautiful garden of Eden. I would surely like to meet this teacher in his thirties and take a lesson or two.

Now, before, I finish, I would like to add, that the list has been reduced to six, because of the limitations of the tag, and because it would not be good to copy my entire blogroll onto a post and say the tag is done. I just wish everyone takes up the tag, that they tag more people and finally everyone meet together in a grand gala meeting, and that I too am there, so that I meet everyone.

Once Again, Heartfelt wishes and Season`s Greetings.

Wednesday, October 11, 2006

Whispers of the Wind

The wind blew strong through the desolate village, with nothing to obstruct it`s path. Though it started as a normal breeze, the emptiness of the village and the lack of obstacles, just a tree here or there, a few lone houses scattered across, seemed to be the barrier and in the absence of anything to stop it, the breeze became a strong wind and swept past the little village.

“This rotten place is haunted. It is in the middle of a summer and there you have a big wind out of nowhere”, complained Ashokan. He had retired long ago and found his days rolling by as if nothing could stop it. He found new things to complain about, every other day, and since the time the government had given all the farmland nearby to the big industries, all the friendly farmers and friends had left the place. The farmland was lost, and the industries had not come, and the matter was being debated in the courts between the industrialists and the activists. His son, Pavithran had explained to him that the land was being wrongly given out as SEZ`s, but Ashokan did not understand the ways of the new governments and found it difficult to understand what his son was explaining.

His thoughts slowly started to hover around his son. Pavithran had been a good student, right from a young age and had been a promising young man. He travelled out to the city, and had become a civil engineer, and was also responsible for building the roads and the bridge near the village. Pavithran had always been a matter of pride for Ashokan among his friends and he would lecture them on his son`s achievements every evening, how the son of a postman could go on to achieve things unheard of.

“Why do you always keep shouting and screaming?” replied Sumitra from the kitchen and in a way interrupted his thoughts. “Nothing, go back to your work and leave me alone..!” thundered Ashokan. Sumitra, just smiled. She knew this was a part of his daily exercise and let him have his way. He was after all, all she had, and a loving husband he had always been.

He stretched himself and tried to pull out some weeds from the garden in front. He worked on them for a while, and then sat down under his favourite peepul tree. It swayed to the wind and seemed to welcome him to take rest under it`s shady bosom, all ready to embrace and cuddle him to sleep.

The hazy memories of how he used to play and lie down with Pavithran under the tree came back to him, and he seemed lost again in those old times.

“Father, why do the leaves of this peepul tree, look like a water drop upside down” , ten year old Pavithran would innocently ask, leaving him speechless, and trying to answer him as he believed a responsible young father should do. Sumitra would then call them for lunch and rescue him from the tough situation; his son had put him into.

Pavithran had then had this great opportunity at the start of his career to represent India as one of it`s engineers and go and help in rebuilding war-torn Afghanistan, and had seeked his parents` blessings and they had reluctantly obliged to his wishes. Looking at his bright loving eyes and saying No had always been impossible for them.

As the days passed, life had become a big struggle. Economically, there was no trouble as Ashokan received a moderate amount as pension every month and there was some investment, Pavithran had made which kept giving returns twice every year. The way it works, his son had sat over the lamp, one evening and explained to Sumitra and him, but he never really understood the ways of saving money these days. Everything had sounded puzzling to him. All they knew was that they wouldn`t have to worry about money for a few years at least.

But life was a struggle as yet, the lonely existence, the absence of their son, the long days and the sleepless nights. Their son had struggled a lot to bring a telephone connection to their remote village and when they finally got a telephone at home, it had been a moment to rejoice. Though Ashokan or Sumitra never used it, it had always been a pleasure to see Pavithran talking over the phone with his friends.

Now the only happiness left in their lives was the sound of the telephone ringing once every week, and listening to Pavithran`s voice. They would sit beside the telephone all evening afraid that if they did not pick it up quickly, the telephone might not work and that they might not hear their son`s voice, that voice of assurance, voice of hope and warmth.

The journey of the wind is very unpredictable, it has no destination, it does not know it`s path, it loses a lot of things on it`s way, it gains a lot of things, and it may even die a sudden death.

The wind is even more harsh in the rocky deserts of Afghanistan, and the war and bloodshed around lay silent to the onslaught of man upon man. The country had lost face and was in times of great unrest, when people and friends from all over the world came visiting, some to help out, some to help themselves.

It was at a construction site, where a new school was being built that there was a sudden explosion, demolishing the newly laid bricks out of their cemented glory and casting them back to rubble. All the workers had to flee to save their lives from the onslaught of the rebels. The rebels, they had won, they had conquered some territory, or so they proclaimed. In the midst of all the commotion, four engineers were forced to take refuge in a bunker among some rocky mountains, along with a company of soldiers of the UN peace keeping force, with the limited supplies that they could gather. They had lost track of their group and had to temporarily seek shelter from the harsh sun and the harsher enemies outside.

Those were days of great struggle for the engineer friends, especially Pavithran, who missed his country more than ever, he missed his weekly phone call and he missed his parents. He knew there was no way to intimate his parents and that they would be very worried about him not calling, but he had no choice and the only other Indian friend who was capable of passing on a message was lying beside him in the bunker munching on a chocolate.

When Life comes to a total standstill, the mind starts to reflect upon whatever it can reflect. Pavithran was like that able to go over his life all over again; his achievements now seemed incapable of giving him peace of mind. At times, he used to sneak to the top of the bunker and spend time looking at the dunes of sand. The wind blew against his tanned face and he kept talking to the wind, telling all about his aspirations, his love for his parents and how much, he missed them. He remembered how Sumitra had persisted that he must return quickly and marry a nice young girl she had selected for him. He had smiled and nodded.

It was a few more days before which there was some reinforcement of the forces and Pavithran and his friends were found and rescued. It was a day of great relief and celebration, A celebration of life and new-found freedom. It is in such moments that one relishes life and Pavithran hugged his friends and the soldiers with tears in his eyes. In a few days he called home and talked to Ashokan and Sumitra. They cried and laughed over the telephone as the dryness of their surroundings seemed to disappear abruptly.

He later wrote a letter home as to how he had done enough with his job in Afghanistan, and how he had decided that he would return to India soon, start his journey back to home with great fanfare after a few weeks of formalities.

Almost a month later, Pavithran reached his village, his home and ran inside with the great enthusiasm and happiness, an homecoming is synonymous with. Sumitra was in the kitchen as usual and he hugged her with great warmth.

“Mother, you wouldn`t know how much I have missed you.” cried pavithran. Sumitra too was overwhelmed and had her eyes brimming with tears. “Where is father?”, he asked her. “Oh! He must as usual be dreaming under the peepul tree. Go meet him, son. He has been restless ever since your letter came. I will prepare breakfast and keep. You go and bring him in here.” she replied.

Pavithran quickly hurried up to the peepul tree, and there precisely as Sumitra had suggested, was Ashokan sitting under the old tree, a picture of peace and contentment, his eyes closed and a smile on his lips. Pavithran called out to him and touched him by the shoulder, but his body was cold and devoid of life.

“Father.. You...” he hugged Ashokan and wept inconsolably and called his mother letting out a wail. In Ashokan`s tender hands was the letter Pavithran had written lovingly a month before. The words “I will be home soon” barely visible from between Ashokan`s tight fist, which seemed to be protecting the letter unto death.

As the years passed, Pavithran`s life changed a lot and he became more busy with his work, but always managed to spend sometime with his son, under the old peepul tree as it lovingly swayed to the wind.Ashokan had left from his side only in the physical world, but he realized over the years, that he still retained him in his spirits and he saw his father in his son`s little loving eyes..

The breeze quickly gained momentum and became quite a wind. The wind travelled long and far with stories old and new, no matter happy or sad, but always filled with hope.

Wednesday, October 04, 2006

Handcuffs on a Train

Weary were the eyes, rolling again
In a journey alone, life begets more
Glancing around aboard the swerving train
Something unusual and spirits soar

At long last, eyes came to rest dry,
Upon a man, gray haired and stout
He could pass by and leave no one shy
And yet in his eyes, a long sad drought

And then it shone, eyes totally aware
Of the metal glint, and irrational troughs
A legendary piece, unfound in fancy ware
Eyes not failing to read, the handcuffs!

What the crime ? What treacherous task ?
The mind worked, the train swayed along
And then our eyes met, they meant to ask
“Why are you so right, and I so wrong ?”

When eyes rest, and the mind sweats
Reasons bloom say the eternal wise
Handcuffs, we all have, in our heads
To hands, they move, in a game of dice