The person you never tried to know

Some of us are blessed

With a rainbow of friends,

Some with a winter’s blessing of ferns.

Yet sometimes we wish for a person so special,

Someone who will make every moment be treasured,

Yet none of us seek that friend we are born with,

A part of our heart and a part of our thought.

He is none but ourselves, the little voice in our head

That many a time we pretend we never hear,

And never have we guessed in the wildest of dreams,

That one day we shall befriend ourselves.

Life's little pleasures

I’m dreaming, in my bed. It is a pleasant dream, for it involves many of the pleasant people I’ve met in this short journey of life. Gently, I’m woken up, by soulful music playing from the phone. It’s Enya, singing of “A Day without Rain”. I sit up and look out of the window. It’s sunny, with a few clouds in the distance giving one a playful promise of rain, sometime in the day. A quick shower and other daily tasks, and it’s already a good day. So I get my pen, book and a glass of strong tea with extra sugar. The weather is delicious, sunny with a tinge of the cold from the downpours of yesterday night. The trees and the bushes all around the house are wearing an unabashed shade of green, the kind of green that makes you realize how beautiful your little state is. It is impossible not to write in this weather, and impossible not to write straight from the heart. There is music in the distance, from a temple I’ve always used to go as a child.

Its mid afternoon and my story is almost done. Just as I am about to put the final touches on the tale, the mobile screen lights up.  The name on the screen is a name I’d be glad to see anytime, any day. A text for a tryst in the evening, making a good day near perfect. I smile to myself, because sometimes smiles are not to be held back.

I park the majestic Royal Enfield near the footpath near the beach. It’s another lovely evening at the Calicut beach, and the vivid colors of the sunset make my heart leap with joy. I walk, through the sidewalk adorned with benches and lamp-posts, towards her favourite bench.  She is already there of course, but her face is turned to the other side. She expects me to come from the other side, but what is Love without some little surprises? I’m already feeling jealous of the evening wind, which is playing gleefully with her hair. I walk up and sit by her side. Without turning aside, she breaks into laughter.

The evening has crossed over to dusk, and the stars are already out in the sky. The vendors of groundnuts and sweets still sell their wares, while people continue to throng the beach. It’s going to be a beautiful night as well, I realize quite happily. She is now leaning on my shoulder, having exhausted all her stories. I’m as silent as always. The silent movie actor, as she calls me. I’m content with life, blessed with all the little pleasures that a man can ask for. After all, this is what life is all about. Those little pleasures that we’ve had once, only to be lost in the passage of time and space. Those little pleasures that we’ve always wanted to have, but never granted by the oft cruel wizard called fate.

I smile, thinking this is too good to be real. And then I hear a song in the background.  I look around the beach, but no singer is to be seen around us. Then I realize, the music is familiar, it is “A Day without Rain”. As I look around, everything dissolves into darkness, but I still feel her on my shoulders. But after a fleeting moment, I open my eyes. The song is still playing, ofcourse. The clock on the screen says its thirty minutes past six. I get up from the bed, and turn the alarm off.

Of Sea and Skies

Sometimes, when the days are long and the evenings hold no promise, I go to the Calicut beach, by myself. I find a place to perch near the sands, and inhale the fresh scent of salty winds. The Arabian Sea is a sight to behold, a timeless beauty, not covered by burkhas, untainted by the strings of tradition. She lashes out at the world when she wants; she makes herself heard through the sound of her waves, and often embraces, rather shamelessly, the many lovers of her life, all at the same time. As much as a beauty she is, the greater mystery is the sea of people all around her. Every evening thousands crowd around the evening beach, and there is no greater joy to a thinking man, than the sights of a hundred strange faces around him, each differing in every conceivable aspect of the human anatomy, yet united in their emotions of joy. The seaside does that to people- for centuries, port towns have been the centers of civilizations, the cradle of thought and ideas, the harbinger of changes, be it for better or worse.

I walk along the side of the sea, one among the thousand, taking in every sight and sound that the beach has to offer. My eyes drift, from a group of beautiful women, to the haggard willow trees. They have been around for as long as I remember, offering firm resistance to the winds of change that the ocean brings, and have survived for the most part. Among the branches of these trees lie several kites. Many of these kites must have aspired to be among the highest fliers, kissing the face of the sky, rubbing shoulders with the hawks that rule the beach skies. Yet here they all are, held in a mass of leaves, a remnant of past convictions, a testimony to someone else’s moment of indecision, or indiscretion.

There used to be a bridge here,once. A bridge that went all the way to the sea, to help the ancient seafarers with their invaluable cargos and tall tales. All that remains are a few of the pillars, and even they are slowly losing their heroic yet impossible battle with the waters of the Arabian Sea. Standing in front of these pillars, I feel the pain of these stone warriors, who are fading away,little by little,day by day..

And then I notice the hawks that circle above. They watch us all with disdain, as we go an about our mundane lives while they ride the sky, the majestic princes of the beach. A particular white headed brahminy hawk catches my eye, as it flies higher and higher, further from the madding crowd. Eventually, it is just a spot on the distant horizon, and soon, it goes beyond what my mortal eyes may follow.

I am at the threshold of a crossroad, these days. Will I be a kite in the willow branches, or a stone pillar lamenting the bygone days? Or will I rise to be a hawk, unflinching at the heights I scale everyday? Time will tell, and I'm leaving it to that masterful storyteller to complete this tale..

Coming Soon!

Where is all the love?!!

The Beginning, and The End

So much to speak, yet so little time.

“In the midst of winter, I found within me, an incredible summer.”

                                                                                                                    -Albert Camus

It doesn't matter what you want to write. For the moment you hold the pen, the moment the pen touches paper, your heart will break the barriers that the mind has imposed upon it. The heart shall flow, and let it flow. Let the words flow from your heart, as blessed water from a forest stream. Let the words glide, as effortless as the wind that graces the skies. Let your heart and soul reach that place deep within yourself, that temple of incredible calm and peace.

I've always liked temples. And churches. Temples at dusk and early hours of dawn. Churches in the day.

There are few sights in the world more beautiful than a quiet temple, lit in the darkness, surrounded by a hundred mud lamps. Chuttuvilakku, it’s called. The light of the hundred mud lamps flicker and waiver, yet they hold steady, in unison. Like the heartbeat of a hundred children. Like the marching beat of a hundred soldiers, who march in the knowledge that they will not return. The silence and the calm within the walls offer solace from the noises of the urban world. Even the occasional cry of the “ Chemboth” does not break the silence. Temples are beautiful.

In the distance, the mullah calls for the evening prayer. It is a melancholic semi song, and I realize I do not know what it means. I remember something from childhood- that I used to try and learn what the mullah sings. I also realize, I've never been inside a mosque.

The Execution of Sanity

Ever since the heinous crime in the rape capital of our nation, the country has been flooded with demonstrations and protests. The social media is abuzz with self proclaimed justice keepers baying for blood. In reality, this crime has revealed the dark side of the society- the side that normally remains suppressed, the primal,blood thirsty beast within everyone of us. It is appalling to see young minds describing in gory details the exact nature of the punishment they want to inflict on the accused.

A common argument usually being put forward is that in certain countries in the middle east, torture and violent execution is handed out to rapists, so why not implement it here? The simple answer to this argument lies in the human rights records of these nations. For it is in these same countries that women have zero rights and freedoms, and very little in way of justice. In these nations, the law of land demands that females who commit adultery should be stoned to death. Is this the state of affairs we want to see our India arrive at?

For all those clamoring for death sentences for the accused- if that punishment would prevent rape,by the same logic, our nation will be free of murders and terrorist acts. Punishments hardly serve as deterrents, for criminals do not think about the consequences of their actions. Education, sensitization and open dialogue prevent crimes before they happen, and that is the right direction we should focus our thoughts in.

A memoir to Rorschach

There have been many caped crusaders and masked marauders who have captured our imagination. They have flown through the sky, rappelled through skyscrapers, and crashed through the window of our conscience in to our memories, forever treasured. A dark knight, a certain reporter for a local daily.. Its not a very short list, yet, if I had to pick one man who stands above the rest, one man through his greatest strengths, which is surprisingly not a superpower, it would be Rorschach for me.

I have encountered him only in a single movie, “The Watchmen”. Yet this ultra conservative, violent socio path etches himself in to the blotting paper of my mind. And what pattern does the blot make? What do I see in this man whose most conspicuous characters are that he is uncompromising, hard headed and paranoid? Precisely that.

Living  in a world where everyone makes compromises to push the wheel of life forward, right from the hordes of lowly salaried men to the white clad, black-hearted political class, It is impossible to be unmoved by a faceless man delivering justice in black and white. All the while, he loses no focus, weighing both his enemies and friends with the same scale. And pity the man who tips the scale in the wrong direction. For then a shadow will awaken him in the night, exacting punishment in swift, cruel and merciless ways.

In his last moments, before death at the hands of his friend, he states the single, unwavering, unflinching philosophy he has lived by all his life-

"Never compromise. Not even in the face of Armageddon. That's always been the difference between us, Daniel."