He was walking along the Besant nagar beach. The trip to Astalakshmi temple this time did not calm his nerves as it did for past years. He sat there on the sandy beach, looking at the setting sun, it was here it all started six years ago, he had just joined his friends after a day long work, that was when he saw her, at first she was only a outline against the setting sun, slowly when the figure emerged he saw her, she was as simple as any other girl or was it that smile which first captured her imagination. That was just that as his attention went back to the hand cart “Mobile murugan idly”. He came back to the present, with the words”What the same dream again” .He took the ice-cream from her hand and returned back to gazing the sea as she sat beside him.
Six years have passed by, he had returned to Chennai, from US to visit his father or was he talked in to this by mini, He wondered how the relationship is going to patch up. How strange it is going to be to face his family which kicked him out or is it that he dumped them. He had not contacted them after that ill-fated fight with his dad when he had called his father to share the news of the Krystal’s birth. As if reading his thoughts mini held his hand and patted him, it was her method of re-assuring him that what ever he was doing she was with him. He sighed and they started to walk towards Murugan idly shop, the old hand cart was now in shambles, probably the boy who drove it has now joined the shop.
*********************************
It was a rainy day when he saw her again, as he was rushing to the near by theatre,He stood there for a min ,she looked special this time ,was it the skirt she was wearing or the dimple when she was smiling, there was lightning and then with the thunder came the voice of Ram, “if you do not make it to theatre in time I am going to kill you” it was his favorite heroine’s first Tamil movie (she was a superstar in Malayalam by then).Ram was waiting with wet tickets in his hand and they handed it over to the gatekeeper who seriously tore them and sent them in. For him the movie was nothing new except that the heroine’s image kept changing from Meera to the girl in the rain. Attributing this to the lack of nicotine in the system, he moved out for a smoke. It was then he saw her while entering the movie, but was it a guy there with her? There was a panic or what was it? Why should it matter it him, he went back to the seat but still could not help himself from checking out their proximity every now and then.
********************************
He woke up next morning, it was a 2 hour ride to his village from there, the road was severely damaged by recent rains, he was still not sure if his family would embrace him again, the place had not changed much but for the rust on the gate, the old tractor which he liked so much was no where to be seen, as was the Rammaiah the watchmen, the gate made a strange noise and seem to protest his entry as it resisted his attempt to open. He glanced at mini and entered the house; he could now see the cattle shed, his smoking haven.
TO Be Continued.......
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Monday, December 24, 2007
Sunday, December 16, 2007
The wood cutter
It was 6 in the morning but then it was not bright, winter had fallen and the sun had just refused to rise, preferring to be under the warm cloud blanket. She sat there looking towards east for the sun to rise. She then slowly stood up, the wound in her leg was bleeding, she limped to the nearest cupboard, and it was as empty as any other in the house. She sighed and moved to the backyard and pulled some leaves from a plant chewed them and bandaged the wound with the residue. She sat there thinking about the previous evening.
She had gone as usual to the fields where she toiled to make ends meet for the family, it was then she saw him ,he was tall and handsome, beads of sweat on his body were shimmering as he cut wood to make fence for the field. She had not seen him in those lands before, she kept gazing on him when a splinter of wood flew and cut through her frail leg. The next thing she knew was that blood was gushing out and she fainted, she always fainted when she saw blood, perhaps it was because she had seen too much blood for liking or she had nothing at all in her body.
The handsome man was carrying her in his arms to the shade of the tree; she saw his face when the blazing sun allowed her to open eyes in his shade, it was like nothing she felt before, she felt like floating in air, she ignored the pain crawling up her body and kept looking at the well built person, he was asking her something but in her state she was completely lost and madly in awe of him. He sat with her for few minutes on the bank of the river by the field and then left to cut wood again. She sat there and watched him all over till fatigue forced her in to sleep.
It was in the evening and she hadn’t quite realized that she had not set foot in the field again, suddenly the huger stricken faces of her young sisters looked back at her from the oblivion, she looked in the direction where the stranger was set cutting wood, the wood cutter was not to be seen anywhere, but the pain was real and the hunger was more. She did not know when again she would see him ,but that did not matter now ,she slowly limped off towards her hut in the distance to face yet another hunger stricken night …………..
She had gone as usual to the fields where she toiled to make ends meet for the family, it was then she saw him ,he was tall and handsome, beads of sweat on his body were shimmering as he cut wood to make fence for the field. She had not seen him in those lands before, she kept gazing on him when a splinter of wood flew and cut through her frail leg. The next thing she knew was that blood was gushing out and she fainted, she always fainted when she saw blood, perhaps it was because she had seen too much blood for liking or she had nothing at all in her body.
The handsome man was carrying her in his arms to the shade of the tree; she saw his face when the blazing sun allowed her to open eyes in his shade, it was like nothing she felt before, she felt like floating in air, she ignored the pain crawling up her body and kept looking at the well built person, he was asking her something but in her state she was completely lost and madly in awe of him. He sat with her for few minutes on the bank of the river by the field and then left to cut wood again. She sat there and watched him all over till fatigue forced her in to sleep.
It was in the evening and she hadn’t quite realized that she had not set foot in the field again, suddenly the huger stricken faces of her young sisters looked back at her from the oblivion, she looked in the direction where the stranger was set cutting wood, the wood cutter was not to be seen anywhere, but the pain was real and the hunger was more. She did not know when again she would see him ,but that did not matter now ,she slowly limped off towards her hut in the distance to face yet another hunger stricken night …………..
The Departure
He could not have asked for more, when he took her hand in his. He knew it that moment; tears were rolling down her cheeks. He wanted to put a hand round her shoulder hug her and tell her to stop crying. He had done that a million times before, but this day was different.
He walked her on the narrow road, more to hold his tears back than to console her, this girl was special for him, he simply did not know why but he felt it. The time of departure was nearing and she sat there in the lounge leaning her head on his shoulder, neither of them spoke, they let the moment to pass away calmly hoping that the next would ease their nerves.
He did not know how much she loved him nor did she, the final moment of departure came and when he dragged his unwilling legs towards the entrance,a unknown force was pulling him towards her, she stood there teary eyed asking him to go away, not to stay for a minute more, for she could not hold the tears back.He moved in to the airport while every living cell in his body screaming to him to rush to her.
He walked her on the narrow road, more to hold his tears back than to console her, this girl was special for him, he simply did not know why but he felt it. The time of departure was nearing and she sat there in the lounge leaning her head on his shoulder, neither of them spoke, they let the moment to pass away calmly hoping that the next would ease their nerves.
He did not know how much she loved him nor did she, the final moment of departure came and when he dragged his unwilling legs towards the entrance,a unknown force was pulling him towards her, she stood there teary eyed asking him to go away, not to stay for a minute more, for she could not hold the tears back.He moved in to the airport while every living cell in his body screaming to him to rush to her.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Just a Story
A bonny dog lifted its skinny head at the rumble of the gate and drooled away as if that one movement took away all the energy it had and it lay curled where it was. The stranger entered the deserted lawn which had by now turned a golden yellow resulted from the years under the beating sun. He was a traveller from distant land, going to places where his dark horse took him, he had a crooked nose, his lower jaw was set at an awkward angle, he had picked it up years ago while saving a rich man The man had died only a month ago. He lifted his hat and looked around at the gate, how long was it he had played around the lawns chasing around his sister, how old was she when she died, tiny drops of tears shone in the bright sunlight and rolled down on his sunburnt skin. He adjusted his glasses and knocked at the door.
A man in mid forties dragged his legs and opened the door, the room was in shambles it had not changed much from the day he had left, The wall had developed more cracks, a old photo frame hung on the wall supported by a thin thread, for a moment he thought that the eyes of bony cheeked girl in the frame was looking at him, he felt a chill go through his bones even under the mid summer sun. The man was now cursing, obviously at the lack of his answer; the voice was still familiar it had not lost a bit of its sheen, in all those years of hardship. He coughed a little and asked if he can come in. At a nod of the man the stranger walked in, he saw an old woman shouting at someone he could not see. He wanted to run to them hold them and tell them he had come back, but the little girl’s eyes came back to him she was staring at him as if looking through him. He wanted to make sure the old couple had not forgotten their son; they had forgiven his crime as a kid. He wanted to surprise them in the morning, tell them that the worries were over.
He opened the bag of gold coins and tossed few coins at the man who had opened the door, and asked if he could get shelter for that night and some water for his thirsty horse tied outside. The old couple were so poor that they couldn’t refuse the offer. He laid there on the cot his mind twirling back.
He was twelve years old and the girl was a year elder, they had just had a heated argument and the boy was very angry with her, she was repeatedly making fun of his jaw, there were kids all around him laughing at him. In his anger he pelted stones at the boys and started hitting the girl, she ran and he chased her; he stopped panting, his thin frame would not carry him further, the girl who was strongly built for her thirteen years stood there and continued her fun at him. The boy held his breath, tears started to roll down his cheeks, he was furious with himself, he was furious with himself. In a fit of anger he rushed at the girl at once and pushed her, for a moment the world stood still ,in his anger and in her happy mood both the kids hadn’t noticed the well. With a loud shriek the girl fell in to the well. The world had turned upside down for the boy, he stood there for a moment and then realising what he had done, he had killed his sister, he could not go home, he feared the whip, and he feared the man who would hold it, his father. That was the moment he had made the decision, he had to run and he ran. In his fear he didn’t hear a loud splash behind
He woke up with a shudder, blood trickling down his neck, he could see three figures lurching on top of him and everything went blank after a moment.
The man had just recovered from the fall from the branch where he was cutting wood , he had lost his balance, he remembered what made him lose his balance ,he did not waste a minute ,he ran in the direction from where the voice came, he could now hear it more clearly ,he then found the well and realised what the voice was, he jumped in saved the girl, it was only after he got her on to the bank he recognized her ,it was his daughter, he thanked the God for his good fortune.
The day turned in to dusk, the lady was worried, her husband was never late to come home and this day he had taken his kids with him and then she saw the light of the lantern at the distance, she muttered loud and went in to the house to get the dinner ready. Once the husband arrived she learnt what had happened, they waited the whole night and then the day after but the boy never returned and the girl could not recollect what had happened, they thought he was dead.
The village was hit by a severe drought ,food became hard to come by ,people travelled as far as a hundred kilometres to get some work and buy food, years started to roll by. Then one day a stranger knocked at their door. He opened a bag of gold and tossed a few coins at him asking for some food they looked at the bag of gold he was carrying with him. He called the stranger in and fed him.
They hated to do this, the stranger reminded him of his long lost son, but then wasn’t he dead, he had to feed his family, he had to survive the famine, it was then he decided that the stranger should die, he then entered the room the stranger was sleeping with his back facing the old man, with one swift motion the old man and his family plunged their knifes in his back. They buried the stranger, in the light of the moon with the hat gone from his face, the old man saw the crooked nose, No ! he thought this could not be his son, how could he be ; wasn’t he dead, a small breeze came through the broken window pane ,there near the bag of treasure lay a crumpled, time bitten photograph of the family, a boy with crooked nose was looking at the family with an innocent laughter.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Leeds Trip
So what is the difference between me and other tourists, well when all the others are out and touring in a beautiful English summer ,I sat out in my dungeon where I would always wonder where had the Saturday gone for all that I remembered during the English summer was what comes after Friday night is Sunday morning. So now back to the difference, last week end when cold winds were trying to chew of what ever flesh I had put on to my cheeks, we set out for a trip to Leeds castle.
The plan was to drive to the castle and come back by the evening, so what did we do we woke up on a morning that was entirely alien for us for months together, oh Saturday is a beautiful day, after our regular activities we started round 10:30 on our way, with ATLAS in hand and a driver who was on the trip only for one sake that is to be behind the steering wheel.
The map was pretty clear but the mind of the navigator was simply on the other end, we got on to the wrong side of the highway and the roads we took were all extraordinarily beautiful except for the fact that they would not lead us to the destination we set out, but who did really care, with the fuel tank full and windows tightly shut, flying at 70 miles per hour was always a good feeling. Finally after few lucky calculations we a hit the highway A12 towards Leeds ,but this was just not the day for me ,with a very weak direction sense ,I am sure I would have not identified west by looking at the setting sun ,We missed every exit we had to take went in search of the round-abouts,finally it was time I relinquished the seat to Vijesh and what did he do, every five minutes he wanted out driver Vivek to take a U-turn and get back to the other side of the road. Between all there was one soul (Shijo) which was not disturbed by all this hallah-bullah, He was in his own world gulping juice and asking for inns. After missing three exits we got out at a service station and took in to a pizza centre as usual we are out to take photos only to be questioned by a location officer, why did you want to take pictures here? Hmm that was an interesting question but the answer I had would have made him faint, what we take photos for…….We set out after accepting hi apologies for questioning us we set out on the hunt of correct way again.
Finally we got to reach M20 and it was back to me to take up navigator and we reached the Castle at around 4:00PM.It was an achievement in itself ,we felt elated hugged each other; we had finally done the 90 mile distance in about 190 miles and got down the vehicle to be greeted by a
OCT31 – MARCH 31
OPENING TIMES 10 AM to 3 PM
Perfect ending to a fitting journey, but then there is always a camera and we had a photo shoot with out car and got back behind the steering wheel, and back on way to room. We stopped for a dinner in a mallu restaurant at Colchester. The day had not been kind on us; it did not matter to us that the city did not have any boards posted showing where we are where we were heading to, for we were already blind and groping in dark or light was not actually going to make a damn difference. All said by the time we reached home it was with a great sense of satisfaction and pleasure we had done it at last; we at least went out together and that was a dream since my landing in UK.
I am still looking for the speed tickets we would get by the today.
Monday, October 8, 2007
what am i saying here
When an eye to eye interaction is helpful to convey most of the things .A nicely composed, true from heart writing on paper would not be able to communicate what was actually meant. When rather wide audience are present ,the author needs to be capable of vending his feelings on the paper rather tactfully and with a fore-sight in to future and be sure to his knowledge of what he meant is conveyed, with out that may be the effort of writing is not worth it.
A man and his feelings are papyrus and what we write on the paper is vinegar, I always felt that there should be that thin shield between the two which would appreciate the combination by making the inner soul wrapped in much secure bonding
, while a volatile bonding means an unwanted combination of both leaving the soul bare to the, unforgiving world.
When a eye contact and a straight speech is enough then why to bare your soul on a medium which potentially holds the door to disaster more in a case where the author is a product of his own doubts? Million dollar question? I pondered over this question for a while and got a zillion answers, again none would stand against the force of spears that would break through the shields of Spartan shields. Well I have been a scrambler for three years now, I am trying to fine that thin line that would shield the papyrus of my audience, and I have to mention who are quite a handful and close at heart.
I have come across quite a few articles which passed me like a gentle breeze but nonetheless it was hurricane for some others. So now that puts me in an other interesting situation is it that I have to cater to those papyri those can take my vinegar (well with a resigned thought that vinegar is not good for papyrus).Well how will it be when a dear to heart community or person is offended by the venom you instigate through the nib or rather the keyboard.
Like many of the question which stem in mind this too has no definite answer, so is it like what that cricketer captain says...”When a move pulls off ,u look a genius and the same back-fires you look stupid”. Well all said I am still writing, perhaps I do not care about the papyri or I think this is the way I an reach a papyri that would like my shielded vinegar. Early days for me to answer the question, well the hope for me is at least there is light at the end of tunnel, that the scrambling does make a bit of rumble and the innocent looking white paper does become a painted wall, Sistine chapel’s or a public bathroom’s wall ,glory or doom, well that is for the papyri to decide.
But it will hurt when the papyrus is a death scroll or a treasure map, but then that is the way it is…..Long time due ,but the weight of failure weighs on the neck as a sword well what a dilemma for a novice what a dilemma….
A man and his feelings are papyrus and what we write on the paper is vinegar, I always felt that there should be that thin shield between the two which would appreciate the combination by making the inner soul wrapped in much secure bonding
, while a volatile bonding means an unwanted combination of both leaving the soul bare to the, unforgiving world.
When a eye contact and a straight speech is enough then why to bare your soul on a medium which potentially holds the door to disaster more in a case where the author is a product of his own doubts? Million dollar question? I pondered over this question for a while and got a zillion answers, again none would stand against the force of spears that would break through the shields of Spartan shields. Well I have been a scrambler for three years now, I am trying to fine that thin line that would shield the papyrus of my audience, and I have to mention who are quite a handful and close at heart.
I have come across quite a few articles which passed me like a gentle breeze but nonetheless it was hurricane for some others. So now that puts me in an other interesting situation is it that I have to cater to those papyri those can take my vinegar (well with a resigned thought that vinegar is not good for papyrus).Well how will it be when a dear to heart community or person is offended by the venom you instigate through the nib or rather the keyboard.
Like many of the question which stem in mind this too has no definite answer, so is it like what that cricketer captain says...”When a move pulls off ,u look a genius and the same back-fires you look stupid”. Well all said I am still writing, perhaps I do not care about the papyri or I think this is the way I an reach a papyri that would like my shielded vinegar. Early days for me to answer the question, well the hope for me is at least there is light at the end of tunnel, that the scrambling does make a bit of rumble and the innocent looking white paper does become a painted wall, Sistine chapel’s or a public bathroom’s wall ,glory or doom, well that is for the papyri to decide.
But it will hurt when the papyrus is a death scroll or a treasure map, but then that is the way it is…..Long time due ,but the weight of failure weighs on the neck as a sword well what a dilemma for a novice what a dilemma….
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