Past

With memories laden in oblivion light,
Carries he moments in casket bright.
Painted in travails time triggered,
Pinches it in pains sugared,
Often does the scar remove,
A thought long lost in lavish love.

His little sunshine

A wanderer spirit unanchored,
Let loose in the vagaries tempestuous,
Saw he a little sunshine virgin,
Leaving the bosom of a caring refuge.

Fell she straight on a life anew,
Cozy green in satin wore afew,
Shy but firm stood she afresh,
Budding life promised the sprout near,
Buzzing race assured a bee so mere.

Fading the shades of day aside,
Left alone she wept beside,
Whimper heard a wanderer spirit,
Met his gaze in the tear reflect,
Imprisoned in her soul serene,
Drank he love in wineglass clear.

Fettered dwelled his soul in trance,
Yearning to show his heart for once,
Little sunshine caught unawares,
Left alone in a dusk that fell.
Still he lives in her alone,
Waiting for a morn to chariot in,
& drop her home in a heart he owns.

Independence

One more independence day. Celebrations. A handful savoring the true essence of freedom. The martyrs forgotten.

Forgetting anger, apathy, agony, anguish, and every negative emotion in the world, I flavoured myself with the excitement of a new world, a new life, a new spirit, A rejuvenating August 15^th. Freedom. Back to those school days. In line. Attention. "School saavdhan, Vishraam". Some voices reverberated deep in the eardrums. The NCC guys. The national anthem sung with fervour. Patriotic songs from all over the country. Irrespective of language, culture, caste, creed. Gujarati, Marathi, Malayali, Bengali, Tamilian, Punjabi, Telugu, Kannada, Kashmiri all as one, we used to sing. 'Yeh wakht ki awaaz hein, milke chalo. yeh jindagi ka raaz hein, miklke chalo..."

Today once again, history repeated. Thank u SIMC. 09 years. It had been long since I left my Kendriya Vidayalaya. My mentors. My teachers. I forget not. They moulded the untouched clay in me. Adding the requisite water, smoothened with adept hands, caressed some soft strokes, perfected heat to set and left me to conquer the world. I did. An Engineer I became. A job I earned in the Central Govt. Life went on, unsullied. It was time for a change. A PASSION enthused. My life questioned the spirit. Life suddenly a burden. Life's little surprises whispered. "It's time to quit." Freedom from the old schools of thought. My intuitions compelled me. I accepted. A new lease of life today. A new campus. The pristine atmosphere. A certain peace in every single twig. Every drop treasuring a smile. Am here at Symbiosis.

Morning. Cycles introduced in the campus. Evening. The thrill of a long lost habit came inviting. A ride uphill. A free ride downhill. A breath of fresh air. Virgin emotions tickled. A variety of freedoms on display.

The freedom of being single. The freedom of being a man. The freedom of being my parent’s son. The freedom of being born lucky. The freedom of loving life. The freedom of expression. The freedom to survive or exhaust.The choice is mine and will always be.

I fly high. A life not too long to survive. The Mayfly, she who reminds, Life is small. Past a burden. Present a Gift. Tomorrow a mirage. I Enjoy. I enjoy the freedom of today. Tomorrow mayn't be mine to enjoy.

Prayers...

We like to send our condolences to the family of Dhananjoy sir (Photography Dept.), who lost his wife a few days back. We at this time would like to let the family know that they are in our deepest thoughts and prayers.

From the SIMC family.

To all of us,

Let’s all pray silently for a minute. May the departed soul rest in peace.

SIMC salutes you...

She is Sweta Mantri, another of my SIMC’ian friends. But she is special. Guessing what makes her earn this special niche on my blog?? Let me confess that she is one of those very few who earns so much of respect from the depths of my heart.

A source of inspiration to all the fellow travelers, a tough character in the script that destiny engraves. An icon of strength, courage and determination. An example of resolve to battle any of the strongest odds pitted in life.

In front of her stands fate guilty and ashamed, losing the battle of tenacity, not just once but an umpteen no of times. Her ever smiling visage that makes the face of a sullen destiny hide humiliated.

And as does her Orkut profile say:

“I would take a deep breath n enjoy new challenges. I believe in beating d worst by d best!!”

Way to go dear, conquer the zeniths, attain the pinnacles of glory, we all love you a lot.

Before kicking that bucket away....

As always coincidences rule the roost… yet again this time with the bucket list… though I can’t remember where, am sure I read thru someone’s blog about ‘THE BUCKET LIST’ as a must see movie, the same day I received the tag from sandeepettan...Now let me share my bucket list ;-)

* To travel the world had been on top priority from long, but for that I require money.

*So let me first start with my career. The first of the things in my list had been an MBA in media/communication management specializing in advertising from a reputed institute. And that dream is coming true with Symbiosis, Pune.

* Next on the chart is to get placed in an AD agency of repute long before completion of the course, which hopefully will happen with all your prayers.

* Then comes the real game of life, of starting an AD agency of my own, maybe after working fro 2-3 years and I get bored with work, or maybe sooner, even before I join the company. ;-). No ideas about that for the moment.

** So keeping all this apart, there is a small dream I treasure - To start a small evening school in my village, where though I never intend to teach physics and chemistry, would focus on a unique initiative of giving refined education in English to a few young students who are inclined and interested to learn the subject.

*** To pen just ONE book is one daydream that would hopefully cease being a dream for long.

* Supposing that I receive money from all available quarters , i will go globetrotting with my SLR. First to those places I missed to inspire myself with, within INDIA. Meet the people, discuss, exchange ideas, enjoy the cuisines, involve in their culture. Then to some great cities from yore, kicking off with Paris, later to a culturally rich and huge city called Istanbul/ Constantinople. Later see the pyramids of Egypt…Roman masterpieces and a 100 places more... :-)

Then arrives the following little things to be done intermittently...;-)

* I wish to tour a concentration camp for once.
* I wish to catch a fish and release it too.
* I wish to eat fresh grapes, pick fresh coffee beanz, pluck tender tea leaves from Darjeeling, pick apples from Kashmir and more…
* I wish to go scuba diving, take some corals from the sea in Lakshadweep.
* And a long remaining fantasy, - Go to a nudist colony and be naked.

Lots more to be added in this list, & so this may get updated month by month irrespective of the constrains I face as I surge forward.
This I believe will be the leading lamp to guide me through my ambitions, hopes, aspirations desires and dreams.

Thanks to sandeepettan who lent me this novel idea to keep track of my own life’s little purposes. Am I too late to have done this is the only question that perturbs me. But nothing is late in life is a policy I uphold. And since there is no place for regrets in life, I wish forever to travel in the journey of life with fun and awe, laughter and giggle, smiles and tears, all encapsulated in one.

AND I TAG - **** Cherian ( if he hasn't done this yet), ** *Sarin, ** Maria & * Devidas

Enveloped...

I received my last red uniform a long time back. If my memories aren’t dampened with the moisture in my belly, it had been a long 6 years since. Centenary celebrations sparked a row thus giving us the new luster. How boring was the leisure granted while my coat was to dry! And the next day I was the cynosure of all eyes. All appreciated my dress to a great applause. Memories too take time to dry isn’t? I was fed with a lot of intellectual nourishment; in simple words some were real food for thought. Today I am lean, permanently idle and old and it’s all silt and rust I carry. Alone in this big city, none to notice, none to care, I wither in the sun, shiver in the cold and wrinkle in the rain. I am paralyzed, unable to move, in a condition to move any compassionate heart. Some dry leaves give me company today. Time snails.
Age as well caught up with me, but without any assurance. I suffered. On the brink of geezerhood, not a single soul bothered. Umpteen I gave news of a job, many to whom I whispered a baby born, some I gifted those fragrant love letters. None ever enquired my sorry state. Lives made. Celebrations done. People forget. It’s not a mistake. It’s human.
Heard that young people have taken over, one who moves faster, is more reliable and cheaper. But wasn’t my service reliable and cheap, or has things turned turtle? Free sells anywhere and has it become so? Maybe so… how will a forgotten chap like me know? Overheard an individual mentioning email or was it female; auditory sense prevails but cloudy with dirt in my ears. Still it’s beyond my scope of understanding; at times I sit wondering whether it’s a fairy tale I heard. How can a letter go electronically via a computer, and reach anywhere in the world within seconds? And the stranger wasn’t mentioning postbox, mailman, post office, mail van, stamps, envelopes nothing at all…My head crumples like paper. Loud echoes reverberate even in sleep. It hurts. Occasional silence spells doom. And who is this courier? I hate to accept a lesser rival rising above me, but alas telephone too, in its smaller versions has looted a lot from my niche.
My head aches imagining so wild. Those rosy days. Those quiet moments. Musings mirror the lost tenderness. Memories envelope me. The first sky-blue inland I gobbled. Folded carefully in all the ---FOLD HERE--- marks and sealed, it took time for the petite him to adjust to my belly darkness. Only a small stream of light seeped in and it felt like a stolen twinkle from a firefly. The stamp was so shy. Opening her eyes and staring at my darkness was initially impossible. Later we were strangers in unison. Her giggle was so fresh like the anklets of a little kid. None knew where and what next, except that the inland was from a loving mother to one Mr. Adwaith in Bombay. But heard that Bombay changed to Mumbai, Madras to Chennai and Calcutta to Kolkata. Unsure because it’s long since I read such an address. At sharp 3:00 pm that day, Keluettan, our khaki clad postman opened me and stole my 3 hours of friends in a gunny bag. Keluettan retired long ago and a young Suresh took over. He still comes, clothed in a new blue uniform, steps to revive a dying department with a fresh look, I learned.
Though I have no qualms, I ponder over some. Never did I get a chance to love, I did like some cute stamps, but they left at the next clearance. The longest I had lived and joyously enjoyed was on continuous Govt. holidays. An idealist Gandhi stamp lay idle chatting. The orange envelope though wasn’t too friendly, was kind of matured. Postcards were more friendly, as they were open hearted, didn’t have to hide anything. I got a lot of information reading those little postcards, costing just over 15 paise then. Competition postcards though were costly, thankfully improved my general knowledge. Lovely days of yore have elapsed. Rustic innocence lost, faster lifestyles rule. Hurry is the watchword seen through the windows in front.
As years passed on letters at the same address went to Mrs. Thushara Adwaith, Greeting cards to Malu and Chinnu. And it all stopped abruptly. Once I eavesdropped on a dialogue between Keluettan and a colleague. The loving mother cum grandma shifted base to Bombay after her husband’s death. Who knows if she is alive or not? Once Adwaith too had posted a letter, I forgot to where.
As time progressed, my belly grew tighter; at times the no of letters reached the level of my red cap too. It was too difficult to get pregnant often. I don’t complain, as it was fun and joy with so many companions; infinite good news had a stamp of my service in it. The feeling was bliss and even at this age goosebumps rise in me. What is lost is more treasured. The worth of something or someone that never comes back, but still haunts our sleep is understood too late. Isn’t?
In front of me sits a banana seller, a vegetable vendor gives company, my vision is through my black lips, rather than my eyes. Is my name cut off the rolls by the India post too? I am saddened at the ignominy of being forgotten, but which door to knock and how? Questions knock me down in disappointment. Negativity creeps in. My concrete base seems as solid as it had been, nowadays a resting place for the hawker.
My dress gave away a couple of years back, initial shyness to show my skin turned to shamelessness when the whole dress ripped away at the ruthlessness of nature. Now I stand stark naked, a little insane, a lot tired, inviting death to accept my final letter. Not a stain of red remains, except for the few unfriendly drops that had crept in while getting painted. Letters are forgotten and so is letter writing.
A teenager is running towards the hawker. And she has a paper in hand. Surprise! She kissed it and dropped it in my pockets. The inland looks blank at me. No banter exchanged. No jokes shared. Quiet clarity of the hawker’s husky tone lingers. Hopefully Suresh will come. Pray this reaches on time and saves my face from further disgrace. Is it my revival? Questions still bother me. Time alone will reply.
Is something scribbled behind? My eyes are deceiving me. Faintly I decipher the words. A few little hearts in red and…

Truly yours,
malu@gmail.com,
Bengalooru.

What name is that? Bengalooru…Has my city changed too? More of those questions knock me off the cemented platforms. Am I falling? No remorse, no regrets. I have performed my duties to the best of my abilities.

The story afterwards: The inland reached on time, Malu didn’t have to send another inland. It was all E-mail and SMS from the Gen-next.