From the pensieve 4

Last week, a good friend quite humorously told me about her tryst with writing (http://idyllsbythecreek.blogspot.de/2013/12/of-short-stories-and-social-studies.html). She brought back the memories of the first poem I ever wrote.

I'm not sure if anybody would call it a poem. It was in Malayalam (luckily!) and was constructed with commonplace words. But it was perfectly rhythmic. It was about a friend I never had! The lines would go something like,

Weren't you the swan I always longed to see
Weren't you the answer I always longed to seek
Why did you go away from me
Please come back to me.

If you try to find the deeper meaning between these lines, I have to warn you that you wouldn't find any. None was intended.

I was eleven and a half and had recently moved to Trivandrum. Perhaps I was missing all my friends in Calicut. I hid that piece of paper in my cupboard beneath the stack of folded clothes. I really did not want my brothers to find it.

How do I put this, well, I never had a good rapport with my brothers. The eldest was freakishly bright and studious and the second one was quite a bully. When I first came to Trivandrum I had a doll with me. Her name was Tintu and she was a cherished friend right from the days of vaccination blues. One of my brothers thought it was funny to cut off her nose! Sometimes they would make me sit in a chair and tilt it and make the back of the chair rest on a table in a way I wouldn't be able to move. I would stay almost suspended in air and scream! They would let me off minutes before mother came back from office. She never really heard anything I was trying to tell her back then. She would just say that she had had a long day at work! If I continue anymore on this, I would probably lose the peace I worked so hard to achieve. In short this could explain why I didn't think it was necessary to have a second child.

My tryst with poetry soon gave way to a deeper romance with short stories. Everybody had perfect siblings in my stories. loving brothers and sisters!  But soon I got tired of such imaginary brothers and sisters and started writing something more realistic in nature as far as I was concerned. Spooky stories!! Horror and Terror!! I guess that was the time I read Bram Stoker's Dracula. I wrote about mysterious disappearances and apparitions, I was thrilled by the knowledge that I could create a whole different world with a little bit of imagination.

My readers were mostly the girls from my class, well, I had an adorable northern accent, everybody in the class wanted to my friend! One of them forced me to take part in writing competitions. I did win some school level prizes. Somehow it never went further than that.

After class 10, since my readers club had diminished to 2 or 3 of my cousins and as I had many tuition classes to attend, I gave up short stories and started writing poetry again. (Of course, my parents didn't know, I was supposed to be preparing for the entrance exam!). I wrote love poems mainly, sometimes inspired
by what I read, they were all sad , and sometimes even a little romantic too. I often wonder why I wrote them. I remember a few lines even now.

But when I actually fell in love, I stopped writing. I stopped it completely for many years, then one day I felt that I couldn't live with out writing, even if my poems were still juvenile in quality.  Why do we do the things we do? Does anybody know?

 God, let me find a way,
through laughter and tears.
 

Since its a time for new philosophies...

 

 

 

Do pal ke jeevan se,

 

ek umr churani hain.

 

zindagi aur kuch bhi nahi

 

teri meri kahani hain.

 

 

 



 

I guess I'm addicted to this song!

Too much of a good thing

My little science enthusiast has started questioning the existence of Santa clause! I really don't know what to tell him, if I confirm that his suspicion had been right, he would go and announce that in his class. I don't want to be the cause of destruction  of the entire class' belief system!

He has been questioning all stories from the puranas lately. A few months ago, his grandfather was telling him the story of Ramayana. On hearing that Ravana had 10 heads , he laughed and said.
"Achacha, arenkilum angane undavo..?" Will there be anybody like that?

Last month when his first tooth fell, he refused to take the money from the tooth fairy.
"I don't want any tooth fairy to take away my tooth, you give me money, I'll take it."
As simple as that! But we are living in a country where the tooth fairy keeps track of little children's lose teeth with unfailing punctuality!

The other day he was explaining the structure of an egg carton to his grandfather over skype. And his grandfather in an attempt to tease him, asked if the hen would go and deliver her eggs in a carton to the super market. Navneeth explained that the hen's brain is too small and hence the hen cannot do such complicated tasks!

Ever since his father had been too kind to explain him the digestive system,  he says that the acids of his stomach are not working properly, whenever he doesn't want to eat!

Sometimes after hurrying through his morning prayers, he would look at me and ask me the one question I really don't want him to ask.
"Amme, Swami sarikkum undo..?" Is God real?






 

Someone recently told me, that they found God in this song!
What I find in this song- if only there was a way to express it in words!!

 

 

 

Dil ke mere paas ho itne, phir bhi ho kitne door

 

Tum mujch se, mein dil se paresan, donom hain majboor

 

Eise mein kisko koun manaye...?

haa.. Divinity....

From the pensieve 3

This one is not about a particular memory; rather its about a group of memories or perhaps all the memories connecting with a person.

My maternal grandfather did not live long enough to see me and I have very faint recollection of my paternal grandfather. My valyachan was all I had to relate to the word. When I look back, with my judgemental adult eyes, I might have to say that he was an over-idealistic man who lived for the 'noble causes' of the society that he ignored the wellbeing of his family completely. I hate to say it, but he was a failure as a family man- People like him should never get married.

But the less analytic eyes of my childhood, did not absorb any of these facts. All my earliest memories are linked with him, I remember walking through a gravel pit holding his hand, I remember hiding under his office table, doodling on some office paper as he talked to his clients, I remember getting up early just to join him in his morning walks and I remember ceaseless tipping of the typewriter.

Sometimes when he had a meeting, he would take me with him. I would sit somewhere in the crowd and listen to the speech, once I even stood up and shouted out 'Lets go home, I'm bored'.
I remember meeting some great people with him, Nityachaitanya Yati ( Valyacha, do I really have to touch his feet?), Kunjunni Mashu (  tayi tayi mitayi, hihihi..) etc. Every time he was given a bouquet I took it from his hand as if it rightfully belonged to me. World really looks different in the eyes of a child.

During my Aksharasloka days he helped me with the preparation. In that house we never played anthakshari, we played Aksharasloka. Valyamma and Valyachan had read most of Ashan, Ulloor and Vallathol. But I had by-hearted almost half of Kannuneerthulli, the famous dirge by Nalappat Narayanamenon. I still stood a fair chance against them.

When I was a little older, he insisted that I read some religious text with him every evening for half an hour. We would read Bhagavat Geeta, the Upanishads, the Holly Bible, the Quaran , Athmopadeshashathakam etc.

Both of them thought  I was brighter than what I actually was, mainly due to the hours I spent in the upstairs corridor, around the book shelves and stacks of old magazines. The fact was, I was just fascinated by the books, I actually thought life was one big Russian fairy tale, with castles and dragons and talking dolls and babayaga, the wicked witch on a broomstick.
Did I understand a word out of Katopanishad? No, I did not.

I would remain eternally grateful to them for loving me the way they did. Of course my parents took care of a lot of their financial responsibilities and they were obliged to bring me up. But love me, no obligation could include that. They are the reason why I always doubt whether the blood is really thicker as people say.

In 2007 December, a few days before he had his fatal stroke, his children celebrated his 80th birthday in style. His law books had been taken into the university curricula by then. I tried to reach one of my cousins to wish him that day. But I could not, or may be I did not try enough.

Unanswered letters, Unmade phone calls, Long overdue apologies , Never getting a chance to tell some one how you feel about them - Life indeed is a strange malady!
Someday, when the weight of the world do not burden our shoulders so much, we would think of these things!!

 This sloka just came to my mind,

അനന്തമജ്ഞാതമർണനീയം
ഈ ലോകഗോളം തിരിയുന്ന മാർഗ്ഗം
അതിങ്കലെങ്ങാണ്ടൊരിടത്തിരുന്നു
നോക്കുന്ന മർത്യൻ കഥയെന്തു കണ്ടു?