Saturday, November 9, 2013

The Dove and the Fish

Fluttering his wings, a white dove flew down and sat on the branch of a Banyan tree. It was travelling from afar. Tired of  a long journey, he walked on the branch of the tree which extended to the lake, to drink water. When the white dove stretched out his beak to the lake, he saw something shining with a golden hue, in the water. He drew out his neck as far as he could and as it beak touched the water, the golden hue flapped its tail and spurted water on its face. As the water fell on his face, he shut his eyes. When he opened it, he saw a beautiful golden fish with a coy smile.  Their eyes met and he fell for her. The next day too, fluttering its wings, the white dove came and landed on the same branch of the banyan tree and waited for her. And there she came swimming with her beautiful smile. Her heart sang and danced for him. Their tryst continued till they realised that they could not live without each other. 


The fish cannot leave water and live with the dove and the dove cannot come and live with the fish in the water. But they wanted to be together. Can you suggest a way out ?

You Can

If you can delve deeper and fathom the intensity of  ' Love'.

Some romantic quotes

“I'm not frightened. I'm not frightened of anything. The more I suffer, the more I love. Danger will only increase my love. It will sharpen it, forgive its vice. I will be the only angel you need. You will leave life even more beautiful than you entered it. Heaven will take you back and look at you and say: Only one thing can make a soul complete and that thing is love.” 
Bernhard Schlink, The Reader 

“I have little left in myself -- I must have you. The world may laugh -- may call me absurd, selfish -- but it does not signify. My very soul demands you: it will be satisfied, or it will take deadly vengeance on its frame.”

Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

“Be with me always - take any form - drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I can not live without my life! I can not live without my soul!” 

Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights

“My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods: time will change it, I'm well aware, as winter changes the trees. My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary. Nelly, I am Healthcliff! He's always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being.” 

Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights

“I had not intended to love him; the reader knows I had wrought hard to extirpate from my soul the germs of love there detected; and now, at the first renewed view of him, they spontaneously revived, great and strong! He made me love him without looking at me.” 

Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Have your ever felt the presence God so close ?

Have your ever felt the presence God so close ?

I have...

To be precise on October 20, 2.45 pm in the isolation ward of Ernakulam General hospital. I was there to write a story on the plight of patients who were dumped there by their family. Most of them were older people and suffering from cancer, HIV, mental illness. When I entered the ward, there was a man lying on a mat in the middle of the room. His cheerful face pulled me towards him. I knelt beside him to know more . 

He is Anwar Hasan from Karnataka. He could neither sit nor stand. There was a red kit placed near him which was full of devotional books. Everyday, he reads them religiously. And he was lying there for the past two years. My eyes welled with tears. But his pleasant face surprised me. There was no ranting and raving and no regrets. He was a lottery ticket seller. When he was paralyzed, his family abandoned him. But he never complained about them and said “ My father was also bed ridden and my mother had to spent her whole life looking after him. My father is dead and she is too old to look after me the way she was with my father. How could she be of any help to me? My brother is married and I do not want to be a stumbling block in his life.” 

He continued and surprisingly with no moist eyes “ You know why I have to endure this for I never prayed before. Now I do. And God comes to me everyday. Yesterday too ' Easappan',  (Malayalam word for Jesus) came and talked to me. Allah loves me. Krishna loves me. What do I want more from this life? I am his child now. Earlier, I was not.s

He was not stoic or trying to cope with the tragedy that struck his life. He was speaking from the heart and I could feel it. When he said Jesus talked to me, I could feel Jesus kneeling beside him and talking to him. I felt may be I was sitting where Jesus came and sat yesterday. I know,s I sound incredible. But that was what I felt. I am not religious but spiritual and I felt it, truly and honestly.

Friday, October 4, 2013

Deserted and weeded buildings

Deserted and weeded, there lies an abandoned building’. When I was a cub reporter, I have done several stories, which had similar introductions. I was quite adept in identifying such buildings in the nook and cranny of the city and in the suburban. However, that ended when my boss dismissed those stories saying “No more stories on dilapidated buildings. You can do much better.”

Two months ago, I came across an abandoned house (not a building this time). It is a small house but built with a keen architectural eye with many trees and flowering plants around. Going by its looks, it might have housed by a decent family once. Now it lay abandoned. A small sculpture of Lord Krishna playing flute could be seen at the top of the entrance through the window grill. It evoked in me mixed emotions but was unable to discern it. I felt a kind of magnetic pull towards it and started  taking the route of this house though it was not my usual one. 

Was my love for abandoned buildings coincidental which eventually became stories for the journalist in me. The tempt was too strong that it forced me to peep into myself.

Looking back, I realised this new-found emotion was not new but old. At the outset, I thought, may be it was the yearning for having secrets which allured me towards the mysteries of such desolate places.  I never had any secrets throbbing to pull out of my bosom. I badly wanted to keep one. May be, it is this secretive nature of such deserted houses that enticed me towards it. When I was growing up, my imaginations were too tall ( and still it is) that it could accommodate any back drop, people or anything of my fantacies. I would imagine myself doing all the possible things from unravelling a mystery to having a clandestine love affair. I have written many mystery novellas sitting in these desolate houses. I have travelled to several unknown lands with my knight in armour.

But wanting secrets was purely a superficial reason. When I scratched the surface more I comprehended that it was my earnest attempt to wade into my loneliness and build a more secure space. To create a strong space which no one can intrude. This secure space would make me resilient and fight all the odds by providing answers.

I am 31 and I do not have any best friends in whom I could confide and rely. May be this vacuum might have led me to build a space for my own. If I am confused, I would hide in this world of imagination. I used to grope in the darkness of my secure space but not for long. I could always see a  lightened candle at the end. I always got my answers from my secure space. It has helped me to cut my own path, to be myself and proceed ahead. Thanks to those desolate houses and buildings which is making my dreams come true.

Sushmita Sen Miss Universe ( 1994 ) Sushmita Sen's Heart-wrenching Speech

Friday, September 13, 2013

Am I conventional ?

Loneliness and Depression once again hit me. It is as simple as Elizabeth Gilbert put it in her book ' Eat, Love and Pray' “ He [Depression] just gives me that dark smile, settles into my favorite chair, puts his feet on my table and lights a cigar, filling the place with his awful smoke. Loneliness watches and sighs, then climbs into my bed and pulls the covers over himself, fully dressed, shoes and all. He's going to make me sleep with him again tonight, I just know it.”

But I decided to knock them down with my new found hobby – eating, especially salads. I went to a posh restaurant and ordered a veg wrap, salad and love bytes ( not because of its romantic name but because of its components. It's chocolate, supposed to be good for reducing tension. When I reached there, there were hardly any customers. I selected a corner from where I could savour my salad and enjoy the lake view. I decided not to think about the huge price tags on my eateries. I tried not to think about dad's rebuke. “You are wasting your money unnecessarily. You could have bought sufficient quantity of rice for a family .” But dad,  that rice would not suppress my depression and loneliness! I have even tried that. but only gained weight.

After a few minutes, two couples came and sat beside me. Maybe they too wanted to enjoy the Cochin lake view. Loneliness and depression were already there with their whip. I did not want to invite the third one – wanting for a soul mate. Hence I shifted my place thinking that I would enjoy the lake view next time. Then came two young students that made me forget my two companions for a while. The girl would not be more than 14 and boy might be 15.
After asking for the student's discount, they came and sat in a corner in such a way that I could not avoid looking at them. To my shock, as soon as they sat, they  started groping each other.

 Am I shell shocked ?
I should n't be.
But I am
And it worried me.

I am not a conservative, I could understand the urge of a human body. If I see some matured persons doing the same, I would have asked them  “ Guys, get a room” .

But I was just angry with this little girl and boy.

I could have easily passed off this incident as a mere sight thinking that time has changed. I was not able to. I am not conventional either.   It surprised me. My heart ached for the girl. I felt lucky that I have a younger brother and not a sister. It could have snatched my sleep until she marries. I felt lucky not to have entangled in such romantic encounters at a young age. I thanked my 'ego' which never let me stoop for a boy. I thanked my teachers who inculcated in me that girls are the best.

Am I yet to break that thread that connected with this so called ' conservatism', Is it wrong for a young girl and boy to indulge publicly in groping. What's wrong with me?

The only solace was that I was the only person in the restaurant who relished the food. My concentration was fully on it. Whereas for others, their minds were seeing ' dirty pictures'.

Sunday, September 1, 2013

Little pleasures can make you a happy person

One of my friends shared me a link of blogadda asking to nominate my blog for the blogadda award.  With a hectic schedule around, I would not have given it a second thought.  Surprisingly, I had suffice time that day and I went for it.

Guess what? my blog got selected not for the award but for the competition. The blogadda has also opened two contests. One in travel writing and the other in the category of 'do it right' stories ( writing incidents or stories which have a message to convey). I applied for the second as I have plenty of such stories. Surprisingly, after two days, I got an email saying that my story was selected to get it featured on the home page of .

 Though I did not make it to the finals, at least I was selected. My friend asked for a celebration. He says getting selected in anything needs a celebration what ever tiny the achievement is. He is right. When I started this blog, I never thought I would stick to it even after 3 years of its commencement. I did not get much encouragement at the outset. Many discouraged me saying that I was just cut out to do the job of a copy writer and not a writer. I was a copy writer when I started this blog and after three years I am a reporter. Hence I decided I would celebrate wherever I was if I could garner 50 followers. Three years back, it seemed a distant reality. And celebrated when my followers button started showing 50.

Sadly, I forgot even to be happy when I passed the first phase of a competition launched by a prominent platform in my country. You may perceive it as trivial. But it is not.

 The happiness of success eludes you if you do not know to revel in it. What is the point if you can't derive happiness from your success? I sadly realised that I have shoved off my little pleasures which made me happy when I was striving to make a decent living to the back burner.  Sometimes you  get immersed totally in something or somebody thinking that it is epitome of your happiness. This misconception completely drifts you away from the real love or passion of your life.

Books always made me happy. But I am scared now that even they cannot bring me happiness. I feel that I am missing out a lot of beautiful things in the world. Now I am making frantic efforts to find out what makes me happier. But so far with little success.

So friends never let anyone or anything to take away your little pleasures. Because that little pleasures make your life. And allowing anybody or anyone to snatch it away means you are permitting them to destroy your life. Don't allow it.

Sunday, August 25, 2013

They were good friends

Jesus and Krishna were child hood friends....... Perhaps, I formed this opinion from those many stories which I have got to hear from my father. Once he narrated me this beautiful story.

So you know Shalet…….. “ Two little children - Jesus and Krishna were good friends 
…..And one day, they decided to make a short trip into a forest nearby. The views were mesmarising – Trees, birds, flowers, rivulets….and what not.

Hours just flew by. But when they reached deep inside the forest, both of them started feeling cold.  Krishna who had come prepared, took out a blanket from his bag and covered himself and started moving ahead.

Jesus felt sad for Krishna, his best friend did not even ask whether he was feeling cold or needed a blanket. Jesus felt sad but kept quiet at his friend's inconsiderate behaviour. Because he loved Krishna very much.

Jesus walked with him without complaining and thought his friend was too immersed in the beauty of the forest that he might have completely forgotten about him.

After sometime, they both got hungry. Jesus looked around. There were no trees with fruits in sight.  He was famished.

What will we do now? Jesus turned around asking and there, his best friend Krishna was comfortably eating the food which he had brought.

 Tears welled up in his eyes. He never thought his friend would be inconsiderate. But he liked Krishna too much that he did not want to get angry with him. Instead, he sat beside him and reminded him a verse from Bible.

 “ Krishna, haven't you heard what Bible says - “Whoever has two tunics is to share with him who has none, and whoever has food is to do likewise.”  Without any emotion Krishna stared at him and reminded another verse from the Bible “You shall not covet anything that belongs to your neighbour,” he retorted.

Young Jesus started crying at the top of his voice and asked “ I am your friend and how could you forget me?.

Seeing this, young Krishna suddenly embraced Jesus and said “I just wanted to know whether you would always be with me through all odds and I knew that you would not leave me whatever happens. You know my blanket is too long to accommodate both of us. And I have enough food for both of us. You are my only friend and I will never leave you,” he said.

I was surprised when I saw this photograph in the internet. 

Friday, July 19, 2013

My favorite part of the world is the sea. My favorite man is you.

It is a lovely quote just like the whiff of a fresh air.

" I like lemons and arum lilies, the smell of the dawn and the mystery of the night. I like to dance. I wanted to be a dancer as a little girl. I`m frightened of being alone. I`m frightened of being no one. Of not mattering. The moon fascinates me; I could sit all night just staring up at it and wondeng. She makes me feel safe. I hate this war, but I love it for having brought you to me. I`m afraid of loving too much. Of being hurt. Of living my life in pain and suffering for loving someone I am unable to have. I`m frightened too of death, of nothingness. Of dying, and finding that there isn't a God. Of my soul wandering in a terrible limbo that is neither life nor death. My favorite color is purple. My favorite stone a diamond. I would like to wear a necklace of the finest diamonds just to sparkle for the night, to know what it feels to be a lady. My favorite part of the world is the sea. My favorite man is you."

Santa Montefiore, Last Voyage of the Valentina

Wednesday, July 10, 2013

Those happy days are back

It has been years since I woke up early to know where my story was heading. The curiosity hardly allowed me to sleep. To my joy, it happened when ever I read a good mystery. Forgetting time and space, I could travel with the characters. I have never been to places like Liverpool or Manhattan. But neither am I far away from them. I even felt the characters were aware of my presence. I could touch them and even speak to them. The feelings appealed to my heart.  Global barriers never existed for me.

But as the time flew, the interaction with them diminished. And then, it stopped all of a sudden. The distance grew. I became a stranger to them. I badly wanted to be with them but was not able to.

I still remember when my mom rebuked me for not helping her with the domestic chores. The picture was like this : I lay reading in the bed. She comes and start scolding. There comes a halo all around me including the bed. But her rebukes touches the halo and bounce back. It never reached me. I was engrossed in reading. Those were happy days. Unfortunately, it ended.

I thought either I  lost my innocence or become prejudiced that reduced all the fun while reading. But after so many years those happy days are back.

A few days ago, I got an unexpected break from my work. My mom fell ill and she had to undergo a surgery. In the hospital, I had to attend her all through the night for two days. She was put on iv drip. I had to alert the nurses when each bottle finished.

To keep me awake, I started reading a book. I was reading non – fiction then. Hence I decided to stick to a mystery to keep me cool. I started reading ' A little gentle sleuthing by Betty Rowlands. [ A murder  occurs in an English county. Incidentally, it happened to be the abode Melissa Craig, a renowned mystery writer chose to retreat in peace from the hustle and bustle of London and write a mystery. But the  murder occurs right under her nose. Melissa did not want herself to be included in real time sleuthing but end up doing the same]

Coming back to my story, my dad took my place after her operation. I was left all alone in my house. To my pleasant surprise, I was again into reading, forgetting once more the time and the space. When my mom returned, she  found the house in a mess. Rebukes ensued. But I was happily reading. Once again the halo encircled me. Even my mom could feel my happiness as her rebuke ended with a smile.

Maybe it was my hectic schedule that robbed me of my fun.

Why I Love ' Mountain Dew'

You know why I love ' Mountain Dew'. I love its tagline. It reads ' Dar Ke Aage Jeeth hai ' ( Hindi). In English, it says ' At the far end of fear, there is courage'. ....   :D

Thursday, June 20, 2013


Hymenoplasty - Honestly, I did not know about it. But a few days ago when a leading news paper in India reported on an incident, I started  delving into the logic behind hymenoplasty. The news was about a lover accompanying his girl friend for hymenoplasty, ie a surgery to reconstruct the broken hymen. The report says that the number resorting to this surgery is increasing considerably.

This is the story. They were lovers and as any lovers in love would do, they also had sex. But when the question of marriage arose, their parents were dead against it for they belonged to different castes. They did not want to go against their parents and decided to part. But before they split ways, they wanted to eliminate any trace of their relationship.  And the boyfriend took the girl friend to a hospital for the aforementioned surgery.

My first question is a big ' Why?'
Second, ' What do they want to prove by it?'

The lovers represents new generation. But the irony is that it is the same erudite youth who clamour for liberation and freedom.  The report also adds that there are mothers too who are taking their daughters for hymenoplasty.

Unlike other countries, for an Indian woman her ‘virginity’ is her priced possession. Growing up, I have heard many ridiculous things such as testing the virginity of a new bride. The family members would spread a white sheet on the bed where the new couple would make love for the first time. If there was blood on the sheet, the bride was a virgin. If not she would be in utter peril. But that was several years ago. I felt things have changed.

Rapes are increasing in the country. When it happens, it happens. The government and authorities are straining their nerves to wipe it away but in vain. It has become a contagious disease. Sadly, the rape victims could not even start their life afresh because of the undue importance attached to ‘hymen’. I remember at this point a quote by a famous woman writer . “When something of this sort happens, the hurt remains but traces of such an untoward incident could be wiped out just by washing it with ‘ DETTOL’ and start life afresh’.

When women are trying their level best to gain their rights, please do not belittle their efforts by hymenoplasty or whatever. THIS IS A HUMBLE REQUEST.

Sunday, June 16, 2013

Our first blogger's meet at Kochi ( Kochi is in Kerala)

Our first bloggers' meet. Me, Anisha, Nevin, Santhosh, Shijith, Tom and Joseph met each other when we went for wine tasting organised by Ginger claps. We were supposed to write a review on it in our blogs. But soon acquaintance grew through Face book. We decided to open a face book page. Tom did all the necessary work. Thus our page Cochin blog society was formed. Soon other bloggers in Kochi joined and we decided to conduct a get together.  That was our first unofficial bloggers' meet. Except Vineeth, only we were there. We went to a restaurant at Chaikofi at Palarivattom in Kochi. We just sat and talked and talked. Nothing official, just friends who could write anything under the sun talked on varied topics....I am uploading some of our photographs. It is too late to upload it as we had our second bloggers meet too.

But better late than never, right?

Tuesday, June 4, 2013

a question for you......On the horns of dilemma

What if people start adopting the policy -You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours

Friday, May 31, 2013

Where nothing is taboo - Braja Sorensen

Braja Sorensen is one of my fellow bloggers. And I am pretty sure that majority of my blogger buddies too stalk her religiously. I was so lucky to do her interview as her book ' Lost and found in India' is about to hit the markets. The interview was published in the Sunday Magazine of the news paper ' The New Indian Express'. I am uploading the interview here in my blog.

Those who would like to check out her blog

Braja for 'you'

In 1993, Braja Sorensen, a native of Australia, came to India. What prompted her to do so was her deep reading of the Bhagawad Gita. Braja was attracted by the philosophical, spiritual and cultural aspects of “exotic” India.

“I was living here for so many years and I wanted to say something about this country as seen by a person who lived here, and not be someone who visited and thought they understood something, and blurted out all sorts of pseudo-wisdom,” says Braja.

She has toured almost all of North India. She lived in Jaipur in the late 1990s and has also spent time in Delhi, Vrindavan, Agra, Mussoorie, Dehradun and Mumbai so far.
“But my favourite place is West Bengal. I have spent 12 years there,” she says.

And all these years she was unknowingly accumulating the ingredients needed to write a book on India. Thus was born her debut book, Lost and Found in India, published by Hay House India.

The book lays bare the daily lives of the people. As author and playwright Farrukh Dhondy says, “The book does not analyse India, it suffers and enjoys it. It is breezy, light and descriptive, with funny meditations by a voluntary citizen of India.”

It was her daily posts in her blog that eventually got compiled into the book. “I started blogging in 2008,” says Braja. “As I had been living in India for some years and also wanted to write a book, I thought a blog would give me an impetus to write daily. Besides, it was a daily push to write, knowing I had to post something. Obviously, it was going to be about India. I was tired of all the books written by westerners about India.”

Ask Braja about her favourite writers, she says, “I love William Dalrymple’s work. It is so understanding of all aspects of India. And he has inspired me a lot.” Braja feels that one has to love something ardently to write about it authentically.

“You have to love India, to be able to write about it properly. Many think they love it, so they come and live here, and then leave a couple of years later with their romantic ideals shattered by the reality that is India. And that is the thing about India: it is so real. Too real for most.”
In the book, Braja has also written about the recent rape cases which have traumatised the nation. “It happens everywhere in the world, though. The thing about India is that its heart is an open, realistic, and honest one: it does not hide anything. Death isn’t a taboo subject like it is in the West. In India, nothing is taboo. India shows its face no matter what, and I think the publicity and the public reaction to the recent rape incidents is just another facet of this honesty and openness, a fresh approach that the West just does not do. So, I don’t think it is necessarily worse here than anywhere else. It is just that India is not embarrassed to put it out there. The same is the case about the poverty and untidiness. Everything is public.”

Friday, May 17, 2013

MOM and Chappathi

Yesterday I was making Chappathi (made of flour) and it made me think of my childhood days when my mom used to make them. Frankly, I hardly took any interest in learning cooking from her. I always felt like ‘that was not me, I am much more masculine’. Years passed by. Now I am living alone. Since I do not enjoy hotel food, I have to cook for myself.  I started with tit-bits. Nevertheless, to say, it was quite successful. To my surprise, when I started cooking, I was following her, unknowingly. It is not that making a chappathi is a Herculean task. All you need is to be tactful to get the round shape. Otherwise, it could be sticky. Anybody could have surely faced such a problem to get that round shape without getting the flour sticky.

When I started cooking, like in a trance, I do everything my mom used to do. Sometimes I even think that I am not ‘me’ anymore but 'her'. It always hit strange to me for I always let my father influence me. I blindly emulated him and wanted to be like him. Still I do. ....In my mom's case, I always felt that I never resembled her in any way, not even in her looks. Now I feel that I resemble her, in every way and I am so happy. This is not only in the case with ‘chappathis’ but almost in every thing. I love that for she is a woman with integrity.

Friday, May 10, 2013

Quotes for ME and YOU

Never let loneliness drive back into the arms of someone you know you don't belong with - anonymous

" They say a good love is one that sits you down, gives you a drink of water, and pats you on top of the head. But I say a good love is one that casts you into the wind, sets you ablaze, makes you burn through the skies and ignite the night like a phoenix; the kind that cuts you loose like a wildfire and you can't stop running simply because you keep on burning everything that you touch! I say that's a good love; one that burns and flies, and you run with it!”
C. JoyBell C.

“If music be the food of love, play on,
Give me excess of it; that surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.”― William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night

“In politics, If you want anything said, ask a man. If you want anything done, ask a woman.”
― Margaret Thatcher

“All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.”
J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

Thursday, May 9, 2013

published in The Hindu ( Newspaper )

This is something I came across in the news paper on Friday.
Absolutely heart wrenching photograph.
Though saddened by the picture to the core, but complacent to beleive that they are together even in death.

As life ebbed away:We do not know who they are. This heart-wrenching scene of togetherness as their life snuffed out emerged when rescue workers in Dhaka were clearing the rubble of an eight-storey building that collapsed on April 24. Over 900 lives were lost when Rana Plaza, that housed five garment factories employing nearly 4,000 workers, came down. This picture shot by Bangladesh photographer Taslima Akhter perhaps captures an entire nation’s grief in a single image.

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

Life is at stake, here

( I am reposting the one of my favourite blog, hope you will make it.)

This is an attempt to say a story inspired from a real incident. I do not know whether I am good at saying a story. But this was the picture that came to my mind when I read about the atrocities that still exist in my country.
Time has changed, but the attitude with which the entire fabric of society was built is still the same. Religion, caste...the list is endless. Men cared not for their loved ones, but their religion.

 She lay in the splattered pool of blood... Her slow motioned eyes searching for him.

He was lying on the other end.  His eye balls still, not ready to budge a bit. She stretched her hand until the tip of her fingers met his. The days of apprehensions and helplessness were deep buried in the earth.

The memories gushed in and out...Her eyes could see it.

She was eight and he was ten when they first met on the narrow mound that meandered through the golden fields of their village. He was too tall that she had to lift her face full to see him. His face guaranteed everything. She was unsure, whether he felt the same.In no time, her doubts withered.  The drizzle of his smile was overwhelming as if it was kept hidden for centuries. The days and nights passed. Seasons took its various forms. But their smiles were still the same. It grew and grew with all its charm.

A new world of freedom was born amidst them – College.

 It has been years since they were bonded with smile. She was ecstatic to meet him and the waiting came to an end when he came to her and asked for her name.

“Gudiya” the reply was wrapped in a blush.

“Anurag” he told his name with the same usual smile.

Nothing more...silence spoke for them. It went on for months. But they could read each other's minds. After their initial reluctance, both took the rein of their freedom in their own hands. As days multiplied, the woes of the thought of separation too swelled. They seemed aware of their future.

The insecure future – that was what they would like to call it. Their union put forth before them a  big question mark.

 Honour was the term that was dangerously entwined with bizarre and ludicrous customs and conventions. Unfortunately, they too belonged to this society. Same religion, but different castes. They were scared of it. They could not live under the wrath of the society.

Would they be able to overcome it? Do they have the courage to take the bull by its horns?

 But love has its own answer... It knew no society and boundaries.

She was beautiful in her chilly red wedding saree. Nothing changed. Everything was still the same. Silence and smile echoed amidst them. He looked at her crown. It was flashing with red saffron.

“She is mine”, he thought with pride.

When the village came to know about their secret marriage , it unleashed a heavy torture. They could not die. Death would be an escapade. They loved each other, so they fled. And here they were sitting beneath the calm sky with no worries to embitter their dreams.

Days passed and their life flourished in bliss unaware of their society's conspiring mind.

It was a Saturday…

 Someone was knocking at her door. She could not believe her eyes. It was her mother. Tears welled in her eyes. She hugged her mother. But her mother stood still as a rock devoid of any feelings and passions. She had shoved her motherhood into the deepest trench of abhorrence.

Her grip on her mother loosened as she saw her uncle and brother. She could see her entire village in her portico. Panic struck her with heavy hands. They were there not to bury the hatchet, but to seek vengeance. They believed both of them had disgraced their castes.

 Somebody handed her brother a glistening sword. She looked around for an easy resort and found none. Hatred spewed from her mother's eyes. Anurag was not yet home.

She knelt before them beseeching for her life. The sword was up in the air. But it could not  strike its first blow. She looked up and saw Anurag clutching her brother's arm. He was fierce. He could not let leave his life easily which he had gathered to nourish. But they had already made up their mind. The first fatal blow wreaked its havoc. Anurag was writhing in the pool of blood.

The drizzle was easily replaced by a heavy down pour. Blood every where. The shattered dream hid itself in the dark corners, not wanting to get drenched in the whirlpool of blood.

She knew it was her time to go , to go the unknown territories. And she was happy for she was not alone. He was with her.

Her eye balls too become rigid looking at him....


P.S: This story is inspired from a real life incident that was reported especially in Haryana and Uttarpradesh.  “Honour Killing'- that's how this gruesome reality is termed. It happens in the 2nd longest democracy in the world - India. A couple was brutally murdered without any mercy. They were not supposed to disgrace their family.  The culprits were captured, but were not apologetic of what they have inflicted not only to their dear ones, but to the entire society. This was not a single incident. Two sisters were cruelly killed for they decided to live their life on their own terms. When one chose modelling as her career, the other chose to lead her life with the man she was in love. Death was the punishment bestowed on these two young women for their crime.

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

I love being a mother

One day, I was travelling in a bus. It was then, a mother, her little daughter and her grand mother boarded the bus. Though it was not crowded, there were no vacant seats and the trio was standing beside my seat. The little girl would be about four years old and she was finding it difficult to stand properly due to the reckless driving which the private buses of Kerala are famous for. 

When I realised it, I asked the little girl to come and stand in a space in front of my seat. She obeyed without any reluctance. But she was literally sandwiched between me and the front seat. Hence I asked. “ Do you want to sit in my lap?”. She just nodded her head.I do not know whether it was a ' yes' or a ' no'. But I took her and placed her on my lap. After two stations, her mother and grand mother got the seat and asked her to sit with them. But she was not ready to go and said she would sit with me. They asked her twice and she kept on rejecting them and said that she wanted to go with the new stranger 'aunty' she came across in the bus.

'What is your name ?, I asked. ' Ann Sebi', she replied. When my station was about to reach, I told her that I had to get down at the next stop. She kept on nodding but did not go to her mother. But somehow I managed to do it.

Why this narration? I felt very ' happy'.  A child cannot fake love or affinity and I have experienced it several times. I have felt a kind magnetic thread pulling me towards a child and vice versa. I surprisingly realised that I have always been myself when I was in any child's company. Not an ounce of pretension was added when I was with them. When I see a child's face there were several instances when I really wanted to grab and clasp them to my bosom and feel mother hood in its fullest sense. There were many times I felt that my one look was enough to lure any child.

Though this is the case, I am yet to decide on marriage. Since it is the license issued by the society to procreate, I am still tentative to embrace it. People say that I am in a quandary. But I am not. Though I believe in the institution, I do not want to embrace it for the sake of doing it. But I am sure and certain about one thing – I want to be a mother- biological or adopted. I do not mind either way. I just love being a mother. I cannot even think of leaving this world without being a mother. I could be anybody's mother. I kind of feel an emotional connect with every children.

I have come across many childless couples. I asked them why don't they adopt a child. “ We want a child who has our genes,” some said. Some did not want to do it as it could hurt their male ego. “ I still believe that I have the capacity to procreate,” one of my male friends who was passing through similar situation said. Shove off all the blunders to the back burner and give life to a needy child. That child can fill the vacuum in your life. Be magnanimous.They need you as you need them badly.

I don't have enough income to raise a child. If I had, I would have done it years ago.

-Shalet Jimmy

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

Sometimes you have to fight forgetting all those experiences

When you become a journalist, don't ever think that you can change the whole world by your writing. Since I started off very late in journalism and as life had given me bundles of experiences thankfully, I never nurtured such a misconception. Besides my life and career have never been a smooth sail for me. It still is not. I have to constantly fight with my parents if I have to take any serious decision concerning my life. I have to constantly fight with my boss to give any of my deserving story, a proper display.

 As I have hardly any social life and only job, whatever happens in my work place affects me severely. This has constantly landed me in depression and trouble. I got tired of fighting and I started accepting everything as a stoic though at times, I explode. So one fine morning, all of a sudden, my motto became ' file and forget' ( file the story and forget about it). 

About two weeks back, I could not adhere to my motto. If I did, it could have blocked a new hope which came in the lives of 126 girls. In Kochi ( Kochi is a district in Kerala), where I stay, there is a Government Girls Home which houses girls from the age group of 4 to 17 years old. Most of the girls lodged here were subjected to sexual abuse and it is for their rehabilitation they are housed in the home.

Kerala, the most literate state in India is notorious for the increasing rape cases. As I said earlier, it is here the victims of sex scandals are housed from the age group 4 to 17. I wrote a story about their plight. They do not have enough basic facilities including toilets and water supply. What really saddened me was the fact that due to the lack of funds they were not given sanitary napkins but clothes during menstruation. They do not have adequate water supply to clean those blood stained clothes resulting  in severe urinary infection. That was horrible.

What irked me was that my story did not appear even after two days and the issue needed immediate attention.I fought for it and the story did appear the next day. To my surprise, help started pouring in to the inmates from nook and cranny. I am happy for my stand did not go in vain. It gives immense pleasure to know that a little effort of yours could bring smile to a bunch of underprivileged girls. It happened  just two days before Women's day....:D

Sometimes your life cannot give you happiness. But you can be happy looking at the happiness of others' lives.

                                                                                            -    Shalet Jimmy

Monday, March 11, 2013

I got 52 bloggers

It has been 3 years since I started this blog and now I have 52 followers.Comparing to the followers of other blogs, I know mine is a minimal number.

But I am happy. I never ever thought I would have a blog even with 10 followers.Hence I regard it as an achievement.Besides this blog has helped me in several ways. I started this blog when I was in a relationship. But that never helped me and I continued being a loner.Result,a huge vacuum in life. But this blog bridged that gap to a great extend.

There was none who encouraged me when I started this blog. I was even told that I was just good in writing captions and not long articles. (I was a copy writer when I started this blog and now I am a journalist).But once it got started, many of the bloggers who have started following me encouraged and instilled confidence in me through their comments to write. At this juncture, I remember with gratitude, who took the pains to read an amateur blog and throw comments. When I ran out of ideas to write, I remember Piedmont Writer giving me a thread to write. I really do not know whether this blog has got any stuff to lure readers. But I am happy that I have 52 sweet followers. This blog missed updations for many months and it had to suffer badly due to it. I think many of my frequent blogger

buddies do not comment anymore except one or two. Maybe they think that I have stopped writing in it.At the same time, I am also happy that I have got many new blogger friends.

Wednesday, February 27, 2013

RIP my friends

Two of my friends passed away - Shiji eight years back and Chinju just two years ago and I came to know about it yesterday. Shiji died of fever and Chinju had tubal pregnancy. I just could not believe. It came as a shock. They were two innocent girls whom I met when I stepped into the beautiful life of college.  There were 81 students in our class and it was just fun. We all were good friends.  It was just like yesterday.....

 It has been fifteen years since we parted friends. But you well know that friendship knows no boundaries. I am  happy that I came to know after all these years that you are now in safer hands, away from the worries of the world. 

I love you, friends and you will always be there in my prayers. What do you call that friendship when a friend does not mourn her friends' death by shedding two drops of tears, just because it has been years. I am shedding it for you for all the love you had given me.I would not have become what I am today without your presence...

Years can't wipe away those moments we shared together. It is still afresh in my heart and it will always be. I have never seen you after we went on our own ways and I will never meet you again.  You will remain the same old friends who were just 15 years old when we met each other.

LOVE you

RIP my sweet hearts...

Monday, February 25, 2013

Two years ago, I was living and now I merely exist.

( Two years back I looked like this )

I was just trying to figure out the shallowness that crept into my writing.
It no longer gives me a sense of satisfaction. When I was running from pillar to post to have a descent job, jotting down in this blog retained my sanity.

Two years ago, I was at Thiruvananthapuram. I went there to pursue my dream, to make it big in life. I was always short of money. Still, I managed to do a lot of things which actually put me back on the track that led to the path which I always dreamt of. I remember Beatrice Aunty, Tikku and Nadia- my room mates with gratitude who managed to set aside food, most of the days for me in the night as I could not afford buy dinner from outside. I was just paying for my accommodation and not for food.

 I remember frequenting ' Pathayam' and other hotels in the night where I could get gruel for cheaper rate.
Second hand books always came to my rescue if I had to buy books. As I had little money, I would exchange the ones I finished reading.I remember with happiness when the shop keeper of the first stall of that second hand book shop, adjacent to Thiruvananthapuram public library told me with a sad smile that he had no new books left to exchange as I had read almost all the books in his shop.

I still remember teaching 365 days in a spoken English institute for meager salary. I remember with nostalgia about  those hostels where I stayed with negligible facilities. The last hostel I stayed in Thiruvananthapuram had dust accumulated all over. But I was never bothered. I was happy to the core. Now I am staying in a flat all alone. But every night I have to wade through sleeplessness before the goddess of sleep kiss my brow.

 I remember my students with a heart full of joy. It gives me a sense of satisfaction when they give me a call, if they are perplexed about something in their life. There are people who still takes me seriously.

I miss those long strolls which I used to take alone in the lighted city in the night. I met my ex- boyfriend (whom I used to call ' ettan') there. Though the relationship turned sour and I had to end  that five year relationship, my heart still throbs at the thought of that city.

I still remember giving money to him from whatever little I had when he wanted to go to Sabarimala. ( a pilgrimage centre in Kerala). I remember with tears in my eyes when we both went to Althara Devi temple to perform the rites which had to be done before leaving for the shrine There was nobody to help us but us. We did not know whether we did it right. But for us everything was right and our heart were full. I remember anxiously waiting for his call as mobile phones had to be switched off reaching the shrine. I remember him bringing me a ring from there which I could not wear as it was too small for my finger.

I had very few things at my disposal. But it seemed bundles of satisfaction were placed  before me. It always gave me a lot to write.

Now I have everything - job, salary, freedom. But I feel completely lost. Life seems to be floating with no anchor. My life is no more intense, less passionate.

Two years ago, I was living and now I merely exist.

( Now I look like this)
Why a photo comparison?
Just like that

Thursday, February 7, 2013

Big Screen confusion

I think  I have a big screen confusion. I don't have any other word in my possession to describe this confusion .  

What is a big screen confusion? It is just one among the innumerable confusion I already have.

Though I am excited to watch a movie in a theatre, I  forget the majority of the scenes except who acted in it and what the movie is all about.I  can well make out whether it is a good movie or not. That's it.  The whole movie just dissolves away. 

If I have enjoyed any particular one I rent or buy the CD of the movie. Things were different when I was unemployed. I was at the mercy of Televison. When it appears on TV, I watch it, otherwise I just culled out the earnest yearning to watch it. To enjoy a movie, I need a small screen all for myself. That's why I love my laptop....:D

Why such confusion? 

My dad was very protective. He never took us ( me, mom and bro ) to crowded areas where there exist a huge chance for people ogling at you. Hence we missed most of the good films. Though we try our level best to make dad take us for movies, it always fell on deaf ears. In course of time, we learnt to keep all our wishes to ourselves including watching movies. Though me and my bro compensated for it when we started living by ourselves, mom still do not have that opportunity. Though in course of time, dad became liberal in his many ways but not about watching movies at theatres.

Though there are so many things I don't approve of my dad's, I always believes that whatever he does always culminated in the best. Maybe because of it, I developed this sort confusion for the big screen. And no regrets for the confusion.