As it has been for the last one and half months I woke up from a not so comfortable sleep, earlier it used to be the cock that sang its wake up alarm that woke up many in this part of the world, but now the original alarms too have lost its effect. Walking down the stairs wearing a Simpson cartoon boxer and cleaning my eye, i herd strange conversation from the kitchen.
“No she is too young for it”, shouted one of my aunts pushing out the steam cake (PUTT) from its hutch. “It’s everybody’s fate” my grand mom replied trying to lean down to the store desk and pick up something. “Poor lady she was so helping“, added my second aunt moving her wheel chair towards the gas stove. I thought it would be the normal chit chat the ladies do early hours and did not bother to inquire the matter.
Got few pieces of the steam cake and a glass of tea, and while the second aunt poured curry on them, the other aunt continued the topic, “She was taken to Trivandrum for check up”, “No...No... She wasn’t taken there she didn’t have any problems of that sort” replied the other. “No she had problem with her hands and chest pain was frequent, but then she was not taken to Trivandrum”. On hearing this the first aunt got a bit angry that her words were taken to be false and argued “how can you say that she was not taken there, I am pretty sure that had happened” and the other aunt made her statement clear and added on “I had met her a month back at a marriage and then she didn’t complain of anything of that sort, so how do you say that she was taken there”.
All these were happening and I was busy enjoying the taste of the steam cake and added my comment “the cakes have got awesome taste, it might rain today”, and the first aunt rubbished it “we are talking something important, and between that you are bringing up steam cake”. I was pretty surprised about the important discussion that they were into, and all of a sudden the other aunt added “she just have two kids; don’t know how they will be”. “ But I am sure she was taken to Trivandrum last month” the first one stud strong on what she argued, “ No she was not, she had met me last month” replied the other, “you both are wrong, if u want you can call their house and ask” grandmother joined in with her claims.
Finally I made up my mind and enquired about the whole thing. “KAKU’s wife’s mother passed away this morning, didn’t you know about it...?” I was quit puzzled, didn’t know what to reply, because the ladies have been arguing about her hospitalization the month before and not obliging to the fact that they should have been sitting praying for the departed one. Eating up the last piece of cake I walked towards the wash basin, “No” “No...” “Noo...” that was still going on in the kitchen.
And for once I felt bad for the lady who departed last night, after all she was the reason the ladies in the house were putting their tongues in fire. The poor Departed Soul.
TRK
Monday, November 22, 2010
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
The walls talk
The 8 o'clock train reached Pattikkad station and I stepped out to feel the morning breeze in my home town. It is always a great feeling to be back home, after getting worked out in a polluted metro like Chennai. The Teek woods cover both the sides of the railway station not letting the sun to pierce through. And the early morning dew drops still hung around the leaves falling to the random gentle breeze that came by. I walked out of the platform to the auto park to reach home which is almost about a kilometer from the station.
There aren’t much people in my small home town who study outside the state, so each time I walk home with my bag pack on my back, people always looked out with a smile and always enquired about the well being outside. Walking through the lanes with broken roads cause of the last rains, I reached the sweetest place on earth where I belong, my home.
The door bell sounded more like a cuckoo who always sung the same composition, and Abbu opened the door, greeting me in, Ammi was still in kitchen preparing break fast, brother still in bed snoring and sister curled up with the blankets. I walked past to my room throwing the bag on the ground. And a moment later when I turned back the bag was well placed near the shelf. Of course mothers love their house to be clean and neat.
"Why do u always wear black? And why there is a pony on your back, and why are your jeans falling down your waist? "Those were the questions that I herd from Abbu each time he noticed my ware about." Have you said your prayers, did you brush and then come and have break fast" Ammi always yelled at the top of her voice. Those where the beautiful days when I always wanted to go home.
And now two weeks later, my study holidays began and am back home, and there is no one to open the door, I throw my bag on the ground and it still remain there when I turned back, there is no one to ask about my dressing even though I don’t have a pony on my back, even though I didn’t have a black t shirt, there are just walls around me, that echo the sounds it captured two weeks back.
My brother's bed is kept tidy, sister's blanket packed in the cupboard, their slippers kept in the shoe rack, their scent and all that Ammi left back for me lay in the house, the sweet home is no more and it feels the walls have some thing to say. Some thing that every other house, where parents fly away into the clouds leaving their kids home alone has to say.
I know there are reasons for being lonely, for being home alone, and I just wish I get over these sad memories that kill me day by day, those sounds that the walls echo.
T.R.K
Friday, September 24, 2010
In Soul Remembrance Of
Shabeer had come from Dubai for the first time after he left India a year back. Meeting him gave me special joy for more than one reason. The first was that of meeting a college friend after a year, and the second was not yet known until we both sat at sweet home in the evening for coffee. It was then that I met the most beautiful creations that one could dream to be with.
She had a serene like charm that could win any man’s heart, her eyes had gracious power and in it I lost myself deep in her, that the first sip of coffee hurt my tongue. She spoke with her eyes, her lips never moved even when the whole of public at the cafeteria smiled at her, for some time I was confused about her ability to speak, and the very next moment she spoke and her voice had the melody of Taylor swift singing to the tones of Mozart of Madras.
Dressed up in black and silver with a black HIJAB that covered her beauty from the strangers, she sat opposite my chair, along with Shabeer. Although my body sat there in front of her, in my mind, I had already extended my hands for friendship and more than that for all love I had developed for her in my heart. Shabeer’s sound brought me back to sense and I had my first hand shake with her, the touch of her soft, moist, warm, lucrative palm send passionate love current to my spine.
That was the time I decided she would be part of my life and I would win her at any cost, time passed by and on my trip to Doha two months back, I again met her, the same smile, the same smell and even the same dress, after having talked about the whole thing with my father, going against his emotional worries, I finally proposed her with a toast, and she readily agreed as if she had been waiting for me to hold her hands.
My friends and family liked her, I loved her more than all the girls who have been in and out of my life, we lived together, shared each and every thought I had, she sung all the tunes I loved to hear, my wrist always found comfort in her palm, we woke up to see each other, hugged to bid good bye, all my dreams were captured in her heart, and then the inevitable happened.
We both slept kissing good night, woke up to see each other and my sleep made me take turns, had to look away from her for some time, and when I turned back, she had gone, taking away all the happiness she had given, all the things that made me remind her, she vanished into the dry madras air or someone took her along, breaking my heart and I again fell on bed and this time it was lack of oxygen.
Her loss have given immense pain, She walked away creating an empty space in my life that even better looking ones of her gene does not sooth my heart. She was the solace I had in all my sorrows, just a finger touch on her palm and happiness poured in, she opened my windows to the outer world, let me explore new avenues, never complained of my arrogance or anger, her innocence had made me fall for her in deep and passionate love, and that reminds me of the saying that do not love anyone or anything more than your lord for your lord is the one who has blessed you with it.
On the 8th of September 2010, morning 9.15 while almost every other living soul in my hostel slept, my Nokia e-72, metallic maroon body, silver back, IMEI No: 351513049316943,updated on 31st march 2010 went missing in my bed. I suspect it to be theft so does the police and the hostel inmates, but no one actually knows who took it away. Every time I pass through a mobile store or I hear a SWADES theme music ringing in some ones phone, memories fly by. It lived with me for exactly sixty four days, and all those sixty four days I have had sun shine in my life.
If it doesn’t exist anymore in this world then waiting for its re birth, and if it still exists in some part of India waiting for it to return home, and if it still exists outside India, I would have to kill it, blocking all others who would want to use it.
T.R.K
She had a serene like charm that could win any man’s heart, her eyes had gracious power and in it I lost myself deep in her, that the first sip of coffee hurt my tongue. She spoke with her eyes, her lips never moved even when the whole of public at the cafeteria smiled at her, for some time I was confused about her ability to speak, and the very next moment she spoke and her voice had the melody of Taylor swift singing to the tones of Mozart of Madras.
Dressed up in black and silver with a black HIJAB that covered her beauty from the strangers, she sat opposite my chair, along with Shabeer. Although my body sat there in front of her, in my mind, I had already extended my hands for friendship and more than that for all love I had developed for her in my heart. Shabeer’s sound brought me back to sense and I had my first hand shake with her, the touch of her soft, moist, warm, lucrative palm send passionate love current to my spine.
That was the time I decided she would be part of my life and I would win her at any cost, time passed by and on my trip to Doha two months back, I again met her, the same smile, the same smell and even the same dress, after having talked about the whole thing with my father, going against his emotional worries, I finally proposed her with a toast, and she readily agreed as if she had been waiting for me to hold her hands.
My friends and family liked her, I loved her more than all the girls who have been in and out of my life, we lived together, shared each and every thought I had, she sung all the tunes I loved to hear, my wrist always found comfort in her palm, we woke up to see each other, hugged to bid good bye, all my dreams were captured in her heart, and then the inevitable happened.
We both slept kissing good night, woke up to see each other and my sleep made me take turns, had to look away from her for some time, and when I turned back, she had gone, taking away all the happiness she had given, all the things that made me remind her, she vanished into the dry madras air or someone took her along, breaking my heart and I again fell on bed and this time it was lack of oxygen.
Her loss have given immense pain, She walked away creating an empty space in my life that even better looking ones of her gene does not sooth my heart. She was the solace I had in all my sorrows, just a finger touch on her palm and happiness poured in, she opened my windows to the outer world, let me explore new avenues, never complained of my arrogance or anger, her innocence had made me fall for her in deep and passionate love, and that reminds me of the saying that do not love anyone or anything more than your lord for your lord is the one who has blessed you with it.
On the 8th of September 2010, morning 9.15 while almost every other living soul in my hostel slept, my Nokia e-72, metallic maroon body, silver back, IMEI No: 351513049316943,updated on 31st march 2010 went missing in my bed. I suspect it to be theft so does the police and the hostel inmates, but no one actually knows who took it away. Every time I pass through a mobile store or I hear a SWADES theme music ringing in some ones phone, memories fly by. It lived with me for exactly sixty four days, and all those sixty four days I have had sun shine in my life.
If it doesn’t exist anymore in this world then waiting for its re birth, and if it still exists in some part of India waiting for it to return home, and if it still exists outside India, I would have to kill it, blocking all others who would want to use it.
T.R.K
Saturday, September 4, 2010
The Conjure
After having stayed two days with Rameez and Nashmal, at their rented flat in cochin, I and Wasiq were to set back our journey home. The holly month entering its last ten days and the believers of the book doing any thing and everything possible to forfeit their sins, we re-scheduled our selves so as to reach home in time for break fast.
As per Nashmal's enquiries, the bus to my home town was at 2 pm, by the time we reached the depot, it was already over crowded like any Indian bus. Having no uncertainities in mind I and Wasiq borded the bus, walking past the standing passangers, we settled our selves in the later half of the bus, where there were no standing passengers.
The bus started to move and we were lucky enough to notice a man of late fourties trying to vacate his seat, with immense joy, i made Wasiq to sit, not just that he was my younger sibling, but he is a Middle east product as of now and havent had the experience of long travels with out a seat.
It wasn't much to the embarkation that i found a girl of early twenties standing at a distance of 10 feet. She looked like those ones who took an oath in her mother's womb, that she would never give up her 'size zero'. Wearing a skinny salwar kameez, her hair's length almost touching the end of her spines, spoting the typical keralite 'sindoor' on her forehead, eyes full of innocence, specs that had a thin frame black in colour, and a dark blue school bag on her shoulders (i still wonder why she never kept that in the luggage rack) and with a partly made up smile she stood there holding the metal bar on the roof.
There was some sort of an electric vibe that struck me, i happened to gaze at her, and it continued for quite some time, i turned of the music in my head phone, turned my eyes on to other things around so as to deviate my attention from her, i at times felt there was a spark in her eye that kept me gazing on to her, scratched my head in thoughts, trying hard to find out the last time i had met this lady standing ten feet away.
The bus moved at its constant speed, passengers moved in and out, the girl still didn't move out of my sight. Was it at the Ideal feasta that we met last, or was it at the 'Sicasa' in chennai, i cursed my brains for not responding in time like an out dated processor in Azad's laptop, the inability to recognise her turned the nostalgia into sadness and anger. It was then i realised that she was gazing at me too, not always but our eyes did meet at times, and each time our eyes met her lips widened a bit, and she turned her eyes down.
I recollected all that i could from the one fourth of my brain that was in use, her face did appear to be known and seen many times, but her name nor the place where i saw remained a question mark. That was the time i thought i would put my steps forward and try and talk to her, find out the last time we met, as i put my right leg forward the bus stoped at the Trissur bus depot and she walked smiling towards me, i for once did thank god for giving the girl the memory and courage to walk up to me. With a small smile and a ' do i know you ' attitude on my face, i was almost to forward my hands for a shake and a pretty beefed up shoulder rubbed my hand and i lost balance and slanted onto the seat next by, and with utmost anger when i turned back i saw the girl shaking hands with the man who was behind me. Immediatly changed my facial expressions, herd the message tone in my mobile, recollected my sence, found a vacant seat and looked back to the girl, and saw both of them walking out hand in hand.
Shrugged about the whole event, i read the text message on my screen. It read " beautiful women are like the mirage in the desert, attainable from far, deceptive at the end ". I raised my eye brow to make sure the sender wasn't GOD.
The bus moved on and Wasiq got the seat next me, and with a light voice i whispered..GOD DAMN - ILLUSION...!!!
T.R.K
As per Nashmal's enquiries, the bus to my home town was at 2 pm, by the time we reached the depot, it was already over crowded like any Indian bus. Having no uncertainities in mind I and Wasiq borded the bus, walking past the standing passangers, we settled our selves in the later half of the bus, where there were no standing passengers.
The bus started to move and we were lucky enough to notice a man of late fourties trying to vacate his seat, with immense joy, i made Wasiq to sit, not just that he was my younger sibling, but he is a Middle east product as of now and havent had the experience of long travels with out a seat.
It wasn't much to the embarkation that i found a girl of early twenties standing at a distance of 10 feet. She looked like those ones who took an oath in her mother's womb, that she would never give up her 'size zero'. Wearing a skinny salwar kameez, her hair's length almost touching the end of her spines, spoting the typical keralite 'sindoor' on her forehead, eyes full of innocence, specs that had a thin frame black in colour, and a dark blue school bag on her shoulders (i still wonder why she never kept that in the luggage rack) and with a partly made up smile she stood there holding the metal bar on the roof.
There was some sort of an electric vibe that struck me, i happened to gaze at her, and it continued for quite some time, i turned of the music in my head phone, turned my eyes on to other things around so as to deviate my attention from her, i at times felt there was a spark in her eye that kept me gazing on to her, scratched my head in thoughts, trying hard to find out the last time i had met this lady standing ten feet away.
The bus moved at its constant speed, passengers moved in and out, the girl still didn't move out of my sight. Was it at the Ideal feasta that we met last, or was it at the 'Sicasa' in chennai, i cursed my brains for not responding in time like an out dated processor in Azad's laptop, the inability to recognise her turned the nostalgia into sadness and anger. It was then i realised that she was gazing at me too, not always but our eyes did meet at times, and each time our eyes met her lips widened a bit, and she turned her eyes down.
I recollected all that i could from the one fourth of my brain that was in use, her face did appear to be known and seen many times, but her name nor the place where i saw remained a question mark. That was the time i thought i would put my steps forward and try and talk to her, find out the last time we met, as i put my right leg forward the bus stoped at the Trissur bus depot and she walked smiling towards me, i for once did thank god for giving the girl the memory and courage to walk up to me. With a small smile and a ' do i know you ' attitude on my face, i was almost to forward my hands for a shake and a pretty beefed up shoulder rubbed my hand and i lost balance and slanted onto the seat next by, and with utmost anger when i turned back i saw the girl shaking hands with the man who was behind me. Immediatly changed my facial expressions, herd the message tone in my mobile, recollected my sence, found a vacant seat and looked back to the girl, and saw both of them walking out hand in hand.
Shrugged about the whole event, i read the text message on my screen. It read " beautiful women are like the mirage in the desert, attainable from far, deceptive at the end ". I raised my eye brow to make sure the sender wasn't GOD.
The bus moved on and Wasiq got the seat next me, and with a light voice i whispered..GOD DAMN - ILLUSION...!!!
T.R.K
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
The Bet, One complete fast...!
The peon rang the last bell for the last class of the season and we the senior students of the lower primary school, ran out rejoicing the fact that school would be shut for one complete month. The autumn of 96 had just begun and so was the holly month of ramadan.
It was customary for the lower and upper primary schools of the Malabar region of kerala to close for the holly month. Kids are enthusiastic about growing older before they really grow older. So was i, the bet with friends was of one complete day of fasting. My fasts always used to be twice in a day, from the seher to zuhar and then from zuhar to iftar.
Since the vacation had just begun, all most all my cousins were camped in my house, it was time for fun and frolic for the younger ones in the family. We played around all day, hide and seek to catcher catcher, swimming in the pond next by, plucking the unripe mangos and marinating them.
The break had just got to the nerves of all the kids and unexpectedly my grand father ( nana pa ) fell ill. He was aged and admitted to hospital and then the fun turned to gloom. We were more scared than being sad.
It was then my friend reminded of the bet 'one complete fast',i along with noushad, andu and muthu were pretty energized during the first half of the next day, morning went in quran recitation and prayer at the mosque. After noon was always a temptation for many, as food seemed tempting, it was then, one of my friends offered us to go for a long walk, to the next village, by the time we would reach back it would be evening and then breaking fast wouldn't be a problem.
We started our journey, and walked kilometers to the next village, and then town, and then thought returning back would be good to match the time equation, reached back in time for the magrib call for prayer, with great joy and pride i sat among the elders of the house for iftar, with a glass of lemonade and a liquid dish made of rawa, sat looking at the cloak, the count down began and i felt like i have won a war.
And then came the noise of the mic in the mosque near by being moved, and with all happiness, i gulped the complete lemonade in one go, slightly relieved and with the second breath i caught hold of the sweet dish and fell down, hitting the chairs around.. ' BANG '
I opened my eyes and saw a glucose bottle hanging on my side and ammi sitting near by, in the nursing home, she looked grumpy and inquired about my after noon hang out, caught in the middle of a mess, couldn't tell her i had walked to the next town with friends, had to lie, and she hugged me tight, even in the midst of all the fear of being caught i just had one thought humming in my mind.
I WON d bet, One complete fast...!!!!
TRK
It was customary for the lower and upper primary schools of the Malabar region of kerala to close for the holly month. Kids are enthusiastic about growing older before they really grow older. So was i, the bet with friends was of one complete day of fasting. My fasts always used to be twice in a day, from the seher to zuhar and then from zuhar to iftar.
Since the vacation had just begun, all most all my cousins were camped in my house, it was time for fun and frolic for the younger ones in the family. We played around all day, hide and seek to catcher catcher, swimming in the pond next by, plucking the unripe mangos and marinating them.
The break had just got to the nerves of all the kids and unexpectedly my grand father ( nana pa ) fell ill. He was aged and admitted to hospital and then the fun turned to gloom. We were more scared than being sad.
It was then my friend reminded of the bet 'one complete fast',i along with noushad, andu and muthu were pretty energized during the first half of the next day, morning went in quran recitation and prayer at the mosque. After noon was always a temptation for many, as food seemed tempting, it was then, one of my friends offered us to go for a long walk, to the next village, by the time we would reach back it would be evening and then breaking fast wouldn't be a problem.
We started our journey, and walked kilometers to the next village, and then town, and then thought returning back would be good to match the time equation, reached back in time for the magrib call for prayer, with great joy and pride i sat among the elders of the house for iftar, with a glass of lemonade and a liquid dish made of rawa, sat looking at the cloak, the count down began and i felt like i have won a war.
And then came the noise of the mic in the mosque near by being moved, and with all happiness, i gulped the complete lemonade in one go, slightly relieved and with the second breath i caught hold of the sweet dish and fell down, hitting the chairs around.. ' BANG '
I opened my eyes and saw a glucose bottle hanging on my side and ammi sitting near by, in the nursing home, she looked grumpy and inquired about my after noon hang out, caught in the middle of a mess, couldn't tell her i had walked to the next town with friends, had to lie, and she hugged me tight, even in the midst of all the fear of being caught i just had one thought humming in my mind.
I WON d bet, One complete fast...!!!!
TRK
Monday, August 9, 2010
Travel in a general compartment or in a flight..!
Waiting at the platform for the mangalore chennai super fast, i thought it would be easy for me to sail through in the general compartment, its not the first time i have actually travelled in these conditions, that was the reason why i left back the trivandrum chennai mail even though the general compartment didnot have much rush.
Taping my feets to the blues in my earphone, sipping a cup of coffee, i let my thoughts down, and when the train arrived at the station i realised that like any of my recent travells, this one too has bound to be in a mess.The general compartments were over crowded like never before, no place to sit, no place to hold on to so as to rest my butt some were and let the pain go.
Many of my friends have asked me how do i travel the 8 hours in general compart'ent, even if i had a place to sit, the only possible solution i always carry in my mind is that, i just think my travel as a flight shutle that has a long distance to go. I would have still sat all the way, the only difference beeing that you dont have beautifully tamed cabin crew at your service, serving you snaks and beer.Uff back to sence, i got a 1\10 space on the side seat, the tamil worker goin to Selam was pretty considerate that he let me a small portion of his seat to keep 1\4th of my butt. And the fact that he would get down at Selam gives me immence joy, after which i would have a full seat for another 4 hours of the left over journey.
Back to the flight comparison, it was herd that an american institute had sent a study team to investigate on the profit making capabilities of the indian railways, during the Lalu tenure, but then the air line industry then have been and are still and would always be in loss. And the class of the indian airline service is ' Allah taauba ' in the words of my choti Daadi.
Some of the key salient features of our airline are:
* The lady who announces departure always announces a delay in the departure.
* The passengers are always expected to carry items required for their inflight entertainment.
* Our customers are always cared with motherly love as the cabin crew has ladies above 40.
* We are so democratic that our in flight refreshments are neither vegitarian nor non vegie.
* The safety measures are always acted by the stwetres, as we do not have a television in our flights, or the maintainence incharge forgets to record the safety measures from other flight.
* We do not provide much services to our customers as we are democratic in those as well, but yet we charge more than a five star airline.
* We always fly late as we try and accomodate the passangers who came early for the next flight, and just incase you accidentally happen to come late by 5 mints, we would have taken off.
* The emergency exit is always shown to the passangers not cause its precautionary, but it might any time be a neccessity.
* And yet again each time you land down you get a feeling the whole of the flight has crashed down, and the sweet and sexy lady at the exit gate gives you a relaxed smile and asks you to fly again.
Thank god, the railway in india are care free about these, even though trains come late by few hours, they catch up with the time some how.
They do not have cabin crew but the waiters serve you proper food and drinks from time to time.We have ticket examiners who would do the best to accomaodate you at any cost, as long as you pay them,
Last but not the least, i travel palghat to chennai for 120 rs if its seater and 250 if its sleeper, compared to the 3000+ indian airlines that promises to deliver but never delivers on time.
TRK
Taping my feets to the blues in my earphone, sipping a cup of coffee, i let my thoughts down, and when the train arrived at the station i realised that like any of my recent travells, this one too has bound to be in a mess.The general compartments were over crowded like never before, no place to sit, no place to hold on to so as to rest my butt some were and let the pain go.
Many of my friends have asked me how do i travel the 8 hours in general compart'ent, even if i had a place to sit, the only possible solution i always carry in my mind is that, i just think my travel as a flight shutle that has a long distance to go. I would have still sat all the way, the only difference beeing that you dont have beautifully tamed cabin crew at your service, serving you snaks and beer.Uff back to sence, i got a 1\10 space on the side seat, the tamil worker goin to Selam was pretty considerate that he let me a small portion of his seat to keep 1\4th of my butt. And the fact that he would get down at Selam gives me immence joy, after which i would have a full seat for another 4 hours of the left over journey.
Back to the flight comparison, it was herd that an american institute had sent a study team to investigate on the profit making capabilities of the indian railways, during the Lalu tenure, but then the air line industry then have been and are still and would always be in loss. And the class of the indian airline service is ' Allah taauba ' in the words of my choti Daadi.
Some of the key salient features of our airline are:
* The lady who announces departure always announces a delay in the departure.
* The passengers are always expected to carry items required for their inflight entertainment.
* Our customers are always cared with motherly love as the cabin crew has ladies above 40.
* We are so democratic that our in flight refreshments are neither vegitarian nor non vegie.
* The safety measures are always acted by the stwetres, as we do not have a television in our flights, or the maintainence incharge forgets to record the safety measures from other flight.
* We do not provide much services to our customers as we are democratic in those as well, but yet we charge more than a five star airline.
* We always fly late as we try and accomodate the passangers who came early for the next flight, and just incase you accidentally happen to come late by 5 mints, we would have taken off.
* The emergency exit is always shown to the passangers not cause its precautionary, but it might any time be a neccessity.
* And yet again each time you land down you get a feeling the whole of the flight has crashed down, and the sweet and sexy lady at the exit gate gives you a relaxed smile and asks you to fly again.
Thank god, the railway in india are care free about these, even though trains come late by few hours, they catch up with the time some how.
They do not have cabin crew but the waiters serve you proper food and drinks from time to time.We have ticket examiners who would do the best to accomaodate you at any cost, as long as you pay them,
Last but not the least, i travel palghat to chennai for 120 rs if its seater and 250 if its sleeper, compared to the 3000+ indian airlines that promises to deliver but never delivers on time.
TRK
Saturday, August 7, 2010
The Dosa and Vada Story...!
Sitting in train among a bunch of senior citizens, right to me is a part time actor in Malayalam cinema, more than being an actor he seemed to be a critical analyst in films and right next to him is his friend who supports word by word to all his sarcastically imbalanced comments.
Train moving at a speed over 80kmph, or might be a bit less, a black lass on the side birth stretching herself, to sleep, my eyes are itchy, for more than one reason and i desperately need to curl on to my berth.
Lights are still on although its about quarter past 10, and in between the T.T passing up and down looking to accommodate the waiting list passengers, that might well just give him his pocket money for a day or two.
Duk duk duk duk, the branded sound and the rocking motion of the train still continue as i look out side the window, into complete darkness and the heavy breeze hitting my face, makes me crave a bit for fresh wind.
Train journey has never been new to me, right from the time i have been in Ammi's womb to this age, i have been into long train journeys, looking out the window a story that was narrated to me flashed in my mind,
Rolling back the reels of time,K was a year or two older than what i am now, a happily married boarding train from the holly city of Banaras to the southern tip of India, Kerala, with his newly wedded wife T.
Kids below 14 running with tea and glasses made of mud, the sun haven't been scorching much yet, the humidity have been rising up and the new bride from the south was quite upset with the climate, unlike the southern part of the country the northern part is yet too far behind in developmental aspects and that was the reason the bride had more of tensed face than a smiling one.
Leaving back the soar memories in the Hindu holly city, she was pretty relaxed that two days from then she would be back home, where she has spend most of her childhood. On the other hand groom was sad of leaving his home, where his parents made their bed, although he has been a traveler ever since his childhood, leaving parents back home is always painful.
Now that the marriage was more of an arranged love marriage, the bride didn't know much about the groom's family, other than the things told, and the father in law of the groom was pretty afraid of sending his daughter to a completely new place thousands of kilometers far. All this had created an inbuilt fear inside the mind of the bride.
She didn't want to be left alone, in the train, she didn't want any third person looking at her, with anxiety everything provoked fear, in her. That was the time she herd a man shout Dosa and Vada at Banaras. And her eyes lit up, glorious god be she praised, though it was just close to a month that she had had South Indian food, it did calm her down that she found something of south in north.
She wished for the Dosa and the ever loving groom was ever ready to buy her, the prime reason being that he could keep her mouth shut for quite a while. Buying Dosa and Vada from platform and a Bisleri bottle with both the hands stuffed he walked back to the train, by the time he put his step on the foot bar of the compartment, the train started moving, dis balanced in steps he fell down flat on the plat form and leg caught between platform and the next compartment to come he did the first summer salt in his life to save his legs from being snatched by the Indian railway, back into sense he boarded d last compartment of the train and signaled the guy standing on the door of his compartment to inform the bride that he has boarded.
Walking through three or four compartment he reached his seat, seeing him the bride had tears in her eyes, he felt blessed about the care that his bride had for him, she noticed that he had shed the Sambar on his pants and the sleeves of his shirt were also soaked in Chatni, with a bit of hesitation and a bit of anger the bride asked him " y did u eat up all d Dosa and Vada by your self, i thought you went to get some for me.."
groom looked at her annoyed...
And the train moved on and on with its branded duk duk sound and rock n rolla...!
TRK
Train moving at a speed over 80kmph, or might be a bit less, a black lass on the side birth stretching herself, to sleep, my eyes are itchy, for more than one reason and i desperately need to curl on to my berth.
Lights are still on although its about quarter past 10, and in between the T.T passing up and down looking to accommodate the waiting list passengers, that might well just give him his pocket money for a day or two.
Duk duk duk duk, the branded sound and the rocking motion of the train still continue as i look out side the window, into complete darkness and the heavy breeze hitting my face, makes me crave a bit for fresh wind.
Train journey has never been new to me, right from the time i have been in Ammi's womb to this age, i have been into long train journeys, looking out the window a story that was narrated to me flashed in my mind,
Rolling back the reels of time,K was a year or two older than what i am now, a happily married boarding train from the holly city of Banaras to the southern tip of India, Kerala, with his newly wedded wife T.
Kids below 14 running with tea and glasses made of mud, the sun haven't been scorching much yet, the humidity have been rising up and the new bride from the south was quite upset with the climate, unlike the southern part of the country the northern part is yet too far behind in developmental aspects and that was the reason the bride had more of tensed face than a smiling one.
Leaving back the soar memories in the Hindu holly city, she was pretty relaxed that two days from then she would be back home, where she has spend most of her childhood. On the other hand groom was sad of leaving his home, where his parents made their bed, although he has been a traveler ever since his childhood, leaving parents back home is always painful.
Now that the marriage was more of an arranged love marriage, the bride didn't know much about the groom's family, other than the things told, and the father in law of the groom was pretty afraid of sending his daughter to a completely new place thousands of kilometers far. All this had created an inbuilt fear inside the mind of the bride.
She didn't want to be left alone, in the train, she didn't want any third person looking at her, with anxiety everything provoked fear, in her. That was the time she herd a man shout Dosa and Vada at Banaras. And her eyes lit up, glorious god be she praised, though it was just close to a month that she had had South Indian food, it did calm her down that she found something of south in north.
She wished for the Dosa and the ever loving groom was ever ready to buy her, the prime reason being that he could keep her mouth shut for quite a while. Buying Dosa and Vada from platform and a Bisleri bottle with both the hands stuffed he walked back to the train, by the time he put his step on the foot bar of the compartment, the train started moving, dis balanced in steps he fell down flat on the plat form and leg caught between platform and the next compartment to come he did the first summer salt in his life to save his legs from being snatched by the Indian railway, back into sense he boarded d last compartment of the train and signaled the guy standing on the door of his compartment to inform the bride that he has boarded.
Walking through three or four compartment he reached his seat, seeing him the bride had tears in her eyes, he felt blessed about the care that his bride had for him, she noticed that he had shed the Sambar on his pants and the sleeves of his shirt were also soaked in Chatni, with a bit of hesitation and a bit of anger the bride asked him " y did u eat up all d Dosa and Vada by your self, i thought you went to get some for me.."
groom looked at her annoyed...
And the train moved on and on with its branded duk duk sound and rock n rolla...!
TRK
Monday, June 28, 2010
My Ammi
I don’t remember the day I saw my mother first, I don’t remember the first time I called her Ammi, I don’t remember the first time I held her hand to walk, I don’t remember the first time I caught hold of the tip of her sari when I was about to have my first fall in life. But I can bet she remembers each day of my life. Probably that is the reason why prophet said you find paradise under your mother's feet.
I walked few steps, and again knelt on the floor, she kneeled down facing me, calling with her hands wide open for a hug, and each time I knelt down n crawled she went far and far and once I started with my first step she paused, held out her hands and I ran into her laps for the warm hug. She was the best friend in my life, her emotions changed when mine changed, her face lit up each time I smiled with no teeth, and she was saddened when I hurt my self. Slowly but steadily I walked holding her hands, she took me around the garden behind my house, made me reply to the cuckoo's songs, the stories of prophets and the Indian freedom fighters were common when she fed me rice socked with coconut oil and salt, taught me rhymes and was my first teacher.
She is a teacher by profession, each morning I saw her rush to her school, and I was left alone with my grand ma. Grand ma never did make me feel the absence of Ammi for the 8 hours of day when she left for work. Hours passed by multiplied by days and into years. I grew up sleeping each day hugging her, her warmth and scent made me comfortable against all the little fears I had while sleeping. Each time she found something to eat she made sure she fed me first, like the bird that collects food for its kid.
There were times of financial crunches and she avoided food so that I could be fed, she avoided her sleep shooing away the mosquitoes, waving the hand fan so that I sleep with comfort. Made sure I don’t feel any sort of pain and took it all to her. Each day I waited at the gate at four in the noon gazing at the road to see her back from work. And when she still did not turn up I walked back my head down, counting the numerous stones in the mud with a broken heart, and the sound of the gate being opened lit up my face, and some one told it was always worth capturing.
I was five years when Ammi was taken to hospital in the evening and I could not resist my tears, when I felt lonely for the first time in my life, staying home with out her, and later my grand ma came to me informing that from now onwards you are not the only kid to your mother, you should do your things your self, you have a younger brother now. For once I felt my bed of roses had thorns in it, I felt I was thrown out of the crown I was in, I protective shell around me had vanished, but Allah has made all the mothers in the world with a heart that do not show partiality between her kids, I still received the same love and affection that I used to get, but now a little more care was for the thin small kid in her laps.
Day by day I started managing things on my own, ate with my own hands, didn't hear stories of the prophets or Indian freedom fighters while I ate, made new friends at school, read new stories, started playing out with friends after school, from soccer to cricket, and when she didn't find me home after magrib, people found me being chased by her with a tamarind stick in hand. She bate when I lied, hugged when I ranked, more than anything always loved me with the same intensity.
We shifted grounds, flew from India to Doha, things around us changed, again new environment to adjust with, I grew under her care and supervision. It makes me believe the saying that, proper education begins at home, and yes it is how well your mother is natured that you develop into good students. Her role with me changed year by year, she was proud when ever I won something at the school, and she was equally depressed when I was caught for my mischiefs. The moment when my 12th results broke out, I could feel the happiness in her words; I could feel the success that she felt, right from making me walk in my early days to the moment my name was announced as the school topper. We couldn't resist our tears when I bid good bye for future studies, and each time we talked on phone I cried inside my heart for her hug and smile.
Life will go on, I cant meet her daily, we end up meeting new people, new relations with other women, they become your friends, share everything that I don’t share with Ammi, talk often to her but less to Ammi, gift the other lady than my mother, but each time I get up from a broken sleep, the first face that comes to my heart would always be Ammi's, the first thing I search for would always be for her warmth hug and her scent. I know it's not possible always that we stay together, she is there looking after my siblings like she looked after me and am alone here making my future. But her heart is always with me, her prayers are with me, each night before her sleep she prays and blows it on my sibling and father, and she blows out one in the sky, one for me.
With out any doubt in any ones heart, our mothers are the greatest gifts that Allah has bestowed on you, they might not ask us to give back the love that they have given us, it cannot be given back equally how much ever we try to, but every night before you sleep, just go and hug her saying a good night, she would be the most happiest person on earth. All the mothers have the same feelings for their kids, its endless intense LOVE for their flesh.
I miss you Ammi..!
I walked few steps, and again knelt on the floor, she kneeled down facing me, calling with her hands wide open for a hug, and each time I knelt down n crawled she went far and far and once I started with my first step she paused, held out her hands and I ran into her laps for the warm hug. She was the best friend in my life, her emotions changed when mine changed, her face lit up each time I smiled with no teeth, and she was saddened when I hurt my self. Slowly but steadily I walked holding her hands, she took me around the garden behind my house, made me reply to the cuckoo's songs, the stories of prophets and the Indian freedom fighters were common when she fed me rice socked with coconut oil and salt, taught me rhymes and was my first teacher.
She is a teacher by profession, each morning I saw her rush to her school, and I was left alone with my grand ma. Grand ma never did make me feel the absence of Ammi for the 8 hours of day when she left for work. Hours passed by multiplied by days and into years. I grew up sleeping each day hugging her, her warmth and scent made me comfortable against all the little fears I had while sleeping. Each time she found something to eat she made sure she fed me first, like the bird that collects food for its kid.
There were times of financial crunches and she avoided food so that I could be fed, she avoided her sleep shooing away the mosquitoes, waving the hand fan so that I sleep with comfort. Made sure I don’t feel any sort of pain and took it all to her. Each day I waited at the gate at four in the noon gazing at the road to see her back from work. And when she still did not turn up I walked back my head down, counting the numerous stones in the mud with a broken heart, and the sound of the gate being opened lit up my face, and some one told it was always worth capturing.
I was five years when Ammi was taken to hospital in the evening and I could not resist my tears, when I felt lonely for the first time in my life, staying home with out her, and later my grand ma came to me informing that from now onwards you are not the only kid to your mother, you should do your things your self, you have a younger brother now. For once I felt my bed of roses had thorns in it, I felt I was thrown out of the crown I was in, I protective shell around me had vanished, but Allah has made all the mothers in the world with a heart that do not show partiality between her kids, I still received the same love and affection that I used to get, but now a little more care was for the thin small kid in her laps.
Day by day I started managing things on my own, ate with my own hands, didn't hear stories of the prophets or Indian freedom fighters while I ate, made new friends at school, read new stories, started playing out with friends after school, from soccer to cricket, and when she didn't find me home after magrib, people found me being chased by her with a tamarind stick in hand. She bate when I lied, hugged when I ranked, more than anything always loved me with the same intensity.
We shifted grounds, flew from India to Doha, things around us changed, again new environment to adjust with, I grew under her care and supervision. It makes me believe the saying that, proper education begins at home, and yes it is how well your mother is natured that you develop into good students. Her role with me changed year by year, she was proud when ever I won something at the school, and she was equally depressed when I was caught for my mischiefs. The moment when my 12th results broke out, I could feel the happiness in her words; I could feel the success that she felt, right from making me walk in my early days to the moment my name was announced as the school topper. We couldn't resist our tears when I bid good bye for future studies, and each time we talked on phone I cried inside my heart for her hug and smile.
Life will go on, I cant meet her daily, we end up meeting new people, new relations with other women, they become your friends, share everything that I don’t share with Ammi, talk often to her but less to Ammi, gift the other lady than my mother, but each time I get up from a broken sleep, the first face that comes to my heart would always be Ammi's, the first thing I search for would always be for her warmth hug and her scent. I know it's not possible always that we stay together, she is there looking after my siblings like she looked after me and am alone here making my future. But her heart is always with me, her prayers are with me, each night before her sleep she prays and blows it on my sibling and father, and she blows out one in the sky, one for me.
With out any doubt in any ones heart, our mothers are the greatest gifts that Allah has bestowed on you, they might not ask us to give back the love that they have given us, it cannot be given back equally how much ever we try to, but every night before you sleep, just go and hug her saying a good night, she would be the most happiest person on earth. All the mothers have the same feelings for their kids, its endless intense LOVE for their flesh.
I miss you Ammi..!
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