Welcome all.
This blog doesnt belong to a single person. A group of literary hearted people work behind this platform who would like to create some meaningful works. Not bounded by a single language or genre, we have knitted our thoughts into stories using our individual styles.
She endures
She flies
She walks
She rises
And She lives
Frida,
for every dream you paint
for every words you wrote
You are beyond infinity and beyond universe
Vincent,
You are everything for what all I believe, and all I wish that if this company of you and her were forever.
The sunflower of his yellow, the stars of his starry night and his certain dreams all just looms around this inquisitive mind of mine, I can only have you, Frida in this frame.
Frida, I know you won’t curb yourself for any expectations. And never you should, because you live in the certainties that are beyond the wholesome discipline.
The exist is joyful and your existence is more beautiful, Frida🌸
Talk. Listen. Talk. Listen.
Somedays before when I woke up, I had this blurred feeling. My eyes were falling down, my body was getting cold and with all my lost energy pushed myself to woke up. Don’t know how many steps I walked. I fainted down and a fittish pain started in me. All of a sudden all my built happiness just waved apart. And I found that I’m falling into the evertime companion again with many anxiety attacks and depression. Regret and regrets just loomed me around. But this time the fittish pain immersed me a strength that said, to come out of the fear and regret with itself and build the shield.
I really don’t know how these days went. Every time I was crying with full hurt, when all my people were around the house. There were nights I just stared at the wall and thought of being dead. I fear the loss of people, I fear that if I couldn’t complete my life, if I couldn’t survive and I fear the slight pain that happens in me. Still I have, But now what matters is to live the moment. For the fear that surrounds me, I made myself much more stronger to beat the fear with the fear itself.
Gratitude is very important forever in life. Today when the new month begins, I disconnected and connected me to myself. For these long days, there were people who just made sure that I was living and with those beautiful souls I’m again connected back to the betterment being.
Talk. Listen. Talk. Listen. This is very important, they just heard the unsaid. For all the words you all said, and the space and time you gave to me, for letting me to be in my own space.
After many years, I painted something, a bud and a flower, the Pink Green Yellow and many shades. Let Many colors bloom again, with that I started learning THE MAGICAL LANGUAGE OF BEING MYSELF. ❤
For many souls who loved me more when I couldn’t, and made me believe that I’m living. GRATITUDE 🌸
I lay with my eyes wide open, taking in the endless darkness that surrounded me.
Breaking the silence came sounds of a chair being dragged and the closing of the bed room door from right behind me. Heavy steps could be heard approaching me.
Terror is what I sensed.
This is what I felt this day too.
I could sense the harsh thump as he sat on the bed and the sheet receding from under as he crept on the bed aiming at me. Harder his breath struck me; I realised him getting closer and found it hard to breathe.Terror stricken, I closed my eyes tight enough to live in a world within one. The pace of darkness that was entering my soul increased with the pace of each of his movements.How he knew the me deep in myself was awake; remains a mystery.
He didn’t demand anything while he did the harvesting of love. But terror is what I always feel while he approached me. May be the terror of me weakening before him or terror of him dominating me or may be terror of his “love”.
Whatever it was he never knew or he never pretended to know of “me”, my insecurities and I , I was in his hold, reluctantly, trying my best to breathe in the air of freedom, dreams and desire
but No,
not of that terror.
She recalls her childhood days, carefree life, like a butterfly …moving everywhere in the farm, in the valley, playing with the pebbles of the holy stream.
The starry night twinkled at her and she rolled in the green grass. She was the queen, who owned the paradise.!
She dreamed in her sleep that the owls took her paradise., early in the morning she found her paradise wet and see. So she thought the paradise had been wandering everywhere throughout the night and came tired. And everything was happy as the green grass..,
still it’s green but she has changed and the whole paradise she made remains the same..loomed in bleakness.
No consensus on how bright her star shines in the galaxy of many beautiful faces!.
To the one who own my ♥!
You my superhero, my super lady born from me.., from my heart! You made me to live again, to fight with all odds and to cherish the moments. It was so tough to take a decision to deliver you.! That too not biologically.. but from the place where me and my real me exist!! From my heart…
And you should know everything about me before you know yourself. When that happens.., I swear, you’ll know what you are and who you are. Continue reading “Born from heart”
Aji woke up disturbed by the shuffling of sheets beside him. Half asleep he called for her. The reply came in a coarse, husky voice intruding the still drowsy silence.
“Oh Aji, did I wake you up ??”
“Yeah, sort of. Shirley what are you upto in the middle of the night?!! It’s 3 ‘o’ clock!” he said on sliding his fingers over the phone, twitching his finger over his eyes sleepily.
It was that moment in life.
Lying in the bed wondering what will happen in the next phase of my life. . .
Fully messed up, trying to figure out how to get up from here. .
The thought of having pain was just looming and fading away from me.
Through out the journey, one thought was pestering me a lot, don’t even know how to sort it out. .
More than a solution, I was trying to pen it out. Telling someone was not enough. .
The thought that was so perilously disturbing me all these time. .
And urging me to pen it out was something controversial and more
Something that nobody would expect from me,
and for that I would say that 5 just there problem of understanding me. .
Sorry for playing with your inqusitive minds. .
Let’s straight away begin . . .
I can vaguely remember the first time I started saying I’m my daddys girl. . Like every daughter does. . .
l aIways wanted him to be the best. . and celebrated his called importance of being a comrade. . and l was simply enjoying all its advantages. Till then I realised him and his importance. . . I became more conscious about me. . and started to make things better for him and his name. . and on that note I believed that I’m in the safest hands. . and Will always be …..
Don’t know why I hated every men. . Is that because my dad was the best. . . . Don’t know?! !. .
But I remember those days in school I secretly weeped for days. . hating every men. . it was not the hatred. . . but the frightening thoughts of men. . . that consciously made me hate them. . . and that terrible incident . . men and the power he had was just making me insecure.
To run away from that fear. . . I believed that I have my superhero with me and I’m in his safest hands.
Then that too happened. I was just plucked out from my place to that unknown city. . A city I always dreamed of but never thought. . it would be fulfilled. . for the next two years I have to spend their alone. Their began the next phase. . the so called MEN were frightening me. . And I was becoming a Menphobic lady. . .
And there happened another thing. . .
A new member to my small world. . I was quiet unhappy to accept him. . But don’t know why he made me feel so secure. And for the first time. . . I felt to have a brotherly care from an unknown person. . and l was so happy ..
I was quiet moving with the new life. .
Classes were going good. . my batch mates started to talk with me. . But that issue of trust and so called menphobia loomed me. . I kept a huge distance with the boys. . . I was quiet weird . . But gradually that space loosened down. . And I began feeling comfortable with them. .
Then that thought developed in me. . There are men who can be like my dad.
I was equating each and everything with my superhero. . . not sure. . whether he was the best or not. . But he secured me with all weirdness I had. . And slowly l was falling in love with that city. . my dream city. . . The vibes of the city soothed me. . . And then my two year journey. . Got extended to three more years. . .
And there happened my new phase. . it took one and a half years for me to be part of the new world. . . the City was familiar to me. , But the new world of strangers were quiet hard to accept. . But that too happened.. l was pretty much comfortable with them. . .
Then their at that moment. . I got drenched in the beautiful emotion of love. .
Finally I realized. . He was the next perfect man I had in my life. . other than dad. . But unfortunately. . No. . I will say fortunately. . Love story was quiet unpredictable. . And It ended. . . but I will always say He will be the best for. . . and will make a good pair with some beautiful ladies out there… I would say He was the next important man in my life.
Then after long five years from there. . l was plucked from there too. . To yet another city. . The world of letters. . Men came in and out of my life. . Knowingly and unknowingly. . They became a part of my life. . But there I found one person there. . With whom l won’t say I had feelings towards. . But with whom I wanted some time to sit and talk. . And I really wished for that. . But it didn’t happen. . And that too I believe didn’t happen fortunately. .
And now here. . Lying In the bed. .
l’m madly in love with these three people. . And I m talking about LOVE. . Not that you all think so. . Love does not have a defined meaning. . And so I would say anything sacred of emotions is love. . . These three people have just made me a new person. . And for the first time. . I felt regret of not being a doctor. . But still these three smiling handsome people. . . Had a special space in my life. . The persons who made me to live another life. . Breathe another day . . . and I’m in love With them. .
And this was something I wanted to say. I wanted my mind to understand. . These men are so important. That I fell in love with them. . . From my super hero to this three wonderful angels. . . they have changed a Menphobic girl to someone who can understand the difference between bad and good. . . touch to men in real. . l’m quiet happy that. . . so lucky enough to have them. .
And in this concluding part. . .I proudly title this stream of concious thoughts as, .. THE MEN lN MY LIFE. . .
and on a serious note. . . I’ve not yet found you. . The one I’m searching for. . And let this hide and seek continue like this . . Will wait for the time to reveal it’s mystery. . Till then I’m waiting for the next …….
In quotes.
“Shoo! Aishu be quiet. Don’t make noise around here. Can’t you see they are discussing something serious with your Mom.”
Following this statement, I was forbidden from the living room.
Being a kid obviously I had curiosity regarding what the matter was.
The thing that had this secret affair with our living room.
Mama always seemed to be angry with me on one thing or the other. But at times she would shower affection on me by hugging me so intensely and thereby making it hard for me to breathe.
The only relief for me, the one person who filled me with affection always was my Daadu. Daadu would lift me up and swing me around when I get burnt by Mama’s flames of anger.
Mama was never like this before. It was only after Sachii was gone that things changed. Sachii, my papa.
Sachii, that was how I used to call him. He was the exact opposite of Mama. Quite chilled out and easy going, we made the best father daughter duo. But whenever Mama and Sachii came together all I could hear were shrieks and shouts. And once he came to me, he would become my old Sachii again. Once when the fight reached a bad stage, Sachii left home. He still comes to visit me but he no more comes back home. I used to miss him a lot in the beginning but gradually it too got buried with a thousand such other feelings.
Mama grew more and more silent as days went by. She now barely held me, kissed or even smiled at me . Daadu too was growing dull and silent and I missed Sachii. But why had Sachii left home? I pondered over it in my mind but couldn’t bring myself up to give voice to those thoughts to anyone.
Even to Sachii.
As the days passed the house became a sullen place where three strangers assembled together only at the time of food. I never voiced my queries which grew along with me. Even after completing my schooling , college and being the head of our company, taking mama’s place but no longer turning living rooms into office rooms like she did, I continued to have those queries that the younger me lived with.
Mama and I , never did we have a one to one conversation. It was always business that ruled our talks . And as to Sachii he had long stopped visiting me. Nor did I try to meet him.
One day I received a call. It was Sachii. I found it hard to recognise him in the beginning but soon felt the warmth pouring in and knew that it was him.
I asked him were he was all these years and why he hadn’t come to visit me..but his voice was trembling and amidst sobs all he repeated was that he was a coward and will not ever dare to face Mama or me. He hung up saying a sorry which got drowned in his sobs.
That day back home I was determined to ask about Sachii and why he left us to Mama. After some minutes of thought I went into her room.On finding her sleeping , I turned to leave with the idea of postponing my queries. But it is when she woke up and enquired as to why I had come to her.
“Why did Sachii leave us, Mama?”
Something of a mixture of grief and disgust filled her face as it slowly reddened . She shouted asking to not dare to repeat his name in front of her once more as he was nothing but a coward. She continued to shout and curse and held me responsible for this life of her’s. Enraged and frustrated I too spoke out, blaming her for making me live the life of an orphan.
That silenced her. And her silence made my heart grow heavier.
After a small hiatus, she started speaking.
“Sachii, though he is your father, is not my husband . You are the result of our extramarital affair. I was married to Sachii’s brother Prabhu. But once I got pregnant with you Prabhu knew that you weren’t his progeny. It led to constant fights between us which ended in his suicide.”
“Mama but why?
Why did you develop such an affair with his brother ?”
Fighting with her sobs, she replied,
“Sachii was always her lover and the marriage with Prabhu was done under the pressure Daadu had put on her. Thus against her will . Even after marriage she was unable to keep herself away from Sachii.
After Prabhu’s death it was decided that Sachii would live with us. He was interested in inheriting the position and company of Prabhu but not his wife. He feared the impact it would have on his name and clear-chit character. That conflict continued for a while . And one day Sachii left the home and never came back.”
Daadu who cursed himself for this spoiled life of his daughter lived as a silent witness till his last breath. Mama never called Sachii back and never did he come back.
But in this tug of wars, I was the one who actually lost, my childhood, my parents and all the love that I deserved.
I shouted , finding it unable to control my tears and banged the door behind.
I can no more sleep when I realise I’m getting victimised and silenced same time even without me knowing. All had a say i my life except me. I’m not even left with a colorful memory of my childhood with my parents in it atleast to brag upon ; its all filled with “Aishu shoo! “
Even while strangled by such thoughts I do realise one thing.
However entangled one might be in the relations of blood, some stay orphaned.
The end.
Drink love, if lost drink Wine
Wine wine wine
Wine gushing out of my brain
It rises from my sole
And even spreads over my soul.
Fade fade my reason to numbness
And my pale sense to nonsense.
Oh my lady love
My love didn’t reciprocate
As you complain
My penis inappropriate.
Your lustrous eyes seek another fit
While in despair I sit.
Oh my roses fade and fall
On your wild sweet lakes dried.
Alas when you turn and walkout
I saw your lakes reflects me no more.
Bitter love better than potion
Leaves a heart devoid of passion.
Thief filthy thief you
Go to hell I bless.
Eat the fruit of Eden
And drink from Lethe.
But give back my heart
I won’t be a shashi anymore.
Ottal through my eyes
Faced with a pretty long night to pull through, I thought of watching a film suggested by my friend long before. She kept on persuading that finally, I had to watch it. Yet it had been a month since I downloaded the movie but didn’t watch and each time she enquired I came up with new excuses.
But this time I felt like viewing some thing different from the usual hungama movies and decided to watch Ottal: the Trap. A movie based on Vanka, the short story by Anton Chekov. The movie is directed by Jayraj and music score is by Kavalam Narayana Panicker. As these details suggest its not going to have any kind of commerical elements in it. The movie is set in Kuttanad, the backwaters of Kerala. Each shot in this film manages to explore its beauty to the fullest.
The plot is built on the intense theme of an orphan boy Kuttapayi who lives with his grandpa whom he calls Valiyapchayi, after the death of his parents. Things went well for Kuttapayi till his Valyapchayi fell ill. Unlike most of the kids he never went to school although he longed, but was exposed to the ways of nature sooner and more vividly than any other kid. Under the pretence of education the child is taken away to a place that resemble Tamilian culture where he is forced to do work of making fire crackers at the young age of eight. The boy often gets beaten up and is put to starve. The film ends on a positive note of hope.
The movie addresses contemporary issues including agricultural loan crisis because of which his parents commit suicide. It tries to warn us about the issues of childlabour that still hasn’t got wiped out completely. The film maintains a dull tone throughout but has beautiful visuals that fully capture the beauty of the Kuttanad, its life and people.
The film leaves a haunting sensation and instills thought in us. But a question which I’m not sure whether rational or reasonable is still annoying me… Are the fire crackers, that we blow up each Diwali, drenched in the cries of such innocent beings who are trapped in a stroke of bad luck…?
P.S: Happy Diwali.
The art films too are interesting.
Rollingstones'16 