I do Want to Say Something!

 

 

I was celebrated as a divine tool by you, man,

That for your every walk of life, I was your spirit,

I was your backbone, I was your home-mate,

And I was your pal of all pals, always right.

 

For daily mundane in the kitchen, a diary

The homemaker keeps scribbling the need,

And as her brother,I advise her, not to be weary,

And list her usable items, that she cannot avoid.

 

Writers vomit their ideas with my help,

And they carry me wherever they go,

And I help them their thoughts, if heavy to melt,

And thus happen births or rises of aesthetics or so.

 

Clerks, officers, railway ticket examiners, doctors

None are absent in my counting column,

Farm workers and their masters keep records

And I assist them selflessly and that is solemn.

 

Delightfully I lie or sleep in my pockets,

Of intellectuals and pupils and that is why people

Wanted yonder a good place like sockets

That got their lovely recent shape in the apparel. 

 

I was offered serene places for my rest

And now I am given, rather thrown at

Corners or even dirty bins for my last rest

And I am left in an unnoticeable spot. 

 

Alas! All my celebrity status has vanished,

The cruel computers and phones encroached on

To my compound and I am being far-chased;

I, your PEN, see my demise, losing the state sacred. 

 

ആ ദിനം

ഗാനം 

നീലനീരദം  പന്തലൊരുക്കും,

കാലേ നമുക്കുവേണ്ടി ഹായ് ! 

തേൻപനീർ പുഷ്‌പമായി വന്നു നീ 

മാനസം മൗലിയാക്കുമോ?

കണ്ണുകൾകൊണ്ടു കൈമാറി നമ്മൾ  

ഉള്ളിൽപ്പൊങ്ങിയ സന്ദേശം.

ഉന്മാദപൂർവ്വം നെഞ്ചത്തിൽ വച്ചു,

നിന്റെ ചിത്രം പ്രിയമായി.

  

മന്ദമാരുതൻ  കൂട്ടുവന്നിടും 

എന്നരികിൽ നീ വന്നീടൂ.

പൊൻപ്രാവുകളായ്  വിണ്ണിൽ പറക്കാം 

പെണ്ണെ!   വൈകല്ലെയെത്തുവാൻ.

 

 സ്വപ്നപൂർത്തിക്കായ്  വരൂ കരളേ!

സുന്ദരകാലം പാകമായ്.

ഒന്നായി,ത്തീരുമാ  ദിനം കാത്തു 

വന്നുവിളിപ്പൂ  ധിറുതീ. 

 

Two Friends!

  

 

 

Varija, the only daughter of her parents, whose presence was a cheer to the world, surrounded her. The obedient, hardworking girl always won the hearts of her teachers, proving excellence in academics. She and her friend, Meghna used walking to the school, which fell at a close distance. Comparison of marks, mode and module of teachers, school ambience, its green velvety cuteness, etc. had their space on the friends’ tongues. The tree pals giving company to them in the break shaded them from the son's ire.

On a Tuesday, the phone call from the school, Varija’s mom, Vanaja attended, “Why was Varija absent for long? Not well?”

“Ma’am, you are mistaken. She comes to school every day. The usual time she is back home also.”

“Then please come to the school,” the teacher said.

The same forte happened with Meghna also.

The next day, the parents and their daughters were in the principal’s room at the scheduled time. The principal and the class teachers understood that the girls started from home, but their route was not to the school. Questions on parks, theatre, friends’ domiciles, restaurants and so on moved from mouth to mouth and loomed in vain. The girls were grieving without uttering anything. Their eyes said a saga of fret, while mouths were kept in a silent mode.

The school staff left the place, leaving the children with their mothers for personal counselling. Affectionate, tolerant and rebuking words in various tones and doting strokes did not affect them. They had stitched their mouths with silence. Eventually, Vanaja played her trump card, bidding goodbye to her daughter; she said she would be going yonder, not wanting to stay with her daughter anymore. And that act did bear its fruits that the already dejected girl narrated everything.

“ Meghna’s Neighbour-uncle guided Meghna to a hotel, showering her with sweet inspiring-type words and glittering covert gifts. He presented her before some vultures and photographed the scenes in the hotel. Using those scenes, he blackmailed and threatened the poor girl for trapping her friend, and Varija fell prey to that conspiracy. What they were doing was in a room in the hotel they had to change their uniforms into pretty apparel and in the evening they did vice-versa. Now, Varija had to bring another girl; the game would earn him a handsome revenue. 

The picture was unsubtle; information was passed on to the Police, and they did not delay to handcuff the culprits. Their fathers' transfer requests were addressed positively. Erasing all long-lasting impressions, the girls, now grownups paint flying colours around.

 

Dipped in Distress!

  

Yes, he was alone, to extend

None are there, a helping hand,

Alone is not a befitting word,

Because his mom, long she cannot stand.

Ha! One thing, he is a widower,

 Alas! Destiny has stolen His dear,

Gifting her Dengue as her partner

That stayed for a week with her.

Her mind dammed streams of her tears;

She never wanted fast a visa to the Paradise

God claimed her last deep breaths;

Cadaver hers was ornate with wreaths,

Leaving her lame mother-in-law,

Loving hubby, favourite household,

Lovely fauna, her home, much preferred, 

She chose her residence above, her final abode.

The sweet nuptial days, fate swept away,

The viruses showed cheek on their way,

While approaching the man’s wife,

Who left the poor man wailing.

The man, having a blue-collar job,

Always had in his aid his heart-throb;

Having dipped in distress, braced a noose;

His ma became a silver lining in his noesis.

The Modest Girl!

Shooranaadu Hamlet is a cute little lady with her panoramic beauty, known for her uniqueness. There stay the modest girl, Sharanya and her parents, Mrs.Jyothi and Mr.Sudeep. The word happiness we can attribute to that menage, no doubt. Sudeep is abroad in an offshore place, therfore, his presence at home is frequent; Jyothi is a teacher. She sowed the seeds of all the values and qualities in Sharanya in her childhood.

 

A little detail about Sharanya- she was born to her parents, who obtained the precious child after a wait of ten years with prayers in their spousal life. Prayers like‘Uruli Kamazhththal’( An offering in the temple, in which a traditional large cookware is made upside down for accomplishing wishes) were done by the couple.

 

On completing her twelfth grade Shari alias Sharanya, chose the Engineering Degree Course a bit far. Jyothi had felt her daughter’s absence with much apprehension. But still, she did not permit her tears to see the outside world. Unlike the other college-mates, Sharanya upheld her tradition and wore the village model apparel with makeup nil. She was in love with her studies, which landed her in a multi-national company in Bangalore. Here, the bidding goodbye of the dear daughter broke off the control of the clouds of her anguish, resulting in a heavy rainfall in Amma’s( Mother) eyes.

 

Soon, she recovered from the feel of the vacuum created by her daughter because the latter celebrated frequent phone calls and video calls with her parents. Instagram and WhatsApp messages played their roles well in maintaining their connectivity. Shari’s childhood provided her Amma with opportunities to spin a golden thread of wishful dreams about her daughter’s studies, job and marriage.

 

Now the spinning reached its pinnacle, so she said, “ We have to find a suitable groom for our daughter, who would prefer her lovely modesty,”

 

 In the meantime, Amma used to press her daughter too to be prepared for the life of a life, “ Amma, don’t worry, I’ll go with your wish, not now, wait.”

 

Achchan(Father) also thought, “ She hasn’t gone old. Let her enjoy a couple of years more.”

 

That day,Jyothi was carrying tea to her husband in the sit-out. To their surprise, they saw two youths, a boy with his short hair, wearing short knickers and the other one, whom Jyothi could not make out as a boy or girl, had long hair and wore full pants. Both had browned hairs.

 

But she was mistaken because the one in knickers was female, who had put lipstick on her lips. On careful watch, Jyothi could not digest what she saw there.Suddenly, she thundered, “ Mole(darling), is it you in this shape! O! God, what am I seeing?”

 

Very composed was Sharanya and said in a fleecy voice,” Amma, Achcha, he is Arun Aroda. He is my hubby. From Delhi. Register marriage.”

 

The couple’s lingual organs sank in the deep of their mouths. As Jyothi was about to slap her daughter, Sudeep,"No, Jyothi, no, time has changed, it is new gen style. Now we have to change.”

നോവിന്റെ നീരൊഴുക്ക് !

ചിത്തത്തിന്നാഴങ്ങളിൽ 

           നോവിന്റെ നീരൊഴുക്കായ്,

ഉത്തരയുടെ ക്ഷേത്രം 

           നിർജ്ജീവം മാനസവും. 

മോശമായതിൻ ഹേതു

      പെട്ടെന്നുണർന്നൂ വൃഷ്ടി.

മട്ടുമാറിയ വർഷം

         പിണമഞ്ചമെത്തിച്ചു.

ഭർത്താവും പൊന്നുമോനും 

     ഛായാചിത്രമായ്  മാറി, 

മൊത്തത്തിലനാഥയായ്

       ജീവിതവീഥിതന്നിൽ.

ഉത്തരയ്ക്കുത്തരമോ    

         ഹൃദിയെത്തിയുമില്ല.

ഉത്തരമില്ലാ പ്രശ്നം  

          ബലൂൺപോലുള്ളിൽ വീർത്തു.

ഉത്തുംഗക്കുന്നിൻ മേലെ 

        ഉത്തമൻ തൻ കുടുംബ-

മുത്തമസ്വപ്നങ്ങൾതൻ 

         കുടക്കീഴിലായ് നിന്നൂ.

  “പത്തുപണമുണ്ടാക്കി 

          വയ്ക്കണമൊരാലയം,”

ചിത്തങ്ങൾ നിലകൊണ്ടു

            കനവിൻ കുടക്കീഴിൽ.

സ്വന്തം ഗേഹവാസത്തിൻ 

           മോഹഹാരം കോർത്തവർ

സന്തോഷക്കാറ്റിലായി

       ചാഞ്ചാടിയവർനിന്നു.

ഉത്തുംഗശാഖിയിലായ്

      തേനീച്ച തേൻ വയ്ക്കുമ്പോൽ,

ശുദ്ധനാം വീടിൻ നാഥൻ   

              ശേഖരിച്ചൽപ്പം ധനം.

 എത്തിനോക്കിച്ചിരിച്ചു  

               പുത്തൻ വർഷത്തിൻ ചിങ്ങം,

 പെയ്ത്തിന്റെ പനീർത്തുള്ളി  

              തളിച്ചു ഭൂവിലീശൻ.

 മേഘം ഗർജ്ജിച്ചൂ വൃഷ്ടി  

        കാളിയമർദ്ദനമായ്.

ശോകഗാനത്തിന്നീണം 

        മൂകമായ് ചുറ്റും നിന്നു.

വൻരമ്യമന്ദിരവും    

           പൊക്കത്തിൽ പാദപങ്ങൾ,

മിന്നൽ തോൽക്കും വേഗത്തി-

          ലോടും വണ്ടികൾ ഭോജ്യം.

കിട്ടിയതൊക്കെത്തിന്നു 

           മുന്നേറി വർഷപാതം,

നഷ്ടമായുത്തരതൻ

            തോഷത്തിൻ കല്ലോലവും. 

ശാപ്പാടു പൂർണ്ണമായി

          പിൻവാങ്ങി മാരിയെക്ഷി.

അപ്പോഴോ മോഹിച്ചവൾ 

        വന്യമൃഗാന്നമാകാൻ.  

ഇച്ഛയ്ക്കും ഭംഗത്തിനും 

            കാലദേശങ്ങളില്ലാ 

ഇച്ഛയോയെന്നുമെന്നും  

          മർത്യനിൽക്കൂടു കൂട്ടും.

വിരവേയുള്ളിൽമേവും

       പൈതലോ പൊന്തിവന്നു 

 “മരണം വരിക്കില്ലാ

            കടയ്ക്കു ജീവനേകും."

വിധിയോ സ്വന്തം  തട്ടിൽ

          മർത്യനായ്  വച്ചതെല്ലാം, 

കയത്തിൽ വീണെന്നാലും  

          സ്വീകരണം , കരണം.

ക്ഷേത്രം= ശരീരം 

പത്തനം= വീട്

The Castle in the Air!

 

The name Amita Raj, gifted her parents;

a youth, just twenty-three years old,

looking pretty, bearing a smile of gold,

she was in the morn of her life.

 

Her face was a cute bloom at the dawn,

with decent-done hair-do and modest jeans,

 to hate her, no way for others;

 her visage was painted in charming manners.

 

Her greatest dream was soaring in the air,

displaying her doctoring with faults rare.

She was content, had no gloom,

and of course her work was her plume.

 

Ready she was to follow any trend,

sensing love and mercy as an apt blend,

fixing a stethoscope around her neck,

moved she, as a kin among the sick.

 

Like a honeybee toiling around plants

Fluttering to earn dainty in plenty,

Amita kept helping for the ailing,

be off their ache by words so sweet.

 

Alas! one day, a man in rags, insane,

 sharp scissors into her neck, inserted;

 intense narcotics, very dense

had sucked entirely his common sense.

 

A doctor with a mind full of ideas

to cure sincerely, the destitute,

had built a Castle of good thoughts;

God! It was a palace in the air.