கண்ணாடி ( Mirror )

Yesterday while sitting in class, I got this sudden urge to see how good I was in writing in tamil, a language which I ve been talking since my childhood but am pretty bad at, according to my tamil friends. This was the result... ( I have translated it as well as i can in english at the end, but I guess as they say, a translation can never capture the original)


அவள் கண்களின் ஓரத்தில் ஒரு கண்ணீர் துளி தேங்கியது. கல்லூரிச் சாலையில் நடந்து போகவே அவள் தான்அறியாமலே மனதின் விசித்ரமான சாலைகளிலிருந்து வழிமாரி ஒரு ஆபத்தான சந்தில் நுழைந்துவிட்டாள் .
கண்ணீர்துளியிடம் அவள் போராடினாள். துளும்பி நிற்கும் கண்களை யாரும் பார்க்க குடாதென்று அவள் பார்வையை கீழே வைத்து நடந்தாள். சாலை மாணவர்களால் நிறைந்து இருந்தது. அவற் கூட்டம் கூட்டமாக போகும் காட்சி அவள் தனிமையின் ஆறாத புண்ணில் குத்தியது. அவள் இன்னும் வேகமாக நடந்தாள். எதோ அவள் வேகத்தில் தன வேதனைகளை இழந்து விட முடியும்போல். மனதின் லத்சியமில்லாமல் தன் கால்கள் போகும் வழியே அவள் சென்றாள்.
தானரியமலேயே கல்லூரி அருகில் இருக்கும் குளத்தில் அவள் வந்திருந்தாள். அதே இடத்தில் அவனிடம் சிரித்த சிரிப்புகளும் செய்த குறும்பகளும் அவளே வாட்டியது. அருகில் இருக்கும் மரங்களில் இருந்து ஒரு கிளி கூட பாடவில்லை.
காற்றில்லா அம்மலையில் ஒரு இலை கூட நகரவில்லை.
குளத்தில் தண்ணீர் ஒரு பெரும் கண்ணாடி போலிருந்தது.
அவள் போராட்டத்தில் தோல்வி அடைந்தால்.அவளை வென்ற கண்ணீர் துளி அக்கண்ணாடியை உடைத்தது. குளத்தின் நாலு பக்கமும் அலையாய் பாய்ந்தது.

A teardrop nestled in the corner of her eyes, threatening to spill out of her full, sad eyes. Walking through the school road, her mind wandered across memory's treacherous paths. Careful not to let anyone see her tear-filled eyes, she fixed her gaze on to the road. The road was filled with children - laughing, gossiping, teasing- in groups. Their sight and sounds stung her deep wound of loneliness. She walked faster, as though, to out-walk her pain. Aimless, she walked on, with no destination in her troubled mind, just following her tiring legs. She battled her tears.

She found herself standing at the lake near the school. Her subconscious mind had brought her to one of their favorite rendezvous spots. Not a bird chirruped or a leaf rustled in the trees nearby. The lake looked like a giant mirror in the breeze-less evening. Memories came flooding back- those naughty pranks, those peals of laughter, those meaningful silences. They tormented her. She could feel them choking her.

And then she lost her battle. The victorious teardrop fought its way out of its ocular prison and flew down to the lake, shattering the mirror, and rushing in waves to infinity.

I miss walking...

I miss walking..

Back when I was around eight or ten, we used to have this family ritual of going for a walk after dinner. Back then, we were living in Karaikal, a quaint little coastal town and our home was only half a km from the waterfront. The soft gentle sea breeze which whistled through the swaying conifers and rustling neems lining the road in front of my house still brings a smile of pleasure when I think of it. Since we were living inside my fathers company quarters, traffic on the road was non-existent.In fact, it was a private road, if I may.

So every night, after dinner, while my mother cleared up and washed the dishes, my dad, sister and me would put on our bata chappals(the sandal colored ones if u know wat i mean ) and step out into the cool evenig air and begin our walk across the small stretch of road we called home. To and fro, we would go, with the soothing breeze on our face and the satisfaction of a tasty meal on our tongue, walking the walk, talking the talk. Typically, my sister would be in full flow, recounting in glorious detail every step she took in school, every word her teachers said, while my father listened attentively, his hands behind his back, his ears cocked ever so slightly to her side.

And there I would be , on the other side, half my mind processing this steady stream of information, but the other half just wandering here and there, and all this while, my hands moving involuntarily bowling an imaginary yorker or spanking a scorching drive through the covers. And it is in these walks, that I feel I learnt more than in any classroom. It is on these walks that I learnt from my father questions ranging from space travel to relativity, from the color of sunlight to the appreciation of a poem. I have learnt more from those discussions with my father and sister on everything under the sun ( or rather the moon ) than anything I ve learnt in any classroom ( though to be fair, I haven't really tried the latter ;) ). But more than all, I learn about the joy of walking.. I learnt about the warmth of togetherness...
And after a while, my father would fetch me inside to see what was keeping my mother so long. And when she too joins us, her work for the day done, we walk together, cocooned in the warmth of togetherness.

I miss walking...

Life in black and white...

I remember, back when i was a kid, thinking that life in previous generations used to be in black and white. I swear, I believed that. I could just imagine people walking about, talking , going to school, raising families, everything- but in black and white. Maybe it was all those black and white movies of yesteyears or maybe it was those black and white photographs of my parents and grandparents back in their childhood- whatever it was, it had me sold good on the idea. Even now, sometimes when i am in a nostalgic mood, when i am thinking fondly of old memories, I like trying to imagine those times in black and white- a greyscaled footage of snapshots in slowmotion. Somehow, it all seems simpler, happier, and more heartwarming .. try it :)

What's under your eyelids?!

The mind is a fickle thing! Have you ever tried just lying down with your eyes closed and try to see?? Sounds absurd?! What I mean is have u tried seeing whats at the back of your eyelids?! havent?! try it ! it can be pretty fun and a bit disorienting. But dont worry, sanity is just an eyelid away :)

Looking back...and forward...

Am back again..staring at the familiar screen of the blog's new post window, which still looks ( astonishingly, considering today's fast changing world) so similar to the screen that stared at me when i first got this urge to blog some five years back..
and i wonder.. how things have changed, how much i have grown..or how much i haven't...

And i think of all the journeys that I have been on ... and i mean not just the ones on which i traveled places. I think of all those dreams left behind, those ideals compromised, those heights gained and those lows reached. I think of all those people who I ve met on this journey, a few who are still close in heart and body..so many, oh so many who lie buried in the deepest recesses of my memory, biding their time, waiting for those flashes of deja vu to resurface them, albeit fleetingly into consciousness, a sweet reminder of days gone by, greyscaled footage of memories which seems to surprise you with their clarity and detail.

I like thinking about the good times I had.. somehow they seem better every passing year. As though the fun and smiles are like wine, growing better and settling down as the years fly by. I only wish I could just sit back with nary a thought in my head in an easy chair like the one grandfather used to recline in after lunch ( a charukasera, in malayalam, a simple elegant but immensely comfortable piece of furniture ) and just stare at the bright blue sky and lose myself in golden memories, and let my mind wander by itself to wherever it chooses. Ah! bliss.. But I guess, such peace of mind is a long way off, something to be earned, not dreamt wistfully off..But till that day, I will dream on..

Drunk...

I like drunk people. People who can hold their drink i mean. Not the ones who go around smashing things on a high or end up throwing up all over the place. I like those who, after knocking back a couple of hard ones, get this peaceful look on their face and become great fun to chat with. I know people who find it so hard to express themselves in their sober state, become masters of eloquence when drunk, and I love listening to them when they do. The dialted pupils, the dazed happy expression on their faces, the smug grin, the overflowing camedarie make normal people abnormal, adds a dash of colour to their charachters, who are ptherwise black and white in the cartoon of life. A kind-of peaceful pallor descends on them, and I wonder whther they experience more happiness than I ever can in my sober state?!

the could-have-beens...

Chances.
A mistake.
Guilt.
Regret.
The could-have-beens.
Irritation.
The dead feeling at the pit of the stomach.

Life has this funny way of making you look back at it and wonder how things would have turned out "if-only" somethings had turned out the way they could have, would have,...should have.
And it doesnt stop with that. The mind wanders, like a leaf caught in a rainstorm. It flies in to the darkest recesses of the memory and brings back memories- sad, painful, guilt-ridden. And it starts to question whther all those things in ur life which rather not have happened would have hapened if its previous such twist of fate had not happened?!
And it has this way of knocking surprises down ur path. Just when u think its all smooth sailing and u are cruising along lifes highway with the top down basking in the sun, u feel the sharp cold tingle of a raindrop on ur skin. And before you know it, its pouring down heavily and the roof is stuck and cant be closed.
And the chill in your bones more real and much more stronger than the warmth ever was.