ANUP'S FOREVER

A Trip to Balasore

2010-12-16T07:43:00.000-08:00

I had an opportunity to visit the the oldest unit of the Defence Research and Development Organisation (DRDO) at Chandipur, beautifully located 15km from Balasore by the shores of Bay of Bengal. As usual, it was almost on the last minute that I was instructed to proceed to PXE (Proof and Experimental Establishment) Balasore to be the team leader for the proof firing of a particular armament. My swift move to book railway tickets only resulted in those which were in waiting list (again as usual) and there wasn’t even a chance of getting them confirmed. The only silver lining in the whole thing was that I was told that I could take my better half along. I really didn’t have much of a choice anyway

For all those, who have no clue of where I have been asked to go, the PXE or the Proof and Experimental Establishment is an organization where the Proof Firing of Guns and other armaments are undertaken. Only after the armaments have been fired and proved at the firing range under PXE, can the weapons be inducted in to the service, be it the Army, Navy or Air force. PXE came in to existence in 1894. The first round fired here was a 12 pounder shrapnel shell on Mar 2, 1894. The range is 19.5 km in length and 3 km wide. By notification the range can be extended 50km southward along the coast and 50 km in to the sea. The crescent shaped coast is ideal for firing at different bearings into the sea. The range came under DRDO in 1958 and has since been carrying out proof of guns and ammunition made in the country or procured from abroad. On an average 20,000 rounds are fired at the range every year.

On 22^nd of November 2010 at 2000 hrs we boarded the only AC 2^nd tier compartment of Guwahati express for Balasore. Since it was not the first time I was entering the AC compartment without a valid confirmed ticket (it was not so for uma), i had already made up my mind in choosing one of the two options. Either bribe the TTE for a ticket or drive down the entire stretch of 1250 km from Vishakhapatnam to Balasore (travelling by spreading a newspaper in the lobby between the toilets used to be the second option when I was a bachelor, but marriage do change men). Since the country is India and since we believe in following the footsteps of our dear leaders (read politicians), I didn’t have much trouble in bribing the TTE for giving me two berths in the otherwise ‘fully full’ compartment. A journey of 10 hours or so ended when we set foot in the early hours of 23^rd Nov on the small and sleepy town called Balasore. The first impression on getting down at the station was that I have travelled back in time by at least 10 years. Some bollywood song of the early 90s was being played from a small teashop in the station in front of which, a group of senior citizens wearing woolen shawls were sipping their hot steaming tea. The morning sun had risen well above the horizon but the city was still waking up. Luckily there was a vehicle waiting outside the railway station to take us to Chandipur (almost 15 km from Balasore) where the PXE was located.

`Chandipur, as we learned later, had nothing but DRDO and the fishing villages to her credit. On the way to Chandipur, along the long dusty road, all we saw were lush green paddy fields, huts with roofs thatched with hay and ponds full of feather white water lilies. After a drive of about 20 min we entered the DRDO complex which housed both the PXE as well as ITR (Integrated Test Range) where our missiles like Agni, Prithvi and Brahmos were test fired. Though inside the same complex, ITR and PXE are different organizations and they have different roles to play. We were taken to ‘Sagar Darshan’ – the DRDO guest house where our stay was arranged in a sea facing cabin.

Once at Chandipur, a peculiar phenomenon that left us in awe and wonder was that the tides were quite prominently noticeable here. The sea would recede by around 6 – 7 km during low tides and would come all the way back during high tides. The sea is so shallow that one could walk 6 – 7 km into the sea during the low tides. As we walked in to the sea as if towards the horizon, we noticed that the sea was infested with jelly fishes and small red crabs. The red crabs would move in large groups such that from a distance it would seem to be a red carpet moving over the blue sea. Once the sea recedes, there would be innumerable jelly fish carcasses lying on the sea bed. Walking in to the sea was an adventure in itself since the seabed also had a plethora of sea anemones, star fishes and countless other organisms of which we had no clue at all. We were behaving as school children out on their first picnic, squealing out of excitement every time we saw a new creature. The ‘Sagar Darshan’ has been so designed that every cabin has an excellent view of the ocean and one could wake up to watch the orange hue of the rising sun sneaking in to the cabin. The sun would then leave its twin on the thin sheet of seawater separating from it slowly. It was low tide in the mornings and as the sun went up, the sea would flood, the waves slowly engulfing the muddy sand, slowly approaching us. And soon, one could hear the waves growl, hitting against the stone breakwater along the seawall.

For the next two days I was busy with what I had come for, the proof firing. Whole day Uma would sit and count the waves from the balcony (FYI she is M.Sc. Maths). So the very first day I got an off, we decided to get out and explore Balasore. Communication is a big problem here since people don’t even seem to know Hindi. We had to make out from the bits and pieces of Hindi that would fall from their mouth. We took a cab from Chandipur to Balasore and asked the driver about any tourist attractions nearby. He mentioned names of some temples and particularly stressed upon a ‘Panchlingeshwar Temple’. He even tried to tell us some history behind the origin of the temple but we couldn’t make out much from his ‘half Hindi half Oriya’ dialect. Since we didn’t have much to do anyway, we decided to visit ‘Panchlingeshwar Temple’ and take the lord’s blessings. He had directed us to take a bus to a place called ‘Nilgiri’ and thereafter take a trucker to the temple. Without realizing that we are entering more into the rural Orissa, we took the next bus to ‘Nilgiri’. The journey to Nilgiri was something like that of Shahrukh Khan in ‘Swades’. People seemed still to be living in the 90s. Some Hindi song of the early 90’s was blaring out from the loudspeaker in the bus. We were sitting amidst a horde of villagers along with their sacks and bamboo baskets. Everybody was looking at us as if we were from some other planet. We tried smiling at some people to look friendly but to no avail and finally gave it up. Now they were looking at us in suspicion and we were looking back as if they are out of place. Neither could we speak their language and nor could they speak ours, but communication of a different sort was happening through the eyes. Somehow we managed to get off at Nilgiri.

Luckily we found somebody who could speak a not-so-bad Hindi and learned that besides the Panchlingeshwar temple, there was also a Jagannath temple nearby. Our hopes gained wings thinking that the visit would not prove to be futile. With new found energy and enthusiasm, we set forth our journey towards the Jagannath temple which was always ‘just half a kilometer more’ even after travelling more than three kilometers. What we didn’t know was that we were in for a biiig surprise!!!! The so-called jagannath temple turned out to be nothing more than a single room with an idol placed in the centre. Dejected and utterly spent (the “half kilometer” walk had almost ruined us of whatever energy was left in us) we resumed on our way to Panchalingeshwar praying desperately that it would not disappoint us. We managed to board a trucker which should ideally have been in a junkyard but somehow had been granted an extended lifetime. Again, the bollywood music of the 90s gave us company and every part of the trucker danced to the beats as we moved closer to our destination.

The journey to panchalingeshwar temple in the trucker surprisingly turned out to be not that bad after all. Besides the two of us, there were just another family and 4 other people. We were travelling through the rural Orissa and it could be clearly seen from the scenes outside. On both sides of the road were rocky, bare hills decorated only by huge boulders. The scenery quite resembled that of the village in the film “sholay” and we half expected a bunch of “dakoos” to pounce on us from behind them. Finally the driver dropped us off at a desolated junction directing us to take the road towards the right to panchalingeshwar. Again we were at the mercy of “nataraj transports” and proceeded to walk the entire stretch towards the temple. What we didn’t know was that this walk would take the life out of us. We had been walking almost close to an hour still there was no sight of the destination. All the passers-by repeated the same old story of “just half a km ” that we finally stopped asking how many kms more and decided to place our trust in lord panchalingeshwar himself that he would take us to the right place. Our stomachs were grumbling by this time and we sadly thought of the delicious and wonderful meal we had left back at Sagar Darshan. When we had walked another 15 min or so, we reached a panthasala managed by the OSTDC and our joy knew no bounds when we saw the word “RESTAURANT” displayed on its board. Keeping aside our plan to see panchalingeshwar, we decided to satisfy the call of our stomachs and take a break.

After an hour or two rejuvenated by a meal of salad,rice, dal and sabzi (which incidentally took the rest house staff an hour to prepare!!) we continued towards our goal. But this time we were relieved because we were not alone. There were many groups of tourists walking along so that we were convinced that we were really on the right path. This walk was interesting since most of the way was through the jungle area with shady trees and little streams on both sides. After a few minutes we reached the façade of the temple. We learned that now one had to climb the countless steps built into the rocks to reach the sanctum sanctorum and see the idol. Half happy that we had made it and half sad thinking about climbing up, we took a deep breath and started the ascend. After what seemed like a lifetime, we reached the temple which shockingly had no resemblance to your usual concept of temples. Idols of deities like radha-krishna, durga were scattered here n there in small rooms and individual poojas were being performed. After paying our respects we enquired about the panchalingeshwar idol. We were directed towards a pundit sitting beside a stream gushing out from the rocks. We went near him but could not see any idol, forget a sivalinga. And that’s when we were informed about the reality. The panchalingeshwar was not any idol, but a cluster of 5 sivalingas inside the stream which you could see only in the summer season when the stream thinned!!! We were dumbfounded for a moment, not able to decide whether to laugh or cry. We were practically kicking ourselves in the back for not having gathered any information about the place and blindly having followed a stupid taxi driver. Pitying our own folly we resumed our way down towards the junction where we had disembarked the trucker.

The junction wore a completely different look now. Many of the little shops (read shacks!!!) had opened, though most of them were either betel or tea shops. We were told that there was direct bus to Balasore at 5o’clock and that we needn’t even think of boarding a trucker since it would come packed with not an inch to spare. It was only 4 and we decided to while away our time drinking tea from a nearby shop. We were famished, dead tired and dejected at the turn of events the whole day and were silently promising never again to embark on such an adventure without proper preparation.

The 5o’clock bus finally arrived at 5:20 and seeing it empty, all the seats to ourselves, we were literally taken to seventh heaven. The bus was small and so were the seats, but we manged to find a comfortable seat.. I immediately proceeded to sleep whereas Uma decided to enjoy the ride. We reached Balasore around 7:30. Both of us were spent from the day’s ordeal. So we thought of boosting ourselves with a cup of tea. After a light meal of tea, vada and katchories, we roamed about the town for a little while until it was time to catch the shuttle back to DRDO. We reached Sagar Darshan just in time for dinner. After the heavy dinner we headed straight for bed thinking what a day it has been and although we were tired and spent, how, surprisingly we had enjoyed the whole time!!

The next was spent in packing and strolling around the DRDO campus. We were to leave the next day morning although neither of us was in the mood to return back. This time though, we had confirmed tickets, but that provided little consolation. We were too used to enjoying these laid-back days with no schedules to keep up and no deadlines to meet. But as everything good must have an end, so did our stay at Balasore when we boarded the Falaknama express to Vizag the next day. What had started off as a 2 day TY duty had become an extended vacation which we thoroughly enjoyed and am sure will cherish the sweet memories.

മറവി

2010-01-28T10:31:00.000-08:00

നിദ്രയുടെ പുതപ്പു ചുറ്റുമ്പോള്‍ ഉണ്ടാവുന്ന
ഇരുട്ടിന്റെ അസ്വസ്ഥതയില്‍,
അതിന്റെ നിശബ്ദതയില്‍,
എനിക്കെന്റെ ഹൃദയത്തിന്റെ താളം കേള്‍ക്കാം
ഹൃദയമെന്നോട് പറയുന്നതെല്ലാം എനിക്ക് വ്യക്തമായി കേള്‍ക്കാം

നനുത്ത ഒരു കാറ്റ് വീശുമ്പോള്‍,
കരിയിലക്കൂട്ടങ്ങള്‍ കലപില പറയുമ്പോള്‍,
മലര്‍ന്നു ശയിക്കുമെന്‍ നെഞ്ചിലേക്ക്
മറവി, ഒരു മഴ പോലെ പെയ്തിറങ്ങുന്നത്,
എന്റെ പാപങ്ങള്‍ മായ്ച്ചു പെയ്യുന്നത്,
ഞാന്‍ അറിയാതെ ആയിരുന്നോ?

പൂക്കുന്ന പ്രണയം

2010-01-10T15:46:00.000-08:00

നിന്റെ ശബ്ദം ... ഒരു കിളിക്കൊഞ്ചലായ്
എന്നെ നിദ്രയില്‍ നിന്നുണര്‍ത്തുന്നു
അതെന്റെ ശ്രവണപുടങ്ങളിലൂടലയടിച്ച്
ഹൃദയമുരുകുമൊരു സോപാനഗീതമാകുന്നു

ഞാനാ ഗീതകത്തിന്‍ ചിറകിലേറി, മുകിലിന്റെ
വര്‍ണ്ണങ്ങളാടുന്ന സ്വര്‍ഗ്ഗത്തീരത്തെത്തുന്നു
അവിടെ... നീല മേഘങ്ങള്‍
വെള്ള ചിറകുള്ള മാലാഖമാര്‍
അവര്‍ക്ക് നടുവിലായ് നീയും

നിന്റെ കണ്‍പീലിയില്‍ സ്വപ്നമുറങ്ങുന്നുണ്ട്
ചെറുപുഞ്ചിരിയില്‍ കനവുകള്‍ വിടരുന്നുണ്ട്
കവിളില്‍ നാണത്തിന്റെ കുങ്കുമം വിരിഞ്ഞിട്ടുണ്ട്
നിന്റെ നയനങ്ങളെന്നെ ഉഴിഞ്ഞിറങ്ങുന്നുണ്ട്

എന്റെ മസ്തിഷ്കഭ്രമണപഥങ്ങളില്‍ നീ ഉദിക്കുന്നു
നിന്റെ നിലാവെന്നിലേക്ക് പെയ്തിറങ്ങുന്നു
നിന്റെ സ്നേഹം... ബാഷ്പബിന്ദുക്കള്‍ പോലെ
എന്റെ കണ്‍പീലിയില്‍ ഉറഞ്ഞുണരുന്നു

എന്നുള്ളിലെ അന്ധകാരമണയും പോലെ
നിന്റെ കനവുകള്‍ എന്നിലേക്ക്‌ പടരും പോലെ
പിടയുമെന്‍ ഹൃത്തിലൊരു തഴുകല്‍ പോലെ
നിന്റെ സ്നേഹമൊരു കാട്ടുതീ പടരും പോലെ

വിഹ്വലമായുണരുന്ന ഈ യാമങ്ങളില്‍
ഞാന്‍ അറിയുന്നു ....
നീയെന്റെ പുണ്യമാണെന്ന്
ഞാന്‍ നീയാണെന്ന്
നീ എന്റേത് മാത്രമാണെന്ന്

ഞാന്‍ അറിയുന്ന ഹര്‍ഷന്‍

2009-08-12T06:22:00.001-07:00

ഒരിക്കല്‍ കണ്ടാല്‍ , രണ്ടു വാക്ക് സംസാരിച്ചാല്‍ ആരും മറക്കാത്ത ഒരു തരം ആകര്‍ഷണീയത ഉണ്ടായിരുന്നു ഹര്‍ഷന്. ദൈവത്തിനു പ്രിയപെട്ടവര്‍ക്ക് മാത്രം അദ്ദേഹം കൊടുക്കുന്ന ഒരു തരം ആകര്‍ഷകത്വം . ആറടി ഉയരവും , ആരെയും കൂസാത്ത ഭാവവും , ആഴമേറിയ കണ്ണുകളും കണ്ടു പേടിച്ചു പോകണ്ട, ആ മുഖത്തെപ്പോഴും ഒരു കുസുര്തി ചിരിയുണ്ടാവും . ആരും അടുത്തു പോവുന്ന ഒരു വ്യക്തിത്വമായിരുന്നു ആയിരുന്നു ഹര്‍ഷന് . ബാസ്കറ്റ്‌ ബോള്‍ കളിയിലായാലും ക്രോസ് കണ്‍ട്രി ആയാലും ബോക്സിങ്ങിലായാലും തമാശ കളിക്കുന്നതിലായാലും ഹര്‍ഷന്‍ വേറിട്ട്‌ നിന്നിരുന്നു. എന്നെക്കാള്‍ രണ്ടു വയസ്സ് കൂടുതല്‍ ആയിരുന്നു ഹര്‍ഷന്. അവരുടെ ബാച്ചിലെ സ്‌കൂള്‍ ക്യാപ്‌റ്റന്‍ ആയിരുന്നു ഹര്‍ഷന്‍

ഹര്‍ഷനെ ഞാന്‍ ആദ്യം കാണുന്നത് സ്കൂളിലെ ബാസ്കറ്റ്‌ ബോള്‍ കോര്‍ട്ടില്‍ വെച്ചാണ് . ഹര്‍ഷനെ ഞാന്‍ ഏറ്റവും കൂടുതല്‍ ഓര്‍ക്കുന്നതും ബാസ്കറ്റ്‌ ബോള്‍ കാരണം ആണ് . ഹര്‍ഷന്‍ സ്കൂള്‍ ക്യാപ്റ്റന്‍ ആയിരുന്നതിനോടൊപ്പം സ്കൂള്‍ ടീം ബാസ്കറ്റ്‌ ബോള്‍ ക്യാപ്റ്റന്‍ കൂടി ആയിരുന്നു . മേജര്‍ അശോക്‌ കുമാര്‍ സ്കൂളില്‍ ഹെഡ് മാസ്റ്റര്‍ ആയി വന്നതിനു ശേഷമാണ് സ്കൂളില്‍ ബാസ്കറ്റ്‌ ബോള്‍ ഒരു ഹരം ആയി മാറിയത് . ആദ്യമായി സ്കൂളില്‍ ഫൈബര്‍ ഗ്ലാസ്‌ ബോര്‍ഡ്‌ വന്നത് ഞാന്‍ ഓര്‍ക്കുന്നു . ആ ബോര്‍ഡില്‍ ആദ്യത്തെ ബാസ്കറ്റ്‌ ഇട്ടതു ഹര്‍ഷന്‍ ആയിരുന്നു . ആദ്യമായ്‌ സ്കൂള്‍ ടീമിന് പുറത്തു നിന്ന് ഒരു കോച്ചിനെ കിട്ടുന്നതും ഹര്‍ഷന്റെ കാലത്താണ് . ആദ്യമായി ബാസ്കറ്റ്‌ ബോള്‍ ടീം സ്കൂളിന് വെളിയില്‍ കളിയ്ക്കാന്‍ പോവുന്നതും ആ കൊല്ലം തന്നെ. അന്നൊക്കെ ഒരു മോഹമാണ് സ്കൂള്‍ ടീം അംഗ മാവുക എന്നത് . സ്കൂള്‍ ടീം പ്രാക്ടീസ് ചെയ്തിരുന്ന കോര്‍ട്ട് മാത്രമേ അന്ന് സിമന്റ്‌ ചെയ്തിരുന്നുള്ളൂ . ഞാനൊക്കെ കോര്‍ട്ടിന്റെ പുറത്തു ചൊറിയും കുത്തി നില്കും . ഹര്‍ഷന്റെയും പ്രജിത്തിന്റെയും സിബിയുടെയും ഒക്കെ കളി പുറത്തു നിന്ന് കാണും . എന്നിട്ട് അവരുടെ കളി കഴിയുമ്പോള്‍ പഠിച്ച അടവുകള്‍ കോര്‍ട്ടില്‍ പയറ്റും .

ഹര്‍ഷനെ ഞാന്‍ പിന്നെ കാണുന്നത് NDA യില്‍ വച്ചാണ്. ഞങ്ങള്‍ ഒന്നിച്ചുണ്ടായിരുന്ന ഒന്നര കൊല്ലം എനിക്കെന്നും ഒരു വലിയേട്ടന്റെ സ്ഥാനത്ത് ഹര്‍ഷന്‍ ഉണ്ടായിരുന്നു. ആ കാലഘട്ടത്തിലാണ് ഞാന്‍ ഹര്‍ഷനെ നന്നായി അറിയുന്നത്. സ്കൂളില്‍ ഞാന്‍ അറിഞ്ഞിരുന്ന ഹര്‍ഷന്‍ എനിക്കൊരു ആരാധന പാത്രമായിരുന്നു. എന്നേക്കാള്‍ സീനിയര്‍ ആയതിനാല്‍ ഞാന്‍ സ്കൂളില്‍ വച്ചു ഹര്‍ഷനെ അടുത്തറിഞ്ഞിരുന്നില്ല. NDA ജീവിതത്തില്‍ ഞങ്ങളുടെ ഇടയില്‍ പ്രായത്തിന്റെയോ സീനിയര്‍ ആയതിന്റെയോ വ്യത്യാസങ്ങള്‍ ഉണ്ടായിരുന്നില്ല. NDA യിലെ ബാസ്കറ്റ്‌ ബോള്‍ മത്സരങ്ങളില്‍ ഹര്‍ഷനെതിരെയായി ഞാന്‍ കളിച്ചിരുന്നു . NDA യില്‍ നിന്നും ഹര്‍ഷന്‍ പഠിച്ചിറങ്ങിയതിനു ശേഷം പിന്നെ ഞാന്‍ ആരില്‍ നിന്നോ അറിഞ്ഞു ഹര്‍ഷന്‍ പാരാ കമാന്‍ഡോ ആവാന്‍ പോകുന്നു എന്ന് . പിന്നീട് കുറെ കാലം ഹര്‍ഷനെ പറ്റി ഒരു വിവരവും ഇല്ലായിരുന്നു . ഞാനും പാസ്‌ ഔട്ട്‌ ആയി നേവിയില്‍ ചേര്‍ന്നു. ഒരു ദിവസം ഞാന്‍ ലീവില്‍ നാട്ടിലേക്ക് വരുമ്പോള്‍ എന്റെ കമ്പാര്‍ട്ട്മെന്റില്‍ വെച്ച് ഞാന്‍ രണ്ടു ഓഫീസര്‍മാരെ പരിചയപെട്ടു . രണ്ടു പേരും പാരാ കമാന്‍ഡോകള്‍ ആണ് . കൊച്ചിയില്‍ ഡൈവിംഗ് കോഴ്സ് ചെയ്യാന്‍ വേണ്ടി വരുന്ന വഴിക്കാണ് . പട്ടാള കഥകള്‍ ഒക്കെ പറഞ്ഞിരിക്കുന്ന വഴിയില്‍ ഞാന്‍ അവരോടു ചോദിച്ചു ഹര്‍ഷനെ അറിയുമോ എന്ന് ? രണ്ടാളുടെയും മുഖഭാവം മാറുന്നത് ഞാന്‍ ഒരു അമ്പരപ്പോടെ ശ്രദ്ധിച്ചു . ഹര്‍ഷനെ എനിക്കെങ്ങനെ അറിയാമെന്നായി അവര്‍ . ഞാന്‍ സ്കൂളില്‍ വച്ച് ഹര്‍ഷനെ ആദ്യം കണ്ടത് മുതല്‍ എന്റെ ഓട്ടോ ബയോഗ്രഫി അവരുടെ മുന്നില്‍ വിളമ്പി . അവര്‍ പറഞ്ഞാണ് ഞാന്‍ അറിയുന്നത് ഹര്‍ഷന്‍ ബെല്‍ഗൌമില്‍ ഉള്ള കമാന്‍ഡോ സ്കൂളിലെ എല്ലാ കായിക പരീക്ഷയും അസാധാരണ ലീഡില്‍ റെക്കോര്‍ഡ്‌ഓടെ ജയിച്ചു എന്ന് . ഹര്‍ഷന്‍ കാരണം അവരുടെ ഇന്‍സ്ട്രക്ടര്‍ നിലവാരം കമാന്‍ഡോ സ്കൂള്‍ കൂട്ടിയത്രേ. ഒരാള്‍ക്ക് സാധിക്കുംമെങ്കില്‍ എല്ലാവര്ക്കും സാധിക്കും എന്ന് സ്കൂള്‍ അധികൃതര്‍ . അല്ലെങ്കിലെ കമാന്‍ഡോ സ്കൂളിലെ ജീവിതം നരക തുല്യമാണ് . അതിലെ വേദന കൂട്ടിയതിനാണ് ഹര്‍ഷന്റെ പേര് കേട്ടപ്പോള്‍ അവരുടെ മുഖം ചുളിഞ്ഞത് . ആ കഥ കേട്ടപ്പോള്‍ എന്റെ നെഞ്ച് വിരിഞ്ഞു , മുഖത്ത് തെളിഞ്ഞ പുഞ്ചിരി ആ ദിവസം മുഴുവന്‍ അങ്ങനെ തെളിഞ്ഞു നിന്നു. കസാകുകളോട് കളിച്ചാല്‍ ഇങ്ങനെയിരിക്കും എന്ന ഒരു ഭാവത്തില്‍ ഞാന്‍ ഞെളിഞ്ഞിരുന്നു . ഞാനാണ് ആ റെക്കോര്‍ഡ്‌ എല്ലാം തിരുത്തിയത് എന്ന മട്ടായിരുന്നു എനിക്ക് .

പിന്നീട് ഞാന്‍ കൊച്ചിയില്‍ സബ് ലെഫ്റ്റ്റ്റെനന്റ് കോഴ്സ് ചെയുന്ന കാലം . ഹര്‍ഷന്‍ അതെ ഡൈവിംഗ് കോഴ്സ് ചെയ്യാന്‍ അവിടെ എത്തിയിരുന്നു . മൂന്നാഴ്ച ഹര്‍ഷന്‍ അവിടെ ഉണ്ടായിരുന്നു . ഞങ്ങളുടെ താമസ സ്ഥലത്തിന് മുന്നിലെ ബാസ്കറ്റ്‌ ബോള്‍ കോര്‍ട്ടില്‍ എല്ലാ വൈകുന്നേരങ്ങളിലും വാശിയേറിയ കളിക്ക് ശേഷം ഞങ്ങള്‍ പഴയ സ്കൂള്‍ ഓര്‍മ്മകള്‍ പുതുക്കി . ആ കോഴ്സ് കഴിഞ്ഞു ഹര്‍ഷന്‍ തിരിച്ചു പോവുമ്പോള്‍ എനിക്കറിയില്ലായിരുന്നു ഞാനിനി ഒരിക്കലും ഹര്‍ഷനെ കാണില്ല എന്ന് . പിന്നീട് രണ്ടു കൊല്ലങ്ങള്‍ കഴിഞ്ഞു വേറൊരു സീനിയരുടെ ഫോണ്‍ വഴിയാണ് ഞാന്‍ ഹര്‍ഷന്റെ മരണ വിവരം അറിയുന്നത് . എനിക്കെന്തോ അന്ന് കരയാന്‍ കഴിഞ്ഞില്ല . ഒന്നും സംസാരിക്കാന്‍ കഴിഞ്ഞില്ല . ഒരു ഗദ്ഗദം എന്റെ വാക്കുകളെ തടഞ്ഞു നിര്‍ത്തുന്നത് പോലെ തോന്നി . തൊണ്ടയില്‍ പിടഞ്ഞമര്‍ന്നൊരു രോദനം പോലെ ഒന്ന് . ഇന്നും ഹര്‍ഷന്റെ ഓര്‍മ്മകള്‍ വരുമ്പോള്‍ മനസ്സില്‍ എവിടെയോ ആരോ കൊളുത്തി വലിക്കുന്നത് പോലെ തോന്നും.

ഇന്നു എനിക്ക് അഭിമാനത്തോടെ പറയാം എന്റെ രാജ്യത്തെ ഏറ്റവും പ്രായം കുറഞ്ഞ അശോക ചക്ര വിജയി എന്റെ സ്വന്തം സീനിയര്‍ ആണെന്ന്. ഞാനും അവന്റെ കൂടെ വിയര്‍പ്പോഴുക്കിയിട്ടുണ്ടെന്നു. എന്റെ ഉള്ളിലും ഒരു സൂചകാഗ്നി ജ്വലിക്കുന്നുണ്ടെന്ന്. ഹര്ഷാ നീ മരിച്ചിട്ടില്ല, എന്നെ പോലെ ഒരായിരം ഹൃദയങ്ങളില്‍ നീ ഇപ്പോഴും ജീവിച്ചിരിപ്പുണ്ട്. നിന്റെ ശരീരം മണ്ണടിഞ്ഞാലും നിന്റെ അകപ്പൊരുള്‍ മരിക്കുന്നില്ല. നീ പഠിപ്പിച്ചു തന്ന പാഠങ്ങള്‍ ഞങ്ങള്‍ മറന്നു പോകുന്നില്ല. നീ കാണിച്ചു തന്ന വഴി ഞങ്ങള്‍ വിസ്മരിക്കുന്നില്ല. നിന്റെ തലമുറയും ഇനി വരുന്ന തലമുറകളും നിന്റെ വീരകര്മ്മം സ്മരിക്കും. നിന്റെ ജീവിതത്തില്‍ നിന്നു ഉത്തേജനം ഉള്കൊള്ളും. നിന്റെ വഴിയേ ചലിക്കും.

ഹര്‍ഷാ , നീയെന്നെ സ്വാധീനിച്ച പോലെ ഇനി ഒരാളും എന്നെ സ്വാദീനിച്ചേക്കില്ല . അകാലത്തില്‍ പതിക്കുന്ന ഒരു ധൂമകേതു പോലെ നീ അകന്നു പോയെങ്കിലും എന്റെ ഹൃദയത്തില്‍ ഒരു നിലവിളക്കായ്‌, എനിക്ക് വഴിക്കാട്ടിയായ്‌ , ഒരു ഏട്ടന്റെ സ്ഥാനത്ത് എന്നും നീ ഉണ്ടാവും . എപ്പോഴും ഉള്ള ആ കുസുര്തി ചിരിയോടെ നീയേതോ ഒരു ലോകത്തിരുന്നു ഇത് വായിക്കും എന്നെനിക്കറിയാം , ഇപ്പോള്‍ മിന്നി തിളങ്ങുന്ന ഈ നക്ഷത്ര കൂട്ടങ്ങളില്‍ നിന്നു എന്നെ നോക്കി കണ്ണ് ചിമ്മുന്നത് നീയാണെന്ന് എനിക്കറിയാം . എന്റെ വിളറിയ നോട്ടം സഹിക്ക വയ്യാത്തത് കൊണ്ടാവണം ..... ദൂരെ മാനത്ത് ചന്ദ്രനും ഏതോ ഒരു മേഘതുണ്ടിന്റെ പിറകിലൊളിക്കുന്നു .... എന്നെ പോലെ ......

അമ്മയും കണ്ണനും ഒരു ഓണവും

2009-07-29T11:35:00.000-07:00

ഇതെന്റെ വളരെ പഴയ ഒരു കവിതയാണ്. സൈനിക സ്കൂളിലെ ജീവിതത്തിനടിയിലെവിടെയോ അമ്മയെ വല്ലാതെഓര്മ വന്നപ്പോള്‍ എഴുതിയതാണ്‌ ഞാന്‍ ഈ കവിത. പഴയ ചില ഡയറികള്‍ മറിച്ചു നോക്കുന്നതിനിടയില്‍ ഈകവിത കണ്ടപ്പോള്‍ സ്കൂള്‍ ജീവിതത്തിലെ കുറെ നല്ല ഓര്‍മ്മകള്‍ മനസ്സിലേക്ക് വീണ്ടും മടങ്ങി വന്നു. ആ നല്ലകാലഘട്ടത്തിന്റെ കുറെ നല്ല ഓര്‍മകള്‍ക്ക് മുന്നില്‍ ഞാനീ കവിത സമര്‍പ്പിക്കട്ടെ. ആദരവോടെ.......

ഓണപ്പൂപുലരിയുണര്‍ന്നു
ഓണപ്പൂവിളികളുണര്‍ന്നു
മാവേലിതമ്പ്രാന്‍ പോരും
നാളോന്നിങ്ങോടിയണഞ്ഞു

ഓണത്തിന്‍ കൊടിയുടുത്തു
വീടും വീട്ടാരുമൊരുങ്ങി
അമ്മ തന്‍ മിഴിയില്‍ നിന്നൊരു
അശ്രുകണം വീണു പിടഞ്ഞു

തെച്ചിപ്പൂന്ഗു‍ലകള്‍ പൂത്തു
കുയിലിന്റെ പാടു കേട്ടു
മുറ്റത്തൊരു പൂക്കളമിടുവാന്‍
നിന്നെയും കാത്തിരുന്നു

തുമ്പപ്പൂ മാടി വിളിപ്പൂ
കുറിഞ്ഞികള്‍ കാത്തിരിപ്പൂ
കാതങ്ങളകലെയെങ്കിലും
നിന്നെയും കാത്തിരിപ്പൂ

ആല്‍ത്തറയില്‍ മേളം കേട്ടു
പൂവിളികള്‍ ഉയര്ന്നു കേട്ടു
നീ വരും വഴിയിന്നരികില്‍
ദൂരെയ്കു നോക്കി നിന്നു

എന്ന് നീ എത്തും കണ്ണാ
ഒന്നിച്ചൊരോണമിതുണ്ണാന്
നീയില്ലാതില്ലാ കണ്ണാ
അമ്മയ്ക്കീ ആഘോഷങ്ങള്‍

വെയിലാറും വഴിയിന്നരികില്‍
അമ്മയതാ കാത്തിരിക്കെ
സ്വര്‍ഗ്ഗതിന്‍ വാതില്‍ തുറന്നു
കണ്ണനവന്‍ പോരുകയായി

കാത്തിരുന്നമ്മ മയങ്ങി
ഓര്‍മകളില്‍ ഓണമുറങ്ങി
തെക്കുന്നൊരു തെന്നല്‍ വന്നു
അമ്മയ്കൊരു മുത്തം നല്കി

എന്നെന്നും കണ്ണനുമായി
ഓണത്തിന്‍ മധുരം നുകരാന്‍
കണ്ണന്റെ കൈ പിടിച്ചു
അമ്മയും യാത്രയായി

നിശ്ശബ്ദം സന്ധ്യ മയങ്ങി
ആല്‍ത്തറയില്‍ പൂരമടങ്ങി
പടിവാതില്‍ ചാരിയടച്ചു
തെന്നലും യാത്രയായി

മംഗളം ... ശുഭം

2009-07-26T09:22:00.000-07:00

ഒരു നിലവിളക്കിന്റെ തിരിയ്ക്ക് കീഴിലായ്‌ വെള്ള മൂടി പുതച്ചു കൊണ്ട് എന്നെന്നേക്കുമായ്‌ ഉറങ്ങി പോവുന്നതായിഎപ്പോഴെങ്കിലും നിങ്ങള്‍ സ്വപ്നം കണ്ടിട്ടുണ്ടോ? ഒരു പാട് സ്വപ്‌നങ്ങള്‍ ബാക്കി വച്ച്, ഒരു പാട് പ്രതീക്ഷകള്‍തട്ടി തകര്‍ത്ത്‌, ഒരു ദിനം, ഒരു പാട് കണ്ണുകളെ ഈറനണിയിച്ചു എങ്ങോട്ടെന്നറിയാതെ ഒരു യാത്ര പോവുന്നുപലരും. ഇനിയൊരു മടക്കയാത്രയില്ലെന്നറിഞ്ഞു കൊണ്ടു തന്നെ ഞാനിതാ പുറപ്പെടുകയായി..........................

കത്തും നിലവിളക്കിന്‍ ചുവട്ടിലൊരു
വെണ്‍കോടി മൂടിപുതച്ചു ഞാനുറങ്ങുന്നു
കര്‍പ്പൂരഗന്ധവും കണ്ണീരും തേങ്ങലും
പുറത്തു നിശബ്ദമായ്‌ പെയ്യുമീ ചാറലും

തലയ്കലായ്‌ വാവിട്ടു കരയുന്നോരമ്മയും
ദൂരെയായ്‌ വേദന തിന്നുന്നോരച്ചനും
ഒന്നിനുമാവാതെ നോക്കി നില്‍ക്കുന്നിത്‌
ദുഖാര്‍ത്തരായൊരു ബന്ധുജനങ്ങളും

മരിച്ചു മരവിച്ചൊരാ ദേഹത്ത് നിന്നൊരു
നേര്ത്ത തെന്നലിന്‍ രൂപമെടുത്തു ഞാന്‍
ഒരു കണ്ണുനീര്‍ത്തുള്ളി തുടച്ചു കളഞ്ഞു ഞാന്‍
അമ്മ തന്‍ കവിളിലൊരു മുത്തം കൊടുത്തു ഞാന്‍

അറിയുവാനാകില്ലോരിക്കലും നിങ്ങള്‍ക്കെന്‍
അന്തരാത്മാവില്‍ നിന്നൊഴുകുമീ ശക്തിയെ
പിരിയുവാനാകില്ലൊരിക്കലും നിങ്ങള്‍ തന്‍
സ്നേഹ സമൃദ്ധമാം സ്വര്‍ഗസാമീപ്യത്തെ

ഒരു യുഗ്മ ഗാനത്തിന്‍ ഈണമായ്‌ ഞാന്‍ വരാം
ഒരു ഗാഡനിദ്രയില്‍ സ്വപ്നമായ്‌ ഞാന്‍ വരാം
വിരിയുമൊരു മുല്ല തന്‍ ഗന്ധമായ്‌ ഞാന്‍ വരാം
വാടാത്ത പൂവിന്റെ വര്‍ണമായ് ഞാന്‍ വരാം

മരണമൊരു മിഥ്യയാണസത്യമാണിങ്ങനെ
മരണത്തെ ഭീതിയാല്‍ കാണുന്നു നാം വൃഥാ
വിദേഹിയാണെങ്കിലും ഒരു നേര്ത്ത തെന്നലായ്‌
ഞാനെന്നുമെന്നും നിന്‍ ചാരത്തു വന്നിടാം

ഇപ്പോള്‍ പിരിയുവാന്‍ നേരമായ്‌ പോകണം
കത്തും ചിതയിലെ ശരീരവും ഭസ്മമായ്
ആളിപടരുന്ന നാളങ്ങള്‍ സാക്ഷിയായ്‌
നേരുന്നു നിങ്ങള്‍ക്ക് ഞാനെന്റെ മംഗളം

പാതിരാ ഗായകന്‍

2009-07-26T06:33:00.000-07:00

ഇരുള്‍ വീഴും ഇടനാഴിയോരത്ത്
ഗൂഡമാം മൂകത ഭഞ്ജിച്ചു
അശരീരിയാമൊരീണം പാടി
ഞാന്‍ ആദ്യമൊരു ഗായകനായി

നിശയുടെ ബീഭത്സയാമങ്ങള്‍
അന്ധകാരത്തിന്റെ താണ്ടവങ്ങള്‍
എല്ലാം മറന്നുകൊണ്ടൊന്നു പാടുന്നു
ഞാനൊരു പാവം പാതിരാഗായകന്‍

അര്‍ക്കന്റെ മരണമൊരു മിഥ്യയല്ലേ
ഈ അന്ധകാരവും മിഥ്യയല്ലേ
ഉത്തരമില്ലേലും ചോദിപ്പു ഞാനിന്നും
ശൂന്യമാം അന്ധകാരത്തിനോടായ്

എന്തിനീ രാവിനെ സൃഷ്ടിച്ചു നീ
എന്തിനീ ഭീബത്സയാമങ്ങളൊക്കെയും
നിമിനേരമാത്രമായെന്തിനു വീണ്ടും
നീ പാടുന്നു സൂര്യനൊരു ചരമഗീതം

നിശബ്ദമാമോരീ അന്തരീക്ഷം തകര്‍ത്തൊരു
കൂവലെന്‍ ചെവിയില്‍ മുഴങ്ങുന്നു
കേട്ടുവോ ഞാന്‍ ചില പദചലനങ്ങള്‍
വരവായോ കാലന്റെ ഘോഷയാത്ര

എത്രയോ കാലമായ്‌ കാത്തിരിക്കുന്നു ഞാന്‍
കാലന്റെ കാലൊച്ച കേള്‍ക്കുവാനായ്‌
രാവിന്റെ മഞ്ചത്തില്‍ ഏറിയല്ലാതെ
കാലനിന്നെന്നടുത്തെത്തുകില്ലേ

ചുറ്റും മുഴങ്ങുന്നതട്ടഹാസങ്ങളോ
ഒരു കൊച്ചു മനസ്സിന്റെ വിഭ്രാന്തിയോ
ഇരുളാണ്‌ ചുറ്റും, ഒരു കൊച്ചു
തിരിനാളമെവിടെയെന്‍ വഴികാട്ടിയാവാന്‍

നുരഞ്ഞു പൊന്തുന്നൊരു ചുടുകാറ്റെന്നെ
മുഴുവനായ്‌ ചുറ്റിപ്പിടിക്കവേ
മുകളില്‍ കറങ്ങുന്ന മൂവിലകളാലൊരു
നറുംതെന്നല്‍ സാന്ത്വനം നേരുന്നു

കാലന്റെ വരവിലൊരു സംഗീതമുണ്ടോ
രാവണ ഭാവത്തിന്‍ താളമുണ്ടോ
കാലടിയൊച്ച തന്‍ താളം പിടിച്ചു ഞാന്‍
പാടുന്നു വീണ്ടുമീ പാതിരാ ഗായകന്‍

I DONT KNOW WHY???????????

2009-07-06T21:20:00.000-07:00

GOD KEEPS EXTENDING HIS HAND TOWARDS ME......
I WANT TO GO WITH HIM, I WANT TO FOLLOW HIM
BUT I DON'T, I DON'T KNOW WHY

HE KEEPS HIS WATCH ON ME, BUT
I BEHAVE AS IF HE ISN'T WATCHING ME
KNOWING ALL THE TIME
AM BEING WATCHED OVER

I LOVE HIM, I BELIEVE HIM
I TALK ALL THE TIME ABOUT HIM
URGES OTHERS TO FOLLOW HIM
BUT I MYSELF STAY ASTRAY
I DON'T KNOW WHY

MAY BE THE TIME ISN'T RIPE
MAY BE AM NOT READY
MAY BE THAT'S HOW HE WANTS IT TO BE
MAY BE THIS IS THE PATH FOR ME
MAY BE I WILL FIND HIM HERE

A state called Bliss

2009-07-06T08:10:00.000-07:00

Dawn's peaceful, luminous blue
intensified with the day
as did happiness
blue.... bluer.... bluest
white puffs of delight
joy overflowing

Untill sunset
wrapped us in tender pink
and we fused in a
passionate magenta goodbye
earth soul and cosmic soul
bursting with beauty

When night came
a baby moon
laughed sideways in the dark
i laughed back
and thought

Partways across the world
your sky
is filled with this same
golden laughter

And hoped that you
twinkling blue eyes
saw and heard

So that somehow we three
were joined in our gladness
each in our own space
together...... apart
distance meaningless

And i slept
in a world
full of smiles

നൊമ്പരം

2009-06-23T10:20:00.000-07:00

ഒരു സംബോധന.......
വേണ്ട, നിന്നെയെനിക്കൊരു സംബോധനയില്‍ ഒതുക്കി നിര്‍ത്താന്‍ കഴിയില്ല. നിനക്കെഴുതുമ്പോള്‍ വാക്കുകള്‍പാതിവഴിയിലെവിടെയൊ പതറുന്നുണ്ട്‌, കണ്ണുകള്‍ നിറയുന്നുണ്ട്‌, കൈകള്‍ ഇടറുന്നുണ്ട്‌...... സത്യം. നീയെന്നെസ്വാധീനിച്ചിട്ടുണ്ട്‌. നിശ്ചയം. അതു കൊണ്ടാവാം നാം കൂടിക്കാണുന്ന പകലുകള്‍ മുന്‍പോട്ടോടി പൊകുമ്പോള്‍, നിന്നെയെന്നും ഓര്‍ത്തുവയ്ക്കണമെന്നെനിക്കു തോന്നിയത്‌. നമ്മെ പോലെ ആത്മക്ഷതമറിഞ്ഞിട്ടില്ലാത്തവരോടും, ഹൃദയത്തിന്റെ നൊമ്പരം മനസ്സിലാകാത്തവരൊടും പ്രേമത്തിന്റെ കടന്നല്‍ക്കുത്തേറ്റിട്ടില്ലാത്തവരോടും നാമെങ്ങനെപറയും നമ്മുടെയുള്ളില്‍ സ്നേഹത്തിന്റെ ഒരു തീജ്ജ്വാലയുണ്ടെന്ന്‌....... തിരസ്ക്കാരത്തില്‍ മരണത്തിന്റെചുംബനമുണ്ടെന്ന്‌......

പ്രിയസഖീ, നിന്റെ ഓര്‍മ്മകള്‍ക്ക്‌ ജീവാംശത്തിന്റെ ആര്‍ദ്രതയുണ്ടെന്ന്‌ ഞാനറിയുന്നു. നീ പോലുമറിയാതെനീയെനിക്കു സമ്മാനിച്ച മരിച്ചാലും മറക്കാന്‍ കഴിയാത്ത ഓര്‍മകള്‍ക്ക്‌ നന്ദി. ഒരു മനുഷ്യായുസ്സു മുഴുവനിലേക്കുംഅല്ല അതിനുമപ്പുറത്തേക്കും ഞാനീ കാത്തിരിപ്പു തുടര്‍ന്നേനെ. എന്റെ കുഞ്ഞികനവുകളും, കിനാക്കളും, ദിവാസ്വപ്നങ്ങളും മിത്യ്‌യാണെന്നറിയുമ്പോഴും, നീയെന്നെ മനസ്സിലാക്കാന്‍ ശ്രമിക്കുമ്പോഴും കണ്ണീരില്‍കുതിര്‍ന്നൊരീ രാവില്‍ എന്റെ മോഹഭംഗത്തിനുമപ്പുറം ഈ ഹൃദയം പ്രണയാര്‍ദ്രമാകുന്നത്‌ ഞാന്‍പോലുമറിയാതെയാണ്‌.

Good Times at Mumbai

2009-05-20T11:28:00.001-07:00

Friends, a lot have happened in Mumbai in the last three years and I would love to share each and every bit of all the fun we had to each one of you. First of all am more than just happy to state that the population of our batch mates have increased drastically in Mumbai area. I waited for more than a year at this place like a ‘Vezhampal waiting for rain’ for somebody to hangout with and looks like my prayers have finally been answered. We the Mumbaiyas consist of Reji Nair, Ratheesh GK, Arjun Menon, Thomas Vincent, Varghese Joy and self of which the first three are married and the rest three by god’s grace, still happy. Reji is settled here with his sweet wife Mridula on the seventeenth floor of an apartment which overlooks a lake and constructed in such a way that the sun god himself shall wake him up from his sleep in the morning (though the sun has miserably failed in this till now since his working hour starts from the noon). Ratheesh GK is doing a course on merchant navy at Panvel (in the outskirts of Mumbai) along with Varghese joy. Ratheesh has almost finished his course and Varghese has just joined the course now. Ratheesh is the proud father of Ms. Diya who has stolen our hearts outright, but that doesn’t stop him from showing his true colours out here too and it is heard that young girls are moving out of panvel in flocks. He roams around in his 500cc hayabusa (or something like that) bike. He is fully in to protein diet and you won’t find an inch of flab on him. If you guys remember the ‘curves and curvatures’ speech of Roji Varghese, I would say this guy has all cuts and sharp edges on his body. He is being suffered by his sweet lady Krishna . His mother and brother are also with him. After that comes Arjun Menon who has just landed in the city a few months back, he has managed to get an accommodation at Colaba in the naval premises which provides him a view of the sea from his fifth floor apartment. Joining him is his sweet wife Tara (needs no introduction). He zooms around in his Ford Fiesta, but thanks to the Naval Authorities he doesn’t get much time to zoom and jhoom. Poor pilot has been trapped in a ship (my kingdom) for six months. His face has since grown a bit too long. Thomas Vincent, the mystery man has not yet been sighted, thanks to his chickenpox and my small brain/ petty memory. His voice gave us company on our get together and since I was responsible for his absence I don’t intend to name/ malign him here now. Varghese joy has prospered enormously ever since he joined Merchant navy and his prosperity is well displayed. He has grown a moustache and beard so that his parents can realise that he is old enough to marry. He has realised only recently that the stories of mermaids in the sea is all false and they don’t exist. So he has given up everything to Jesus to find him his mermaid. I am not too sure if Jesus has told him that he will find his girl in Mumbai but his eyes seems to ask every girl in the street, if she is the one for him. Presently he is carrying out the duties of caretaker of Ms. Diya since her father is too busy with extra curricular activities (you know what).

Our first get together was at Reji’s house. He had just come back from UK the day before after spending almost seven months there along with our thadiyan Harikrishnan and his bottle collection. He deserved a good break, but we decided to just break in to his home. We the shameless became the ‘’katturumbs in their swargam’’ by promptly arriving at his home for lunch. I was the first one to arrive (punctuality is a quality that chettiar sir and tobias taught me in ashoka house). I had assured Mridula the day before that I would come and help her as I can. I meant to help her by finishing off the dishes but poor mridula had expected me to help her in her cooking. I compensated by visiting her kitchen in regular intervals to taste the items and give expert comments (better don’t doubt my expertise). As I mentioned earlier reji has bought himself a flat in the heart of suburban Mumbai. Though the compound is full of high rise buildings, his windows open to give a view of the farmlands (thank god govt has ordered against any construction there), the western express highway and a lake almost close to the horizon (from the seventeenth floor it’s a great view). Now if you stand closer to the window and look down you can see the local railway line and the true Mumbai (so don’t look down okie). Ratheesh and Varghese arrived on the former’s hayabusa. The family didn’t come because of an unalerted work that disrupted the rail services. On visiting the terrace Varghese had decided that this is his destiny if he fails in his course more than three times. Ratheesh had no such tensions because he had mastered the copying techniques in SN College after leaving the school. It is heard that Krishna had fallen for him after seeing his confidence before an internal exam at the college. Mean while I forgot to mention that even our ‘Cheeku’ reji nair has really prospered (the prosperity was bulging out of his shirt as he greeted us with his trademark grin). Then we declared war at the dining table and there was no looking back thereafter. As the mighty warriors cleared each and every chicken leg and fish at the table new ones kept coming on. We were almost on the verge of surrendering when mridula declared that she is on a diet and would be having only fruits for lunch. Believe me friends I was not actively involved in this blood shed. The lunch was so heavy that we were not able to sit straight at the sofa after that. Varghese joy was seen walking up and down the drawing room complaining that lack of exercise is making him fat. I would like to remind you that no such concern was being expressed at the dining table when he was gorging on those huge chicken legs. Ratheesh KA the pilot had called as we were relaxing after the lunch and it was later found out that he had instructed reji to check our pockets before we leave. He, I believe has not grown out of such habits even now, the last I heard of him was that he narrowly escaped getting caught for wearing his cabin mate’s unwashed underwear. Later Nizam also called up to personally invite reji and family for zeena’s marriage. As we sat there working hard to keep the eyelids up, there was a sudden roar of an engine (which we later found out to be the passing train) and suddenly our friend got up startled!!! crying ’helicopter helicopter helicopter’ (you know who). So we shared a hearty laugh on people who were trying to show off their miniscule knowledge.

After finishing off the tea (and of course snacks) we went for a small walk around the township. Here we immediately realised why reji chose his home to be there. In the heart of the city, the township had all facilities including a school, hospital, swimming pool, multiplex, mall temple etc etc. the only worry we had was that it was reji who sported a bulging belly. Ratheesh and Varghese left by evening and I ensured that I gave them company till around 2300 when I finally let them go.

The next get together was at colaba (at the naval area). This time fortunately everybody could make it. We had a lunch at around 1500 which was ordered and served at 1400. This was thanks to Varghese joy (he was not in ashoka house and missed his chance to learn the value of punctuality). Jokes apart, his instructor decided to keep a class on the day and so he couldn’t make it in time. And we decided to display our solidarity by waiting for him to arrive even though the lunch was served in time. Arjun couldn’t join us for lunch since he too was busy at his office. But he ensured to reach in time to pick us up in his fiery fiesta after the lunch. Then we visited a museum ship IMS Vikrant (an erstwhile aircraft carrier) and then my ship. There after we went to Arjun’s home where tara was waiting with her snacks with “eat at your own risk” tag. We the shameless finished that too in no time. After spending some quality time there and clicking some photographs, we went to a naval club at Colaba. No body had the courage to ask for any hot drinks (god knows why? may be the presence of ladies), we sipped some juices and had some more snacks there. This was followed by dinner at the same place. It was almost 2330 before we called it a day. What I haven’t told you guys was the different topic of discussions that we had during all this time which has made the evening ever memorable. remembering all those good times we shared and all those pranks we played, experiences and lessons that we learnt in school, the teachers, coursemates, punishments, jokercard, parodies, the songs in the mess hall, mess manager and chettans, watering of plants and bookings for bathrooms, chettiar sir spl (only for ashoka guys), the yellow plane, the basketball court, the movies, the batch tours, the dhobi ghat, the pond, the night escapades to chanthavila, the transformation of thundu jose to patti jose, specimens of our batch, all those old sainik school jokes, leaves and daughter etc etc etc. we discussed everything that came in to our minds, and laughed our hearts out. It was a great evening and I thank god for giving us this opportunity, for it is almost two years that I have been here in Mumbai and it is now that am getting somebody. Before I sank in to my bed after I came back to the ship I felt as if I had come back after a long vacation. I couldn’t have been refreshed any better. I envy all you guys in b’lore who gets to meet each other so often. I have made it a point to ensure that I land up at some home every time I get time. so hoping to continue the party....................

OLD BOY'S DAY

2009-05-06T02:46:00.000-07:00

പൊയ്പ്പോയ നാളുകളില്‍ എന്റെ ക്ളാസ്സ്മുറിയില്‍ നിന്ന്‌ പുതിയ മേച്ചില്‍പുറങ്ങള്‍ തേടി നടന്നു പൊയവരെല്ലാംഅന്നു മടങ്ങി വരും. ഒരു പാട്‌ ഓര്‍മകള്‍ക്കൊപ്പം........
ഭൂതകാലത്തില്‍ നിന്നൊരു കാറ്റ്‌ എന്റെ ഓര്‍മച്ചില്ലകളെ തഴുകി നീങ്ങവെ പലവര്‍ണ്ണ ശലഭങ്ങള്‍ പറന്നുയരുന്നതുഇപ്പൊഴെനിക്കു കാണാനാകുന്നു.
സൈനിക്‌ സ്കൂള്‍ നമുക്കു അത്രമേല്‍ പ്രിയതരമായ ഗ്രിഹാതുരത ആയിരുന്നല്ലൊ.
വരില്ലെ? .....
നമ്മുടെ മനസ്സുകളില്‍ ഒരുപാടു സ്വപ്നങ്ങളുടെ വിത്തുകള്‍ പാകിയ ആ കലാലയത്തിന്റെ മടിത്തട്ടിലേക്ക്‌....
ചിന്തിക്കാനും ചിന്തിപ്പിക്കാനും നമ്മെ പഠിപ്പിച്ച ആ ഇടനാഴികകളിലേക്ക്‌........
ചിരിക്കുമ്പോള്‍ കൂടെ ചിരിക്കാനും കരയുമ്പോള്‍ കൂടെ കരയാനും ജീവിതം എല്ലാവര്‍ക്കുമായി ഉഴിഞ്ഞുവച്ചകൂട്ടുക്കാര്‍ക്കിടയിലേക്ക്‌......

മഴ പെയ്യുന്ന രാവുകളില്‍ ചര്‍ച്ചകള്‍ ചൂടു പിടിച്ചിരുന്നതും
വിജനമായ ആ കുന്നിന്‍ ചെരുവില്‍ ഉയര്‍ന്നു പൊങ്ങുന്ന കാറ്റിനൊത്ത്‌ താളം പിടിച്ചതും
അക്കേഷ്യ കാടുകളില്‍ വഴി തെറ്റി വലഞ്ഞതും ജാലകവിടവിലൂടെ നീലാകാശചെരുവിലെ ഒറ്റമേഘത്തുണ്ടിനെനോക്കി ഏറേനേരമിരുന്നതും
ക്ളാസ്സ്‌ മുറികളിലെ ബഹളങ്ങളും
കോര്‍ട്ടിലെ വീറും വാശിയും
സുധാകരന്‍ ബ്ളോക്കിലെ അവസാന ദിവസത്തെ കൂട്ടകരച്ചിലും ഓര്‍മയുണ്ടോ???
എങ്കില്‍ വരിക
കുഴിച്ചു മൂടിയ ഓര്‍മകളെ ചികഞ്ഞെടുക്കാന്‍, ഒരിക്കല്‍ കൂടി ഒന്നൊത്തു ചേരാന്‍, വരണം വന്നേ പറ്റു. ആരുടേയൊക്കെയോ തോളിലൂടെ കൈയിട്ടു ഒച്ച വച്ചു നടന്ന ആ വരാന്തകളിലൂടെ
നമ്മുടെ ജീവിതസ്പന്ദനങ്ങള്‍ ഏറ്റു വാങ്ങിയ ഡോര്‍മിട്ടറികളിലൂടെ
ചന്തവിളക്കും ഇടക്കടയിലേക്കും മറ്റും പോയ നിശാസഞ്ചാരങ്ങള്‍ക്‌ സാക്ഷിയായ കശുമാവിന്‍ തോട്ടങ്ങളിലൂടെ
നാം നമ്മുടെ ജീവിതം അനുഭവിച്ചു തീര്‍ത്ത ആ മണ്ണിലൂടെ
ഒരിക്കല്‍ കൂടി ഒന്നു നടക്കണം. ഒന്നു പൊട്ടിക്കരയണം.
അത്രേ വേണ്ടൂ....... വരില്ലെ? ......... ഒരിക്കല്‍ കൂടി

Memoirs - Part II

2009-03-21T10:12:00.000-07:00

I woke up startled, with the shrill of a cry. I was lying on my bed staring at the bunk above me. I was all alone at my cabin and all i could hear was my own breath and hiss of the A/C blower. As i sat up on my bed, my back resting on the bulkhead, i tried to recollect my dream that woke me up. I generally wake up blank, my dream leaving no trace of its existence. But after rubbing my eyes a couple of times, letting a yawn pass my mouth, i was able to recollect bits and pieces of what was playing in my mind till then. I remembered myself facing the batsman, the nervous look on his face, the ball leaving my hand, the ball turning in as it touched the floor, missing the hockey stick swung by the batsman, passing in between the hockey stick and his leg directly on to the three lines drawn on the wall. And the cry......HOWZAAAAAAT.

I was dreaming of those good old days, one of those anxious moments in that one sport that could be exclusive to the school that i went to. It’s called socks ball cricket. As the name suggests its cricket with a ball made of used socks (mostly khakhi socks which was a part of the uniform) and a hockey stick as the bat. It’s generally played indoors but ambitious young souls that we were; we had ventured the same to outdoors too. To explain the fun of socks ball cricket, i will have to first explain the topography of the dormitory (which we used to call a house) in which we as cadets used to stay. We had a total of 11 houses in Sainik School Kazhakootam, my alma mater. Every house was designed in the shape of a small aeroplane and if you could fly overhead, from an altitude the school would look like an airfield on a hill top. The dormitory was divided in to two sections and we called them the wings (as they resembled the wings of an aeroplane). Every wing had two identical projections which would look like the fuselages of the aircraft and we termed them ‘projection sides’. Our housemaster or the teacher in charge of the house stayed on top of the house and that would look like the cockpit of the aircraft. There were two sets of bathrooms but they again were in one same line which would mark the extremity of the wings. The store room which we called as the trunk room (it held our trunks) was the tail of the aircraft.

It was in these projection sides that we played the famous game of socks ball cricket. Please do not get carried away by the name socks ball. The motivated young souls that we were, the balls that were made were no less than any other ball. It had better bounce than a cork ball and better control than a rubber ball. And a hockey stick for a bat ensured that your shots are perfect. Such is the efficacy of the game that my school cricket team captain had started playing original cricket only in his eleventh standard. Till then he played only socks ball cricket. Keeping all these facts aside, the real fun of socks ball cricket was not any of these. Socks ball cricket would generally become popular during exam times since games were officially excused. The sports store wouldn’t open and none of the sport equipments would be issued and sighting of cadets in the fields during those times was taboo. It is then that we resort to the most widely played and popular indoor sport of SSKZM (Sainik School Kazhakootam in short), the socks ball cricket. And the play ground is generally the projection side. The projection side is a mere 15 * 6 ft space and you would be wondering such a small space for cricket. The reason for selecting the projection side as the venue is to maintain the sanctity of the twelfth commandment ‘Thou shall not be caught’. The projection side is close to the bathroom lobby and is quite away from the main entrance door. Any possible attack by the housemaster or any other teacher who would be passing by will be sighted early and necessary actions to ‘save our souls’ can be initiated in good time. The only weak point of the projection side is the number of windows in this area is on the higher side and so precautions taken to avoid detection by enemy sources (read housemaster and family) has to be of the highest order. We used to put in our small brains together to come out with bright ideas to counter any possible threat. The art of camouflage and concealment were already being practised by us much before they were taught. Our Stadium (projection side) would be covered with blankets or bed sheets to avoid any sighting of the game by any of the teachers. The blankets would be hung in such a fashion that it would give an impression that the same has been freshly washed and has been hung for drying. I still haven’t realised why it has not struck to any of the housemasters that the bed sheets and blankets are only washed by the dhobi and never by a cadet.

But in spite of all these, we still used to get caught and many a game has been abandoned in between. The reason why we used to get caught was because of the high energy levels that prevailed during a game, appealing for wickets used to be at such high decibel levels that even the bats would evacuate the trees near the dormitories. Eventually the house master would come down with his cane (for some, plain hand was good enough) hunting for the players. But such efficient was the security systems and informers that by the time he would arrive there wouldn’t be anyone in the wing and even if anyone is there he would be so deep in his sleep or so immersed in his studies that the presence of the teacher would be noticed only when the particular name has been taken by the teacher. Treachery was the biggest crime amongst batch mates and so never was a name taken by any of the innocent book worms, even if they had to take some thrashing for that. Another reason of us getting caught was the number of window glasses that would be broken in a game. How much ever renovation happens, by the end of the academic year most of the projection side windows would be without glasses. The responsibility of maintaining the material state of the houses lies with the housemaster and the game was the biggest head ache he would ever have. One of the housemasters had devised a plan to confiscate all the hockey sticks in the house to stop the game but in vain. The commandos of the batch climbed the walls of his home to retrieve the necessary hockey sticks for the game and the housemaster never realised the loss amongst the huge number. In circumstances wherein the above said was impossible, hockey sticks were specially imported from other houses. But the spirit of the cadet ensured that the game is played on. All this doesn’t mean that teachers had no clue about the notorious players. Am still not aware of their informers but the intellectuals who never involved themselves with the game were widely suspected and so the teachers also maintained a list of the key players the way ICC rankings are maintained. They knew very well that nothing would start without these top rankers. So some perpetual defaulters always got caught, whether they were involved or not. They would take the beating silently but none of them ever complained. Such deeds were viewed with highest reverence by all and they were silently regarded the living martyrs of the batch.

The expertise of making socks balls were passed on from batch to batch as if it’s a tradition. There used to be dedicated ball makers in every batch and a better ball would speak high of the batch and so the balls were made with extreme devotion. Many a time when matches were played between batches, strategy and line up of the game would be a hotter topic than what would be important for the exam the next day. Every batch had cadets who had varied interests and aptitudes. The ones who had organisational skills (event management if you could call it so) organised the socks ball tournaments in the houses. Prizes of such tournaments could be anything. I remember participating in tournaments like Pepsi cup and Coca cola cup wherein the prizes were a couple of 1.5L soft drink bottles. There used to be entry fees for such tournaments and the schedule of matches used to be decided by draw of lots. It was quite obvious that the organisers always benefitted in such tournaments, but in the spirit of the game nobody ever bothered about the accounts. Nobody bothered even about the prizes so much so that we even had a Patties cup when the cafeteria guy introduced mutton and chicken patties in the cafe.

The association between my school and socks ball cricket has been there from time immemorial and would continue for years to come. Even today, when i go back after ten years of me leaving the school, i am sure to find a socks ball in the projection side along with a hockey stick. The quality of the ball may be different, the bounce may fluctuate, the rules may have changed and the tactics and strategies would be different but the josh would be the same, the window glasses would still be broken, the decibel levels of the appealing would still be high, the house master would still run down with his cane and will go back disappointed after finding nobody. Am smiling now, still lousy after my sleep, sitting on my bed, looking in to the loneliness of the room, i still yell ......HOWZAAAAAAAAAATT.

Passing Storm

2009-03-21T10:09:00.000-07:00

We are presently patrolling in the Gulf of Aden (GOA as we call it to feel closer home) as part of the anti piracy operations. It is blue seas all around, winds fondling our faces, sun and moon taking turns to watch over us, stars shooting up illuminating the sky trying to erase every trace of darkness from the sky. Every evening Venus would rise, bright against the orange hue of the setting sun, bringing in to me a torrent of thoughts. She would come early, before the stars, looking at me, never blinking like the stars, just above the horizon. And i would sit, on the bridge wing, facing her, trying my best not to blink. Sometimes it seems, she blushed, as i stared at her shamelessly, hiding behind the clouds and peeking out to see if am still there. I would smile at her and imagine that she is smiling back, illuminating the sky even more with her glee. As the sky grew murky, she would fade in to the darkness and i would sit there till the last fleck of her vanished. Every evening I would wait for her, looking out, my face brightening as she brightened the sky. I don’t know why, nowadays i feel like jotting down each and every memory of mine. Some memories being sweet would bring a smile on to my face, while others, a lot of them, came piercing my heart and the pain cannot be brought out by words. Many a time i sat in the darkness of the ship’s bridge with a lump in my throat, not able to speak a word for minutes together and wiping out the occasional swell of tears in my eyes so that nobody would notice. This would happen all of a sudden, unannounced, without a reason. I remembered a line from a Malayalam poem which says that ‘the light is misery and darkness, bliss’.

There was a time in my life when I felt all by myself. I felt there wasn’t anyone with whom I could share my heart, who could share the warmth of my thoughts, who would sit by my side to see my sun rise, who would know the reason of my existence, who would know why my heart beats, who could lead me or defy me. I was in constant look out for a soul who could touch me, feel me and know me. Then I was afraid to write down my thoughts. I was afraid that someday someone would make an effort to travel in to my mind, to my pool of thoughts through these words. I was afraid that, that day the hollowness of my heart would be exposed, scaring away every soul coming my way. I was afraid of losing even before I possessed them. But today, am reassured, when I see these small letters lie arranged on these blue lines, uniform in their size, calm as my mind. Am proud to tell the world that am the one who made them, am the creator, i own them. It was because i was one day taught by an angel that it’s important to live life uncomplicated, as simple as one could live; that it’s as important to remain happy as it is to survive; that heart full of love is the best medicine; that a smile can keep all odds at bay; that faith can move oceans; that it’s better to be loved and lost than not to be loved at all.

One evening, as the sky glowed in her twilight gold, high up in the Eden – the god’s garden, angels ordered the winds to pluck the god’s favourite flower; they send her down to earth. God was oblivious of what the angels did. He loved her, missed her and searched for her in every soul in earth. She knocked at the door of my heart, it was already open. I did not hear she knock; my heart was roaring in to my ears that i had no future. I did not see her, I was in my deepest slumber and it was dark around me. She shook me, woke me up to the colours of life. She entered my vacant soul and made it her home. I couldn’t sleep that night. I kept looking at her, my scepticism towering over her smile. Slowly her grace filled the room with hope. God kept searching for her but never suspected me, i had a wrecked home, she never deserved to be there. She watered my desiccated heart, sowed the seeds of love. She dreamt of a garden full of flowers like her. I saw in her my shadow; i saw my truth in that shadow. I believed her and dreamt too, of a garden full of flowers like her. I felt her heart melting and flowing in to the craters of my heart, filling them. She gave my wings the sky to fly. I could smell her fragrance in the flower, see her face in the moon, feel her in the innocence of the morning sky and hear her in the rustle of the wind. To her, i dedicated the dreams in my songs and poetry, dreams full of youth, love and the dark deep woods. She would play the strings of my heart, composing the tunes of my life as we dreamt of a life when we would live to see the sun setting before us. Pain was a joy and tears, pearl beads. It was ultimate bliss to remain that way and i promised her that i will not forsake her to anyone be it demon or angel even if i have to go in harm’s way to keep the word.

God was searching frantically for her, least expecting her to be in me. God eventually peeped in to my heart, to find her sitting there. He called her back. She had to go. She pleaded but god insisted. He reminded her about his garden, the glory that she missed. She knew it all her life that she had to go back. She gave a wry smile, reminding me that she had forewarned me. I was a coward; never had the courage to stand in the harm’s way as i had promised, i looked on as she went off in god’s chariot. The winds were howling, rains never stopped pouring, earth trembled. I felt wrecked; god had drained me out, fearing i would fight him. I stood alone on the iron wreck, the seas roaring ahead of me, winds slapping me on my face. She didn’t wave, never looked back may be of the fear that i would see the tears.

It’s dark again; Venus is no more in sight. Half the ship along with the night is sound asleep. My songs have turned dumb now , the romantics have given up; the poets don’t have it in them, only the echoes resonating, melting and dripping in to me. They are thronging through my veins, crawling under my skin, flowing out through my eyes. Your emptiness is filling me now. I can see the fierce waves below me, the deadly whirlpools calling out my name, but am not frightened, even least bothered. Today the love is overflowing, like a flooded river, changing courses, foaming with fury, the spray forming a rainbow, beautiful, as our life was meant to be. Today am my master, my heart stronger, my smile deep, my love unscathed. Today am happy and fearless, raring to charge at my life. Today am the self consumer of my woes.

Memoirs - Part I

2009-03-08T07:03:00.000-07:00

Do you think I am lucky? I think i am extraordinarily lucky to be who i am or what i am or how i became that i am. I was one of the few privileged to be educated in one of the best public schools in Kerala. I have lived seven long years in that boarding school on a hilltop with huge buildings overlooking the Arabian Sea. My school was designed to look like an airfield with all most all buildings designed as aeroplanes so that on an aerial view of my campus it would look like a group of aeroplanes parked in a formation on a hilltop. Standing there on the edge of the hill i could the see the reflections of the clouds falling on the green carpet of coconut tree heads down below me. During monsoons sitting in my classroom i could see the rain coming. I could see, over the football grounds, the brown mud turning chocolaty with the rain drops, the smell of the wet ground would reach my nose before the rain. The feeling when the smell of the first rain hits you along with the escaping heat of the earth is divine. Many a time we would run ahead of the rain, trying to compete with the rain. Every time we ended up drenched but smiling as we breathed heavily. My love for the seas could have started that early for i remember myself as an eleven year old kid standing on the edge of the hill beside the World War I vintage twin seater yellow warplane, watching the undulating lights of small boats on the sea at night. But I don’t remember dreaming about being a mariner then, watching those lights up close later in life. I would have never believed then that the same lights that looked so beautiful from a distance as if someone has streamed a garland of lights in a river on a diwali night, would give me nightmares once onboard a ship trying to navigate through them safely.

The school campus, in my memory was always green and was full of trees. We had two Gulmohar trees just in the garden in front of our house. The day we came back from our Christmas vacation in sixth standard, the garden was covered with yellow flowers as if a carpet was laid for us. Three quarters of the entire campus was nothing but the cashew plantation which used to be given on lease for the harvest season. Other than that acacia trees covered a majority of the area, also there were mango, jack fruit and coconut trees all along the campus. The school, as she taught our hearts to be, had no walls. There were regulations about going out of the school campus. We had to take a written permission from the respective house master and that had to be approved by the senior master and the principal and that small chit was called ‘Out Pass’. That small chit had a big value in our lives. Though there were rules and regulations for anything and everything, we were also taught by our respected seniors that rules are meant to be broken. The twelfth commandment of ‘Thou shall not be caught’ was strictly embedded in to every ones head. The term discipline had relevance only once the twelfth commandment was broken. The same people who made the commandment had also devised plans to ensure the sanctity of the commandment. So the smarter ones of the lot visited the so called ‘out of bound’ shops for a night meal or a movie and the not so smarter ones followed the smarter ones, just for the ‘thrill’. There were also another group who were called the ‘dumbos’ who never had the courage to break the rules and they preferred staying back at the dormitories ensuring the smarter ones and the not so smarter ones don’t break the twelfth commandment. In return of the favour the smarter ones would bring packed food from outside or narrate the story of the movie ‘in detail’ once they reach back, that too direct ‘dil se’. Some of my friends had such talent in narration that if you see the movie yourself you may not enjoy it than you would enjoy his narration. I belonged to the dumbo group since my father visited every weekend and promptly visited my housemaster to know how i have been doing. The breaking of the twelfth commandment for me would result in my father’s heavy muscular hand falling on my soft white cheek with a large force resulting in extreme discolouration of the area along with enlargement of the cheek that would stay till his next visit. I was happy as a dumbo listening to the narrations of the movies from my creative friends and gorging on whatever they brought for me.

Discipline, was a very strong word that i learned very early in the school. That particular word had a habit of popping out of each and every ones mouth without any particular reason from even the dhobi to the principal. We too got used to terms like honour code, pride, responsibility etc etc very easily. I would not hesitate to tell you that these were not the only words that i learned then, but these are the ones that i could write here. There was a whole new vocabulary that i learnt very early that holds me in good shape even today, god forbid if i have to deal with rouges, goondas or the people from the lower strata of the society. May be it was a part of the moulding since today i feel i am welcome everywhere. I can strike a bond with anyone, from a gentleman to dreaded rouge. That quality i inherited from my school. I learnt it in my school that if you respect yourself, the world respects you. And as long as the respect prevails, nobody messes with you.

I joined my school as an eleven year old kid who knew nothing about anything. I am the only male child in my immediate family and because of the same i was the apple of the eye of all ladies in my mother’s family from my grandmother to my mother’s younger sister and of course the most pampered one in my whole family. I didn’t even know how to tie my shoe lace or to wash or iron my dresses till the time i crossed the iron gates above which the cast iron structure read ‘SAINIK SCHOOL KAZHAKOOTAM’. But unlike the way you see in the movies the huge Iron Gate did not open in front of me with a creaky sound. It was already open and to my wonder i learnt later that the gates remained wide open for the whole year. The only wall in my school campus (if you can call that so) was the structure that was made to hold the gate. My first trip to my school was to write the entrance examination for admission since it was one of its kind in the state, almost nine months before i really joined the school. I remember watching in awe the countless playfields and the spectacular architecture, the warplanes in display, the sight of smartly turned out cadets marching in uniform squads, the innumerable facilities for academics and sports, list of personnel who have made it to the armed forces and the roll of honour of the brave hearts who have won medals and honours for their service to the country. My last school had one football field with a rusted goal post where every sport including athletics used to be conducted. I knew for sure that if not nothing i will surely get to play well. To cut it short, the eleven year old kid was impressed. He had learnt very early in life, thanks to his father, that if there is a will there’s a way. The way was very clearly paved out in front of him.
I passed with flying colours in the entrance exam followed by the personal interview and the medical test. My personal interview was taken by the then principal of the school Lt. Col Kang. He was a Khalsa (a sikh) and the guy who went before me came back crying that he looks scary (In Kerala, the Sikh community was yet to make a mark then). I, thanks to my Kendriya Vidyalaya background was more used to seeing Khalsas so much so that one of my best friends in the last school, Manpreet singh, was a khalsa. I remember him so clearly now because his father was an Air Force officer posted in Trivandrum and to my most important question in the interview i.e. "Why do you want to join Sainik school?", i had answered that i wanted to join the defence forces. Since Lt Col Kang was used to hearing this answer he asked me why i wanted to join the armed forces. To this i had promptly answered that my best friend’s father being in the Air Force brings a lot of sweets home on leave and for the same reason i too want to join the defence. Once my interview got over my father asked me how it went and i explained to him word by word of what happened inside. My father gave me a hopeless look and told me that we need not wait for the results. But much to my father’s scepticism i still cleared the interview and was given the call letter.

My journey in to this new phase of life had left my father with a much thinner wallet. The call letter had come with a list of items that need to be brought for my stay at the school. I was the most excited or may be the only one excited about the list. My mother was against me going to a boarding school at such a young age and had not stopped crying since the day the call letter reached home. My sister seemed to be happy with the fact that there will be no requirement to share anything from then on but she too seemed to be sad that there will be nobody for her to fight with. I was on cloud nine since everyone my father knew were speaking high of me qualifying the exam and making it through the interview. I was already a hero at my school and for the first time we were going to do shopping exclusively for me. The smile never seemed to fade. I had ensured that my mother’s sobs, protesting against me joining a boarding school, were not noticed by downing them in slogans like ‘You are destroying my future’ and ‘I have earned this opportunity’ etc. As a ten year old selfish fool i had no clue how difficult is it for a mother to be separated from her only son at such a young age especially when only she knew how little i knew to manage myself. Her sobs became slow stares and huge silences since then. I still understood nothing and so never cared to care. It took me years of education to realise such simple facts.

On my first day at school i suddenly realised that i was one of the very few kids around who were not crying. As i was jumping around with my new bed, my trunk full of the newly purchased items and arranging my cupboard (i should say supervising, since it was my mother who was arranging) when all around me there were sobbing mothers and wailing kids. I felt bad for the first time but didn’t show off anything then (i believe i had a huge ego even then). My father was ensuring that all official formalities are looked after while My mother was all around me trying to explain to me how to use the things that have been brought for me, where she has kept the washing soap and brush, telling me the number of hangers in my cupboard, about washing the clothes every day, marking my dress so that i don’t lose them in the crowd, about being nice with other kids and not to get into fights, etc etc etc. She kept on repeating everything that she has told me and kept asking me if i had registered them. I kept nodding my head though nothing was really going in to my head. I was confused with the amount of things that i had to look after, the expression on my mother’s face, the amount of commotion in the dormitory and the fear that i don’t even have a friend. My mother was trying to control her tears, holding back her sobs. A lot of mothers were already roaming around with red eyes and my sister too had started crying for a reason even she didn’t know then. I was feeling very uncomfortable and was pressing upon my parents to go back home. I don’t know why but i was feeling restless in their presence. They stayed till sunset, the maximum time that they could stay within the school premises, and left after promising me that they would be back the next Sunday. They waved and i waved back too with a full bright smile, which i didn’t know then, was not expected out of me. My mother, i saw her, the flood of tears that she was trying to control gave way as i waved. She turned the face away from me so that i wouldn’t see her cry and walked away. My smile vanished suddenly. I even as a small kid hated tears in my mother’s eyes. I stood there like a stone, emotionless, speechless, knowing not whether to cry or to laugh. I remembered my mother with her red eyes since the day i decided i will leave home for school, a decision that my father had left for me to take. She cooked all the things that i loved and sat by me as i ate. She never wanted me to leave, but never told me directly thinking that it would hurt me. She had seen me putting in all the hard work to earn it. My father convinced her that it is immaturity to hold me back. I don’t think she ever got convinced but she was afraid that she was standing in her son’s path to a glorious life ahead. She never stopped me from going away, but she never approved too. They were back the very next Sunday, with home cooked meals for me. It was only years later that i learned from my sister that my mother had not eaten the whole week and the tears had never stopped. Back then i gorged on the food my mother brought for me knowing not that my mother was waiting for me to finish my food that she can have her first meal in a week after she left me in the school alone. She was punishing herself for abandoning her kid at a boarding school though that was not the case

to be contd...........

ONCE UPON A TIME, IN MY LIFE........

2009-02-16T05:25:00.001-08:00

Very recently, thanks to Orkut, I happened to meet one of my long lost friends on the net. We were childhood friends. I never did expect to meet her again especially now, 12 years after my father got transferred from that place to my hometown. She has since then earned an engineering degree, is happily married and has settled abroad. I have become so much a netizen that I now meet friends over the net more often than I meet them personally. Its not that am sitting in front of the PC all the time. It’s just that in the kind of job that I am in, I have no other option but to meet them online. But I am happy that I at least meet them online. My unscheduled rendezvous with her brought a lot of those sweet memories of my childhood and adolescence back to me. It was so good that the next time I got her online; I spoke to her for good two hours or more. It was during this long chat that I was told about Ann (let’s call her so... anonymity, you know is very important in public forums). Ann had a soft corner for me then, not that i didn’t know about it, it was just that i had realised it very late and a lot of water had flown under the bridge since then.

I was still in Sainik School when my father, due to his transfer moved to a coastal state in Kerala. We all were expecting a transfer back to our hometown and so this transfer came as a disappointment to all of us. However my parents and my sister moved in to their new home, an apartment in a housing colony meant for the government employees. My sister somehow was the most excited when I received a call from home the next Sunday, she was squealing out of excitement to tell me that our home was just a stone throw away from the sea. A home by the beach is I believe everyone’s dream. She said she could hear the sea waves breaking on the break water all the time. I had no other option but to hold my horses till the next vacation. So I slept all those nights dreaming of the sea roaring over me.

My first vacation at my new home was a short and sweet 10 days for the Onam–the festival of prosperity. Since I was not sighted till then, our neighbours had silently concluded that my parents had only one daughter. So my arrival was understood as a visit of a relative which generally happens during vacations. I due to my shy nature, hardly went out of my home except to sit on my compound fence watching the sea. I love the sea, so was it when I was a kid, so is it now that am a man, and so be it when I grow old. I could sit and watch the sea for time unlimited. I could imagine the sea talking to me as the waves broke over the beach or the breakwater. I watched the fishermen dive as the wave comes for the crabs and barnacles. I would sit there all day in the hot sun till my mother called me for a meal or a cup of tea, or for some household work, to buy something from the nearby shop. Strangely I made no friends then. I hardly found a guy there of my age. Girls were the majority there and the boys were either too small or were not very interesting. Not being from a Co–Ed background had its impacts on me and an already shy me would never make friends with a girl then. My sister was the happiest since she had already made her gang of girls. I was feeling bored as the days passed since I had a lot of friends at our last place while my sister had none. After those uneventful 10 days of vacation I went back to school with no good memories about my new home. I was never too eager to come back.

I came home for the Christmas vacations with ‘a smile longer than river Nile’ since my father had promised to fulfil my long cherished dream of owning a bicycle in that vacation. I was glad that I could at least ride away from my boredom. But surprises awaited me this time. The Christmas and New Year being not too far from each other the residents association there had decided to celebrate both, especially the latter. There were some cultural activities, games and parties being organised. My sister and her gang of girls had as usual no particular job and they sincerely believed in whiling away their time gossiping (I know I will have to face feminist flak for such statements, but what’s the fun without some salt and pepper). So in her desperate attempts to gain popularity in the gang she had made it a point to issue statements overhyping her otherwise ‘good for nothing’ brother. The very fact that I studied in one of a kind school in Kerala was publicised in such a manner that the gang was waiting to see the hero come home. Knowing nothing of the ambush that was set up, this 13 year old boy reached home dreaming of the bicycle that he would at last own. On reaching home my sister otherwise frowning for the special treatment that I generally get for staying away from home, was way too friendly and was specially ensuring that I get the best of everything available. This warm change was more than what I could digest but this simple soul suspected nothing but strengthened the belief that people do change for good, how much ever time it takes. It was only just before being presented before the gang was I told of the plot. I was threatened to behave or face consequences later. I welcomed everyone with a smile on my face as the gang marched in to my home to eat in to ‘Aunty’s cuisine’. I was always good in obeying orders and did a good job there too. Nobody told me so but I assumed from the smile that lasted on my sister’s face even after the gang left after gorging on my mothers dishes.

It was only later that I learned about the competitions that were coming up. This news was brought by my mother (she also had set up her gang, who generally met at the temples). My sister’s look said it very clearly that she knew it all. I had my smile intact dreaming about my bicycle till my sister made a statement that I should participate in all the competitions that are being held. (All the competitions!!!! What do you think I am made of?). Even before I could raise my disagreement my mother backed my sister’s suggestion (though it was really an order). I hardly had an option. Coming to me, I was just another average kid struggling hard to find a place amongst the cream of the state (as we are generally told since it’s the only Sainik School in Kerala and we had to pass a common entrance examination followed by an interview to get admission). I found no cream in me and always wondered how I managed to get through the whole admission thing. I was always in awe and wonder for my course mates who seemed to be good in almost everything. I never did believe that I too could win, I was getting used to being an underdog. But to save the name of my school I agreed to participate and also for the abovementioned reason I worked a bit too hard.

In my school – the best public school in Kerala as I would always claim and we the alumni would stand proof, we were trained to be soldiers. We were trained to fight against all odds, to survive in all circumstances, to face success and failure in the same way, to snatch success from the hands of failure, to be ready at all times. We were taught to believe in ourselves, to fight till the last breath and never to give up. But as a 13 year old I was never sure whether I had it in me. But now my school’s name was at stake I had no options but to take on anything that came my way. My name was prominently displayed in all the list of participants, once it was put up on the notice board. Now that I was in to the game, I ventured out to meet my enemies. I was a relieved man very soon, since I was way too senior in the list of participants and my immediate junior was at least 3 years junior to me. And having been undertaken military training at such a young age, I was physically more agile and since I had an aptitude for games I was good at outdoor sports too. So I clearly stood a good chance. But there were others like recitation, essay writing and quiz. And here people believed in gender equality and that ensured me playing against girls be it sports, recitation or quiz. This was revelation to me and the whole idea to face a girl as an opponent made me sweat. I was surely a troubled soul, reading general knowledge books, newspapers and magazines instead of comic books or cartoons during a vacation. My carom board used to stare at me day and night as I played one side preparing for the tournament. My sister closely monitored my preparations and her smiles grew to grins as days passed. I stopped mentioning the bicycle and my father was suspicious that I lost the thrill of owning one.

One fine day, my sister along with two of her friends came in to my home as i sat with a grumpy face trying to solve a situation on the chessboard. My sister demanded I switch over to caroms so that they could join the game. I was not in any state to expose my expertise to ensure that the element of surprise is still on. But even before I realised it I had set up the carom board. The two girls were obviously sisters, both of short stature the elder looked like my sisters age and the younger looked like a bit too younger to me. And the very reason that she looked too young made me confident and I had no issues like what I generally feel when I meet girls for example like freezing of the palm, shivering of legs, stammering when I try to talk and uncontrollable sweating and dehydration thereafter. The elders made a team and the younger ones, the opposite team. As is the universal rule and everyone would agree with me on this that the younger ones are always better than the elders. May be it’s because we always learn from them too. So we won hands down every time. And my team mate became my first friend in that colony. It was only after they left that I was told that she was just a year younger to me. May be that was the first time I ever felt like a dead body. I cannot really recollect what all went through my mind then. All I remember now is that I tried not to cross her way for quite sometime thereafter. That vacation too was short but sweet. I of course ensured that the school’s good name prevailed. I am not too proud about the whole winning spree since there was hardly any competition. But I should mention here that I ensured my efforts were rewarded when I made my mark in cultural events like quiz, recitation, essay writing etc too.

I, now started looking forward to vacations. My self confidence was at an all time high and the same ensured better performance when compared to my average life at school. Soon i made a lot of friends and my inhibitions of making friends with the fairer sex also evaporated. The list of my friends suddenly had some beautiful names and more beautiful faces greeted me often. The rate at which the inhibitions evaporated was so fast that very soon I was behaving with them as I would behave with any other friend of mine. And during the routine visit to the temple with the mother’s gang (we used to accompany the gang to the temple every evening) I pestered a girl in the group so bad that she cried on the way itself. That girl was none other than Ann. My mother made me feel as if I have done the filthiest crime in the world i.e. making a girl cry on a public road. I, the ‘good soul’ that I was (ha ha ha) did not sleep the whole night due to the remorse. The very next morning I was at Ann’s doorstep asking for forgiveness. But even after a lot of sweet-talking she was in no mood to forgive. I having no clue of how a female brain worked could never stand such attitude. So I absolved myself of the crime and came back home. But at that age, no issue is actually an issue. She was there in front of me trying to strike a conversation within no time. Be it sports, games, organising cultural evenings, acting in plays or sitting on the compound fence watching the sea or riding around the country side in my new bicycle i enjoyed each and every moment i spent at that place. Each and every moment was worth cherishing and maybe that’s the reason why i remember each and every event as if it happened yesterday. The time that i spent there would remain close to my heart for the same reasons.

It was much later, on a Sunday evening sipping hot tea after a good afternoon nap in NDA (National Defence Academy) did it strike to me that Ann had a soft corner for me. It was my weary loneliness then that was pulling me back to memories of good old days. And i sat there with my mouth open as if struck by a lightning. All that time, my slow brain that generally operates from my knees, had never realised that. May be if i had known it then, i would have been a different man now. Or it could have been a bane than a boon. God knows the best and so the best happens.

I believe that everything happens for a reason. Though i still don’t know the reason why, i owe it to god since he gave me a lot of new friends even after that and a lot new beautiful moments to cherish. He made me keep my heart open, and all were always welcome. Thank you god, for being there beside me all the time, for giving me that shoulder to rest on, for giving me a ear for my worries, for keeping that broad smile steady on my face, for making my shoulders broad, for carrying me through all bad times and last but not the least, for making me what i am today. I am a proud son, my father, I am therefore I am.

soul of a missile

2009-02-16T05:23:00.000-08:00

Prologue

This particular article was written while I was preparing for my missile firing. In this article, I tried to believe that even a missile has a soul. You would feel an apprehension in my motives as I describe what goes on through my mind. Though the apprehension was only for creative reasons, on the end of my missile firing unfortunately the missile failed to lift off and I couldn’t engage the missile. The other part was that it was not just me who missed that opportunity but every other ship that was in that line missed too. I am forced to believe that the thoughts really have energy and it’s important to think positively whatever your intention is. So do read on…..

God,

I was not sleeping well all these days. I feel as if in a state of trance. The death sentence had come out and the date had been fixed. I am the chosen one. Not the one who is going to die, but the one who would execute the kill. I have not done this before, without you, I may never do it again. But I have been chosen for the job. They said they had confidence in me. They believed I could do it. May be they are true. If I am the one to do it, with your permission, I will.

I knew her family. They have the will of an elephant. Undeterred, fearless they live. That would be a glorious life, wouldn’t it be? They were known to walk the talk, they held their course and lived with pride. I am new to this job, not much do I know about her. What would she be like? Young or old? Tall or short? Slim or plump? I am not told. May be I am not supposed to know.

She would be bought in a container, not even enough space to move around, I was told. She would be craving for freedom. I was told she wanted to fly, all her life. They have briefed me to the point, not a stone unturned. They would set her free and I had to gun her down. She would stand out of the crowd, they said, she always did. Freedom…. that would end, even before she could realise what it is. Merciless that would be. But my god, i would just be doing my job right? I am being paid to kill.

It’s over now…. my god, in the stillness of the night, under the moon, before any one could even realise, I shot her down. It was a full moon, windless night, as if...... the earth stopped to watch. There were more waiting in the line if I missed, I was told. May be they didn’t believe me fully. She didn’t give up easily, I was told. The will of an elephant, they say. I didn’t see her go down. I didn’t have the courage to see that. But I was told she gave up gracefully. Her body obeyed the law of gravity but the soul defied, it flew on….. She wanted to fly………. all her life.

Afterlogue

As I mentioned in the introduction, neither did her body nor did her soul gave up. They flew on…. After all she wanted to fly. There were more waiting in the line but none of them could bring her down. The will of an elephant, they say. I was blamed a lot for the failure. I accept the blame. After all, they did believe me. But I have no regrets nor do I have a complaint, because my god, it was you who planned. I was just a tool.

MOHAMMED HUSSEIN – AS I SEE HIM

2009-02-16T05:22:00.000-08:00

As you enter a room almost on the stern of the ship, which is a small dingy cabin, you would for sure sight the tape recorder which I believe is the costliest item present in the cabin. It cannot be missed for the blaring UP folk music, it would be playing whole day. There is one more thing that you would not miss for sure, meet my ship’s barber, Mr. Mohammed Hussein. A man with a short thin stature, unassuming but always with a bright smile on his face, you will find him explaining the inadequacies of the Pakistan navy to a sailor who could do nothing but agree with him to ensure that he ends up with a decent haircut. He has seen the world while serving onboard the ship and for the same reason I accept him to be worldly wise. He has an opinion on everything ranging from Barak Obama to Manglore pub culture, or be it Kashmir, Pakistan or Israel. His hands and tongue move mechanically all the time totally independent of each other. May be he is a man who would look in to the eye when he talks since he uses the mirror exclusively for that. How one would love him to look more on to the head than on to the face. The only two pieces of furniture that are present in the cabin are a carved desk with a huge mirror and drawers on the top that can be pulled out and shelves below that can be opened to a side and the typical barber’s chair. On top of his desk is displayed a huge powder tin, two shaving brushes, a pack of blades, a tube of shaving cream and a couple of after shave lotions. The hair cut, if I can call it so in my case, since there’s hardly any hair to be cut, isn’t the real reason why I go there, nor is it to discuss and get enriched on all the issues of the world.

As i enter the room he would greet me with a warm smile and makes sure I have made myself comfortable on his chair. Thereafter he would commence his discussions on all the worldly matters as he draws his special white silk cloth especially for me and drapes it over my neck. He would ensure that I express my views on at least a couple of those topics. The topics of his chat could be anything, his home, his parents, his native village where he still owns two cows, his two wives or his recent kidney operation. The folk music would continue to play at the max voice (or noise) from his tape recorder. It’s a new song this time but the singer as I recognise it, is the same every time. I try and survive through the complete sitting with a steady smile on my face, an approving nod now and then and my view on a particular topic when he pauses for one. He devotes as much time on to my head which hardly has any hair left as he would to a normal guy and would also ensure to boost my blank ego by mentioning the sight of a new strand here and there. But the best part is of course the patented maalish (massage) that follows the haircut. He searches in his bunch of keys and opens one of his drawers and here comes the ‘Chandan’ brand perfumed hair oil. You can read it on his eyes that it has been specially taken out for me. He claims it to be much better than the famous ‘Navratan’ hair oil as he explains how all the hair that has fallen off my scalp will spring into life all over again after the massage. He would then commence practicing his tabla skills on my almost barren head. It is a sight to see him as if in a mystical trance with closed eyes while his fingers continue to play some unknown concerto on my head. I don’t find the sound to be too musical but the cool envelope of oil with his fingers running all over my scalp is nothing but heaven. Somewhere in between before you would even realise he would pull the earlobes out which would crack and you would wonder if the cartilage has given way. It ends at the fingers after each one of them has made the crackling noise. Then his eyes would open and so would the smile on his face. I still haven’t figured out if the smile is due to the self satisfaction of a good job done or on the thought of the money that would be passed on to him in no time.

Though at times we call him the cobbler and we make fun of the poor guy for all his mannerisms, there are things that I have learnt from this man and that is the very reason why I decided to write about him. I have observed that

(a) He is a school drop out but still knows a bit of everything in this big world.
(b) He lives in a cramped space that has been allotted to him but still lives as if in a palace
(c) He has more problems than most of us but you will never find him without his trademark smile
(d) He is poorer than most of us but you will never find him comparing.
(e) He knows for sure that he is restricted by a lot of things in this life but he never ceases to dream
(f) He enjoys his work and he is a happy man and he makes it an endeavour to ensure that others around him are also happy.

Now I sometimes wonder why I can’t be like him in the above mentioned ways, What denies me the right to sport a smile at all times? What stops me from being happy and spreading that happiness? Is he more motivated in life than me? Or should I believe people when they say that for him ignorance is bliss? I certainly don’t have an answer. But I have promised myself that I would at least try and attain a bit of his qualities that I can attract people to me with the same force that takes this bald man to his barbershop so often.

2009-01-24T03:25:00.000-08:00

it is 0200 here and am about to fall asleep anytime. i read about the banglore connection in glasgow blasts. it does project us in a bad light and i do agree. i can imagine the discrimination would be facing out there due to his nationality. but what can we do about this. they are not some uneducated unemployed youths who have been thrown in to terrorism for the lure of money. they are the brilliant, well qualified engineers and doctors who have been brainwashed by wrong education or hate talks. only knowledge will not help, you need to have the right kind of education. i frankly dont understand how somebody like kafeel can fall for relegion and relegious fanatics. they am sure didnt even think about their parents who are waiting for them to comeback. such is the power of the mind and see how destructive is a corrupt mind. sometimes we wont even come to know where this world is heading. such is the state that we cannot trust our neighbour. what happened in mumbai blasts, akshardaam blats and nidhari killings is just a clear example of how a human mind is changing, and how morales and values are evaporating in todays society. is this evaporation too happening due to the global warming? he he he....... we better ask god himself now because i dont think any expert is qualified enough to comment.

well what is the use of crying over here or taking out the anger on the keyboard? let us make ourselves and the generation under us in to better humanbeings, teach them to love than to hate, to make than to break, to lead than to follow, to smile than to frown. and though it is so small when they are in words, it is a herculean task when it comes to acting on it. why dont we do our bit and encourage our neighbour to do his bit. as little drops makes the ocean lets hope one day the cloud of love will cover our world. well the truth is that all that we do is to hope.

ALL IN A DAY’S WORK

2007-12-25T01:31:00.000-08:00

It’s a bright day full of sun & shine
A sailing order lands on to hands of mine
As I plan the briefing and sea & action
I sigh, thinking of the day ahead in a fraction

As the old lady let go her lines
Two astern BME, the captain whines
As the action station pipe blares through
Mine lookouts close up to fire a shot or two

Evolutions came one by one
With hours, changed charge and con
Manoeuvring as the high seas churn
With fishtails, corpens and turn

I watch from the bridge wings
As the lissom lass swings
To be taut in station
Line, column or anchoring in formation

Streamed we the MT1, PPT & AT2
Laid the mines and tracked them too
APTOW, SKBDL, POSTMAN KNOCK & UWT OPS
Left nothing behind in the list of SHOPS

As the sun and moon exchange station
The poet in me rose out of hibernation
Winds are fair and skies are clear
The lookout has a smile, face full of cheer

The day was longer than river Nile
Tired are we, but we still smile
As the day ends, there is a satisfaction
That when going was tough, tough were in action

MARGINS – SOME FOOD FOR THOUGHT

2007-10-29T08:31:00.000-07:00

It was during a chat with a friend on the internet that I felt that I have something to share with this world on this topic. I remember as an 8th standard student in Sainik School, my teacher explaining to me the importance of a margin. If I remember it correctly it was during our Christmas exams (mid term exams). He started off his lecture with how a margin makes a paper look orderly and ended with how a margin (read space for self) is a necessary evil in life. And all this ‘gyaan’ in between an exam. But nobody complained, nobody was distracted, nobody felt that they were losing precious time. Now after all these years, as I was chatting with a friend, this topic came up and I remembered the whole incident. Suddenly I remembered how true his words were. As a student in a boarding school, away from my parents, their care, love and affection, I never believed him when he told us that in life we need to keep a margin for ourselves, a space that is exclusive to self, where even my mother isn’t welcome. I was already feeling that there is enough space within me. I wanted to invite everyone in to the lonely world of mine. I didn’t believe then that I would crave for a margin anytime in my life. I wouldn’t believe that I could keep my mother away from anything in my life. I used to miss her so much then. But today I realize that he was true. I can’t exist anymore like an open book. I need a part of my heart, to think about me, to discuss my views with myself, to assess me after I complete some work. A part of me who is impartial, who calls a spade a spade, who stands by the morals and values that I have learnt in my course of growing up, who tells me on my face whether am right or wrong, who gets that smile on my face and swells up my chest when I do the right thing. I can’t exist without that space.

A margin for a mind is very necessary especially in this busy world where it’s difficult to find a true friend. You have a thousand and one things to tell and there isn’t anybody to hear. You have ambitions, dreams and aspirations. You have committed a mistake and have learnt a lesson. You have met somebody today who has a different take on the life and you have learnt something from him. You read a book and an idea strikes you. Everything cannot be shared with a stranger or even an acquaintance. In this world where everyone is busy, the one who is sitting idle is a fool. And when everyone is busy, everyone is complaining and there aren’t enough ears to listen to all these worries. This is the juncture where people make it a business. Many of these ‘godmen’ today do nothing but listen. They lend an ear to you, listen to all your problems and then tell you that god is there and everything will be all right. You believe them and your belief gets results for you. Knowing not the strength of one’s mind you worship the ‘godmen’ thinking their blessings have worked for you. Am sure even my words wouldn’t make any difference for you. You will still go there to seek their blessings. Because you don’t believe that you can do it yourself. In a way you are true, true because you cannot do it all by yourselves. But the truth that you don’t realize is this that you aren’t doing it yourself. God is doing things through you. You are just an instrument. Now let me clarify something here. There are some true gems among this bunch of pebbles called godmen. Some are worthy enough to be called a guru. A guru is necessary because every one of us cannot be an Ekalavya. We need someone to show us the way, show us the light, and tell us what’s right and what’s wrong. But he isn’t there to get us results. For results we need to strive, struggle, work hard and most important PRAY. Pray, to remind your mind that the efforts aren’t yours but god’s, to remind yourself that you were just an instrument. Otherwise the ego would settle in and the weight of that ego will pull you down, in to the deepest dungeons of failure. You would now be wondering how margins are related to godmen and results….. Well the only relation is that an absence of a margin would leave you insecure and then you would be in a path probing yourself.

Now what is a margin when it comes to human mind??? Me not being a psychology student or a scholar who has done researches on the topic, I wouldn’t be able to give you a scientific definition. But as a lay man with my limited knowledge I would like to call it TIME (i.e. if you quantify it). In other words I would say margin is a vaccum or an imaginary space for the soul. I remember me drawing a right hand side margin in my Mathematics book for all minor calculations. Am sure everyone in school would have done the same. A margin for the mind would be a space from where you can retrieve all that happened during a day/month/year. And then analyse, correct yourself, suggest improvement etc etc. The frequency of self analysis would determine how fast you/your efficiency would improve. There are many people amongst us who maintain a margin for themselves but do not exercise this self check. I believe both are necessary.

As every coin has two sides a margin too has an evil side. Now the danger of maintaining the margin is the ignorance of the size of the margin. Do not draw such a huge margin that you don’t even have space to scribble. If you discuss everything with yourself you would become a loner. You will assume that you are an independent, self-determining and self-governing individual, only to wake up one fine day to realize that you are sadly mistaken. And since you aren’t interacting with people, there isn’t any competition for your soul and so there isn’t a scope for improvement. So the balance is very much important. Well all this what i feel and so you might have a different thought process alltogether. So whether you should imbibe something from the aforesaid is entirely your choice. If you are with me then lets hope we all make our well balanced margins and help others make theirs. Wish you all a happy life ahead. Bon Voyage........... Au revoir

2007-08-31T00:15:00.001-07:00

Did you ever try getting up early on a sunday morning, make a cup of hot tea, pull a chair to the sitout and sit there till the sun came up. When i was in jamnagar, my cabin faced the salt fields. as i sat on the balcony, sipping my tea occasionally to overcome the cold, waiting for the sunrise, i could see the flamingos coming to those salt fields. they would come and stand there for a long time. i was not patient enough to wait for the flamingos to leave. if i waited for them i would have to miss the most important meal in my day. Valsura was a beautiful place. infact the road that leads to valsura from jamnagar had salt fields on either sides extending to miles. if you look from a chopper, the road would look like a black shoe lace fallen over white sand. it was so distinct and so beautiful. especially those misty mornings. i remember how much i hated parting with my bed in those cold mornings to attend the morning PT.

2007-08-31T00:13:00.001-07:00

The fragnance was very familiar. the winds might have kissed her hair before coming over to meet me. i was not able to see her clearly. it was quite misty. i cannot exactly recall whether it was on a beach or in a hill station. all i remember is the soft breeze and that fragnance. but it was foggy because i remember not seeing her clearly.she was walking ahead of me, slowly as if she had a song on her lips. i had an urge to run up to her, hold her by her shoulders and turn her around. but i didn't move. my grey matter might have taken charge of my pulsating mind. what a complex mechanism my body is? then she stopped and slowly turned around. i remember seeing her hair falling over to her face due to the wind and then i was awake staring at the three leaves rotating overhead.i lay there desperately trying to see the three leaves seperately, but in vain. this was not the first time she came in my dreams. every time she came, i wrote something about her. or let me be frank, all my life i just wrote about her. i fear of that day when this girl in my dreams will come and stand in front of me, because from that day i won't have a topic to write on. i always had a quaint feeling that i would meet her some day. one side of me was really happy about it. but the other side,this wild creative side of me feared every moment of it. so every friend i lost at some phase of my friendship. when somebody came close to me i ran away from them, like a coward. today when i once more i write about her i promise that never again will i let myself runaway like that. never again, that's a promise to me. a soldier's word. now i can't wait to meet my dream girl. but as some one rightly said, "what good are dreams of if each one of them comes true".

എന്റെ സ്വന്തം ................. ഒരു സ്വപ്നം

2007-01-26T01:56:00.000-08:00

മഴ പെയ്യുന്ന രാവുകളില്‍ , ജനാലയ്ക് അരികില്‍ ഇരുന്നു , ചാറുന്ന മഴയുടെ താളം പിടിച്ചു ഇന്നും നിനക്കു വേണ്ടി ഞാന്‍ പാടാറുണ്ട് . എന്റെ സ്വപ്നങ്ങളില്‍ ആ ഈണം ഞാന്‍ തിരയാറുണ്ട് . മണലാരണ്യം പോലെയുള്ള എന്റെ മനസ്സിലെന്തിനു നീ ഒരു വിത്തു പാകി ? പുറത്തു പെയ്യുന്ന ചാറല്‍ മഴ പോലെ എന്തെ നീ എന്നിലേക്ക്‌ പെയ്തിറങ്ങിയില്ല ?

എങ്ങിനെയൊക്കെ ആയാലും കദനത്തിന്റെ കണ്ണീരുണങ്ങാത്ത ഓര്‍മകളുടെ മടിതട്ടിലിരുന്നു
ഞാന്‍ വീണ്ടും സ്വപ്‌നങ്ങള്‍ കാണാന്‍ തുടങ്ങിയിരിക്കുന്നു ...

വിതുംബുമീ ഓര്‍മ്മകള്‍ തന്‍ മടിത്തട്ടില്‍
തേടുന്നു ഞാനൊരു സ്വപ്നം
സന്ധ്യകള്‍ തന്‍ സിന്ധൂരചെപ്പില്
തനിച്ചിരുന്നുറങ്ങുന്ന സ്വപ്നം

ഗന്ധര്‍വഗായകന്‍ പാടുകയായി
അപ്സരസുന്ദരി ആടുകയായി
കൂത്തമ്പലത്തിന്റെ നടുത്തളത്തില്‍
അരങ്ങേറുന്നോരെന്‍ സ്വപ്നം

ആളുന്ന നാളങ്ങള്‍ താണ്ഡവമാടുന്ന
മനസ്സെന്ന അഗ്നികുണ്ടത്തില്‍
ഒരു കുളിര്‍ക്കാറ്റായ് വീശിയെത്തി നീ
സര്‍ഗസംഘീര്‍ത്തനമായി

തുടി കൊട്ടുമീ കാടുച്ചോല തന്‍
സാന്ദ്രഗീതം ഞാന്‍ കേട്ടു
കനവുകള്‍ മേഞ്ഞു നടന്നൊരു
മണലാരണ്യങ്ങളില്‍ എന്നും

വസന്തമാം വര്‍ണരാജിയെ
എന്തിനു നീ കൈ വെടിഞ്ഞു
പൊഴിയുമീ കണീര് കാണാതെ
മുഖം തിരിച്ചെന്തേ നീ നിന്നു

രാവിന്‍ നിലാവില്‍ നിനക്കായി മാത്രം
ഇന്നും പാടുന്നു ഞാന്‍
സ്വപ്നങ്ങളില്‍, സര്‍ഗസംഗീതങ്ങളില്‍
തേടുന്നു ഞാനിന്നുമീ ഈണം...

By a sandy beach in Goa - Dec 06

2007-01-26T01:51:00.000-08:00

I am very much alone here for two reasons (1) I don’t know anyone here in goa and (2) all three of us can’t go out together ‘cause one of us has to be on duty. So many a times am alone roaming around in the beaches of goa. Beaches were, are and will always remain beautiful and even as a child I loved beaches. As a child I enjoyed playing in the surf and sand under the sun, as a young man I enjoy sitting on the sand and watching the waves embrace the beach. I enjoy the wind beating on my face as the sun try to blind me. I enjoy walking on the wet sand, leaving behind footsteps for the waves to erase them forever. I love the wind when it plays with my hair. Wind brings along with her the scent of the sea (not the smell of fish, that’s different) a smell that is very much familiar to me. It gives me a feeling as if I own the sea and my chest automatically swells up as I walk. It is a great feeling.

I sit there till the sun says goodbye to this part of the earth. It is a very sad moment. The wind, which was swinging away in her own happiness, comes almost to a standstill and the horizon paints herself red in the memory of the day spend with the sun. The waves have become silent giving an impression that they were pleading to the sun all this time to stay. The nature stands still as if giving an ovation to the sun. But interestingly before the horizon is too sad the stars come to cheer her up. As the stars twinkle, winking at the earth as if teasing her for her childishness, waves are back to erase my footsteps from the beach. I too join the fun as I walk from one end of the beach to other, making more impressions of my foot on the beach. Winds are here to play with me too as they pick up one more of the remaining hairs on my head.

And suddenly I learn something. I understand today, sitting by the seaside and looking at the games that nature play, that one who wins is the one who moves on. One who clings on the lost sorrows doesn’t see the opportunities open to him; he keeps looking at the locked door in front of him and doesn’t realise that a thousand doors have opened behind him. So my dear sweet heart, you turn around and see what the world has in store for you. This sorrow and pain are not going to last. This is just momentary. Your sun will be back, wait patiently till this night gets over. You look at the dark sky and worry for nothing that there is no dawn to this night. The stars have come to give you company for the night, move on, let the time flow. Be happy that the night has come since tomorrow is going to be a new day with the sun. It is going to be different. Now as I write this to you, it is getting darker but through my window porthole I can see the stars twinkling in the sky. So be rest assured that they will remain. But all these days are not the same. Some times it becomes real tough. Clouds come in the way and stars cannot be seen, thunders frighten the earth; Winds go berserk and starts howling. Then all the earth has got is the hope, the word from the sun that he would be back. The earth trusts the sun and she gets her strength to move on, to leave the night behind. Isn’t that beautiful?

We see this everyday but we learn nothing from all these. God is the ultimate teacher and he teaches us through the nature. We see all these but we tend to ignore, thinking all these are not for us. I will tell you one truth now. As I sat there on the beach, enjoying the warmth of the wind, waves embracing the beach, the horizon turning red and my footsteps smiling at me, I was just thinking of you. I was thinking how beautiful it would be if you had been there, beside me watching the sunset, walking with me along the beach, leaving behind footsteps for the waves to rub off. I never thought of all these lessons nature was desperately trying to teach me. It was only now, that all these came as revelation. It was a eureka moment for me. I felt so happy and thought that it was god himself who has showed me the way now.

thoughts

2007-01-26T01:47:00.000-08:00

I used to write even as a child but it was in my school that I came to know that I write in a way that is appealing to people. Me like any other soul in this world loved recognition and was happy for the attention I received. I started writing poems only after coming to NDA. I drew inspiration from one of my course mate and a close friend in my squadron. His name is Anand. He is now in ADA Regt and is posted in Chandigarh. There is only one thing that you do not get in NDA and that is time. The one who has learnt to manage time enjoys in NDA. No body would believe that I got time to write poems in NDA. I am a very complex person at times and writing was a way of coming out of all those complexities. It was a kind of release for me. I used to write whenever I was sad and the best of my poems have taken birth in the worst of my times. That is why most of them have sad endings. I used to cry after reading them. Now it sounds very foolish even for me and I smile whenever I think of them. Loneliness had been my best friend. I have always lived alone. That statement is not fully correct as my friends were always there around me. But I took all my decisions myself. I learnt very early in life to be self-dependent or independent. It has helped me to stand my ground at a lot of places but there were many instances when I was looking around helplessly. Every thing happens for good and so I know god has made me to do things my way, and I love doing them my way. I have made a thousand mistakes in life but never took them too seriously. Learnt valuable lessons from them and moved on.

Like any other teenager in this earth, I too desperately wanted a girl friend. But god had different plans for me. So at an age when my course mates were ogling at girls I was ogling at rifles. When they were running behind girls I was running around the periphery (there is a road which is around the campus which is called periphery). When they were walking the ramp I was marching in parade ground. When they were singing songs I was giving commands. When they were riding bikes I was riding horses. When they were sleeping I was seeing the world upside down (legs up hands down – is a punishment). And lastly when they were studying I was SLEEPING. So my days were more eventful than them (though they never agree to this one statement). I loved my days at NDA. But I missed company and made loneliness my girlfriend. Most of my friends made girlfriends in pune (may be because it was very easy for them there). May be because am from a conservative background I, like most of my mallu friends never liked those skimpily dressed, make up clad girls with their plastic smiles. I wanted people to be the way they are. They were so insecure about themselves that they talked so artificially. They never could talk looking in to one’s eye, as if one would run away if he finds out what they are made of. They never realized they were exposing themselves more when they were trying to act. I shouldn’t be shy to tell you that my course mates in NDA took good advantage of pune girls (especially the college going ones). I wouldn’t blame my course mates only for that because the girls were like that. May be I decided to stay away from the better sex for all these reasons.

But then I wanted somebody badly. So imagined that I had a friend whom I knew the way she knew me. But then I used to miss her terribly. So I consoled my heart through my poems. I used to sit in my balcony and look up to the sky and watch the stars. I used to talk to the breeze. I loved the rain and the smell of the earth after the rain. I loved the morning dew. The water drops it used to leave for me in the morning on the leaves of plants. I loved the line of trees along the road. NDA is a heaven if you love nature.The architecture, the gardens, buildings, roads I don’t have words to explain them. Any body would become a poet in those surroundings.

but to be very frank to you i actually opened my eyes and saw the beauty only when my parents came for my Passing out Parade (POP), when they were going gaga over the naturistic beauty NDA provided exclaiming how lucky would be one to get trained in such sorroundings. well the truth is that during the course of training, one got no time to appreciate that. and 'LUCKY' to get trained in such sorroundings!!!!!!!!!!!!!! GOD only knows that we saw the whole thing upside down more often than we saw it the normal way. we were more busy looking for the sergeants and appointments who would block our way than to appreciate the beauty there. if you would stay to appreciate the beauty you would miss the meal for sure

Only for you

2007-01-26T01:44:00.000-08:00

My friend, you are a treasure
Thoughts of you fill my leisure
Talking to you is a pleasure
Love to you I don’t measure

Under the shade of a star
I would tell my yaar
Humko tumse hain pyaar
Hum kar rahe hein tumhara intezaar

I can see your eyes that twinkle
I hear your bangles those giggle
Deep with the smile goes that dimple
O’ my angel, your smile, so simple

I can see you on every face
Can read you in every phrase
With you I can win any race
You are my gift by god’s grace

Every day your voice I hear
I forget all the pain and fear
You may be far from here
Yet I feel as if you are so near

You should have no fear
Neither should you shed a tear
Keep that sweetest heart clear
For you know am always here

ആരോ......

2006-11-08T04:27:00.000-08:00

ആരോ ഇന്നെന്റെ ഹൃദയം കവര്‍ന്നെന്നെ
താരാട്ടു പാടിയുറക്കിയെന്നൊ
താരാട്ടു കേട്ടു ഞാന്‍ നിദ്രയിലലിയവേ
ഒരു ചുടു ചുംബനം തന്നുണര്ത്തിയെന്നോ........

ആരോ രാവിന്റെ സംഗീതമിന്നെന്റെ
കാതില്‍ വന്നൊന്നു മന്ത്രിച്ചെന്നോ
പ്രണയത്തിന്‍ വര്‍ണങ്ങളാലെന്റെ സ്വപ്നങ്ങ
ളൊക്കെയും വര്‍ണാഭമാക്കിയെന്നോ.....

ആരോ ഇന്നെന്റെ ചാരത്തു വന്നിരു
ന്നെന്നുടെ മുടിയില്‍ തഴുകിയെന്നോ
ആരുമറിയാതെന്‍ കണ്ണുപൊത്തിക്കൊണ്ട്
ചുണ്ടിലൊരു മുത്തം നല്‍കിയെന്നോ......

ഹൃദയം മൂളിയ പാട്ടിനൊപ്പം
ചെറു താളം പിടിച്ചുക്കൊണ്ടാടിയെന്നോ
നിദ്രയുഴിഞ്ഞോരെന്‍ മിഴികളെ വെറുമൊരു
ആലിംഗനത്താലുണര്ത്തിയെന്നൊ......

തേങ്ങിക്കരയുന്ന നെഞ്ചിനെകുളിര്‍
തെന്നലായ്‌ തഴുകിയടക്കിയെന്നോ
ദൂരെയ്കു നോക്കി ഞാന്‍ വെറുതെയിരിക്കവേ
ചുണ്ടിലൊരു പുഞ്ചിരി വിടര്‍ത്തിയെന്നോ......

ആരോ പ്രണയത്തിന്‍ ചെറുവിരല്‍തുമ്പിനാല്‍
ഇന്നെന്റെ ഹൃദയം കവര്ന്നുവെന്നോ
ആരോ ഇന്നെന്റെ ഹൃദയം കവര്‍ന്നെന്നെ
താരാട്ടു പാടിയുറക്കിയെന്നോ.......

എന്റെ കവിത

2006-11-08T03:45:00.000-08:00

ഗ്രീഷ്മ കാലം, മഞ്ഞിന്‍പടവുകളിലൂടെ
അരിച്ചിറങ്ങുന്ന സുപ്രഭാതം.
കൂടു വിട്ടു പോകുന്ന പക്ഷികള്‍
വീശും ഇളം കാറ്റ്‌, കൊഴിയും ഇലകള്‍
പൊഴിയുന്നൊരു മഞ്ഞുതുള്ളി.......... നീ

ഓര്‍മകളില്‍ ഉയരുന്ന മണ്ണിന്‍ ഗന്ധം
ഇളം കാറ്റിലുലയുന്ന വയലുകള്‍
തുറിച്ചു നോക്കുന്ന നോക്കുകുത്തി
അകലെയായെവിടെയോ കൊയ്ത്തുപാട്ട്‌
കണ്ണിലുതിര്‍ന്നൊരു കണ്ണുനീര്‍ത്തുള്ളി....... നീ

കളി പറയുന്ന കായലിന്‍ ഓളങ്ങള്‍
ദൂരേയ്കകലുന്ന കടത്തുത്തോണി
കണ്‍ച്ചിമ്മും വിളക്കുമരം
ആരോ പാടുന്ന യുഗ്മഗാനം
എന്നില്‍ വിടര്‍ന്നൊരു പുഞ്ചിരി....... നീ

തെളിഞ്ഞ മാനത്തു വിടരും ചന്ദ്രിക
പുഞ്ചിരി തൂകുമൊരായിരം നക്ഷത്രം
മുറ്റത്തു വിരിഞ്ഞ മുല്ലയുടെ ഗന്ധം
നടനമാടുന്ന നിലവിളക്കിന്‍ നാളം
എന്നെ പുണര്‍ന്നുറങ്ങുമൊരു നിലാവ്‌.......... നീ

എനിക്കു കൂട്ടിന്‌ എകാന്തത
ചുറ്റും കണ്ണില്‍ കുത്തും ഇരുട്ട്‌
കരിന്തിരി കത്തിയൊരു വിളക്ക്‌
അനിര്‍വചനീയം ഒരു വേദന
ഞാന്‍ കടലാസില്‍ കുറിച്ച കവിത......... നീ

Memory of an evening

2006-11-04T03:37:00.000-08:00

IN MEMORY OF AN EVENING

it was a lovely evening
sitting by the seaside
you were by my side
sun was blushing red

i looked in to your eyes
and found me there
my heart leapt in ectasy
eyes cried of joy

music in our hearts of the
song on our lips
like an unkissed desire
your song, soaked my heart

wind kissed the waves, as
surf embraced the beach
how time passed,
killing the joys of my life

now a burning darkness
envelopes me from within
my sight is blurred
the fire in me is dead

my heart is in fragments
it was never this fragile
my poetry is dead
my words are numb

i remember now, in this
whirling smoke of weariness
those giggling ripples
when your love crept in to me

i remember those fluttering eyes
awestruck _expression
the lump in my throat reminds
the rustling air, deep gasping

you didnt say goodbye
didnt look in to my eye
for you knew your heart
and every beat said that

dawns never came
nights never died
whom should i blame
for my love was lame

her asters stinked
in my flowervase
the anemones dripped blood
as if my heart bled

it is a lonely evening
sitting by the seaside
she is not by my side
sun is still blushing red

---kazak_mustang---

പൊഴിയുന്ന പ്രണയം

2006-11-04T03:15:00.000-08:00

ഒരു പ്രണയം കൂടി പൊഴിയുന്നു .....

പുഴ കടവ് വിജനമായിരുന്നു. ഇടിഞ്ഞൊരു മണല്‍ തിട്ടിനരികിലായി ഞാന്‍ ഇരുന്നു.
മുകളില്‍, നീലാകാശത്തില്‍ നക്ഷത്രക്കൂട്ടങ്ങള്‍. താഴേയീ ഭുമിയില്‍ ചീവീടുകളുടെ സംഗീതസംഗമം....
കാറ്റിനോത്ത് ഉലയുന്ന മുളങ്കാടുകള്‍, നിശബ്ദമായി ഒഴുകുന്ന പുഴ,
പതിയെ വീശുന്ന തണുത്ത കാറ്റെന്തോ സ്വകാര്യം പറഞ്ഞതായി തോന്നി.
അക്കരെയേതോ രാപ്പാടിയുടെ സംഗീതം, ഞാന്‍ അറിയാതെ താളം പിടിച്ചു പോവുന്നു....

പാതിരാകുയിലിന്നു പാടുന്നു വീണ്ടും
ശോകാര്‍ദ്രമാം ഒരു വിരഹ ഗാനം
എന്റെ മനസ്സിലുണര്ന്നോരെന്‍ രാക്കിളി
കേട്ടുവോ നീയെന്റെ പ്രണയഗാനം

ദൂരെ നിശബ്ദമായൊഴുകുന്നോരപ്പുഴ
തീരത്തു വച്ചു ഞാന്‍ കണ്ടു നിന്നെ
മന്ദസ്മിതത്തോടെ നിന്നടുത്തെത്തി ഞാന്‍
നിന്നെയും നോക്കി തരിച്ചു നിന്നു

നിന്നെ തഴുകിയെത്തിയോരാ തെന്നല്‍
നിന്‍ ഗന്ദമെനിക്കായി കൊണ്ടു വന്നു
നിന്‍ മിഴിക്കോണില്‍ തുടിച്ചൊരാ
സ്വപ്ന ഭാവവും മുന്നില്‍ വിരിച്ചു തന്നു

നീയൊരു രാഗമായ്‌ , നീയൊരു സ്വപ്നമായ്‌
നീയൊരു വര്‍ണ്ണമായെന്റെ മുന്നില്‍
നീയൊരു ഗാനമായ്‌ , ഗാനത്തിനീണമായ്‌
ശ്രുതിലയഗംഗയായെന്റെ മുന്നില്‍

അമ്പിളി പെയ്യുമീ രാവിന്റെ ഭംഗിയും
വര്‍ധിതമാകുന്ന നിന്നനുരാഗവും
കരളിന്റെ മോഹത്തിന്‍ വേലിയേറ്റങ്ങളാല്‍
നിദ്രാവിഹീനങ്ങളാകുന്നു രാവുകള്‍

ഒരു ദിനം നിന്‍ കിളിക്കൊഞ്ചല്‍ കേള്‍ക്കാതെയായ്‌
ഇടനെഞ്ചിലൊരു കുളിര്‍ തെന്നലില്ലാതെയായ്
വിങ്ങുമെന്‍ നെഞ്ചകം സാന്ത്വനിപിക്കുവാന്‍
നിന്‍ മൃദു സ്പര്‍ശവും നീയുമില്ലാതെയായി

ഇന്നുമൊരു ഗദ്ഗദം മനസ്സിലുണരുന്നു
ഉള്ളിലോരേകാന്തരോദനമുയരുന്നു
മന്ദോഷ്ണമാര്ന്ന നിന്‍ ദീര്‍ഘനിശ്വാസത്താല്‍
ഇന്നെന്റെ മോഹങ്ങള്‍ ചിതയിലെരിയുന്നു

ദൂരെയീ മാനത്തെ മൂകതാരങ്ങളെ ...
ആരാണു നിങ്ങളില്‍ എന്റെ മനസ്വിനി?
ഏകാനയിന്നീ മണല്‍ത്തിട്ടില്ലിരുപ്പൂ ഞാന്‍
ചാരെയായി ഒഴുകുന്നു നിശബ്ദമീ പുഴ .....

---kazak_mustang---