That Sound So Dear

A drop on my cheek, no cloud in the sky,

I wish I knew where it’s from and why.

There’s light all around, there’s the red and the green,

My eyes they see just the grey and its sheen.

The laughter’s far, but yet so near;

There’s something in its mirth I fear.

I laugh too, and it sounds so dear,

Maybe it’s the lonely afterwards I fear.

My friends are here and round me dance,

I wish I could wake up from my trance.

But what if this dream was my friend,

I fear this dream, its joy and its end.

What if this smile was a passing joy?

What if my life would be broken like a toy?

I laugh again, the sound’s yet dear

There’s something in its mirth I fear.

The lights have dimmed, the smiles faded;

And with tears yet again my eyes jaded.

The winds have changed, the clouds come and gone

The storm has passed, but the sunlight’s gone.

The world has sunk to eternal twilight,

My wings are sodden, and I can’t take flight.

Once there was love, its warmth and joy,

Now it’s gone like a broken old toy.

I totter and stumble, I can once again walk

There’s pain still, but I can smile when I talk.

I long to laugh again, to hear that sound so dear,

But still there’s something in its mirth I fear.

Grey Skies

I have always wondered why people wish for ‘bright sunny’ days in life.

I was sitting under a tree at the HCU food court today when I noticed the shadows of the canopy on the sand. Bright sunlight streaming down from a blue and white sky and creating shadows on the sand. And then a little wisp of a cloud paased over the sun. The shadows were gone, only to be replaced by a not-too-bright-not-too-grey light. And the colours around me were in sharper focus. The greens were greener, the flowers fresher, the sand grainier.

And then I wondered, why not wish for an overcast day?

Imagine if life were like an eternally overcast day... There would be a sun, yes, but no shadows on the sand. And isn’t it better to have a neutral life, sans the extremities between brightness and shadows really? Neither too much, neither too little. A perfect life with the perfect lighting. One could simply look up to the skies without having to shield one’s eyes from the brightness of the sun or despairing at the sight of clouds. Just the neutral brightness of an overcast day...

Wish life was so simple, an overcast day under a tree with a cup of coffee...

On Being Not-so-Mallu, Cynicism and A Little Hypocrisy

It is rather amazing, how being a familiar stranger to your roots can estrange you to your people more than anything else. You are the immediate object of criticism, sometimes even scorn. Now, I don’t intend to be offensive to my acquaintances or to the particular people I sought, foolishly of course, to generalize, I cannot however refrain from being irked at the almost hypocritical cynicism of the Malayali.

The Malayali is cynical out of heredity. It is in their innate nature, in all the people of the regional and cultural community. On the bright side, this cynicism and the subsequent liking for the sarcastic provides great scope for humour, the Malayali is also averse to being at the receiving end of any criticism.

Now the reason I came to this line of thought is simply the fact that I sat a post-graduate class where the lecturer was, with reason enough, cynical of the cynics and a little more than half the class consisted of the Malayalis. And shame upon the Malayali who is inclined to accept what she felt was the truth, as an outsider might see it.

Persecution, in the form of a good-talking-to. “How can you criticize/hate Kerala when you are a part of it yourself?” Of course I blame the fact that I did most of my growing up outside the so-called “Malayaliness” and that my family, immediate and extended are more outspoken, accepting and free than most Malayali families I’ve met while retaining the classic cynicism and quirky sense of humour. The point of debate being that the Malayali is generally cynical, critical, pessimistic and arrogant.

While I can only imagine how it must have offended the “people from the hard core mallu land”, as the lecturer felt like labelling us, I don’t see why the inherently efficient critic failed to notice the probable honesty of it. The essential Mallu in the class is always ready to laugh at his classmate’s accident and foolishnes, remembers to pull his leg about it and even point out where he went wrong. But hey, did they try to point out how the correction could be done? Did they attempt to know why an unfamiliar, and in some respects peculiar name came to be? I heard one girl happily include the various sobriquets of the land she came from when introducing herself, but did she ask the Manipuri girl sitting next to her what her place is all about? Its also rather disturbing how the students have all been taking a keen interest in knowing each other, but the mallu community prefers to stay within their comfort zones, in a language that is mutually understandable than try and learn another one from their classmates. They’d rather be in places where they can get by with English than learn Hindi or the native tongue so that they can learn the place they have come to better. They’d definitely prefer staying a ‘Malayali’ and carrying the tag with them throughout than try to break out of the conventional image attached to them. And woe betide the one who tries to defy the norms. Yet they wonder why certain adjectives are affixed to them by most everyone who knows only the basic Malayali.

In defence, I’d like to say that the mallus have probably made the most effort to adjust to an alien atmosphere, although they are drawn to keep to the safety zone as far as cultural and linguistic issues are concerned. Despite their initial reluctance to become familiar with the ‘outsider’, mallus make great mates to hang out with once the ice is broken. And once they shed their cynicism and pessimism, there’s rarely a human being you’ll meet who is as humane as the people who are ‘pessimistic, critical, cynical and arrogant.’

And as a mallu, who doesn’t quite fit the image of a classic Malayali all I ask is the Mallu to turn that cynicism on themselves for a while, find out why people are pessimistic about them, critically analyze the situation and find the perfect solution to being acceptable.

An Ode to a Crazy Friendship

Its amazing how conversation flows freely under the following conditions:

1) Five friends in different places, bored or tired

2) Free SMS service on all phones

3) A rather loose and vague idea of military conversation code.

Here's a sneak look...

5.45pm. 23/02/2011. Agent K in bus, leaving for home from a competition venue.

Ag.M: Ag.M wud lyk 2 kno hw K did.

@L: hw r u nw?

@T: studies ovr?

@G: bak frm le diable? (morning session had given her a term in hell!)

Ag.K: K hs been despatchd home due 2 unprecedented circumstances. wl report @ hq wth Ags T&G @moro.

Ag.T: K-Wht?

Ag.T: I'm in a bus coz thrs no acomodation I'l meet u @ colg 2moro.

Ag.T: Oh ya. V r 2 report whn d cock kooveth.

Ag.k: V r 2b @ reg desk whn d cock kooveth. Hope wont b l8.

Ag.T: Hu cares? Relish d feelng.

Ag.L: Whts tht suposd 2 b? @M- i'm betr.

Ag.G: G reports she's stil in le diable, havng fun and playin games wid d cute Mastr of Hell

Ag.K: All agents 2 move for immediate evacuation of Ag.G from spot.

Ag.T: Whts ur prob? I thnk K is "J"

Ag.L: I'm wth Ag.G. DO wht u wnt. Over.

Ag.G: I'm not evacuatin...

Ag.T: Let them sow & reap their rewards, K

Ag.k: Ag.K wud lyk 2 remind othrs of d aftrmath of "sowin & reapin". @T- y wud i b j of G's choice of cute?

Ag.L: Enlightn me, pls.

Ag.G: Ya. Me too.

Ag.K Once agn, think of d aftermath. Ag.G & Mastr Hell. For world peace...!?

Ag.T: Ya. I get it..

Ag.G: I'm nt evacuatin...

Ag.K: Ag.K nearing Ag.G's position. Permi to alight ride to 'enlightn' G. ;)

Ag.G: Guyz, whrs M?

Ag.K: Emergency... SOS... MAn missing, erm, I mean woman...

Ag.M: Ws on imp call. Whr r v?

Ag.L: Ag.G's evacuation.

Ag.K: Ag.K reports nu discovery. Rain on ur face in a movin bus is a gr8 feeling. :)

Ag.L: Whts wrong wth K?

Ag.K: Nothn. Jst enjoying a ride.

(AFTER SOME NONDESCRIPT MSGS)

Ag.M: Whrs Ag.T?

Ag.K: At point whr I'v 2 switch rides. Askng leave. Report in a while. Over.

(SOME NONSENSICAL MSGS GIVING PERMISSION)

Ag.T: Ws out battlin the forces of nature.

Ag.G: Wht's tht suposd 2 mean?

Ag.L: I'm nt getng sm msgs. Gng 2 study. Over & out.

Ag.K: Reportng frm basecamp. Half-agent T wags for all his worth & luks as if xmas came early.

Ag.T: Got sm pakng 2 do. Over & out.

Ag.T: Whr r Ags G&L? I'm tired. Over & out.

Ag.K: I'm gonna hv dinr & gt sm wel-earnd sleep. Over & bloody ashes out.

But here are a few things i'm still not clear about:

1: Why were we using this lingo?

2: What exactly were we talking of?

3: Why are Agents P&P called K&L?

Another Farewell

I've lost count of the number of times I've used the word, 'Goodbye' or its synonyms. I say it everyday, when I've to leave college for the day or if I've visited someone or even if I've been chatting with somebody online. I've used it so many times that somewhere along the way I lost its meaning, the true implications of the word. And until now, I didn't realize the folly of it.

Today was the Farewell party of BA English, Batch of 2008-2011. I guess until morning, most of us simply took it as another opportunity to dress to kill. And even after reaching college, we were busy with seeing what everyone else was wearing, what the teachers wanted to say to us, if lunch would be good and after a while, when we would get home so that we would pursue that inexhaustible art- sleep. And it wasn't until I dragged myself to upload the photographs on facebook that I realized that today might've well been the last time I'd ever see all these faces. These faces coloured three years of my life, and I'm ashamed to admit I still can't attach names to quite a few of them. There are classmates I've never spoken to more than twice or thrice in these three years. There're those with whom my relationship has been volcanic. There are those whom I first hated but ended up liking and vice versa. But all of them have added something to me, something I might not be able to point out but which is definitely there.

So today, I bid farewell to these faces, my teachers, my friends. Not a simple goodbye like usual. I want to apologize to any I might have hurt, thank everyone who has been there for me, whether I knew it or not. Specially since you were the people who once let me answer my viva question on my life so far as- "I've lived a life with no regrets."

Thank you for making that possible.

A Stupid Bird's Adventure

You know that thing people keep talking about- the most 'happening' days are the ones where you wake up feeling its going to be a dull, nondescript one? That's true!

So here I was, waking up today morning to find out that the unusually hard pillow was actually Nick Drake's 'Tutankhamun'. It was a really good book, but by the time I'd finished it, I was too lazy to even pull out my favourite blanket. It had been decided unanimously, that my friends and I were going to bunk the seminar that was on at the college. And 9.30am found me surfing TV channels aimlessly, post-breakfast. Around 10, I hit upon Bhansali's "Khamoshi" and decided to watch it despite mom's dire warnings.

But an hour later I was roused by mom's shouts from near the gate. I ran out to find she had a tiny bird in her hand and was cursing crows in general. There started our grand rescue mission. Timmy was all over the place, getting under our feet and acting the siren. I ran, got an old shoe box with a hole, tore up an old saree to line it with and put it under a light. Mom dripped some water into its mouth, checked for breakages or bleeding(nil) and put it in the box. We kept checking every ten minutes if the poor thing was still breathing. And every time we found the little guy fast asleep in the box.

Around 3, the bird suddenly stood up and started flying around the room, perching on the TV, the charger and so on. When mom and I tried to feed it, it nibbled us rather affectionately. Poor chap didn't know his little beak's sharpness; mom sustains a small puncture in her left palm! As soon as it found a way out, it flew outside, back into the dangerous skies from where we'd rescued it. Mom, Timmy and I were beside ourselves with worry that the crows might chase it or that it might still be weak from its ordeals. But the silly bird didn't seem to think that way.

Which brings me to my point. Remember the 'happening' I mentioned at the start? I didn't mean a day of adventure, I didn't even mean a bird rescue. I was referring to the kind of unexpected revelations that might occur. I am intrigued by the carelessly adventurous spirit of the bird. Less than a day since it was thrown out of the skies by attacking crows, it flew back into that very danger again.

I wonder why we never do that. Throw fear to the winds and fly out of the window. Of course there are worse things than crows out there- bigger birds, thunderclouds and lightnings. But does this frail little bird care? No. All it does is fly, no matter the predators or air currents or random flying bolts of electricity. I wish we could fly so fearlessly too, no matter what others might think of us, no matter if we are not understood or appreciated. I wish we were stupid birds who fly from safety to brave dangers.