no longer curious

it isn't in my head
or on the lines within my palm
desire is something i have been born to
in days of endless calm.

but curious cats die first
even their claws turn to dust
indifference is sublime
curiosity is your crime.

Vanilla and rum on my tongue
Rain on a summer night

Waking up in the woods
with no path in sight

Aerial views of islands
I've never seen alight

That line you once wrote
About a poet born blind

Dark rendezvous at midnight
With danger on my mind

That first blueberry I tasted
The only one of its kind

That nameless town that calls to me
On every journey alone

The way you touch my skin
Why does madness feel like home!

The scars we carry...

As a kid, I've had friends from happy families and always wondered what kind of charmed life they led. Because as families go, ours was as dysfunctional as it could get. We accumulate scars over the years, from our family, from society, from strangers and from the world at large. It's impossible to escape unscathed. I've always wondered how it would be if I weren't as scarred as I am. Because I have to weigh every word I say. The person I am is a sum of those experiences, scars and all.
Of late, I've been thinking about this a lot. When I scream at my son, I wonder if he'll carry it with him to adulthood. When I scare him or restrict him from doing something because it scares the hell out of me, I wonder if I'm creating another person who'll always be scared of taking the leap. I should let him be. But then there's always this fear, what if I fail as a parent!

What I want the most is for him to grow up to be a good human being. It's horrible being a parent sometimes, because you don't really have a handbook that tells you how to deal with an unpredictable person. They say kids learn from you. I hope not. It's taken me 30+ years to discover myself, and to prioritise what's really important. I don't always set the right examples, and I've promised myself I will not be rigid. But then, when he drives me up the wall, I realise that my parents were right too.

What my parents did give me is the gift of choice. The freedom to choose who I wanted to be. A conscience that still hasn't given up on me. And endless hope. I hope I'll be all that for my son too. :)

Parallel world

Twilight dances within her eyes
And there is a promise of paradise
When with one glimpse, she seems to say
Things, that would lead mortals astray.

But, you say, she's hardly lived
She's still a child, a dream untouched
She cannot foresee her world
Burning down with lies and trials.

Could it be that you and me are wrong
And she's more than a bird, a song?
Could it be that she knows,
Just how to side-step shadows?

And she will look back, without getting burnt
And with her laughter, turn sorrows around.

Constellation

Let no one tell you that

Feeling empty is wrong.

It's okay to be a sad black hole;

And on some days, a constellation of stars.

Your light may dim on some days,

But it's never always dark.

For the dreams inside of you

Need just a single spark.

And on the days when

You are the spark

And the constellation,

Let no one stop you

From burning too bright.

backwards

someday we will walk back
into eggshells
and swallow our harshest words
and we will walk back into age
and we will walk back into our soul
and my hands will find yours
as we walk back into love.

The Malayali speaks up

Movies. The one thing other than books that gets me all excited and dreamy-eyed.

As a movie-crazy teenager, I never thought I'd grow out of that phase. However, there was a lull in my twenties when I could no longer find movies that made my pulse quicken.

But all that has changed and how! I'm no longer addicted to the mindless Bollywood movies they churn out in dozens every week! And the Hollywood movies I adore have taken a backseat too. It's plain old (and new) Malayalam movies I'm addicted to. As a true-blue Malayali, let me tell you that cinema is in our blood. Every Malayali you meet is a born storyteller. Maybe that's why, as I've been discovering lately, this industry has been producing some of the most brilliant movies I've ever seen.

Be it dark and menacing, or light and fluffy or just basic drama, we have it all! Here are some of the movies that have affected me profoundly. This isn't the complete list of my favorites, just the recent ones I'm in love with.

24 North Kaatham: What I really want to say is, I love the actor in this movie. I could list all his movies here. Be it the simpleton in Amen or the morally bankrupt character in 22 Female Kottayam, he can do justice to any role he's given. This movie is special because it's stayed with me long after I watched it. It is a road movie of sorts, and a coming-of-age one too. The protagonist is a misfit, a loner with chronic OCD. How he opens up to the possibility of being human, and being humane is beautifully translated onscreen. There is one particular scene which I love. His fellow travelers delay the journey as they're lost in the beauty of a stream. He comes back to see what is so special about the scenery, and is unable to feel the same emotions. That one scene conveys so much!

Iyobinte Pustakam: Like I said, I just can't stop at one. This one is more than a movie, it is an epic. This larger-than-life story, set in British India is an ambitious account of three brothers and has all the elements of a Shakespearean drama. There is revenge, ambition and the age-old trope of good versus evil. Every character is nuanced and layered. It's like reading a Jeffrey Archer novel, only much more detailed! The research that has gone into the making of this movie is just impressive, for every scene looks just like it should be.

Ustad Hotel: There's a scene in this movie where the young, restless protagonist asks his grandfather about the secret of his sulaimaani (black tea). His grandfather keeps him guessing; however, he does share a lesson in love. It is one of the most beautiful and moving scenes I've ever seen. This is a feel-good movie, but it stays with you long after you've watched it.

Om Shaanti Oshana: Malayalam cinema has female actors who aren't just props. Infact, they are as essential to the medium as their male counterparts. I wouldn't call Nasriya a great actor. However, this movie belongs to her. It is the love story of a teenager, whose crush on an older guy just doesn't go away. The beauty of this movie is that it's narrated by the girl, and her daydreams and asides are a part of the movie. We get into her head and watch her grow from a silly, infatuated teenager to a somewhat goofy yet determined woman. The one thing that remains constant is her first love. I must admit, rather shamelessly, that this movie is a favorite because I've been that silly girl, atleast as a teenager.

Premam: I kept this one for last. This movie has been called overrated, hypocritical and what not. And I must say that I did not really find it all that great when I finished watching it the first time. But there was something about the movie that made me want to watch it again. And again and again! Alphonse Putharen has beautifully bottled up lost childhood, laughter, dreams and hope in this visually stunning movie. The name is love, and it honestly covers three chapters of that elusive emotion. Three phases in the life of a man who is in love with the idea of love. For everyone who said that this one really does not have a story, it does. It is the story of every teenager who has lived in the nineties. The soda bottles, colorful candy, dark musty tea shops, cycles, it's all a heady trip into a childhood that was devoid of technology. An era where the idea of idling away time was much more rewarding as it meant being with your friends. The awkward teenage years with friends who you could share everything with, missed calls on landlines (with caller IDs!), following your crush all around town…all this is so beautifully captured. What the director cashes on is our love of nostalgia!

The second part of the movie was even better! Those reckless college days where being a defiant rebel is your idea of "cool". The opening fight sequence is a goosebump-inducing level of awesome! I cheered with the rebels in black because I've seen this as a college-goer in Kerala. That was an era where beating each other up was the worst college kids could do. Not the scale of violence and drama we see today!

The third part of the movie is my favorite. Everyone who's watched the movie loved Malar and George. Including my dear husband. For me, the last part, where George has transformed, from boy to man (albeit reluctantly), is just sublime. This story was a little abrupt. But it did subtly capture the nuances of what happens to you when you're an adult. There is this bit of you, that just refuses to be a cynic, no matter how much life has tried to break you. And having dipped my toes a hundred times in what I like to call love, I know how it is to finally meet the person you know will fit just right into your life. If the first story was about infatuation, and the second about passionately beautiful love, the third story is about your choices. I know that, if I had found the love of my life five years earlier than I did, I wouldn't really have fallen for him. Because both of us hadn't grown into the people we are today. That is essentially what the third part of this movie portrays. That, when the time is right, you find that one person who is yours. Forever. It isn't fairytale-romantic all the time, but it is pure contentment. :) Having said that, the ever-romantic George proposing to a girl he's met just twice, is heartbreakingly soulful. Add to that, the Red Velvet music which is haunting! I'm a fan of the cake too!

I hope the Malayali peeples keep this up! I just can't get enough of these movies!

It's not really a lie
When you believe it.
And I sometimes wonder why
Nobody's noticed yet.

That I've been missing
For ages, from this thing called life.
and while they were busy throwing stones
I've been painting starlight
In alleys that overlook dark waters
And skies that mirror my waking dreams
I've been walking on cobbled stones
And waltzing with the moon.
And while their backs were turned
I've been living the lie.

closer

There is a story here, somewhere between the dark night and the sea. Between the two people who stand on the shore, yearning for a life that is yet to begin. They stand, miles and ages apart from each other, but the story will still be written. The stars shine through their soul as they listen to the music of the waves crashing against the shore.

And Destiny weaves its gilded web of dreams around them, bringing them ever so closer.

sigh

i manage, mostly,
even with the cuts and scrapes
to my pride
but you, with your kindness
undo it all.

and on the darkest of days,
you coming home to me
is my sweetest escape
you don't know it,
but you are.

even...

come clean with me
someday,
when your breath no longer catches
at the sight of me.

because even now,
(even years from now)
my heart misses a beat
when i find you in the crowd.

i feel the rain
it beats its fingers against my window
even as this lingering grey
seeps through me.

i wonder if, in your deep dark corners
your thoughts ever turn to me
for even when i walk away
i find myself
returning home to you.

look what it is to have
a heart full of strings
to be tugged at till you're weary
till you no longer feel the twangs.

it's hard to be tough
but it's toughest to stay naive
to be where there are so few left
to be what is essentially you.

there are things deep in my soul
i dare not confess to myself
for i do believe the sinner in me
is drunkenly aware.

even as life tries to steal it away
i find myself clinging onto naivety
as if, ironically, my very life
depended on it.

i wait for happiness and dreams
though they elude me
and i've learnt i can't settle
for anything less devastating.

Redemption

It was the story of a lifetime. If it ran, he'd never have to look back. Sam was on a roll. There was a problem though, the boss. She watched as she sauntered in and sighed. Priya Rehman was ruthless and difficult. And the Editor of the paper he worked for.
Priya clenched her fists as she read the draft. She felt like ripping it to shreds. She paced the floor as she waited for Sam.

"This! There's no way we could print this! I wanted a human interest story, Sam"

"Criminals aren't humans, you say!"

"It's a matter of principle. I do not want to kick up a row. And no reader would care what a petty criminal does in his spare time."

Sam was in a rage as he left the building. The woman was prejudiced, irrational. He couldn't understand why she had blown her top over that article though.

Priya did not hear Rehman come in. He tapped her shoulder and found her trying hard to control her emotions. One look was all it took, he knew something was really wrong. It had been so since college. She handed him the draft and watched his expression.

"The past has a strange way of coming back to haunt us."

She answered bitterly, "Not this time. This article will never see the light of day." She threw it the box marked Rejected.

She called Rhea and Anya to the office. It'd been ages since they'd met. Other than Rehman, they were the only family she had.

She was in a meeting when they arrived. They waited in her cabin. She smiled as she watched them chatter. Rhea was this bubbly brunette with a loud mouth. Nobody would guess by looking at her that she'd been through some really bad times. She was as talkative as Anya was silent. Anya bought peace to the surroundings. Priya felt a strange sense of belonging when she smiled. She remembered the fun they'd had in college, and the catastrophe that had bought them closer.

It was past midnight. She switched on the lamp and unfolded the sheet. She knew she wasn't supposed to be reading it. She had no business reading it. She had been sitting in Priya’s office, waiting for her and the name Vishnu had jumped at her from the sheet. She hid the sheet from Priya; she hadn't been able to help herself. She read the first few lines and stopped. But then she started all over. And read it, again and again.

Convict or Victim
By our correspondent Sam Johnson

He is an ex-convict. You wouldn't guess that by his demeanour. Meet Vishnu Saran. Currently self-employed; works for the local automobile factory.
His story isn't as simple though. Our correspondent traced him back to a very influential family. You would call it bizarre. Two brothers, in love with the same girl. Her love for one leads to the other being murdered in cold blood. Straight out of a Bollywood movie. Vishnu was convicted for murdering his brother in a fit of jealous rage. Twelve years in prison and now it's a self-imposed exile.
It's difficult to believe it though. The localites know his story and yet, he is quite the unsung hero here. He works from dawn to dusk, runs an orphanage and talks very little. And it makes you think, who is the real Vishnu Saran?

The letters had blurred. She saw him in front of her as if it were yesterday. The college, their group, the madness. Aditya, Vishnu, herself and the group. Aditya whose laughter warmed her heart. Aditya with his reckless, wild side. Aditya who'd made her feel alive like no one else. And then Vishnu had snatched her paradise away. She'd lived with it, the pain and the agony. She had wanted to meet him once and ask him what had made him fire the gunshot that had taken Aditya’s life. She lay down to sleep and for the first time in years, looked forward to a sunrise.

Vishnu watched the fishermen carry their catch home. Suddenly, he felt it. The way he'd known it everytime she'd been near. He looked back and saw the figure in white walking towards him. She hadn't changed a bit. She was still heartbreakingly beautiful. The girl he'd fallen madly in love with, a lifetime ago. The girl who'd loved his brother fervently causing him to hide his feelings. He looked at her and read the sadness in her eyes, a thousand years old.

She saw him gaze at her unblinkingly. It wasn't fear, it wasn't anger, it was a strange emotion that had brought her to him. She saw that he'd aged, his skin had lost its youthful sheen. His arms were tanned and coarse from the labor. She looked at the fingers that had pulled the trigger and stopped in her tracks.

Aditya had been her sunshine. But in the gloom, it had always been Vishnu she'd run to. Aditya had seen her laughter, Vishnu her tears. All her memories of Aditya were colorful. And the moments she'd run to Vishnu melancholy. Aditya had made her laugh, but Vishnu of the grim smile had let her cry. With Aditya, it had been a wild ride, but it was Vishnu who'd taken her hand when she'd faltered. She put a hand over her mouth as a cry escaped her. Time had this strange way of making things crystal clear. And suddenly she saw it all.

They stood silent, while the waves crashed against the rocks. Her lips trembled as she tried to voice her emotions, "You let me curse you, hit you, call you vile names. You never uttered a word."

"It brought you peace. It let you live."

"Never once, not even during his mood swings, did you let it out. You played the villian."
"Would you have believed me? I was all he had. Inspite of his recklessness, his addiction, inspite of the bouts of depression, he lived when you were near him. Yet, I couldn't save him from himself. I couldn't stop him from pulling the trigger that took his life."

She sank down onto the sand and let the tears flow unrestrained. "You did it for me. You kept quiet all these years, let me believe you'd killed him so that I'd live."

"Yes, Anya, for you!"

And as the sun set, he knew he'd been redeemed. So had she.

I had imagined myself calm and unruffled, embracing the forgotten from time to time. Every time I see your name or read about someone who has lived like you, I feel it again…that remorse I’ve never wanted to know. Your absence turns me inside out and I realize there’s this part of me I must learn to live without. I rue not being able to tell you what you meant to me.

I miss you, all your idiosyncrasies and your flaws. It’s terrible, facing life without you by my side.

Boundless

He talks in his sleep. He giggles when he knows he's being naughty. Imitates me when I chastise him. When i ask him for a kiss, he bites me and masks it with a 'mmmma'. He hides behind curtains and plays with saucepans, he throws his toys in the washing machine and makes calls from his Acha's phone. He loves Mabatham (Mahabharatam) and is spellbound by advertisements. He responds to chattambi, saying njan njan and loves sipping chai from his grandpa's cup. He teases his grandma, follows his acha around the house saying tatai, helps me make dosas.

I'm learning new words. Discovering new worlds. As I follow the pitter-patter of his little feet, I'm learning how to run again.

We'll sit on the doorstep
at half past 3 am
And talk about forever
over bittersweet coffee.
That is what I always thought
We would be.

But I find myself, more often than not
Slipping into silence and needless tears
I'm that silly princess who let her tears
Slowly turn her heart into stone
And I find myself racing past memories
To stop being captured by time.

One day when my heart stops chanting
That familiar rhythm
Instead slipping into the dull echo of existence.
It will take all your heart
To thaw what's frozen inside.
Will you kiss me mid-sentence
Or will you never know?

One day my silence
Will call for a long hug
without any need for
explanations
Will you write me poems with your lips
Or will you let go?

Crash and burn

How do you die
Inch by inch
Cell by cell.
Do your atoms crash and burn
That being scientifically impossible.

It is not physically dying, I know
Just your being ceasing to be.
It is when that thing deep in your soul
Whose voice lifts your day
It is when the voice stops its song
That you notice you are no longer you
Just a shadow where you used to be.

Your dreams are ashes blown in the wind
Your tears are rivers you cried dry
You have left behind that shell
Of faith, and things that loved.

Some days he is thunder. And some days he is rain. Thunder more than rain. There are days when he rumbles, when the echoes send tremors through her very being. And then comes rain, unexpected. The torrents wash over her and set her free. Her world is happiest in those misty, sepia toned evenings. Now, she waits, her soul parched. For there has neither been rain nor thunder. It doesn't occur to her even for a moment that her season of glory has ended, that she might never know another one like that. And so she waits, waits, waits. There is no tragedy quite like love that believes in the impossible.

Leaving you behind is not easy
It never was, never will be.
There are moments when sadness,
in all its infinity
weighs me down
and I cannot go forward
for your memories are carved in my soul

Knowing that I cannot change my fate,
I still return to yesterdays
You are still the most vivid memory I have
Strong, defiant, and somewhat flawed
I cannot reach you, and take your hand again
I cannot tell you how much it meant
To have someone like you.

If I could rewrite yesterdays
With penstrokes and wishful thinking
I would still etch you as you were
But maybe I would color your world
In more hues than you ever knew.

And in this moment, I know
I can write tomorrows with my ache
I have in me a lifetime of bittersweet memories
Of knowing that you've cared
I wish to bestow that same wonder
and a lifetime of dreams and love
Before I am gone.

And at times I'm too scared to stop breathing, scared that I won't hear my heart beat in the silence.