when alice walked around

that woman and this music

2010-07-11T17:03:00.005+04:00

there was music,
she was sure.
there were silences
in between
and then
there was music.

there was that woman
in this room
watching the
days with their
dramatic slowness
merging
melting into
a long yellow street night

there was this woman
in that room
who stood by
a burning bud of cigarette
a cold cup of coffee
saw clouds
passing by

it was raining outside
and then, the music.

To Talk.

2010-06-12T17:53:00.005+04:00

when you can't think
in terms of words,
images such as these,
thick green forests
or underside of an ocean-
you will have to
take help from,
in order to explain
what you have in mind.

you could also
use phrases such as
rats running
on my rooftop
or a rainy evening sky.

thats what i was saying,
about what happens
when you wish to talk about
things like
pure pleasure.

tell me, what would you say
when my fingers run through
your skin
each hair throbs, shivers
become inexistent
that exact moment
the touch moves on
just to shift
the throbs and shivers?

you might never
completely tell it,
neither with words,
nor with phrases.

mornings

2010-06-01T16:15:00.006+04:00

in and out of this room
i gather a thousand sounds
ghosts
of my past flutter
out and about its
wide open window panes

this room
floods with stories
images i've been pretending
to forget,
all the wrongs
painfully accounted for.

my head crowds
fear,
some plots of conspiracy
and many instances, wounds.

and then
you wake up
i look at you
i try to see,
would you still love me,
the me i've never completely
let go of.

you don't understand but yawn
i look around,
find everyone gone.

i try to smile.

one fine morning,

2010-05-16T17:54:00.005+04:00

after years of debates
and discussions on freedom,
they've decided to be totally free,
ajayan and remya.

they've decided that
for everything in their house,
for the broom and the tea spoon.

remya struggles
with her days and nights
she's not used to
that kind of a notion
when she can do anything
she thinks and thinks,
what should be done, really.

ajayan roams around
room to the other room
whole nights and days
doing everything
he had ever wanted to do.

none of them had encountered
freedom that directly.
Now,it may take years again,
on how to leave oneself alone
- and another fine morning.

So, Everyday

2010-05-15T17:17:00.005+04:00

she talks and talks to
herself
and finds
echoes and counter echoes
as answers.

at 7 in the morning
she decides to stop
doing this,
at the afternoon 2,
some strange thought string
holds her subtly.

at 5 pm,
she decides
to let it go.
and at 7,
an infinite loop
of what-could-have-beens
and what-could-not-have-beens,
as she walks
looking for
potatoes and cooking oil
on the streets.

she never said these, but i know.

2010-05-12T19:42:00.006+04:00

it was just then
a car went past alice
she stepped backwards
and thought
isn't it so weird
one has to bear with herself
her whole life?

some frog's dead body
she stepped on
and she saw
how beautiful was the frog
to leave its very impression
on a tarred road
she might die now,
her invisibility
and that car..

she reached home
and it was just then
cockroach inside the cupboard
jumped towards her
and she thought
isn't it so weird
one has to bear with
a lot of strange people
her whole life?

Either way..

2010-04-30T14:03:00.007+04:00

This afternoon,
I am prepared for a
complete show down,
I tell myself.

I've known Sarah for years.
There are many things
she wished she did.
There are many adventures
and misadventures
that circle
her room
in the night time.

Like, last night
she was taking some steps down
through somewhere in the middle of a garden.
But then, when she looked up
she saw fishes over her head
it was a huge aquarium as her ceiling.
No, not like
underneath the sea with a blue backdrop
but a fresh green lake.
She says everything was green,
even water.

She lied a lot,
I remember.
Sometimes it was just how
she thought it was.
And some other times,
she was scared.
(If I told him
that I din't wear
a pink underwear today
would it hurt him?)
The stories she narrated
were almost believable.
When someone asked her why
she never had answers.

Today
I am her psycho-analyst.
I know, when we meet, she would talk about
the dream of fishes
and a huge aquarium above her head-
I am supposed to tell her
that's okay, dear, don't worry about it.

The rear side of a poem

2010-04-27T08:57:00.004+04:00

She,
trying on many
skirts
to match the yellow one
he wrote about.

He,
sleeping enough
to say
i slept too long.

City streets, rivers,
lizards on the ceiling,
all on their final touch up
inside the green room.

some old acquaintances

2010-04-24T14:05:00.007+04:00

someone
a ten thousand years old
mute
and scared
woke me up last night.

it was between a cold morning
and a disturbed evening,
i was trying to sleep.

my master for the longest time,
she got calm when
i fed her what she needed

there were times
i was about to be killed
or wounded and needed an escape
she wiggled the chains around her body
made noises
said no with the corner of her eyes
i felt she said
are you sure
you can?
isn't is scary out there?
she made me late
she made me miss my train

she waited for me
at every step in and out
of my room
warned me
no, you are too alone
my dear
don't go, try
find someone to help you
try listening to them
they love you
you don't get love, hope
gods or civilisations so easily.

it took me so much time
to learn
that i was tied to her.
tired,
yet each and every loop
of those knots
i thought i untangled
with patience

and last night,
she came back to me again,
the slave inside me
a ten thousand years old
mute
and scared.

Now that we know.

2010-04-22T09:24:00.018+04:00

Drenched in hot yellow light
of a summer afternoon,
eyes shrunk and
have you ever been to the snow?
Sam asked Bina.
but i've been to the sea, she said.

Heavy breathing air
and a winter crow
struggled out of his ear-hole.
cold shiver mornings
haloed pines
blacks and greys in contrast with
a blinding shining whiteness that spread
from this corner of the eye
to that empty trunk of the tree.
why wouldn't she
want to be there?

It was just then,
the warm sea
on the left side of her heart
surged and wavered.
it covered, touched
the ends of a horizon
of a purple-orange sun.
it's a kind of weakness
not to know the sea,
she answered.

The next morning,
when they woke up
she asked him,
we just miss
some kind of vastness,
is it?

Sarah's Monologues

2010-04-13T09:41:00.010+04:00

1.
every now and then
something fell off
from what i carried home,
grocery, books, oranges
i slipped many times
on my way upstairs
and everything
shattered on stairs
- ground zero.

2.
crows speak
a hundred languages
using the same syllables
or aren't languages
a mere physicality
but i can't understand a word of
what you are saying
its dawn
and i am at the edge
of an imaginary boat
as if i remember
i was never my hero

3.
there is one single wall
between me
and the crows
thin air
that separates
your words
and my breath
as i lay
on this one brick wall
i watch you
falling
reaching those
thousand crows
who fly away from inside you
in as many directions
the same instant.

Sarah and the Snake soup

2010-04-08T12:28:00.017+04:00

Eating snakes
is weird
only when you aren't Chinese,
thinks Sarah Easoph
on a drop from a half swing
between sleep and conscious
by her desk,
where computer generates
noisy warnings.

She tells me
she dreamt of
of delicious snakes
salted, in chilly sauce,
in honey.

Every evening,
she walks all the way down
a narrow street
from her office
to a 150 sq ft room.

Have you tried
walking that street?
Men emerge from the bushes,
behind the walls -
on bikes, in auto rickshaws,
running.
Clusters of men pass by
they stare they pull
they hurt
your skin your nipples
sometimes
there are others who walk
their way
they are better
till you call for help
and they don't hear.

Last night
a wild Mongoose
shine in her eyes.
Sleeping cuddled
pillows between her legs,
she dreamt of
peppered snake soup.
she says
The meat melted in her mouth.

days

2010-03-26T12:20:00.005+04:00

straight narrow streets
sun burn tree
black & yellow reflection
crows, eagles

waiting
dark hours
on a ceiling
of cloth rails

music across a blue lit
building
a night bar

kitchen's heat
perspiring humid

i wake up choking
from a dream
a vine with grapes
unreachable
in the midst of
a cold roaring sea.

some more..

2010-03-25T11:22:00.007+04:00

----
Child games

she knew too many

jigsaw puzzles,
snakes,
those long ladders,
games on a computer
badmintons
crickets
or footballs
hides or seeks

she knew it all
before she was born

dive into
my salty waters
she danced on my
uterus walls,
a rock star

the little feet
clutch inside that tiny sphere
of long narrow corridors,
a bike racer

some of my Malayalam poems

2010-03-25T09:58:00.009+04:00

from http://bodywheels.blogspot.com/
-----
homophobia

i've heard many
asking
what do two women do
when they are together?

i wonder
what all can two selves do
with each other!

---------

At all

i never fell in love
with Krishna
or any of those gods

i just had dirty a wish,
dear crucified Jesus,
could i see behind
the cloth that drapes
your thighs?

i used to like Buddha
when i know
i am full of desires.

every corner,
every street,
there is a new prophet.

and now that
i can only see fans
swirling over
lying blank in
this emergency ward,
i wish
i believed in someone
someone at all.

-------------------

fake

2010-03-23T13:12:00.003+04:00

these
many ideas
words stories
songs
that come through
aren't mine

i have carefully stolen them
from a thousand
others
i have rewritten
every word
altering its meaning

i was lying about
everything
you me
the notions of freedom
i don't live for

in fact, i don't live for anything

there were times
it was
supposed to be hard for me
but it wasn't.
and when i was to be hurt,
i got irritated,
why don't i feel a thing?

it is not easy,
this feeling,
of knowing
one's own existence doesn't
really exist.
it hurts slightly to know,
i'm a fake.

night train

2010-03-05T14:01:00.005+04:00

an endless swamp
of thousand incoherent
broken discontinuous
sleeps
a dark grey noise
a thousand people
in a moving train.

it stops,
(pausing the giant cradle)
someone new enters
the lights are on
she is waiting for a ticket examiner

eyes closed,
everyone waits
waits
unbearable light - eyes hurt
bodies grow restless, tired ,irritated,hopeless
and someone says 'would you please put
off the light?',
finally.

it took just a moment.

and everyone back to the
huge lone swamp,
of broken sleep-
peacefully
in a night train.

tell you what.

2010-02-27T10:55:00.008+04:00

you say
poetry is on
depression
you say
poetry is about
just the lost
days nights
stillness
and longings

and i tell you,
no, see...

last night we were
home talking
that meant
nothing much
on that social networking
and that virtual activism
on those people
we don't give a damn about
laughed on someone..
we laughed everyday

went high
higher
on music love
and all that dope
till the time
we never remembered
what time it is,
went silent
fingertips and toes
dancing
lying dead or
forming shapes
and shadows

it is exactly this
i remember,
i lean forward
to kiss you
and i see
your eyes closed
in waiting
i wait with you
to see how beautiful
it is to wait
a moment pass
and i remember
i was here to kiss
it took me a slow
and soft one
and then
i knew
there could be
some other
poetry
there could be
one
just like this.

fall

2010-02-22T08:46:00.002+04:00

i flip out
of a window
of a stranger's party
there were men and women
me and you
in our exaggerated selves
i was weary, weary
through my sense of time
there was music
there was dance
i did want an escape

so this is how it happened,
into an open window.

it was a fall too slow
i sensed
the earth revolving
beneath

spears and things pointed upward sharp and blunt, torn and
rusted waiting exactly where i was falling to, every moment
a little faster-i close my eyes just when they start piercing
my flesh, i just saw my broken umbrella limbs

no.

it
dint
happen,
yet.
i haven't reached anywhere.

in a side-ward glimpse
trees, green and overgrown
surround me
the sound of water
flowing through pebbled path
to a river, a sea,
i float on

just the next blink
i reach there where
i whirl to the winds of a hot summer
over exposed afternoon to the plain desert
one or two withered trees in a wide horizon

i fall and again
and again i fall
i fall now
and through
where i've been to
and never,
through
the songs and stories
i've heard and missed,
through
my own incognizant
voices
i fall
never to reach
nowhere.

sense and conversation

2010-02-02T17:28:00.000+04:00

i thought
they were
talking to each other

over a coffee table
they were
not facing each other
they might be in love
they might want to speak facing
but they couldn't

sometimes
the conversation
made sense
sometimes
it dint

and then
i saw they
never knew each other
they were
talking on their own
mobile phones
one looking at a spot
on the wall
other watching
people crossing the road

and i also knew
if i heard
that conversation
to someone they knew
sometimes
it made sense
sometimes
it dint.

seek or hide?

2010-02-02T16:16:00.001+04:00

many words uttered
you spoke no i
spoke too that means it
was we, days nights minutes
seconds and a few
of them each sent
us back to our rooms
with no windows there
silence plays music

shed all that skin
shed the fucking curves
on your forehead
lets play some game
why not hide and seek?

it was all hide hide
and escape
the door cracks a little
while it opens
and on the blinding first beam
we
see
that
we were.

Days of the sun

2010-01-30T10:21:00.001+04:00

i did look for
a poem in
a twenty seven
years of
days that
started with the sun
rising and ended
with it setting every
other day i waited
for the next
sweating breathless
afternoon
a silly orange luminescence
a clown outside my
white plain
windowpane a twenty
seven years and
will i ever
find a poem
in my days?

A light dislocation

2010-01-25T08:55:00.001+04:00

on a bench
blue sea
red checkered shirt
you
look around
air boiled road
you look
waited
on the bench.

across the road
i see you
seek me
i see the sea
blind you the beam
spying
my fingers daze
a light ray
cross
slow
on gravity
i float
the ground a feather heap
green like grass
i see you
a still
a halo sun behind
a curved moon.

i float on a feather green ground
and then
the light ray
touch
the blueness out
an ugly yellow,
you turn to me.

long time isn't it?

2009-04-13T11:42:00.002+04:00

what has happened to me?

hmmm.
am happy, yet confused as ever.

where to be?
what to do?

and all the more sillier questions like
what is life for me
what is love
and what others have succeeded
so far
is to make myself
feel a lot
guiltier than i should be.
or why should i be?

i can't communicate this enough.
but guilt lies there
a snake that gets bigger and bigger with time
within me
and refuses to move out
or just, even, move.

it fails me.

i have this tendency to...

2009-02-18T20:55:00.002+04:00

well,
i have lots of tendencies.

but this one is regarding
my tendency to say
i am happy.

but
i don't know if that assuring myself
helped me in anyway.
i think it helped me
only to compromise with what i really dint want
with my life, my relationships.

i'm slowly learning to say
what i feel.
it's tough...

how will the other feel?
what would they think about me?
will saying what i feel
do anything good to what i really feel?
and a hundred other questions..

slowly..

straying.

2009-01-18T19:19:00.003+04:00

it was never my problem.
because
i always was.

this is the time
it creeps through my vains
it's the pain
i've caused others.

just this
simple absurd disorientation
it includes
my absence of love for myself,
my absence of a perception
my haste.

i am sorry,
i love you.

when someone dies.

2009-01-06T15:19:00.003+04:00

he died out of nonsense.
merely
simply
dead

so
i tell myself
it's just
not necessary
to believe
he lived.

his existence
touched me
embraced me
in a very
unhuman way.

next is mine.

2009-01-02T10:59:00.000+04:00

2009.
mine.
i think so.
:)

it was when it all got drowned

2008-12-26T11:27:00.005+04:00

the sounds
the footsteps
the rain on the streets
muddy waters

however, how much ever
you try
your feet searches for a pothole
your ear waits for an abuse
your body shrinks
to cross past a raindrop

it was not like me,
i was not like it.

this scared, cautious, angry cat
she looks at me through
my iron window panes

searching.

16-Dec-2008

2008-12-16T11:36:00.003+04:00

here,
i don't intend to have a tone of sadness,
a tone of despiration.
can't help it.

two years ago,
the same day my grandmother died.
ever since,
i don't remember being able to
breathe freely.

confused,
fucked up.

and today is the day
i feel i'm not good enough to survive.
i wont be able to do anything with myself.

may be this realisation helps me to happiness.
may be it makes things easier for me,
helps me to expect lesser out of me and my life.

the 39th iffi!

2008-12-03T16:06:00.000+04:00

film viewing in goa was not great.
there werent films that strangled me except one or two.

waltz with bashir

awstruck.

blindness

my eyes were open
open to make sure.

wow.

persopolis

i cried watching a film after years
i wished that happens to me everytime i watched a film, yet.

she was like me, i thought,
and her grandma was like mine,
and her life, he love,
like me, like me.

someone says thats not the way i should watch films
i agree.
couldnt help.

autistic disco

that was one which dint have anything
that help you decide where it was going.
felt myself tremble.
background score killed me.

waiting for the sun

laughed a lot
:)

there ends my list.
am sure i missed a lot of films..
was not keen on watching all the time.
got drunk some evening
got talking.

and deliberately avoided 'indian art', iranian, some hollywood.
and wong kar wai had me already.
not specifically proud of this, still.

goa

2008-12-03T16:02:00.001+04:00

i wanted to celebrate my new found freedom
i wanted to find new energy
new life
new love

i did
and i did it wonderfully.

(if it was not this you,
if it was not this me )

and i will grow,
am sure of it now.

beer cigarettes
love neon lights
policemen with guns
lust lemon-juice

they looked at us
without any clue
what's happening?
is it supposed to happen?
is it something we are familiar with?
or is it something that has never happened?

is she smoking?
why is she? is she trying to show off?
are they holding hands?
arent they civilised?

no, it was not new to goa,
not at all.

it was just new to people
who left their countries to find
their own countries
anywhere in the world.
it was new to people who were
locked to their mothers
in arms of their own lust

we can't help them.
in fact nobody can.

when love depends on incidents

2008-11-17T10:33:00.002+04:00

other than just love,

like in the movies we see everyday
she has an accident and they are in love again
the kids disappear and they are back on!

bloody non-sense.

is it love or sympathy
or empathy
or just the issue in breaking
the system they've constructed together?

i'm in love
only if i'm in love.

i wont be forced,
untill my dying day.

when a day comes....

2008-11-13T09:58:00.002+04:00

i'm alive
again
:)

where was i?
tooooooooooooooooo
far
away
from
me.

i love me
i love you.

to the one who just listened and smiled a lot.

2008-11-04T15:37:00.007+04:00

what did that smile say?

i kept wondering
till i unwind
your life
your very existance

and i learn this.

you tried to tell me -

keep being what you are, darling,
whatever happens
be easy

loosing and winning
hurt or happy
love or lust
doesnt matter;

what matters is
you got to be true.
true to the maddest extends
it might take you to hell,
people will be scared of you
they might run away from you
but
you
got to be
true
my dear girl,
that is the only revolution
i believe in.

i miss you
maa.

to the life of hard secrets

2008-10-29T13:13:00.003+04:00

one day i'll be in love
i can see that

and i'll be there
for you to read
me
know
me
hug
me
love
me

hate
me
hurt
me

i'll still be there
i'll be
me.

what the fuck - the today song

2008-10-27T10:27:00.007+04:00

ok. let me confess i dont like this post much.
but i've decided to let it stay
(should be sung like micheal jackson's earth song)

how wonderful is our life
what the fuck

how amazing is this love
what the fuck

a perfect couple
what the fuck

indecent relationship
what the fuck

so many nights...
what the fuck

aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh

(now like a no mood hindi song
alka yagnik in female voice
kumar sanu in male voice)

agar hum tumse milte hain
what the fuck -f
agar tumhara dil rota hai
what the fuck -m
agar meri aankh roti hai
what the fuck -f
hamaare saath tum ho ya koi nahi
what the fuck -f & m

(but this song has to end in a blast.
so now its tunes like a tamil dappaanguth song)

adradra whatthefuck! whatthefuck! whatthefuck!

(and finally,
a small note on violin )

w h a t t h e f u c k...........

stalker

2008-09-26T11:39:00.002+04:00

he walks behind me,
around me.
in the secret streets i stray
he appears
pokes fingers
through my skin
plays rough
with my private parts.

he comes as an unwritten clause
of the agreement
i signed
the agreement to live
on agreements,
the agreement to stay
within limits.

he gets bigger
with every clause of agreement
i agree or not agree.

he penetrates me
from morning to night,
when
in my half conscious
i tell him
it was you i was scared of
it was just you.
the thousands of wars
that happen inside me
every fraction of a second,
i managed to win over everyone else
but you.

you, this man called guilt.

ഐ ആം എ ഡിസ്കൊ ഡാന്‍സര്‍!!

2008-08-18T21:39:00.008+04:00

റേഡിയോ മാങ്കോയിലെ പാട്ടുകള്‍ക്കൊപ്പം
റോട്ടിലങ്ങിങ്ങായ് കിടക്കുന്ന കുഴികളുടെ താളത്തിനൊപ്പവും
നൃത്തമാടിക്കൊണ്ടിരിക്കയാണവര്‍,
എന്റെ മുലകള്‍.

ഓട്ടോറിക്ഷാക്കാരന്റെ പിന്‍കാണിക്കണ്ണാടി
അവര്‍ക്കു നേരെ തിരിച്ചു വച്ചത്,
തുറന്നവ കാണാതെ കാണാതെ
മരവിച്ച ഒരു കണ്ണ്
വസ്ത്രങ്ങള്‍‍ക്കടിയില്‍ ഒരിത്തിരി നിര്‍വാണത്തിനായി
തപ്പിത്തടഞ്ഞത്
അവരറിയാഞ്ഞല്ല,

ഡാന്‍സിന്നിടയില്‍ ഇതൊന്നും ശ്രദ്ധിക്കാന്‍
അവര്‍ക്ക് സമയമേ ഇല്ല.

being balded!

2008-06-27T14:13:00.003+04:00

nude.

thats what i feel now.

i like it,
taking bath got easy.
touching my head
and it feels like
a costly kind of velvet.

i like the way i look.
eyes, nose, mouth,
clearer.
:)

hair covered me
more than i imagined.
hair made me more civilised than i am.

the end that is

2008-06-09T14:24:00.004+04:00

when i met her,
probably when i was 2 or 3,
i wanted to be her.

i kept coming to bangalore,
at 10, at 12, at 15.
that was the nearest city from my small town,
thats why, i guess.
many times i stayed with her,
many times i dint.

i remember when she came to my town,
everyone kept staring at her.
not because she was extraodinarily beautiful,
but because this woman smoked.
she dint look back at them, she dint care.
yes, i smoke, yes i drink, and yes, i'm a woman, she said.

she did her part of magic in this world.
talked to many many suffering women,
went around this world carrying
posters, leaflets, candles.

and.
now she's here.
tired,
unhealthy,
no recognition, no money.

when i see her,
feel her hand on mine,
i tell you,
this is how it must have ended,
world doesnt deserve her yet.
its not her who didn't love the world enough,
but the world is not yet strong enough,
to love her in return.

( for celine, for the little great woman)

when i begin to understand her.

2008-05-19T10:45:00.000+04:00

it scares me.

when i was little, i hated her
for many reasons.

why wouldn't she let me climb a tree?
why would she always want to find out
where papa is, never letting him have some anonymity?

even when the space around me seemed completely empty,
the fact that she's trying to find me
and she might succeed
made me hide better,
made me disgusted.

i'm not a mother.
i'm a wife for last few months.
i thought it never caught me.
i thought, it will never.

he goes to office this morning.
its one hour past, its two.
i'm irritated, walking around the house.
but where on earth is he? why doesn't he call?
i try to call some numbers i know.

ha!
me too..

just now, i begin to understand her, my mother.

bussed in bangalore.

2008-05-07T16:14:00.000+04:00

days,
like everyday we went on a bus.

some stink
some air-conditioned.

people class.
people caste.

people caste what?

shadowed by their own lives, heavy.
they dont seem to be travelling.

they are passing time.
they are living their eternity,
waiting for its finish line.

when they smile, its stale.
and they dont weep.

when they play dirty, we watch.

2008-04-15T19:31:00.000+04:00

it was the climax of a story which played for the last twelve years in kerala. the supreme court verdict is against the re-trial of the ice cream parlor case.

what was this case actually?
we think, its about sex trafficking, more than anything else. and it is a true, real issue.

yesterday, Mr Kunhalikkutty was on a press meet in Delhi, after which he says a cameraman, a friend, that.. "see this is what happens when someone tries to play against me. see who's in jail.."

this is a serious indication on what happens when an activist has to deal with power and politicians.

today, if you've watched the news, you feel that it was a case K Ajitha put against Mr Kunhalikkutty..everyone conveniently forgets its a sex-racket issue with so much socio-political implications.. the politician also wants that.. to portray the whole issue as a personal rivalry..and achieve the people's sympathy as a victim of this..

my experience as her daughter
--------------------------------------------

from the time she, my mother was involved in this case, i remember how scary every day got..
lots of strangers came home, some with friendly grins and some very skeptical..

before this, i would fight home for returning back later than my allowed time..
i would wear anything i really liked..
but it all changed, not because anyone asked me to..
but i felt it.. something strange..

i was relieved when i left home for around five years
happy and free.
but when i reach this city, this state, my parents ask me to 'behave..'
and i took it as a cheap thing for them to do.

but now i know or realise that this place is dirty.
that they'll use any cheap kind of weapon against their enemy.
they never ever like an intellectual fight.
they don't even like thinking.

i don't agree with my mother for all her ideologies..
but i stand with her for her right to opinion.
i stand with her on her fights.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

we write this mail to you, more to form a political opinion, force, if that is possible for her.
we know that, in a few days as the case is over, she will be cornered for her every word she used against a cheap politician last twelve years.

we can let her fight and die.

we can let all the trafficking cases like these to just be forgotten.
shaari, or any other girl.

or we can speak up.

here we are, we've just begun..

2008-04-02T23:54:00.000+04:00

so they try to ask us,
where do we belong.

we are here,
we smoke,
we hug,
we dance.

we love,
we make love.

we just belong here.
this dead god's country.

we smile.

annavan enikkezhuthiyath..or what he wrote to me..

2008-02-18T12:54:00.000+04:00

please click on the image for an enlarged view.

that word.

2007-12-15T11:09:00.000+04:00

is it banned or something?
i dint hear anyone using that word lately.
or does it really exist,
coz i just have a faded memory
of reading that
in my long lost history textbooks.

we hear the recent election calls,
someone saying vote for us
coz we killed them the most
the other one saying
oh, we dint yet, but we will..

but, how many are there now?
and those who are left,
they were raped but not killed,
houses burned but they escaped.
how do their days pass?
do they eat?

oh, i was talking of a word.
that word,
democracy.

As i decide to forgive myself..

2007-09-17T13:57:00.000+04:00

for my own sins.

i'm relaxed, here,
easy.

why dint i do it before?
why is it so tough?

yes, sins.
burden,
not just mine,
a cultural/culture's burden.

they say

forgiveness is what you ask others..

forgiveness is someone else's mercy..

i can ask God for forgiveness, but how would i know?

and till i'm forgiven,
i'm to burn with guilt.

they say- burning inside with guilt- is the greatest of virtues.
(that shows you are a good human being..)
you are a Hero!

see, the films we know from childhood,
our heros burn with guilt,
most of it, they are not even responsible for.
they pay their father's loan for a lifetime
even without letting anyone else
(including other earning members of the house)
know.
or they raise their father's illegal daughter starving themselves.

sita suffers for Rama's lousiness,
Droupati for her husband's irresponsible behaviour!
and more than anything,
we are taught this is the best way to be.
(words like sacrifice!)

when would someone teach me how to be happy and comfortable with myself?
or
when would someone tell me its ok to be comfortable and not guilty?

so.
i've decided.
i shall forgive myself,
if the world does or doesnot.

i shall love..

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
from the conversations
with Hasan

just to let you know

2007-09-12T14:16:00.000+04:00

i'm alive!

Guahati..about, around.(29-05-07 to 08-06-07)

2007-07-01T16:33:00.000+04:00

The Train.
------------

a long, tiresome one, the trip.
train; sometimes fearless,
sometimes dragging like a wounded animal.

my country outside the window was beautiful,
a slow calm Chilka lake,
a fierce Ganga,
but, sometimes, the scorching heat.
no shutter could save.

On both trips,
some sexually frustrated Indian Army men were common.
were these men already like that
or army-life made them so...
i dont understand.
anyways.
both times, they were fascinated about my breasts
and tried to touch them when i was sleeping.
they thought they were cats drinking milk in the night
and hoped no one will catch them...
the way they were sulking..

Guahati
---------

And there was Indian Army around
like filth.
vehicles, people, stares..
seemed like a war.
May be there is.

but then, but then.
i was around on a cycle almost alone at 9'o'clock in the night
there wasn't any MAN trying to tell me
its not safe.
there were not boys following me.
somehow, safer than my own GOD'S OWN COUNTRY.

there were women out in the nights,
women sitting at the shops alone,
women walking around.

and then she smiled without a tinge of doubt
when i was clicking a photograph.
i even wondered why and how.
in such a "terrorist" state.

a night in the rain,
a sight of thousand fireflies together..
someone i was in love with; for a day.
and yet.

god willing!

2007-06-12T17:24:00.000+04:00

she was just 14 and she got married to a much older man,
as his seccond wife.

she was this woman,
who prayed all five times in a day
who looked after every kid of the house,
her seven sons and three daughters and their children.

every morning,
she cleaned the house,
washed the clothes washed the dishes
smiled to everyone and always.

she had this secret wish, i knew,
to have a house of her own,
to work less
and to be easy.
whenever she mentioned this, no one cared much
and she herself was unsure,
am i being "selfish"
will God find me gultiy?

she died one of these days.
she might go to heaven as she wished.

i keep wondering what does this heaven carry for women..
i wish atleast there she doesnt become another slave
coz she's a woman..
or are good women allowed to change their gender in heaven?

a night in a village home...

2007-05-22T18:02:00.000+04:00

oh, how romantic is our concept of a village home.
people living peacefully
rice fields around
cattle, cats.. :)
fresh air.

i knew it was a wrong and a stupid concept of city-ites..
but had no clue how wrong.

i'm staying at a friend's place,
in a so-called village,
wanting to write, wanting to be silent.

where i'm staying, a woman alone of fourty stays..
when i got up in the mid of the night,
i saw her lying in the kitchen on the floor.
i thought it was quite unsual..
she said she dint like the fan int the room or soemething..
which i dint quite believe..

morning and she says ...
she couldnt sleep ..
after a lot of questions, she tells us,
for nights, there's been some neighbor
who loves her more than himself
comes to the house at around 2 o clock..
he tried to touch her when she sleeps..
when she makes herself far away,
he tries to use a stick to reach her..!
and when she tells a man at the neighborhood,
he, the sweetheart says
"its not me"
not to talk of compassion!

how strangely lust works
in a beautiful village of this gods own country!

The music workshop: a collage.

2007-05-03T12:06:00.002+04:00

Vagina experience sharing:

What does this word mean?
And in kerala?
Is there a word for vagina in Malayalam?
And what does this part of the body mean to you and me.

As we talk of it,

Someone tells us
How she does not believe
She exists below her face.

Someone shares her childhood concept of childbirth
Penis like a lizard’s tail
That goes into vagina
And turns to a child!

Someone lets us know
How she learned to masturbate at a very small age
And how she hated men
When she got to know their intention of touching her
Was purely sexual.

And periods.
Ooh. Bloody.
Still/ and hence pleasurable.

Sexuality, gender,…….and music/songs:

We know how the male song-writer has always stereotyped women
And to some extend men.

Its been so so dangerous for her…
As we walk down, we find.
Shy, well mannered, beautiful, white-skinned, ….
All she’s supposed to be.
And more, a slave to “her” man.

When we analyse and try writing differently,
We understand how successful they are
In making these images
“normal”
and how this normality penetrates even when we understand.
And when we write songs like
“Ella uduppum azhichittu..”
(I drop all that I wear
and I walk into the rain..)
we know this song is not acceptable for our own moralistic ears.

Have we made our space yet?
Have we created the audience just to HEAR what we are speaking of?

But then.
This is all we can do. Today.
Try creeping..
On to this tree and suck it dry…..

And so.
We make songs, on clitoris, on breasts,
On love and what not.
About 5 songs.

Lastly, Love…:

Love happened..
And so much………

My name is clitoris.. the song we made at the workshop

2007-05-03T12:06:00.001+04:00

(as we thought of her, a girl who is named clitoris,
we tell each other, oh, clitoris makes such a nice name..)

When they hear my name,
They smile, they laugh
Sometimes they don’t understand.

I hadn’t seen it
When I knew what it was,
I had to hide it
It is my body part.

Oh my name is clitoris,
Yes, my name.

Then I saw it, I was told not to.
They I touched it, I was asked not to.
Don’t see it, don’t touch it,
Don’t see it, don’t touch it..
And that’s why I had to.

Oh my name is clitoris. Yeah I like my name.

Oh what joy came from that day.
I looked, I touched,
I laughed, I cried..
I became completely me, that day.
What joy came from that day
What joy came from that day
What joy came from that day…………

Oh my name is clitoris.
How I love my name.

home, atlast.

2007-04-12T19:30:00.000+04:00

what's this thing called home, or.

some days before,
i had this terrible feeling associated with
this forced concept called
home.

when i was here
5-6 years back
i remember i was restless,
and to an extend detatched..
grandma, i loved.
acchan, i loved.
still.
i realise the restlessness came from
the feeling that i have a very great mother.
her image projected on me,
anything and everything i did and i dint.
and so i planned to leave this place
which proved very good in many ways.

i came back home almost a year back.
leaving the high paying job i had,
leaving my degree.
not planning to do anything with my life,
not planning to get married.
it hurt everything so much.
so much that some part of the pain still lingers on.

why did it have to hurt so much?
i wonder, my parents, both of them,
at some point of their lives rejected
every confirmity.
why do they expect me to be confirming then?

after some months staying here,
i'm completely at peace.
sometimes, i get the glimpses of the trust being lost,
but i still manage.
i wonder what changed in me.
or what changed in them..
or is it a peace that can be broken at any point of time?

as the days pass,
it feels like
its also how i make it to be.
its also how i react to.
and also how i can divert the conversations..
there are things beyond political theorisations
which can be moulded using love..

Of Love And Other Demons..

2007-04-05T18:23:00.000+04:00

when i read marquez talk about it,
i like it, yes,
but i don't quite believe it.
the halos and the yellow butterflies.
oops.

sometimes things happen.
they take you beyond logic,
they teach you things beyond comprehension..

i find myself drunk, happy,
one night,
i get back to where i was staying,
and among a lot of people,
i see him.
i just see him and my heart collapses.

i try to analyse this with my worldly wisdom.
it says everything should be reasonable
for you to be and stay happy.

so how do i define this?
is it because i'm drunk?
am i getting stupid, because this dint happen in my teens..
is it because i dint meet anyone like him before?

i try to sleep.
and the next morning, i'm not drunk,
my heart leaps higher and higher just by his glimpse.
there's something wrong indeed.

so i decide to let it free.
i let it take its own path,
i let it grow..

sometimes, logic is not that real.
it tells me.
and sometimes, it can give you enormous amount of energy,
this irrationality.

her master's voice

2007-03-30T09:32:00.000+04:00

tum na jaane kis jahaan me kho gaye..

she sings,
with innocent and an almost naive voice..
lata,
as she began singing in her teens.

when i hear her sing,
this thought comes to my mind,
whom did she think of when she sang this song?
did she think of someone?

when i search for her past,
they tell me all about her.
how she started singing.
her brothers
her sisters
her parents.

is that all?

so many stories in the history
of someone being too glorified
that the whole world forgets
she is a living, eating, peeing,
human being...

for all the men.

2007-03-24T15:26:00.000+04:00

for all the men
who stared at me
who tried to touch me in my private parts
who tried to rape me

from the time
i dont remember
from the time
i dont even know
what womanhood is like
from the time
i dont know
my breasts would bloom;

i wish i could stand nude
on a point at a hight
where you could all see me
and mastrubate,
mastrubate, mastrubate.

i could show you
how my ass shakes,
how my breasts wave.

but then,
you'll be over with me.
you'll want every woman,
every other woman
to do this for you.
if they dont,
you will drag them
from your own households.

no, it might not save any woman.
it might just trigger
gang mastubations
and gang rapes..
for things you just need some excuse.

you, motherfuckers.

on pain..

2007-02-23T09:26:00.000+04:00

on the streets of this strange city,
i have to re-think my notions.

on everything.
on humanity, on companionship,
on love;
on pain..

physical pain was extra-ordinary for me.
inside our homes, a pain or a wound used to be highly attended
every bit of care taken from the moment it appears till its last day.
i dint know it was a fortunate luxury to have.

some day on the street i saw a boy
he had a wound on his belly
it was a big one, puss coming out from it..
its sight frigtened me.
and the look in his eyes startled.
he was playing with a girl of the same age,
he almost dint know such a thing existed on his body.
what was his chances of living?
it was so huge that it must've spread inside.

yesterday i saw a dog
it looked like it suffered from far
when i reached near, i realised
it had a part of his head cut off.
its skull was seen.

and now,
i feel ashamed of using the word pain
even without having the slightest idea
of what it really means
for being a part of that priviledged lot
who dont really understand any of these words truely.
hunger, poverty, shelter,
life.

parzaania - a ray of hope

2007-02-15T10:52:00.000+04:00

i was quite cynical when i went to see.
its so tender a topic to be discussed.
so vulnerable.
and hence, so scary.

not a very good production.
script seemed a little bookish..
hmmm...

BUT.
i wonder how dare they speak the truth.
of gujarat.
oh my god,
i've heard people screaming at the top of their voices
i've seen people trying to draw pictures
on the walls which just disppear amoung the thousand other colorful ones.

and who cares for the truth?
no one does.

truth, justice,
all manipulated words.
i'm not even sure if i should use them..

and here i see a hope.
a little bleak one.
but still.

they managed to speak of EVERYTHING that happened there.
without trying to save faces of anyone.
yes, not just one, but all the stories are told..
how they raped.
how they killed.
how they drank the blood.
how they lit every street on fire.
how they organised it.
how well!

thank you, parzaania.

some poems

2007-02-09T09:00:00.000+04:00

at war with vacuum
----------------------------

when she died,
she looked indifferent.
yes, i remeber she wanted to
and so much.

now that where she used to sit
how she used to sit
when she used to sit
is empty.

the no one who might call
-------------------------------------

my phone was silent
the whole of yesterday
or even may be
before that.

finally i decided on
the sad note of violin to play
for the no one who might call
to litsen.

gargi
-------

she was a scholar
the only woman amoung seven listed
she questioned
her husband, a man
in presence of thousands
and so long ago

but how do i care..
i need to name myself again
i need it of my own.

when you arent here
-----------------------------

the memories flood,
i've been mad
i've been wild
i've been in love
and you've been beautiful
my sweet little boy.

in your presence,
you remind me
of that uncommon bitterness.

afterthoughts of recent films...

2007-02-02T13:36:00.000+04:00

guru:

as one of my friends said..,
we are already so careeristic..
do we need a film to justify our
carelessness,
a-political-ism,
and unawareness..

traffic signal:

oooh.
i dint get disappointed like this
for years now..

i hate it when they take such issues and
then play around as if its their matter.
they can justify anything,
and at the end of the film,
it wants to make you sad about beaking a traffic signal
and making a fly over.
it was so bad that they professed
traffic signals should be kept for the people living around.
i think these are different issues.
sad.
page 3 was a bad attempt.
this one's bad bad.

conclusion:

this is why i like karan johar better.
he doesnt like talking serious to mess with it.

its been so long..

2007-01-12T18:48:00.000+04:00

yes,
i dint know what to speak for a long time now.

my grandma died on 16th dec.
thats what happened in my life.
but then..
she left me without a void.
she fills me.
just fills me..

not as memories,
but as a kind of inspiration.
(she'd written in her diary
that was published somewhere
"inspiration is a mere reason
to hide your own emptiness.." )
i agree,
and i agree to this too
that i'm empty.
i need to fill it up.

wanted to write something about her.
she seems vast.huge.unfathomable.
yet.

everyword i feel incapable of holding her.
i'm dying to talk about her.
but the words betray me
or i'm not good with them
i dont know.

and what else.
a slow creepy depression i was in.
i'm out of it.
slowly, again.
gathered and distributed love.
the only solution for depression i suppose.

and yes.
am happy to be back,
happy to be dreaming and doing new things.

i'm not confused anymore.
that if confusion is good or bad
am i a bad person that i dont know what to do...
now i know its ok to be confused.
not atleast confused about that.
soon i'll find out what to do
and immediately find ways out..
changing the modes of confusion..
i'll be happy and confused..

about feminists(feminism)...

2006-11-26T17:14:00.001+04:00

http://towardsalanguage.blogspot.com/2006/11/women-feminists.html
http://towardsalanguage.blogspot.com/2006/11/i-feminist.html

after-thought of these posts...

what's indian feminism?
what's it, after all..

i have no much news of whats been on the scene.
i have been an observer..

but somehow i sense that the disaster has happened here too.
the same thing happened with all "-isms".

you started with so much enthusiasm.
you knew the world's going to change.
you understood the crude ways of patriarchy.
...
after a time, the theory still grows
but you stayed where you started.
and after a point, it got stagnant..
the world grows but you dint quite see it...
or whats this problem with accepting sexual minority..
and issues likewise..

and where are "new" feminists?
where is neo-feminism?
it DOES exist. but not here..
why has feminism scared away the little girls?
didnt it take care of them, or there's something wrong with the girls?
i guess there's something wrong with the whole scene of political awareness.
but there's something wrong with feminism too.
like sreejitha says,
there's a whole roughness with the old school..
they understood human feelings
like smiling, making love,loving
against women
yes, they were. they are.
but there are ways...
(understanding them, how why.
trying to re-model them.. )
not complete denial.

and now, i feel, the movement's completely taken over by NGOs..
(i think it needs clarification..
here i refer to those organisations which produce hundreds of research papers a year
doing nothing about what they found out about.
...
wasting so much money.
thankfully not from our tax..
how does it matter anyways, not to ford!)

i'm not denying how important the movement has been.
i'm saying
it could be better.
it can be.....

mother, mother..

2006-11-11T19:25:00.000+04:00

, what does she mean to me?

a long stretched question.

i sit here and doubt,
do i acknowledge her mother-dom
does something like that exist

i dont see her when i search my memories
i dont like/dislike that.
now, she exists in my life,
not as my mother.
someone who is present.
thats all.

is that because of her
is that because of me...

yes,
it is a political question.
what does a relationship mean to you
especially something that depends so much on you.
a child.

if you are claiming your individuality here
are you ready to accept when she/he disown you

i'm asking this
because this is happening to me.
i dont belong to my mother.
i hate it when she puts claims on me

but then, its so hard for her to know that..
so now i have to deal with it.
i have to act.

i dont know.
how will i be if/when i have kids
i dont know
what's right and whats wrong.

if i could
change anything from my past,
if we could take a different turn,mother,
where would that be....

hospital

2006-11-01T19:17:00.001+04:00

having to walk past
a long array of people
all kinds of injuries
all kinds of viruses

people in a government medical college are like
ants coming out
a disturbed ant hill....
strangeness on all faces

smell of medicine,
urine,
home-packed rice
and many more unrecognisable ones

walking by,
i wonder
how amazing...

there's still togetherness here
the system still works somehow....!

if Mahatma Came Back!

2006-10-25T15:39:00.001+04:00

When mahatma died
his eyes twinkled with hope
that someday, there wont be any descrimination
there wont be brutality
massive protests will be peaceful
and governments would understand
the value of peace

no one would be recognised
by their religion or caste..
just other than for the folksongs
and cuisines they inherit..
and they would be free to love!

and if he came back now
as he left,
what would shock him first?

now what would be "chauri chaura" like?
where?
vidarbha? bhundelkhand?
or the endless nameless villages in andhra and rajastan?

what will he burn first, for poorna swaraj?
he might have to start with water.
stolen from village wells,
(leaving back chemically polluted ones..)
turned into colored colas and branded mineral water,
to be sold in hitech cities
filled with ignorant people digging their own graves
whom would he talk to, first?
the villagers,
or the very "indian" urban crowd?

and what would he have to say about the state sponsored violence?
Kashmir, North-East..
will he too call them terrorists
or will he teach them a non-violent freedom struggle?
will he lead them to say
"quit Kashmir "?

what will he have to say
about age old narmada bachao
and brand new posco
will he try telling the leaders again
"India thrives in its villages"?

or will he just go mad
because, for a human, its so hard..
such a beautiful dream,
shattered..

about alice

2006-10-24T17:53:00.000+04:00

yes,
its so difficult
to be innocent

you shouldnt be

but she is
and she will be.

she will keep asking us
true but disturbing questions
"why do you do it when you dont have to?"
"why did your time stop on a tea-time in the past?"
"when did you forget how did you come here?
and why?"

that's why
we need her here....

that's why
i love her..

i read about burkha!

2006-10-20T11:23:00.000+04:00

what's burkha for us?

for me, i saw my grandmothers wearing it
i dint like it quite well
i thought
they must finding it hard to walk on the streets with it
how will they see the things around them

my pias auntie
she says every woman has to
because if she doesnt
she will show the shape of her body
to outside world
of men
excite them
which she has to, she can only her husband..

those very intelligent leaders
of "modern" countries
they cant stand if someone does, if someone wants to.
have they heard of the man called mahatma
who talked of tolerance ?
(even tolerance is a wrong word,
appreciating other religions it must be,
someone said..)

and when our sisters from afghanistan speak of it,
they have memories, long ones lasting, spreading though
centuries.
they remember a grandmother,
who escaped being caught
while going to a cinema because of it;
they remember their heart beating looking at someone
though the mesh of the veil..

yes, women can survive, as they have
the mens world
and they can be naughty however they are!

(reference to an article,"remembering chadori",
sunday magazine, the hindu,15-10-2006)

why?

2006-10-18T17:44:00.001+04:00

when did i want to write?
i wanted to do it since long.
why dint i?
well, i thought i wasnt qualified, may be.
i thought i wasnt good enough.

now i feel i'm the one to speak about it.
noone else will, noone else has to.

of a dead youth:
why?

an essentially de-politicised childhood, we all share.

history, not very interesting topic.

cocacola, why not?

poor? do they exist?
(yes, i saw the photos on a forwarded mail..
really sad.)

from life?
we want freedom, money, love.
(freedom: what we have to save from pakistanis, may be by playing cricket
money:whatever my software company can pay me , they pay huge!!
{even when i work for 14 hours a day.. good that i dont know the labor laws}
love: not that one, it comes with anyone i live with, essentially of my caste. )