That Smile...

That Smile Dabs Away My Unseen Whimpers
& For A While The Wall Clock Asks Me The Time
Then I Lay Drenched In The Rain Of A Sunny Day
& The Zephyr Chills My Soul For No Better Reason,
But It’s Not Dark Now, As I Close My Shadowed Eyes
Since I Have To Open It To Amass New Dew Drops,
From The Lush Green Of That Fresh Wintery Dawn.
The Calendar Dates Start Fluttering Like Butterflies  
As I Wait For The Hissing Friday On That Platform
To Get That Glimpse & Treasure It For A Week Long.

I Scribble, I Scribble, I Scribble....

My Intellect Is A Wicked Philanderer
Sexing Around The Virginally Mindful Thoughts
Some Call It Innovation & Others Call It Creation
But I Might Relate It To The World Of Absurdity
The Lump Of Which Will One Day Make Sense
First To Me, Then To You & The World Thereafter.
Largely They Knock For Me To Empathize, But
I Go On Creating A Whirlpool Which Will Be
Personal & Impersonal At The Same Time, Hard
To Conceive By The Gifted But Only Five Senses.
I Too, Might Be Lost While Crafting & Miss The Nectar,
But They Say, Stay Immortal Through Your Scribbling &
I Scribble, I Scribble, I Scribble....

My Psyche Is Not Luck's Playmate...

I Can Hear My Dreams Being Crushed
Filling My Lap With Pieces Of Darkness.
I Don’t Call It The Almighty’s Betrayal
& Abstain From Calling It My Fate Either.
I May Rebuild My Broken Box Of Reveries
& Cherish It across The Sunny Rainbow Sky.
But My Brain Has Divorced My Mind It Seems,
Which Has Remarried My Heart & Is Now
Immensely Drunk In Utter Hallucinations.
Time Is Still Young & I Have To Regain
All Those Lost Something’s, Since I Can’t
Allow My Psyche To Be A Playmate Of Luck...

Full Of Nothing...

At Times Liveliness Withers Away From Life
Like A Faded Album of Beautiful Memories &
I Smell A Disturbing Boredom In Each Nook & Corner
Where I Try To Yawn Away The Vagueness, But
Then Laziness Starts Creeping In My Veins Like Toxin.
Works Have Deserted Me Long Back, It Seems &
Time Always Drags Alive, Even I Try To Kill, But
Gradually Beliefs Strangles My Last Bit Of Courage &
I Stay Naked, As The Island’s Lonely Man, Full Of Nothing.
I Wonder How The Corpse Rest In Peace, Because
At Times Too Much Of Peace Is Not That Peaceful...

7 Tabooed Days of Mrs. Prabha Matthew...

 A Novelette On Certain Uncertain Myths...

Prabha Shankaran Nambudiri/Prabha.S.Nambudiri, is the name she was known by, until she got married to Mr. Matthew, a business tycoon based in Kochi. To the feminist slogans of Identity crisis, I have heard her replying “Marriage might have changed my name but not my identity...though I miss my dad”. Prabha was born and brought up in one of the highly, aristocratic & orthodox Brahmin families, garnished with the traditional & cultural superstitions of the pastoral villages of Palakkad. If you can imagine a narrow path formed by the pedestrians between the lush green woods, leading to a typical Nalukettu, fenced by mantras, with an aura of Ayurveda, yes that’s where she belongs.  Just beside the Nalukettu, there is an outhouse – the Kootupura, thatched with palm-leaves, meant for the women in the house, to stay during their menses, as they were “Ashudh” for 7 days. Shankaran Nambudiri, a local physician & priest, & Narayani Varasyaar, a well adored home maker, never led their orthodoxy to eye their only daughter’s education.  Tradition and culture used to be in a constant conflict in her mind as she grew scientifically. She used to cry silently, when she was helpless and had to follow the ‘outhouse culture’, with nobody to reveal the reason why.

Through WoMen...

On Women & Women's Movements

Gone are the Indian culturally ideological days of “Pati Parmeshwars” and equally probable philosophy of “Sati Savitris”. It is rather ironically true that the developing nation has built its strong foundation on the atrocities of women folk, but the evolution has always been misleading. The society was generous enough to accept the equality stance, in each and every womanly aspect, yet education has played a great deal in the uplift, but was the outcome worthy enough, is yet to be pored over. Here a jobless woman, though being educated, confines herself to a two lettered word “House Wife”, which can be further derogatory when it tends towards an abbreviation of SAHM. The educated folk have a tendency to believe the condition has occurred due to a patriarchal anarchy.

Unless & Until... She

Never Felt My Name So Handsome

Unless & Until, It was Carved & Ringed
On Her Lean Lovely Finger...
The Glass Always Mirrored
A Disorderly Figure Of Incompleteness
Unless & Until, She Stood Beside...
Hands Were Never So Courageous,
Unless & Until, I Tied Her In A Knot...

Confinement Was Never So Enjoyable
Unless & Until It Had A Tinge Of Her Possessiveness...
Even Poetry Was Not This Habitual
Unless & Until She Goaded The Literature In Me...
Life Never Had A Solid & Clear Meaning,
Unless & Until, She Bought The Dictionary Of Happiness...

Marriage Is Beautiful...