My eyes shine
My words rhyme..
Photo Credits: Tumblr
My eyes shine
My words rhyme..
Photo Credits: Tumblr
Please do help them
If you’re alive with fear
And a haunted mind.
Down through my heart;
Curtains raised up awfully
With some messages.
The half broken false ceiling in the kitchen of our “tharavad” (read ancestral house), became a little too good reason to plan the day’s breakfast from the nearest restaurant. The “marappatikal” (read civet cats) that stayed atop the ceiling for quite some time, proved to be a burden during the last night, when they tried hopping over the kitchen ceiling, which ultimately caused it to break with a loud thud, covering a portion of the kitchen with dust and dirt from the ceiling. The incident added to the ever-increasing views of the elder members of my family, including my uncle. “This is the 5th or 6th incident this year”, my uncle recollected swiftly, noting signs of old age that showed up in and around the house. Standing still at the heart of the city of Koch,I since some 50 odd years, the house has seen 3 generations of my family, starting from my paternal grandparents, my grandmother being the senior most members alive. The same old doors crafted out of ET tree painted sky blue, roof tiles which proudly bore the letters “1943 model”, old-fashioned dull electric switches., the house had its own identity that peeked out from every nook and corner. Yet, our tharavad had been perfectly habitable and had this aura of nostalgic feelings surrounding it. I spent most of my childhood here, same is the case with the previous generation of my family.
Upon my return from the restaurant with food packets, my uncle decided the half broken ceiling to be removed completely. Of course he couldn’t do it all by himself and required help. The recent Malayalam movie “Ustad Hotel” which dealt with the tried and tested theme of grandfather-grandson relationship, but, that centered around an old hotel, inspired me to offer my share of assistance in getting the kitchen fixed, in spite of myself being sick for the last couple of days. “Mel mel mel vinnile, chekeraam kilikal naam. . . . (A song from Ustad Hotel Original Sound Track) ” was the song that matched this new sensation that i felt. New sensations were usually incomplete with a sheepish grin that seemed to flow from my face without my knowledge. It happened this time as well, and the work began instantly without wasting even a millisecond, with my uncle getting ready with all necessary tools and his own custom-made cleaning kit. The sudden commotion and chaos that came with “Mission Kitchen Fixing” gave us a visitor – Paru. Paru was my little cousin, a 6th grader, multi talented brilliant girl. She could sing, dance, draw, the list goes on and on. Because everyone loves to be in the company of kids, we happily let her join “Mission Kitchen Fixing”.
Being the tallest, I volunteered to remove the remaining ceiling, which hung carelessly from the roof. One or two hard pulls, and the entire ceiling came down, along with 17 years of dirt and dust, all over my clothes and well-combed hair, ultimately blacking out my vision. The ceiling had been up there since uncle got married. That was a good 17 years back. This realization struck all of us at the same instant, as if triggered simultaneously by the dirt that fell on me. I washed my eyes and decided to use my helmet to guard me off any dust that remained elsewhere. In the meantime, Paru had her own share of fun, offering live commentary on whatever she saw. Her style of speaking and voice fluctuations reminded me of reality television hosts, who sometimes scared the good life out of dumb viewers like you and me, with sudden and untimely spikes of energy that came from still unknown places in their bodies.
I saw my uncle, a senior government pleader, explaining to Paru, the reason behind “Mission Kitchen Fixing”. The FAQ machine inside her seemed to work quite right; i assumed, and continued with my duty of tidying up the kitchen floor. He further elaborated on his plans of constructing a new house in place of the existing one. Questions and answered poured in one after and another, and I listened to this nice, neat conversation that was happening. Out of the blue, Paru asked my uncle, if he would take up a case on her behalf and present it at the high court, that was located within our neighborhood. I was all curious as to how the conversation was shaping up and asked Paru whom the opposite party was. She replied in a snap, “You know him well, very well”. Clues poured in and we had to surrender. It turned out that the opposite party was my uncle himself. The reason for the accusation? Intention to destroy the old house and build a new one in its place! “I love this house, and I love coming here everyday to see my grandmother. That makes me happy, very happy , and so I don’t want to lose this house”, Paru asserted. The reply puts my uncle and myself in a loop; one that was saturated with thoughts of all kinds. After a second or two, uncle countered with his trademark “Edi bhayankari!” (A slang in Malayalam language which is a rather funny way of saying “You got me this time!”). That was when I realized that whatever I heard and saw today could be of some use to someone, ultimately deciding to present the same as my first independent write-up, straight from the soul.
Footnote: There is an old saying in Malayalam language which goes like “Pilla manassil kallamilla” (read Kids are too innocent at heart). I don’t intend to redefine nostalgia or the way it is perceived by others. The little girl who knew nothing about nostalgia ended up connecting well with the same house which seemed nostalgic to me. Implies, nothing comes to you when you seem to know everything, and everything comes to you when you seem to know nothing. This is the very essence of my first write-up. Cheers!
PS: Young Nostalgia is a guest post written by my friend Avinash Kumar as a part of his quest for the making of a separate space in our blogosphere. Hope you all will enjoy reading it and sincerely support this newbie fella’s entry into our family.
21st July 2002
This wasn’t her first time of repeating the same fault. But it was a quiet accidental incident this time though. She was terrified about her mom’s reaction, and hence that young girl decided to stay outside the main door of her home on that misty midnight, eagerly waiting for her step dad’s arrival from the work site. Isha, that was her name. Born as an Indian by birth and currently residing in New York along with her mom and step dad for 3 years. She lost her dad in a plane crash when she was 6. The incident had seriously put a negative impact for her small family and Isha completely lost herself personally after the disaster. Radhika, her mom always shouted at this young-beautiful teenager’s naughty and lazy actions for no reason in everything Isha do and that was why she really did hate her own mom and loved being in contact with Robin, her step dad. Even on that shivery cold climatic condition, her only intention was to wait for Robin to get back home.
22nd July 2002
Gradually, the climatic conditions started to change. The temperature began to fall down drastically and Isha felt so unsafe with it. She couldn’t withstand the naive climatic condition present there anymore with the jacket she had, but still lacked the confidence for knocking the door just behind her. Suddenly she noticed a fatty-middle aged women who were in a traditional Indian saree wear with a black sweater above it, opened the door in a much louder voice.
“Isha…! Where were you?”, she shouted.
“Mom…! I was… I was at Rohan’s home. We had a few common discussions regarding the project that must be submitted on tomorrow.”, Isha said in a hurry.
“I see…! How dare did you lie to me?
“I don’t think so, Mom. Believe me if you can! Even if you can’t, please do leave me alone. You see, I’m too tired and need some sleep now.”
“Are you a hooker or night bar girl to come back home so early like this? Huh? Let me see what I could do on your case. Get in for now!”
Isha painfully accepted the stout lady’s trust and faith on her and looked like a half-witted girl, still in a shy mood.
“Why under the name of holy shit she had given birth to a girl like me”, she thought.
“Get in……!”, Radhika proclaimed at her unlucky daughter again.
Isha estranged herself from mom by walking directly towards her room upstairs. She locked the door from inside for avoiding another war fight of words between her and mom. While sitting on the bed in an angry mood, the young girl came to note a beautiful, but the upset image of a girl in the mirror which was held opposite to her bed. Isha, in a hurry, started to follow the mirror like someone who hadn’t ever seen her reflection on a long glass piece and willing to find the dynamic reason behind its magical appearance. She stood there in an excitement for doing an experimental naughty action, which might even lead to the origin of another stewed observation from her mom’s side. She stripped off her clothes one by one, from the jacket to panties.
She gazed at her nakedness, enlarged breasts, red marks on both sides of the stomach, and hid the vaginal region with both fingers, as if something had happened! While looking at the mirror, she viewed a teenager who had lost herself and beyond the self-control few hours back at her boy friend’s home. The time they had spent together, on a common bed, might be the right opportunity to her boyfriend who had been waiting for a moment like this since they’re in relationship. But for her? She didn’t really mean to be a part of a physical activity with him. At one point, they did it, although she wasn’t mentally prepared to have sex for the very first time with a guy.
After taking a deep breath, Isha took the marker pen that was placed on the table below the mirror’s frame.
‘I’m not seeking for a life she deserves, this is all about me. Only me!’
Writing this in an orderly fashion on the mirror, her eyes were filled with tears. She laughed out loudly at those scripts she had written and went back to the lucid-stately memories years back she had with her dad.
22nd July 2012
“Isha! Open the door. Hello…”, Robin yelled from outside of the room, though only the stagnant sound of the moving clock’s needle was heard from inside. Robin felt something went wrong regarding the atmosphere he had been facing there, and hence pulled the door from outside to break the chains his sweet daughter had kept.
It wasn’t the right moment for a lovely dad to see her daughter’s lifeless body dangled on a strong piece of rope there! At one corner of the room, his young daughter’s randomly scribbled words were shining in a very meaningful pattern in the mirror. Perhaps, it included everything as a description against what she was…
Photo credits: Google