Farewell

Today I am leaving home after my two and a half day presence at the festival city(IFFK). It rained..I don't know whether it was the tears of nature, but i believed it to be a farewell to me.

I am quoting something which may or may not have connection with IFFK, but certainly with me and my life.

Mom: " Its your interest in these matters which keeps you jobless. What is it that is so important about the film festival ?"

Zero: " Hey man, are you leaving home? You should have availed yourself for another two days. "


Maddy: "Why are you planning to go abroad? Everyone needs the fucking money. "


Jinu~raindrop: "Everything will get better. 2010 will prove to be a better year for everyone. "


Mikimbizi: "Why are you behind a technical job? Try some creative possibilities. You are good at    photography"


Aunt: "You are always included in my prayers. Why don't you get a good job? "


Madsie: " Lighten up yourself. Its request. You are too serious for your age. "


Gilda: "Oh !! I forgot that you are an engineer. You are mad. Why don't you try something creative, you king of depression."


Well I am returning home with no comments. But I wish you give more comments..(smile)






  

" Caution: The person you see may be cynical than he/she appear"

" There goes the meanest person God ever blew birth to."

" Nah !!, he is compassionate and subtle "

" People don't relate you as talkative "

" She say she is quite chilled out "

" They say she is a bitch,i too think so"

Its all verdicts, the verdicts we make on people. Sometimes right, sometimes wrong and otherwise to counter the accusations on us.

What is sarcasm? Who is a cynic? Who is a meek? Who is an extrovert?
All answers are custom made and comparative.

To be judgmental hurts at times. Its utter foolishness. Because, people change.

[when i tap on the keys, i see a few school going kids peeping from under the half door of this cafe. The girl who sits in the cash is busy voice chatting to some  friend of hers] 

conversations

I had been scribbling out a lot last week. But the system at my home refused to boot. I took it to the service centre. They say, it will take two weeks to get the RAM replaced. Huh !! I still scrible out. Got into a cafe just to realize that i forgot my diary at home.So decided to write on the sms chat i'd yesterday.

recipient : madsie
me : Did you check Jisha's cd. Do gimme a buzz if its a cinema inside.
me : Des days, i'm writing a lot. But feels like i've to improve my style of writing.
(There was no reply. She later called)

recipient : Gilda
me : Heylooz, wassup? Missing ur ad talks. Spent a whole nyt at tripunithura temple, Panchari melam, kadhakali n all.
Gilda : Cool !! me with maddy having hot chocolate from cafe @cochin.
me : Yeah !! I heard.
me : Loving the word interesting.
Gilda : Interesting !!

Prime Time Blues

Today is my last day with my current job (Though I have ended up my job officially by last thursday, I wanted to meet my ex-colleagues together)

 

The snap i took on my first day here.
It was a hartal day, I remember, when everybody at office was busy making sandwich for breakfast. Laughter, howling and pranks.  That scene was enough to take this corporate mechanical boy to cloud 9.

I was served with a cup of tea and a sandwich. I sat in a corner of that room of computers, took a snap of the mug and some gew-gaws around. Drew my semi-buddha on a notepad there.

I literally had no work to do. Later I wrote three pages of my diary about the diverse characters i met.(yet to be published)

" But how ? On La Poderosa, man "

Finally, i'm about to quit my current job. After i treated a few among my friend circle, my mind is being tempted for another hangout

"Suddenly, slipping in as if part of our fantasy,

the question arose:

'Why don't we go to North America?'

'North America, but how?'

'On La Poderosa, man',"

                                                            

                                         - motorcycle diaries                                

Ecstatic frames

Bottle collection of my fellow being adorning a corner of my room

This is what i'm supposed to see when i lye down in my room. But the deep melancholic moods makes me numb and blind to see this

a chromatic night & the dragon flies

It was quite late after my weekend classes. My eyes went on hunt for the delicacies on that corner of the corner, where there was a fast-food counter last day. My taste-buds tempted to relish. Ha !! The coffee shop is open there. Had a good munch of club sandwich. It was rich with layers of cheese and lot other fillings.

Walked out with a sigh !! There was another spring bloomed in the sky with the kaleidoscopic flowers of festivity. Haven't been in the city for any Diwali before. Kids and grown-ups spent lavishly on the fire crackers.

The phone rang. My footloose friend is one his way. Rest of the time to be spent on that roof top restaurant where a few of us chose to vent out our woes. It was pretty interesting to talk about life, when we had no idea of how to go about it. We always talked bizarre topics for hours when into depression. The flowers kept blooming from the skyscrapers around.

Damn !! The place never had mosquitoes before. I sat with my legs on the chair. I was thinking on whether the mosquitoes could fly to the fifth floor of a building. Or do they stick on to the hungry beings who get into the elevator ??

Missiles were fleeing over our head, when finally the waiters gave signal of closing. It was almost midnight.
__________________________________________________________________

After my colleague termed me a 'cynical smirk', i thought of avoiding all kinds of frustrations from my posts. So all what i scribbled last week remains confined within my notepad.

I rolled my pen on when the calling bell at my flat woke me up from an overwhelming dream;I had clicked a snap of brilliant hues with my mobile. Three dragon flies in a green background.

I stayed with ardent spirit even when opened the door for my colleagues who were on duty last night.

I was thinking hard on those dragon flies. Did they fly into my dreams from Pan's Labyrinth ?? (the movie i missed at IFFK 2008, later i managed to get a DVD of it, but with no subscripts). Though I never knew that the dragon flies stayed only inside the frames of my dream, I didn't want to browse through the image folder of my mobile.

Its the mere wish of this spectator to go back to the exhilarating world of dreams, where I once rambled.

my diary pages: a retro

February 16th 2009
'Its my uninterrupted envy to all those bloggers who receive an outflow of comments from their readers, which prompts me to think on starting my blog'

February 19th 2009
'These days, my urge to start a blog is on its peak and for that reason alone, all my scribblings happen to be left half way'

Wayside flowers

The flower i got from wayside, colour-photocopied... Thanks to the friend who left his colour pencils in my room.

Seasons of change

It was not mere the picturesque posters by the wayside which caught my eyeballs to the movie 'Ritu', but the memories of my orkut life(once i lived there in a hut, but now i just often visit, or to be precise,just make a glimpse of it at times).Josh(Joshua Newtonn) was always there with the updates of his developing story and movie shoot. I never took it that serious or I never felt such a beautiful work would evolve out from it. The same caused a shock-wave of elation when I could clearly locate his name under the title, 'story:'. I remember, the evening sun stood bright up ahead as if evolved from the movie poster. I shouldn't deny, the poster was damn beautiful.

Thank you Josh, Thank you Shyamaprasad, in breaking the conventionally followed frames of malayalam cinema.

Its amateurs who built the ark,and professionals the titanic. Varsha(Rima), Sarat Varma(Nishan) and Sunny John(Asif) are of-course the right choice for their characters. Let me not limit it to those three, many more of the thespians were not bad preference for their roles. The way they embodied the characters made difference.

Varsha was not the same 'big eyed simpering idiot with all squeaky wails and cries*' as happening in typical malayalam cinemas(*the definition given by my friend, well known among bloggers as mikimbizi). Dubbing artist Bhagyalekshmi is probably (un)lucky to make another replica of the heroines of past.

Hari Varma(M.G Sasi) was different from the characters I had met at communist party offices during my college days(when i'd a bit of political activity). The rooms were more of a go-down with flags, flag sticks and blood red hangings. Che and Bhagat Singh stood high inside framed pieces of glass as if they were the founder members of the communist party(pardon me respected souls, its the way they think of you, they wanted your soulful eyes to (mis)lead people).There were people who slept on narrow benches in a rickety building of the party office conglomerate.These people spent their days talking about the increasing membership funds of their party and other seemingly ethical things. I could rarely find shaven faces among them. Better I use the word, Che Guevara worshipers as stated by dear friend mikimbizi. "Democracy, an arrangement for convenience'" is thus a thoughtful piece of speech.

Thank you Zero(Manoj Abru) for forwarding me the mail, 'Guess a letter for Sarat'. Mr. Ayyappan has created a saga with his reviews of multifaceted vista, and obviously this forms another.( http://entertainment.expressbuzz.com/entertainment/Entertainstory.aspx?Title=A+letter+of+disquiet&artid=7vnArU0hF6M=&SectionID=TPEu9LXF3Wk=&MainSectionID=TPEu9LXF3Wk=&SectionName=H6Lz7EG5SyQeO7G0FyybQg==&SEO=).The mail and review formed another strong reason which prompted me to make another drive to the movie house. this time I could see it from both the angles. the experience was too exciting that I even thought of watching it a couple of times more to find the third angle of mine(this contains my envy to Mr.Ayyappan).But at times I felt like standing for Sarat Varma, for I felt a hare of my self in him. Could not hesitate when he poked out the socialistic and liberal thoughts in me.

As an ardent lover of the visual art world, I would appreciate the daring achievement of Team Ritu in twists and turns within the circle of commercial cinema i never believe in such a distinction of commercial and art cinema, but it is really disgusting when malayalam movies which claim to be screened at festivals round the globe are just clones of the previous.My most recent experience of Randu Pennum Oraanum stands proof as I couldn't find it different from Nalu pennungal.

The witty phrases and dialogues, "nammudeyullil nammal ariyathe thanne etrayo nammal" takes a dive into the multidimensional aspects of human mind, known or unknown to the self. I remember my friend's piece of thought comparing earth's inner as human mind, with volcanoes lashing searching a tiny crack to vent out the pressure.

Something I should never omit should be about the cinematography. There is no wonder when Josh himself is a photojournalist, i am his views and frames might have influenced the cinematographer. My fingers had ached typing wows on the snaps he clicked and displayed in orkut. Thank you Shamdat for that feast.

"Anubhavam vakkine theevramakkunnu: Experience intensifies words" I don't know how much intensified my words are. I wish to write more..And we are all waiting for the change of seasons, nah, the seasons of change.

after the unpublished...

I dared to write this out even when my last scribbling remains unpublished.Things need not be publicized in the same order it happens.Back on the edges of insanity, nah !! sanity, nah !! in a plasma of both.

After a very long time, I spent a few hours in orkut, viewing albums of my highly witted/halfway insane(either of it suits) friends.This was something I wanted to do for long....Changed the title in my profile as ' de socialized loner'.It was the mere escapism I started showing these days which prompted me.To escape from the online 'hi's(I remember, I had spent lot nights chatting), to believe that I never received a text message even when my cell produced beeps frequently, to remain silent whenever i made outings with my boss and colleagues..Once I had stated this as 'chronic melancholia'.Now I fail to make a judgment.

*-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------*

Sorry, I dozed off in between.The dinner was heavy with the homely delicacies, pavaykka theeyal, karimeen varuthathu and uppumanga.The orkut profiles still open before me. Closed the tabs one by one.....

*-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------*

Dozed off again..I badly need to hit the bed.

Do skies blush?

" I sat beside the skies,
grey, yellow, amber and red.
Melancholic moods...

The birds flushed away by wind
The squeaky sounds follow me.

Silent trees in black.
Are they lifeless?

I am the lost soul..."

Well, the title has no connection with these unworthy lines.The title is a question for you.Do skies blush? I have never seen.

Anxieties of a recession blogger

Its not at all controversial that the counter at blogspot and the other blog servers are working hard this recession, as many bloggers round the globe are getting enough time to spout their frustrations, being jobless.Not just being jobless, but being haunted by the monotonous emotions .The most interesting thing is that many including me were raised into ‘blogger’ status.The “recession bloggers”, hereafter known 'rbs'.

‘The rbs wrote about their boring days.’Pin to piano’ of their chaotically set room(once these rbs worked upto 12 hours a day and seven days a week, but now they are too lazy that they enjoy the spider weaving webs on their body).The rbs wrote how they turned nocturnal.They wrote about the bugging characters around.They kept writing until they felt their writings monotonous.Paused, and turned the diary pages back to past inorder to find the scribbling about a fantasy filled dream.Ha !! Some of the rbs’ friends felt sorry for them.They told, the rbs were turning into pure narcissists and cynics.The rbs never denied. They wished, they could give a million lashes to the corporate and society rules. Whenever the electricity board turned the power off without prior notice, the rbs thought of buying AK 47s to shoot the officials, but they were financially too weak even to buy a toy gun.’

Recently I realized without much pain. My mobile had only those poems recited against the perverted social setup.Everyday I scroll through the daily with hope.I’m not wondered.It just have the same filthy politics and news about the greatest economic shrink after worldwar-II.I wish to write till the last pulse of thought passes my neurons.Let me remain hopeful until the next mood swing takes me away.

The sinner

He is the accused
For he betrayed his soul,
For he wore the mask of civility
Closing eyes..speaking loud,
He deceived himself

Cowardous of hard realizations,
He dozed off
And woke upto absolute blankness

Accumulating fears
Contemptible justifications
He is the accused, nah !!
The sinner.

Before the sinner was executed, he burnt himself into ashes; not jus to save his ego, but a whole hearted confession.

starving..

Was about to write on the sequential nightmares which have been shocking me for past two days.But after reading some hypocritical and sarcastic blogs by a group of fetishists, I felt my soul starving. Starving of conscience.

Transition

After writing the last post, I regretted, I should have shared those fantasies which succeeded my mind when taking those dips and showers.

These days, I’m rather in a world of absolute realities.Creating fantasies were never so difficult as coping up with realities.And,to be simultaneous with these two tasks is the hardest thing.As my mind got involved in these thoughts, the first showers of this summer was hitting the ground.I opened the window.I never liked its scent.But this time, it dint appear that nauseating.I showed a tendency to slip into those fantasies.

It dint take much time 4 me to take out ‘my book of rain’(mazhapustakam).Reading through and between lines.Nanthanar, Uroob, S.K Pottekad..But was shockingly excited before the name, Padmarajan.No, I cant.It would be as intoxicating as the darkness nested over the jackfruit leaves.It would pull me down into the depths of fantasies.No, I can’t.This is chronic melancholia.Or I should remember those lines of Ezra Pound when I wake up.
'And when I woke,the marrow
Out of my bones ran out ...
You are the friend I dreamt for
not the dream I woke for
And so I put this down for
doubt for doubt'

A few bathing thoughts

To all the malayalees who bathes three times a day, to all tamilians who plans an yearly family trip to some waterfalls and to those gujarati women who mesmerized me not just with their beauty, but the way they carry water filled pots one above the other.

When I myself, and de rest of the world is getting more attached to the bathroom civilization(or luxuriously called the shower-spa civilization), let me share a few different thoughts, nah!! Bathing experiences.

Thanks to Kakkadampoyil(a remote village in Kozhikode district).It was there I had the most awesome experience of bathing.Wild streams, palms and the lush green soothing your eyes.Ice-cold water gushing over black rocks would give you nothing less than an ecstatic feeling .At places the stream was too shallow that one could lie down on the rocks with jus his face above the water.To my surprise, I dint show even the minor symptoms of cold(as I’m considered the synonym of cold by some of my friends).

Let me seek the timeline to those rainy days; times when I intentionally dropped my umbrella home.Those streets where I walked alone and together getting wet by incessant drops of rain.It was another world I saw through those raindrops on my spectacle lens, a world probably composed of extreme fantasies.And finally, to have the peppered coffee from the ‘milma’ booth with the water soaked clothes on.When about rain, its always water kindling the fire inside.

Whenever the long queue appeared before the rickety door of our hostel bathroom, I ran to the cemented floor by side of the well, with a towel wound around my waist(it wasn’t rather a hostel to abide by the rules of warden.But a ghostly old house on rent).Every bucket of water raised was directly poured onto my head.It always euphoric to see the fern leaves sticking to the red bricks jus above the glassy water in the well.

Every time when I get before the shower, I close my eyes jus to create another world of illusion around, to make bathing more of an experience.
Winding up remembering our blessed actor who built a house, nah! a bathroom by thick green caves just to have a new experience of bathing.

Helplessness

When a man is subjected to high degree of helplessness....(sorry, his helplessness doesn't allow him to complete writing this)