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)