peacefully insane..

The Morning Blues

2012-01-01T07:03:00.001+05:30

When it struck 11 in the night, the noise woke me up from the feverish sedation. I had been down with a very bad chest infection and body pain.

My roommates were busy setting the special new year dinner they prepared. A few sat in the corner playing pranks over phone while few others were singing their way to glory. There were two bucket full of water filled balloons. (Grinning) that's a festival which happen in the crowded bachelor streets of Dubai on the new year's eve - Anyone who walks down the road would be hit by water balloon meteors showering from the balconies.

They say, this time the fun was killed when those Ethiopian Seductress who run the Sheesha cafe by the lane came with rotten eggs. All the screaming and shouting gave way to pin-drop silence when finally the police arrived. All doors were shut and guys were back to their personal spaces.

Scrolling through the twitter timeline on mobile, there was a egoistic competition of claiming their witness over the fireworks that happened at different corners of Dubai. There were a few photographers known to me who were even posting the pictures live. I felt so helpless to express my 'what the hell attitude'. Being heavily doped by the anti-biotics I stayed silent over my double decker bed. There was this feeling to write since then, but it took me another five hours to scribble down. My writing has deteriorated over the past many months. I got carried away by my photo projects. Still mumbling over that confusion at the forked road.

Later in the night, I stayed listening when one of the room-mates vented out his woes from past. Times when he woke up to see the utensils floating over the water that swept in their house. When he and his Dad built their hut out of the woven leaves, when his mother's saree turned out to be the window pane.

And now when the dawn breaks up, I'm to watch the Bengali Movie Kashmakash from Rituparna Gosh.

(ending up this unworthy note with a sigh. they say life is gonna change from this very morning)

Tailor made smiles: for sale

2011-08-24T19:26:00.000+05:30

Time creeps on a feverish day. I got a very bad sore throat and body pain. My eyes are red and hands numb. Sensing the pain in each drop of saliva swallowed, I stay wondered on the revolving-retracting comfort of my office chair.

I'm to go home next week and what is awaiting me is the huge book of unwritten rules authored by the society since years.

Rule 1: Being an expatriate, you are supposed to bring loads of 'Tang' and 'Nido' which has been gloriously representing the pride of gulf since ages.

Rule 2: You are 26 and you are not supposed to love your old home anymore. The mango trees and sparrows that made your mornings, the lonely corridors floored as a chess board where you spent your afternoon gazing at the light beams that sieved in through open window pane, the rainwater rushing down from the terracota tiles paved through your roof, all of them to be vanished into your memories. Only a two storeyed concrete cube can help you attract one more to the array of eminent engineeers and doctors that make your family.

Rule 3: You draw, you write, you click. But we just smirk.

Rule 4: Make money and you will respected. Make more money to gain more respect. Pleasure, satisfaction, passion, what is that ?

Rule 5: You are supposed to be fair and to gain weight. You are to impress the girls with your looks.

And there goes it unending. I see the lazy, cowardous letters hanging in bold, 'Priorities change', the very justification that goes in handy when you fear losing your face.

Hiding my fears with a weird smile, I hope an unexpected forking of road somewhere ahead guiding me to the wilderness.

Stories of Life

2011-08-15T13:52:00.000+05:30

This space had been inactive since long. All my efforts had being redirected in doing a series of photo-stories on life at paradoxical situations. It has been months of hurdles and distractions before I could strand them in a single thread.

Click the link to view the page - ZOE

I request each one of you to visit the page and give your valuable critics.

rambling by the narrow bridge

2011-07-27T01:32:00.002+05:30

shrieks and cries from distance..mild. The yellowish fluttery light at the corner is another home..the street dramas play drums and harmonium in moonlight. Yellow n red flowers shed from the huge tree, the lonely cart below and the restless oxen.

The numbers on the pale wooden board..the red old telephone and the tring trings. The balloon bird who did somersaulting on a festival day. preserved glass pieces on the cement floor which made my mornings. The red barrels and the side-less truck on a rainy day.

The old cupboard and the sour grapes. The wooden cabin and heaped grains.

Memories between those parallels

2011-05-01T01:39:00.001+05:30

Remembrance of Great Indian Train Journeys;

It was an art, the art of slipping in the General Compartment of crowded Malabar Express. The art of sleeping over the luggage rack. At nowhere else we used ceiling fans as shoe racks.

Its all art. Art of seat reservation in day trains; you need to carry a hand kerchief for such emergency situations. The art of borrowing the co-seater's newspaper. The art of resting legs on opposite seats. Even the art of venting off at the shaky restrooms.The art of moving in and out of the Mumbai suburban.

Indian Railway offered the signatured delicacies and the watery coffees.Had sipped in more than a hundred of them. Pazhamporees of Kozhikode, Meduvadas of Chennai, Ankurs(grapes) of Ahmedabad, Idli nastha at Bandra, Appam-mutta curry of Shornur, Onion Oothappas of Andra(on fresh round green leaves), Vada Pav of Madgao, Masaladosas of Uduppi, Lassis of Gandhidham. Memories down the broad guage.

Had a few acquaintances through my journeys; the middle aged man who talked about his son's jeans which has never been washed. The students who closely listened to the technical aspects of the train. The Penthecost sister who read my mumbai diaries with a smile. The boy who boasted of charging mobiles from the mango leaf. The women who sold jasmine and malli inside the chennai suburbans. The man who carried his brother's dead body.The Hijadas of Mumbai who made their living from trains. The women of Kutch who enquired about my dreams and lot more to the list.

I had collections of the thick hardboard tickets which no more exists. A few from the yellow coloured ones the Mumbai suburban. All safe in my wallet

The journey would continue.

It is better to last it for many years;

and to anchor at the island when you are old,

rich with all you have gained on the way

-Ithaca (Constantine Cavafy)

When my mind is longing for the next vacation, i stay pampering these frames. Snaps from an Ahmedabad-Chennai Trip three years before.

pep

2010-11-17T02:43:00.004+05:30

The waves lashed onto the limestone boulders. The cold breeze marked the winter's majestic entrance. People were busy burning off calories on the synthetic track. Aircrafts roared over them awaiting the landing signal. Speeding cars passed by the expressway. The place was a wrong choice to preach tranquillity. I sieved the pista-pinapple chunks out the drink i took to overcome the strains of the days fast. Typed a text message for my friend, 'Its Eid. People are busy around. I wish there be a Buddhist monastery around. I wish there be a friend like you to suggest me something with a note - you will like it'.

Later in the night I got a reply to prepare for an avalanche.

I was being taken to the mountains rich in reds and greens. The incense sticks, prayer wheels and prayer flags. A place familiar through Javier Moro's 'The Mountains of the Buddha'. Gayness seeped in as water through the xylem vessels. Mind relished in the enamouring joy, peace and madness. I was in search of my bodhi. Through the dark caves of stone age men, through the long corridors with wooden blocks set aside, through the vacant altars where the light was always coloured in blue, green and orange. Radiant white light drove in through the broken window panes. I was being attracted to it as the moth towards fire.

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

These are outdated ideas. You sulk when you go for it. You have more options. Tequila, Eau-ve-de-vie, absinthe, marijuana and even more, the psychedelic beats at the discotheque.Or you can write about sex or to criticize the perverts around. We aren't monks, but the saints of insanity.

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

Later in the night, I had more chats and discussions with my friends. I make these notes to very few ones who make me feel so important in this world. For you, the space cannot contain my words.

The picture is a collage painting I did on whirling dervishes and Buddhism.

weekend

2010-09-26T00:04:00.001+05:30

The desert is showing signs of a climate change; from the hot sweating days to the misty cold time. This has always been always a city of extremities, the western wanderers tanning themselves on the shores of luxury, the Asian migrants with their mortgaged pockets. The blacks smoking sheesha at the Arabian cafes; they wore dresses of vibrant colours as if stitched from bedspreads. The Arabs gaming with their four wheel drives, falcons and greyhounds; their Kanturas* glistened in white tinges. Through these diverse crown I just spend a weekend out of my room. Here I should mention about my past weeks brooding before my laptop and busy writing mails for my NGO. Even the random selection of books have turned out to be waste of time, they remain in my bag with a bookmark placed somewhere in the last quarter.

I had a couple of tickets for the Autumn-Winter collection by some Indian Couturier. Though I am yet to buy a camera of my wishes, I somehow managed to click a few frames. Later I roamed through labyrinths staying amazed at few Iranian artists who made wonders with sands. I was experiencing the revelous moments of passion.

*single piece loose dress reaching from shoulders to the foot, usually worn by Arabs

The journey to my mind

2010-08-06T17:12:00.002+05:30

Prologue

Last time when I took my pen, it was to write on the little pauses, but it was indeed followed by a great pause. Busy with work and few midnight madness, I often forgot the tiny notepads I carried all the way.I was being washed way by the gushing white water stream of time . It took me to the land of wild dreams, by the bed of yellow chrysanthemums, through the marshy lands, the poppy gardens. Thrashed to the soft rocks I nearly screamed. Gasped. Sighed. I saw my destiny flowing ahead. (Smile) You kept me moving.

Thank Lord, there were always someone to nudge me, pull me and and prompt me.

Ethereal Blues

It was Thursday, the last working day of the week. I had enough work at office, though I skimmed through a couple of blogs and the news on 'Svanubhava' arts festival in Hindu.

My room was unusually calm. Brooding over insane thoughts, welcomed the depression with a smile. I was being infected by unknown viruses of passion. I slipped into those pampered depressions. It was after long that I stood awake till the dawn with this notepad and pen. I am on the journey to my mind.

I realized, i'm restricting myself to a small circle where I'm comfortable. I have started enjoying this life in exile.

Epilogue

The day started with a Masala Dosa and Coffee from the Uduppi Hotel at the corner of the lane. This was a place where you could only find a few Mangalorean families spending their weekend outside to taste delicacies of their native. Calm and cool, not like the rest of cafeterias where the waiters shouted to the kitchen, ek porotta-keema, dow chay usme ek pani kum.

I walked out to that small lending library. The library was run by a malayali. It had many children's books and a few malayalam novels. Probably this was established for a minor communist intellectuals who left to Dubai in the late nineties. I see them at bedspaces with a grown hair and a few old book by their pillow. I walked by...I am on the journey to my mind..

I paused.

2010-05-23T10:40:00.001+05:30

I paused writing.
Every moment, every day
I come across some thought
I wish, I could write upon. But I paused !!

Stories unwritten; unpublished,
of people I passed by.
Dennis, the Philippine
The fat Negro woman serving hospitality
Khum, the Nepali
I paused.

Time stands confused
The black tea stinks
Air tastes salt
I am in summer blues

It is darkness, the red
concentric circles, the shots
of marijuana, which takes my dreams
I am chased. No,
Not killed

Hell !! I shouted
No, I did not
I paused !!
I am in summer blues

Ithaca

2010-04-26T23:47:00.000+05:30

'When you set out on your journey to Ithaca,

pray that the road is long,

full of adventure, full of knowledge

Pray that the road is long.

That the summer mornings are many, when,

with such pleasure, with such joy,

you will enter ports seen for the first time;

stop at Poenician markets,

and purchase fine merchandise,

mother-of-pearl and coral, amber nad ebony,

and such sensual perfumes of all kinds,

as many sensual perfumes as you can;

visit many Eqyptian cities,

to learn and learn from scholars.

Always keep Ithaca in your mind.

To arrive there is your ultimate goal.

But do not hurry the voyage at all.

It is better to last it for many years;

and to anchor at the island when you are old,

rich with all you have gained on the way,

not expecting that Ithaca wil offer you with riches.

Ithaca has given you the beautiful voyage.

Without her you would never have set out on the road.

She has nothing more to give you.

And if you found her poor, Ithaca has not deceived you.

Wise as you have become, with so much experience,

you must already have understood what Ithacas mean.

-Constantine Cavafy(1863-1933)
translated by Rae Dalven
(Quoted from 'The Zahir')

Huh !! What to do?

2010-04-17T15:05:00.007+05:30

Being away from the homeland, i'm being driven by crazy thoughts..Buddha, bodhi, dances and lovely old humans. Colours creep into my heart. i wish I could make more adventures and new legacies.."Da, shall we visit Kalakshetra sometime together?" I asked my friend.

Frames kept rolling through as if from a film reel. I was stuck at the memory of the tiny rickety tea-shops of Kerala. Its wooden benches, glass shelfs and the movie posters pasted on its wall. We had lot of its kind in our village. They were active with the business before the dawn, when the people started off for their work to make coir and to hunt fishes, when the retired men walked their way to mosques to offer the morning prayers, I would be passing by on my bicycle for the school time ritual 'Tuition'.

These places had the radio tuned to the morning ragas of 'Akashavani', or the Sanskrit News. They never understood it, but it formed the rhythm of their life. They had their hot tea, even hotter discussions on the day-to-day politics. The intoxicating puffs of tobacco guided them through great spirits. It was dexterous I felt, to hold the 'beedi' between their teeth and talk (than how the new generation blows of the puff holding it between the fingers).

On Sundays, I too ran to these huts, holding a steel tiffin box close to my chest, to get the hot 'porottas' and 'some mouth watering curry'. I would run faster back on the way. The tiffin would be hot enough to burn my skin.

Though these tea-shops are rare to be found these days, i'm sure. i shall find one to have the strong tea and parippu vadas, once I'm back there. I'm always bound to pondering such nostalgic memories. What to do?

* The firs snaps are from the travel blog of Mitchell Kanashkevich. The last one from Neelu's collections.

Tribute

2010-04-05T21:41:00.002+05:30

I'm running short of title ideas...even the last entry was made just to escape from the monotony of life.

"your wings went complaining.
great.

but you believe in the breeze.
great.

yes, no one can take
the winds away from you.
great.

yeah! the canvas keep changing
but the painter remains the same.
great."

The above are words of a person who guided me with conscience, who cared me with affection, who cheered me up with a great smile, and whom i admire for his exuberance.

zerO, you are simply great.

Confessions

2010-03-20T02:40:00.001+05:30

"Evenings were never so melancholic", scribbled on her tiny red notebook which had red floral designs. She always carried it in her handbag. It was gifted to her along with a gold tipped pen by her younger cousin.

"The sparrows competed to get into the tiny holes of the withered wall of the park. Their squeaky cries filled in the atmosphere. They borrowed my evenings."

It has been not so long since she left her home and parents. They seldom called her for she dared to do quite a few things which was outside the limits decided by the society. She couldn't tolerate to live in between the tailor made decent human beings. People at times found her in a gang of guys, sometimes at pubs with few tequila glasses set on the table. It was quite hard for them not to bitch about her. But they din't dare to utter a word before her.

"Its not the moustaches and beards which make a man." She had her own definitions of gender. "I often dream Shiva, the grace, the masculinity....the stone paved path and the dancing sculptors. You know dance is of two types, Nritha and Natya. Nritha is masuline while Natya is feminine." Exuberance set fire to her words when it was about dance. She was guided by a couple of fantasy filled dance compositions, her dream project. But she really gets irritated when in the wrong crowd, and that was the reason once she decided to quit her corporate job. But she couldn't do it till now." A lot talents are stuck here. I often come across entries in the bulletin. I wonder why the don'y quit. It can be called avarice of the human race. Even to build up a career in art, we need money. Artists can't always be so poor as read in old stories."

" I can't understand why life is showing a greater tendency to be monotonous everyday.At times my watch appear stagnant to me. Is time dead ? This is suffocating. I take a different path to home everyday to escape from the sameness. These parts of the city are not that depressing, but at times it wore a strange face."

"Am I selfish? I never felt so bad being termed a cynic. The air around is so saturated that I can't vent out. I want to confess. Where are you my sparrows? I want to confess."

"They say I am confused. Am I?"

** end **
It is for the first time I am writing on a female perspective. Qualities borrowed from a few female friends I admire.

Buzz (2)

2010-03-04T15:38:00.002+05:30

mohammed shahid - peacefully insane.. - Public

More pages of the Arabian Diary
"Your hold on language is so weak that you have no idea about what you are writing" This was a comment I recently received. Probably true. But I can't keep away from communicating. This time, let...

Expand this post »Delete

1 person liked this - mer sara

mer sara - Oops that hurts, who said that. Whoever, don't take that into mind, dear. You write, and you improve. That's all to it. Ketto.. :)
Lovely snaps. And I particularly love those Arabian dumplings with sweet syrup/honey. Did you have them?26 Feb

Rejith Raj - feels good to read.27 Feb

mohammed shahid - @ pink, Yeah, I shall keep on writing...;-)

Friends, Thanks for the love you pour..I'm touched..Edit27 Feb

Ajaykumar K - Buzz - Public

To my dear brother Shahid,
Language is just a medium to communicate..........I believe not in the style of language but the soul in it. You open your mind and make the world to see through your eyes...That is what the soul does...Keep writing my dear friend. And show your HOLD ON TRUTH is far stronger than any thing else...

2 people liked this - Sreejesh Karunakaran and amrith amar

amrith amar - baba ranchor das!!!!!!!!! ;-)1 Mar

mohammed shahid - yeah !! Shall do...Love alwaysEdit3 Mar

Sreejesh Karunakaran - Tudaruka tudaruka nirbhayam tudaruka.. Nammude sakhavalle upadeshichirikkunne.. :-)3 Mar

More pages of the Arabian Diary

2010-02-26T23:43:00.002+05:30

"Your hold on language is so weak that you have no idea about what you are writing"

This was a comment I recently received. Probably true. But I can't keep away from communicating. This time, let pictures tell the story.
There happened something last week which kindled the spirit of wandelust in me. I met a friend of mine. The man who guided me through the labirynths of Kutch and the lanes of Mumbai. We kickstarted a new episode of adventure.

Abra, a place where Dubai lives in the past.( A place where Dubai Government has preserved the traditional lifestyle, something which should be appreciated).

The Souk was active within the ruined walls on either sides. The wooden lamp-posts and the street hawkers. My mind perched new spirits with this time travelling.

The wooden boats took people across the creek while the sea gulls enjoyed their flights, and fighting for the fish the occasionally hunt. The yellow rays of sun pouring to the whole ambience.

My mind was guided by sheer joy when I knew about a temple by the souk. But it was quite disappointing when I got inside, It was a moden apartment paved with white ceramic tiles and having pictures of almost all Gods. The place was crowded. At times people need a corner for consolation, doesn't matter whether it is devoid of tranquility.

We then travelled through the town of Arabian tatses. This was a place where women cooked the traditional arabic delicacies. They were served with honey and dates syrup.

My friend was busy clicking with his Nikon D80.

We parted to our homes with a smile which contained the wish for another adventure in impromptu.

Thank Lord, there are people who think I am not bloody insensitive.

The first collage was made of snaps clicked by me while the others were clicked by my friend, Akhil.

Arabian Diaries

2010-02-11T22:17:00.003+05:30

"Cabin Crew, please prepare for the take off ", that was an announcement from the pilot.

The mistresses of hospitality were on duty with their neatly worn smiles.

___________________________________________________________________

Welcome to Dubai. The time is 7.25 am. The sky is cloudy this morning.

Thank you for flying with Emirates, Have a nice time at Dubai.

___________________________________________________________________

The country welcomed me with an expectedly familar face. Thanks for the media and filmmakers.

____________________________________________________________________

I stay in a room with a strength of seven so called bachelors. Thought all of them are of my age, most are married and a couple of them having kids. (Don't bring a frown of your forehead and ask WTF. They are from Malabar and its quite usual in their place for men to get married at younger ages with the womenfolk who live in the middle of their teenage.). They spend their evenings sharing f**king stories with the elder and experienced one taking hold on the youngers.

I would be resting on my berth observing this with a weird smile on my face.

To be frank, all of them are really good at heart.

______________________________________________________________________

" Al mehtr quadimahia etihad "
" The next station is Union "

I take the metro train to reacgh back home from work. Its quite intersting to see the people of different origin and outfits converging into the glass cube.

The train is so beautiful amd so neatly maintained. Most days photo sessions happen here. Last day, it was two arabian nymphets and their friend, a guy who had an SLR with him.

______________________________________________________________________

" Boss, Chale ??
Philipene he, Irani he, Russian he,. "

For a moment I wondered what the guy was talking about. That was a pimp on wayside, the promoters of world's favourite sport*. As soon as my brain made the sense, I uttered a ' nah !! ' and walked faster through the cold night.

*Courtesy: Moods ad
________________________________________________________________________

Will be back with more soon
Sorry that I used the same pattern as the last post. I couldn't find a better separator.

Fragmented

2010-02-04T17:51:00.000+05:30

“Perhaps when we find ourselves wanting everything, it is because we are dangerously close to wanting nothing.”

- Sylvia Plath
_______________________________________________________________________

Recently i did a painting and got it framed. I gifted it to a friend of mine.

_______________________________________________________________________

I am leaving abroad for a technical job this weekend.

_______________________________________________________________________

Mom: Can't you sell your paintings and make money ?

_______________________________________________________________________

Disgust !!

________________________________________________________________________

Pardon friends, i am quite disturbed to write continuous sentences. Sylvia Plath's words could explain my state better.

The Tree of Life

2010-01-14T16:16:00.005+05:30

" He was born as the royal sapling.
He grew as the mighty one; Alas ! all his siblings were rickety

They never knew which tree he was?
What his fruit was? "

Tapped the keys in a lost mood.

He is accused of planting trees.
Who the hell are you to do so? What the f**k are you doing?

He secretly watered the mango, mulberry and nutmeg at the corners.

He loved the betel leaves and pepper strings.

He inherited the sparrows on the mango trees. They lived in his stories.

He was crossed.

They still don't know which tree he is, What his fruit is.
He lived, as the tree of life.

But he always knew...

Seasonal madness

2010-01-06T22:59:00.002+05:30

The days were less cold but dry. Afternoons were lousy as always.
I loved being in the western corridor where sun-rays kissed me hard.
I sat on the rickety chair with my legs supported on the wall.
Lazy mind wishing for a sip of black tea.
I moved to the corner were the junk is heaped up.
A few flashes of imagination.
Later I captured it on frame.
Black tea in the crystal cup is now an obsession.
Seasonal madness on sunny days.
I always intend to write something and end up in something else.

Dream

2010-01-01T23:24:00.004+05:30

I hit the bed to dream.

It was more of a wish to see Paru's classical dance. I felt elated when she promised to perform live in my dream, beginning with slokam, varnam in atthaaana and astapadi. But I dozed off to a strange and interesting dream.

That was a cold morning and i kept walking through a wide road. The way was being filled with kaleidoscopic procession groups like the melange of tributaries into a river. It was damn vibrant with the glittery costumes and head gears. I felt like being in one of the brazilian carnivals. An air of excitement inhaled. I simply felt like being flushed away with it. Nah, I have to move in the opposite direction and to my surprise, some force kept me moving.

(It was quite funny to see a naughty elephant standing aside, unwilling to move despite of its mahout's efforts. I can hardly mention him a mahout since his glittery costumes reminded me of a clown. The elephant was waving his trunk high as like a pendulum of clock. The activity must have been funny for him.)

I kept moving.Took a left turn and got into one of the labyrinths with a concrete floor and Z shaped curves. The place felt very familiar though i could not locate how it was.On the way i met a schoolmate of mine. He seemed to be in his night dress; replied with a grin when i asked why he was there. He told there is a secret which he will disclose later.I too din't mind.

The way changed abruply from plains to a cliff. I didn't feel it hard to climb, it had many flat rocks to step on. Air of innoscence, spontaneity, not of affection. Green climbers hung over black rocks. Tiny water droplets being sprayed from above. They wet my face as i climbed. It seemed like there was a waterfall up. I could hear the whispers of gushing white waters.

Finally, i reached the top to see a small crowd. The dream shifted to a new scene.

Myself placed on one of the chairs at a hall. Some documentary film being screened there. Small white screen and an LCD projector. Lots of bearded pseudo intellects looking onto the blank screen.

I met an acqaintance there. He was busy clicking snaps with his telescopic camera.He too had a beard and a round framed spectacle, but the person known to me is far from a pseudo personality. He kept talking to me about postures. I just didn't mind when he was clicking my close-up snaps.

He took a chair, placed it opposite to the crowd and sat on it. His wife took another and sat behind him. She was a dark voluptous lady. She wore a black see-through tee shirt which covered her body but hardly the nudity. She wound her arms around him. It was then adrenalin rushed over the veins of one of the pseudos seated there. My friend was accused of blocking his view.

My eyes went on the poster on the wall. Ivory coloure letters on red background. I read.... Hey, she is my online friend. her novel is being made a cinema. But when did she write a novel?

NB: I am famous among friends for such weird dreams. I had to wake up from the dream and travel to Thiruvananthapuram. So I typed it as a text message on the way on my cell. Somewhere i missed the spirit of the dream.

Farewell

2009-12-16T02:15:00.003+05:30

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"

2009-11-30T16:38:00.001+05:30

" 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

2009-11-24T18:58:00.001+05:30

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

2009-11-16T11:11:00.005+05:30

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 "

2009-11-05T15:19:00.000+05:30

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

2009-10-19T21:54:00.003+05:30

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

2009-10-19T16:41:00.003+05:30

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

2009-10-08T15:46:00.004+05:30

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

2009-09-08T18:12:00.006+05:30

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

Seasons of change

2009-09-02T13:41:00.002+05:30

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...

2009-06-21T00:21:00.007+05:30

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?

2009-04-22T23:59:00.003+05:30

" 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

2009-03-12T01:35:00.006+05:30

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

2009-03-09T13:37:00.000+05:30

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..

2009-03-03T17:00:00.002+05:30

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

2009-02-28T00:34:00.002+05:30

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

2009-02-27T20:42:00.003+05:30

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

2009-02-20T12:58:00.000+05:30

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