Tribute

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

"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)

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...

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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

"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

"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.

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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.

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

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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.

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" 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.

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" 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 
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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

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


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


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I am leaving abroad for a technical job this weekend.


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


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Disgust !!


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

The Tree of Life

" 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...