My Friend Kavitha-II

Was that a hallucination or was it faked up completely by Kavitha just to rattle me up? I was completely mystified at the incident and could not understand the enigma of that numbers. Was it a code that has to be scratched to get into the bottom of this? 1101. 1+1+0+1=3, was it that three times she had attempted to suicide but met with success only the third time. Or was it that the numbers contained something digital ingredient in it owing to the fact that Rita was an engineering student and so even her ghost would be quite aware of the technological innovations. 20 + 0 + 22 + 23= 13, Ajay might be her 13th romantic affair, and on losing him she was very depressed which persuaded her to commit suicide. I looked at Kavitha. Her eyes were completely on the numbers and she kept moving around the table, sometimes going close to it and then to the side. Then she bent down on her crotch as if ready to take a leap which resembled a lady Sherlock Holmes on action (as per the narrations of Arthur Conan Doyle). All of a sudden she snapped her neck back. Then she came over to me and in a megalomanical style, she said “Shereen, tomorrow we leave early to our college”.

Madurai, our destination, was 200 kms from kavitha’s locality and due to the long and tiresome journey; we preferred to go by train although she was adamant to use the bus. We started as soon as the first ray of the sun had hit the earth. She never uttered a single word throughout. Occasionally she coughed and then was fully preoccupied in her thoughts. I never asked her intentions or what she had deciphered from yesterday. Often she turned sepulchral. I felt quite relived when the train approached Madurai station for her silence was piercing through my nerves. I had already drained four packets of cigarette. We had hurriedly moved out of the station and picked an auto rickshaw that was parked in front. I was about to say our college name (that was quite enough for it being the most famous university in Madurai) but Kavitha caught hold of my hand.
“Sethuram Lodge”
I was surprised for she had said that in a preposterous manner. For a moment I thought she did not want to go to the college right away and would want to fresh up before she jumps into any of her friends. It was almost four in the evening and the lodge was just a few minutes drive from the station. While she was in her room, I would drop in for a hearty meal as I was feeling very hungry having survived on just cigarettes throughout the day.

Sethuram lodge was located in the centre of the market. There were mobile stalls with flowers and fruits neatly arranged on it. Jack fruits were cut open with flies swarming around it thus infiltrating the premises with a disgusting stench owing to the fact that the jackfruit season had just commenced in Kerala, the aroma of which was pulverising and the most comforting element for the people around. Ladies, with wide variety of resplendent flowers painstakingly arranged on their back, wore thin sari unveiling their blouse and their bare stomach, tightening the sari just below their immensely huge belly button, sat on the street on either side selling flowers and other house hold items, gently pulling up the sari to their thighs, whenever a male customer approaches them. The lodge was centred in between a audio library shop, that played devotional songs solemnising Madurai Meenakshi( the goddess of Madurai) throughout the day, and a vegetarian hotel, that naturally would be the biggest crowd puller in that area owing to the fact that Madurai residents always had a heavy appetite and were enormously food loving. Before the auto rickshaw had come to a halt, Kavitha jumped out of the vehicle and ran into the lodge. I felt perplexed at her actions but my eyes were all fixed on the menu card, written on a stand, placed in front of the hotel. The odour of food stiffened my nerves while I could not resist the force that pulled me to its doorway. All of a sudden Kavitha came running out of the lodge and I saw her huge eyes swaying rapidly.
“Shereen, come over quickly”
I slowly took our luggage and followed her as she ran through the steps. She had the key with her for I could hear the chinking sound while she ran. I did not have to climb much for I lost her when I had just managed to reach the first floor tracing her in front of a room, already placing the key in the key hole and moving it back and forth for she was least concentrating on it as her eyes were fixed on to the crest of the door. With a loud bang, she opened the door and went inside. I came in front of the door, kept the luggage down and looked up inquisitively wondering what was that her eyes were bulging out at. Suddenly, I felt a twinge in my heart as I saw the number written in bold italics on the steel plate. 1101.

For a moment, I grasped why my friend was in such a hurry and why was she concerned throughout the journey. Probably, this was the lodge where they had spent their time for the exams. But all these days gone, what was Rita was trying to confer on her friend Kavitha, regarding something suspicious concerned with the room. Kavitha was staring at the walls as I saw her move her eyes hurriedly as if she was hunting for something that she had kept in the room.
“Shereen, Listen. I know you might have understood that we had stayed here during our exams. On that day, our exams got over (since we belonged to different sections our practicals varied), we had reserved our tickets back home and was about to vacate the room. She said that she was waiting for Ajay and would join me in the station. I waited there in the lounge till morning only to return back and find her lying on the track”.
Tears rolled down from her eyes when she had finished with her words that left her mind pondering for a moment. I did not console her for I knew that tears remained the most soothing practise to ease your tensions (based on the old law of thermodynamics that energy has to be converted from one form to another). When one feels tensed, tears prove to be the best factor to diminish the repercussions of the mounting pressure. Suddenly, she stopped crying and took a deep breath inside, a technique she had always told me to follow so as to pull out from the mongering thoughts, at times when our mind dithers. I moved near to the window and pulled the curtain. The crowd, with the typical evening purchase syndrome, had started pouring in as the market drooled on approaching the final hours for the business transactions of the day. I opened the window. A sudden gush of wind streamed into the room that pushed me back with a sudden force and with great difficulty I pulled the window back that had unbolted widely and most surprisingly without a bang.
“What the hell is this wind and that too on the first floor?”
There was no response from Kavitha. I turned around. She was staring at something she had picked up from the floor. It was a few pieces of broken bangles that had accumulated near her legs. She was staring at it when the silence was ruptured by a knock on the door. As the intensity of knocking intensified, I went and opened the door.
“How can I help you?”
A rough hoarse voice greeted me at the door. An old bearded man, his hair uncombed and falling over to his eyes, with a crooked figure and long hands, small eyes, thick eyebrows stood at the entrance, the very sight of him would spoil a month’s appetite.
“I heard the door bell”
“No thanks, we would let you know and by the way no one rang”
“Not in my all this age, I have missed a waiter’s bell”. He replied with his eyes firmly fixed on Kavitha.
“Ok, It might have been a mistake may be this is your first” I just wanted to wind up the discussion.
“Mistakes in this age surely is a premonition for something evil”
I gave him a warm smile unable to grasp what he had just delivered and closed the door to turn back to Kavitha.
“These belonged to my Rita. She had brought me here to show me this. What does this mean?”
“May be she wanted you to keep those bangles as a reminiscence of her”. I spoke out bluntly.
“No. Rita’s pose in that photo, the broken bangles, she wants the world to know something”. After a brief pause, she brought her face close to mine and said in a very malleable tenor “Rita did not suicide. She was killed and that too my poor dear was strangled to death”.
I was petrified. For a moment my mind became completely blank. Her eyes refused to take leave from my face as her looks intensified my fear. I tried to evade her looks and moved my face to and fro expressing vivid range of emotions at what she had just arrived at. Subsequently, I took both my hands and gripped her on her shoulder.
“Kavitha, if this is what you think, we should immediately go and meet Ajay, for I am confident that he was here on that wretched night”.
“Yes and I want to ask him why did he do that for she loved him very much”.

The last time I heard about Ajay was that he was taken into custody the second time on a written statement from Kavitha’s father (well I later came to know that it was not of political pressure but Kavitha had provided some snaps of Rita and Ajay together). She was convinced that Ajay was cruel to Rita that day as Rita had no plans to suicide. Ajay’s father, a business tycoon, did use his political influence to bring his son out. After amassing all these details, including where Ajay was now confined in (he was in his dad’s guest house in Munnar), we decided to continue our pursuit in Munnar. After a hearty meal (the first food of that day although Kavitha ate very less), we started right away so that we could be there early before the dawdling population makes it into the streets. The mountainous ride, hair pins after every twenty minutes and red sign boards with a wide range of quotes on life and time intentionally displayed to inculcate vigilantness among the drivers but a few of it losing their resplendence with the years and the rest unable to be perused as a result of being a relaxation spot for the birds; the roads crawling through the mountains, the journey being quite bumpy at the curves, with a few locals ascending the bus with all their utensils and food materials maybe to last days in the mountains, it turned out to be a real hectic journey in spite of the striking and sumptuous scenario outside as the sun slowly started creeping out from its den. I sat looking outside at the stretched hills, huge rocks on the side of the road (beneath each hill) resembled gaol birds vying for freedom from the cell in which they remained captured; the mountain goats feeding on the tropical grass obtruding us on their survival skills and their meticulous adaptability to the local flora from their easiness to stride through the steepness of the hills, All had obtained a deluge of their creator on them, an insignia of their existence in this world as Kavitha kept her head on my shoulders; Both of us really unaware of the impending perils we would have to prevail over to unravel the mysteriousness of the polemical pose of Rita in that frame.

Munnar's mesmerising greenery, mountain scenery, calmness and cool refreshing air has always been a hub for the honeymooners and tourists throughout the year. The dawning rays in connivance with the morning breeze emanated a recipe of novelty in us, the fragrance invigorating the substance of mind already infiltrated with impugned, unsubstantial conjectures. The tea estates were a sumptuous feast to one’s eyes as the workers had already gathered to commence their routine work of plucking the tea leaves and dumping in their basket, tied around their waist. The small breeze rejuvenated the creatures around as the humming birds wafted to the rhythm of the breeze while the cats delivered their unremitting cries to rope in their much needed attention and the street dogs lay lazily on the roads with their eyes firmly fixed on the food stalls. All the spectacular scenario around bolstered our morale except a half naked fakir who sat on the pavement near the bus station exposing his hairy crotch, his huge black balls sagging and his thin long penis hanging down loosely spoiling the opulent talisman and the sketching of the true essence of Munnar. I turned around to Kavitha who was quite busy searching for an auto for she had the address written down on a piece of paper which she was unable to memorise owing to her anxiety and nervousness.

The estate which belonged to Ajay was small compared to the immensely huge estates others had over there. The gate was open so our auto drove into the mansion that covered almost two-third of the estate. There were neatly arranged flower pots with different varieties of flowers in it. The area around the mansion was atrophied either due to improperness on behalf of the proprietor or it reflected the sluggishness of the workers there. A kariveetti tree stood on to the left of the mansion on which sat a crow that gave us a reception with its callous shrieks that reminded me of the old folk tale about crows on their capability to notify the house folks at the arrival of some very particular guests. I could see a frustration curtailing Kavitha’s actions else she would have been quickly on her feet and made it onto the doorbell by now. She hindered and looked at me. I could reach her feelings for all this days and years with her, it was quite feasible for me to read her mind. I knew that she had a trouble facing Ajay. She had always told me that both Ajay and Rita were terribly in love and that nothing could come in between them. But Rita’s suicide had devoured her assurances for if Rita had any intentions to suicide, at least she would have dropped a hint on this to Kavitha, which was quite enough for Kavitha to placate her so that she returned back to her normalcy. But things had occurred abruptly even before Kavitha could do something. I knew she had a hesitation to meet Ajay after quite along time. I stepped in and pressed the doorbell, with Kavitha shrugging herself behind my back so as to avoid a direct eye contact with Ajay right at the door.

It transpired just as I expected. Ajay opened the door. He looked sullen and gloomy. He did not smile at us but his nonchalant composure indicated that he was expecting one of us some day. His eyes met Kavitha’s and for a second both were left in their thoughts.
“Kavi, won’t you talk with me?”
“I never expected this situation”
Both of them sunk their heads down and an ephemeral silence spilled out disturbed by the ubiquitous cries from the crow, which sat on the Karveetti tree outside, until I interrupted.
“Can we come inside Ajay or do you wish us to leave?”
Ajay opened the door wide and nodded us to come in. We entered a huge sitting room with divan beds in the centre, fully carpeted, an old grandfather clock on to the left, and a small vestibule with the portrait of a lady at the far right. With a sheer resemblance to Ajay, the lady portrayed could be easily identified as his mom for she had passed away quite a few years back when Ajay was just seven (I knew a lot about Ajay from Kavitha). There were a flight of steps on either side in order to get to the top. (I only could explain where my eyes reached, but a lot still remains to be narrated especially a fountain like object pumping air out probably with the help of a compressor, and leaf like patterns floating in the air due to the force of the pumped compressed air, the entire thing stood on the floor above and right were the steps halted). I was running my eyes around when Ajay interrupted with his nasal voice.
“Janaki, bring some cool drinks here”.
I was expecting a middle aged lady to emerge from inside carrying a tray with the drinks on it. But contrary to my expectation, a young lady appeared. She wore a traditional dress of blanket type cloth tied around her body exposing her bare shoulders. Although dark in complexion, she had a round chubby soft face with small soft eyes, thick black hair, long and pointed nose, plastic earrings and a small traditional sticker(Bhindi) on her forehead thus exhibiting her naturalness with panache. She never looked at us neither Ajay as her eyes were completely fixed on the tray .As she turned back after placing the tray on the stand, I was fascinated by her desi(local) mode of dressing. It was a single piece of cloth first rolled around her bottom and then the piece extended like a typical sari tied around her breasts making her abdomen slightly visible. The cloth although resembled a ruck sack but she was a delight to watch for the dressing ballooned her buttock, protruding it and the curve above it taking a fine bend, exhibiting her feminity quite libidinously. She was quite young probably around 19 or 20. I was quite conspicuous of her presence there for I could sniff signs of melancholy in her looks.

“Kavi” Ajay began after a brief pause making certain that no one’s around,
“Do you believe that I would do that to my Rita?”
Kavitha looked straight into his face with her big eyes bludgeoning at him.
“No Kavi, I cannot do that. Ever since I lost my mom, I always yearned for love in my life. I had started this relationship with intentions unbeknownst to you all. But she had capitulated my masquerade plunging me into a state of contrition at my past life and pulled me out from the pit of dilemmas that would have buried me alive had she not come into my life in time.”
Before he had completed tears streamed from his eyes and he burst out crying like a child, his mind kneeling way down to his emotions. I got up from the seat leaving him behind for self consolation, trying hard to divert my attention to a knick knack sound coming from the window the perpetrator being a crow tapping its beak on the window pane.
“I know you were there in the lodge to meet her” Kavitha continued not heeding to his whimper.” What did you do to her then”.
“Yes, I was there. But I was informed that both of you had vacated the lodge two hours ago and that you were already late for the train”.

“This bloody crow, shoo…”. The bawl came from outside which was followed by a loud banging of the door.
“Get me the gun, I wanna kill this fucking crow”. A young man, almost around the age of Ajay, with a long face and piercing eyes, pursed lips, with cropped hair entered the hall. He was rubbing his fingers on his arm as if sustained to some injuries, when he noticed some new faces in the room.
“Rohit, these are my colleague or rather my juniors Kavitha and Shereen”. Ajay introduced us audaciously.
“Oh my.. another case of astute romancing and escapade”. Rohit blurted out eyeing at us.
I felt shy at what Rohit had just delivered as I profoundly swayed my eyes over to Kavitha. She was looking down neither interested in the conversations nor in the guest who had just dropped in, her concentration completely drawn into her intimate friend’s dilapidated tale.
“No, No” Ajay interrupted. “This is something else, I will tell you and by the way guys, this is my intimate friend Rohit”.
“OK, guys not breaking up the matter. Carry on. I wanna wash my hand. The birds here are quite dangerous especially the crows”. He gave a pat on my shoulder, with his piercing eyes fixed on Kavitha, and went inside.
There was a brief pause for Rohit’s presence had indeed disturbed the privacy, Kavitha had wished for. She got up from her seat and looked straight into Ajay’s eyes, as if her looks pierced directly into his heart, such was the rigidness she vivified in her eyes.
“One last question Ajay”. She fettered from spilling out her emotional grievances.
“Who told you there that we had left quite early and the room was empty?”
Ajay began concentrating hard in order to figure out the person when she continued,
“Was it an old bearded man, with long hands and thick eyebrows, with a bent body shape?”
“Yes you are right. I still remember him, an ugly old man. But how did you know”
Kavitha was reticent. Without even turning back to him walked out of the room. I followed her waving my hand to Ajay as he stood transfixed at the door, quite confused seemingly unable to comprehend the character who was his lover’s most intimate friend. As we walked by, I could hear the obnoxious cries from a crow, and Rohit’s warning on the birds made me turn back and look over and over again, keeping my hand over my head, expecting a sudden attack as I saw Kavitha speeding herself strenuously submerged in her thoughts, slightly bothered on the notification and warning.

{To be continued}

My Friend Kavitha-I

It was my sister’s sheer compulsion that made me ponder on the existence of ghosts for she believed that, with her pernickety illusions, I would be able to pen a horror script that would satisfy her permutations on chillness. I really have no such personnel experiences to share with my readers on such a frivoling topic as I adjudge the notion that the world of today had no legroom for ghosts and vampires, the entire thing nothing more than a fantasy notched up to blemish the beauty of darkness. But I really would like to share with you a horrendous incident during our university period the very thought of which would often slip me into jitters although the entire incident gyrated around my colleague, Kavitha.

Kavitha was unique. She was plump and had a round face, with her big eyes occupying a major share of her face and salacious eyelashes and most notably her straight well nourished long hair, tied and kept stiff in an aristocratic manner. I still remember my first day at the university, while I was engulfed with thoughts of discontinuing there; she came up to me and introduced herself in an audacious but belligerent style, which promulgated a lasting impression of her in me. Ever since she remained one of my close confidantes and her loquacious nature possessed a sense of respite, soothing and comforting, which made her quite popular among the boys. She harboured a diplomatic efficacy for she made acquaintance with everyone in the college, from the university principal to the canteen boy, who used to wait hours near the college gate smartly dressed just for a jiffy with her. Her most intimate friend was Rita, who was completely contradictory with her. Rita was a very silent girl. She was quite tall. Her delicate feminine features, long legs, her tight dressing and thick lips inundated one with illicit emotions as her perpetual movements were a feast to one’s eyes. Many a times, I had spotted her with one of my seniors, palpitating seeds of doubt in me, the affinity when they were together, their laughs and chatters oblivious of the surroundings. I had inquired on this matter to Kavitha, to rationalise the logic of their relationship as I did not muddle the opportunity I got, on the pretext of their relationship, to flirt with her. She was eluding away from my queries. Finally she conceded that they were in love much to my dismay as I had already diverted the questions of romantic allusions at her leaving behind the matter of subject importance.

During the university exams, they used to take a room outside the hostel for their combined study as well as for the computer classes offered by various training centres that was out of college curriculum. Since they were hardworking and outstanding students, no one bothered their stay outside. They vacated the room only after completion of all the papers. I used to be with them during the initial part of the study leave, dropping them in the middle for much broader concentration. Once after the seventh semester holidays, I had come late from my home. Poignant and heartbreaking information welcomed me at the railway station as I experienced a terrible pain in my head.

“Rita suicided. She jumped in front of a train.”
I did not believe them but the manner by which my friends expressed that, I knew that something terrible has occurred. Rita. What happened to her? Why did she do this? Questions started corkscrewing my mind as tears rolled down from my eyes.
“Where is Kavitha”.I enquired suddenly redeeming myself.
“Her parents came and took her away. She was the first to see her body lying transfigured in the railway track. She had fainted then and there and was rushed to the hospital.”
She was the only person who knew Rita personally. She might be even aware of the persuasion behind this suicide. Suddenly, the scene of Rita with my senior flashed through my mind. Instantaneously and fully rejuvenated, I enquired
“Where is Ajay”
“Ajay is missing.”

I tried to reach Kavitha but had a negative response from her mom, every time I rang up to her house. There was a sequence of events that followed the horrendous episode. Ajay was arrested a few days later and police interrogated him. He was released and the police pin pointed his fear the obvious reason behind his going into hiding at the death of Rita. Since I have seen them together on quite a few occasions, I knew there was something incongruous and suspicious. Kavitha’s father complained to the local police about their affair and later with a political backing pressurised the police to take ajay into custody. One day I was surprised to find a familiar number in my mobile. I picked it up instantly and in the most unpretentious approach and with a placating tone, I addressed the person at the other end.
“Kavitha, how are you? May I know when you are coming back for your attendance is already lagging.”
“I would like to see you personally. So please come over to my house.”
She kept the phone.
Words, sometimes petite and sturdy, hold a lot of spiralling feelings in it be it be obnoxious retorting or pedantic soothing. I knew from her voice that she had something to talk to me very seriously about. I decided to start right away.

It was almost five in the evening when I reached her house. Her house was located a few yards away from the main road but owing to its height, it was noticeable from a distance. The sun looked all set for its hibernation as it sprayed the red crayon in the sky signalling the end of an arduous day task. The winds slowly kissed the palm leaves that surrounded the house, thus symbolising a carribean style of reception delivered probably on my arrival. The gate was partly open. I went inside and knocked the door. A short, stout lady opened the door. From her resemblance to Kavitha, I knew that she was her mom. She looked worn out as if she had not slept the previous days. She did not smile neither the usual curious look sprouted on her face when a young stranger drops in to her house at this part of the day.
“Kavitha..”
“Yes, I am here”

The house was quite big. The entrance led to a big hall with a neatly arranged parapet cushioned sofa sets. Behind the sofa was the stairs that led to the upper portion of the house. I heard kavitha’s voice from the top of the stairs for only the bottom portion was visible from the entrance. She came down on the spur of the moment. She seemed suddenly to become so sophisticated.
“Mom, this is my friend Shereen. He will be with us tonight.”
With that she caught hold of my hand and dashed to her room along the stairs. She released my hand only when we had entered her room, closing the door behind us. Her room was quite small compared to the enormity of the house. There was a bed in the middle of the room and a wooden almirah (three of them together, Oh my god she really kept a huge collection with her) on to the left of her bed. To the right was a dressing table arranged tidily. On the table stood a photo which I think was the contentious issue perpetuating in her. She was in a dexterous laughing position and her hands on the shoulders of her most intimate friend Rita. There was something peculiar rather appalling in the way Rita posed for the photo. She was not smiling but postured a terrified look, her eyes bulging out, filled with terror and her lips tightened, a pose seemingly possible during a physical encounter or strangling. I really wondered what could have been her mood when such a boffin was taken. I felt scared seeing her in that appalling pose and I tried to evade my eyes from it to face kavitha.
“Shereen, What do you think about that photo?”
I looked at her inquisitively and baffled.
“It looks as if someone’s strangling her.”
“Yes, do you think that this photo was clicked with Rita pertaining that pose”
“Then”
“When this photo was taken, we both were hugging each other and were in high spirits owing to the fact that she and ajay decided to get engaged. Two days back, she had changed and retained that frightening pose. At times, I see tears dripping down from her eyes and occasional sobs at night.”
Words dried up in my mouth. A strange dreadfulness envisaged me as I tried not to even glance at that photo.
“You are joking”
“Do you think so? I would call up a person all this way just to share a joke?”

I was told to rest in the room adjacent to her. Her parents seemed very confident about her for they never had even a drop of suspicion in their looks. I kept my bag on the bed but I was worried for it sounded really mystical, the expression of Rita coz it was quite impossible, even for an artist of magnanimous calibre, to pose in front of the camera in such a dreadful manner. Kavitha had asked me to fresh up for the dinner and be alert for she would require my help sometimes way in the middle of the night. Two days back all of a sudden Rita started showing signs of smother, as if someone strangling her followed by her sobs. How could this be possible? I decided to flip through the sequence of events that followed her death. Maybe this might be Kavitha’s hallucination but for a girl of her character, adamant and full of guts, such imbecilic thoughts would rarely spring up. If kavitha was being truthful what had occurred two days back for that transformation of Rita’s expression. The only thing that was sonorous with this incident had been the arrest of Ajay, Rita’s long time boyfriend. What could be the reason? The long and lethargic journey had capitulated me for I found my eyes unable to resist the mounting drowsiness thereby pulling me into a deep slumber.

It was in the middle of the night that I heard a knock outside and I woke up to find Kavitha standing at the entrance, her hair falling down loosely on her shoulders and a few of them sliding down her forehead. (I forgot to switch off the light in the room, not that I was scared but the place was quite new for me)
“Shereen, can you come over to my room”
As she left, I could hear the thumping of my heart for a sense of fear had gripped me that resisted me from jumping out of the bed swiftly. Slowly, without the slightest commotion I went over to her room and closed the door behind. It was pitch dark inside. Her previous narrations, scuttling in me and the chilling silence disturbed by her frequent panting, made my hair stand on the end.
“Kavitha. Iam here”
(I was expecting a lady dressed up in a white sari with a disfigured face and long pointed down teeth, to appear all of a sudden from nowhere and her eerie shrieks would then reverberate in the air)
Kavitha switched on the light. She was in her gown. She was sweating. For a moment I could not really take my eyes of her for she resembled a damsel with her glowing skin, her gown sticking to her body thus evincing her fat but well shaped breasts and her protuberantial nipples. She was not wearing anything inside. Drops of sweat was trickling down through her forehead and making ingress into her parted lips for they were wide open in astonishment. Her cleavage was quite visible for she had left the top buttons open, the hastiness due to the dreadful situation her mind was entangled in. She was breathing quite hastily but was not creating a commotion, the to and fro motion of her chest, and every time she gasps out she kept a hand on her breast.
“See what is written beneath the photo”
I suddenly regained the situation to turn over and face the mysterious photo frame. Rita was in that same appalling pose but the part of the frame below her photo was completely wet as if water was sprayed on that area. And most surprisingly and to my disbelief, below the frame the water drops had collected to form a cluster of numbers 1, 1, 0 and 1.

{To Be Continued}

The Legend of "ONAM" - A Short Story

PART-I

No, I am not revising a tradition that has cultivated harmony and an indelible accountability in the hearts and emotions of the Keralites. Neither I am interested in evincing my protagonism or rather be a proponent for legitimising an ancient historical tale thereby propitiate a supercilious rumpus in the corridors of the literary community intuitionally. Onam is our traditional festival or the season of harvest and the historical saga associated with this festival has a charismatising effect on the most ordinary malayalee for it manifests their hospitability ingenuously. According to the local belief, in a war that took place between the gods and the demons, the demons won. Deeply hurt by the defeat and the intensified prayers reverberating in the premises of the deity, Lord Vishnu in the guise of a Brahmin boy, vamanan, went to destroy the incumbent king of the demons, Mahabali. During the yaga conducted by the king, he asked for three steps of land which was granted. Vamanan covered the whole land with his two steps and then he came back to the King asking him where he can place the third step. The king to honour his word offered his head as the third step. Vamanan pushed Mahabali deep down into the earth. Pleased by his honesty and generosity, the lord in turn granted him a wish that he could visit his kingdom and people on a particular day once a year. Thus the particular day (or days) envisaged into Onam festival; the reception given to the king a distinguished feature of this traditionally resplendent festival. But a king who was deeply committed to his people had such an ill fated end? As Bhagvad Gita quotes “A king is revered to a god once he is faithful to his people”. Was it because of this that Krishna, another incarnation of Vishnu added this in his sagacious verses to Arjuna during the kurukshethra war? If Mahabali was a king who ruled on behalf of the demons, why only the keralites celebrate Onam? Let the myth not eschew our desire to flip the pages through the past.

Once upon a time, there lived a king named Mahabali, whose kingdom lied adjacent to the Arabian Sea on its west and the Western Ghats on the east. As a result of its location, the kingdom comprised of farmers, artisans, potters and many others of the working class community. The king was immensely interested in maintaining the law and order of his kingdom thereby bestowing the cumbersome work of economic management to his most faithful minister. The kingdom had a complacent law and order system with no caste or class distinction or discrimination. In order for the smooth functioning of his kingdom’s judicial system, he ensured the formation of a tangible group in every village, comprising of the elder men, contiguous with him commentating him the day to day state of affairs of their villages. He made sure that the wealth got distributed unilaterally among his people and his kingdom remained free of miseries.

Adjacent to Mahabali’s territory was the kingdom of another legendary king Indr, who unlike Mahabali was not all interested in serving his people but to wage battles so that every kings gave him his share and there by an exacerbation of his supremacy. He had a longing desire to occupy the fertile and prosperous banks of Periyar River, the river flowing through the hearts of Mahabali’s kingdom. But, Mahabali had a very well disciplined army who were willing to withstand all the predicaments to protect their king from the peppery Indr. A messenger was rushed to Mahabali’s court beckoning him to prepare for the war. The king at once summoned his army chief.
“Soldier, the days are less, I bequeath you the responsibility to protect our kingdom and our people from those wretched mercenaries of King Indr. Financially, my minister will assist all your requirements. But, at first you should make provisions for alerting our people about the impending danger we are enveloped in”.

The notion of a war panicked the people. They were quite aware of king Indr’s merciless regiment and their tales of brutalities became the heat of conversation even in the corners of the villages. Travellers, who had been to far off land, narrated them about tales of pathos of the regions Indr captured. Finally, a group comprising of village head man decided to meet the king in order to rejuvenate him and offer their explicit support to their majesty. The very thought of their king serving Indr aggravated their anxiety.
“Your majesty, we all stand beside you in this hour of despair and we offer our support to our soldiers who have been accomplished for this painstaking mission”.

The war began. The grounds trembled beneath their feet as the soldiers battled to save their pride and honour. Initially Mahabali’s army faced serious reverses, but with villagers adhering to the battlefront, Indr’s army could not break through their defence barriers. Finally, they conceded defeat and had to retreat. Probably, this was their first defeat, for Indr had suspended all his amusements in the court, the performance of the gorgeous and rubious damsels. The news of their defeat petrified him and a thumping desire for vengeance preoccupied him. But the war devastated the monetary situation of Mahabali. In order to feed the public during the war, the king had to drench his treasury to a huge extent which left the minister gasping for funds. The situation was quite morose that the king had to confer his golden necklace to garland the victorious warriors on their return. The people got no holiday to rejoice their victory.
“Soldiers and Villagers, This victory shall be perused by generations to come as not just an ordinary battle, but a battle filled with the pride, emotions and most importantly the lasting love showered upon me by all of you. But, we have no time to waste. Rather, I request everyone to commence their work at the earliest”.

But words just could not redeem the dilapidated plight of the villages. Penury of seeds resulted in poor showing by the farmers. As a result the kingdom was slipping into a viscous famine as the besotted relationship between the people strained. Village headman complained of minor burglaries in their provinces.
“Minister, I hear burglaries in my kingdom. I am sure these sprouted up due to the economic imbalance that’s developing among the people. The potters and artisans are able to trade while our most dependable economy agriculture is in shambles. We have to give them more grains”
“Sire, Treasury is almost empty”.

Mahabali opened his eyes after a deep reverie to find a fresh smile on his minister.
“Minister, my smiles have dried up like our fields outside”.
“Sire, I have the solution for your tension. A few days back some traders arrived in our territory. They expressed their willingness to buy our land. Due to our financial strain, I find this a preferable solution. Since we have a lot of barren land where we do not cultivate anything, we can give them that part of it.”
The king nodded his head unwillingly.


PART II


The traders were from the north. They bought the land and decided to do contract cultivation. They bought the seeds from outside and asked the villagers, already reeling in a magnanimous crisis, to cultivate in their land for a small share of the cultivated product. Farmers oblivious of the impending admonition, decided to work with them later found it reproachable. The traders after cultivation took huge profits and gave them only a small portion of their production. But they lured them with loans, pawning their houses and thus enslaving the farmers to work for without even paying them. Slowly they started acquiring the nearby land engaging a hidden pact with the minister. This aggravated the animosity of the villagers for they found the traders at their doorsteps even at the middle of the nights. The relation between the village committee and the King also mitigated which further intensified their woes. Finally, the group decided to meet the king.
“Your majesty, we know very well about our kingdom’s situation. But letting loose these traders will have consigning effects on our people. They come even in the nights knocking our doors, scaring our women and children. They have displaced many a families to streets, who are unable to repay what they have taken. Your majesty, it is in your hands. Only you can help us”.
“Yes, I will look after this”.

The news spread like fire. It shocked everybody in the village. It spread to other villages. Rage and emotion filled everyone’s hearts. For the first time everyone mourned together. From far and wide, people came to see the dreaded scene. Slowly, the king arrived. Tears poured form his eyes. He never knew the situation had become this worse. He saw all the villagers that had assembled there bewailing and filled with grievances. The king returned back and summoned his minister immediately. His eyes were pouring out fire. The minister knew about this in the early hours itself.
“Minister, today I saw four bodies hanging on a tree; a father, mother and two children. This is the first time in my life that such a dreadful thing occurred in a part of my land. And it’s all because of your economic modernisation. Now listen to me. I want to meet those traders. We all will repay their debts. I have decided to save our farmers. We are going to implement cooperative farming. Irrespective of the land whether it belongs to them or me, our farmers together in a cooperative style of functioning will do the cultivation as directed and managed by us. We will then pay their debts and what we have borrowed from the traders. This procedure should be implemented with immediate effect”.

This came as a big blow to the traders. People now completely aware, that it was their honourable king asking them to cultivate, took up their fresh duties with utmost sincerity. Together they worked with fresh rains pouring in as a blessing in disguise. Traders were not all happy for they lost their chance of slowly occupying the parts of the land. They complained to the minister and offered him plenty a reward including the kingdom, if he was successful in halting the king’s evolution. Every field had its own style of product. Some had banana, while some was filled with cardamom. At the end of an agricultural cycle, king directly bought the cultivated products from the people and gave them their share. The rest he showered it on the traders. He kept a small share to feed his army and men. But this did not satisfy the minister, for he found the treasury not catching up to his hidden expectations and agenda.

King was in his jovial mood when the minister came in. The minister was not that delighted to find the majesty happy after quite a long time.
“Minister, from this year onwards we are going to conduct a cooperative market policy too. In fact we don’t have to distribute the materials they are cultivating to them. Rather, those who sow should reap. This market policy will be substantiated and later thoroughly implemented with proper guidance as soon as the harvest season begins. People from any part of the world can come and sell their products and buy what they want in the most reasonable configuration. We should make sure that no farmer who produce gets cheated. This will meet the requirements of the most ordinary man. We will be able to adopt a system where people can cultivate and sell for their way of living. And as for us, since you are bothered too much of our treasury, those people coming from outside our provinces, to sell and buy, should be charged. And I am directly responsible for any farmer who gets cheated “.
The minister was completely speechless.

One fine day, there were a group of men who had come to see the minister.
“Minister, we have heard of you and your modernisation programmes. The traders who had been here have not come merely with the intention of trading alone. They are king Indr’s special force assigned to topple mahabali. They have told me about a reasonable share they used to give you for your explicit support. King Indr has all his minds set on this land. In fact there is a no way out for your king. If you stand with us we will unite and you shall be given this kingdom as such a present. Now the new market innovations implemented immaculately by your king is infiltrating into the minds of our people too. We should not let this market reforms to be a success. We should make some provisions to disrupt his experimentation. With the peoples support, your king is having, we find it very difficult to move into this territory. You should sort a way out”.

The minister was galloping his horse through the village. There was just one day left for the majesty’s glorified market to become a reality. Suddenly, he stopped in front of a house. It was a very small hut with palm leaves not fully laid on the roof. But he was surprised to see a lemon that was growing in front of the house. It was not an ordinary lemon. It was something bigger, something as the size of a jackfruit.
“Anybody inside”
A lady came outside. She was not delighted to see the minister especially when she found his eyes feasting on the lemon.
“My name is adity. This is my son’s labour. His name is vamanan. My husband, a Brahmin, filled with reverence and sycophancy for the king went into the war. He was killed in the battle. Vamanan used to daily water this lemon as a reminiscence of his father. He loves it very much and considers this most auspicious to serve his father”.
The minister reached his court and summoned some soldiers.
“On the last day of the market, you have to go to a nearby village. There you will find a small hut with a huge peculiar lemon growing in front of it. Tell the lady it’s for the king and give her a few grains in return, just the price for an ordinary lemon”.
The minister was scrubbing his hands to and fro for he knew his majesty’s love for children.


PART III

People started pouring in on the opening day of the market. There were people coming from far and wide too. The king had sent his messengers to different territories to ensure the success of his new innovation and make his market acquainted with the people. He was present at the venue when the first ray from the sun had hit the earth so as to completely envision the proceedings right under his nose. Ladies and children also had their agricultural commodities and in turn were able to satiate their requirements. Gaiety and contentment filled the premises except for the minister who stood at the entrance welcoming the people with a cold smile. An open field was divided into four zones based on the professional distinctions. The first zone, the largest and most wide spread consisted of the farmers. There were stalls with the roofs covered by the palm leaves and the banana leaves. The king was present near the grain stall which had the maximum rush. While the second zone comprised of potters and artisans who did the exchange for food materials. The third zone comprised of toys made of clay specially designed for the children. The soldiers who were at the entrance were given strict orders to let only children through. The fourth zone was made for people who had come to sell their products from outside the territory. The king had given the charge of this zone to his minister, to ensure that the treasury keeps running.

The first three days went smoothly. The trading came to a halt only at the sunset. A few stalls continued even after the sunset to meet the demand. The king had arranged the accommodation for the people, who were assigned in the stalls and bestowed with other duties in the market area, in the make shift tents near the field. The astrologer’s prediction was true for it never rained all the three days. The king on his return to the court was explicitly happy.
“Minister, just one day more for this event to go. After that, I will be the most revered king in this world for I have the happiest people with me. I will make sure that everyone is equal not only in front of law but economically. There should be no more hunger in my kingdom. With my new innovations, I will displace all those traders and distribute my land among my people under our authorised control so that they could decide what to sow and what to sell”.
Minister laughed, but his mind was quivering at very thought of the next day.

“Please don’t take that away. My son loves it so much. When he comes back he will ask for it. I will have no answer then. It’s his love and care that has blossomed into such a large fruit”.
The mother’s plea did not reach their ears for they were given strict orders from the minister.
“Sorry, but we have received orders from his majesty. This lemon should go into the market today and should be kept for sale”.
With these words, they took the big lemon which almost required a man’s full vigour to lift it. Without saying a word, they kept a few grains in front of her house and left the scene as directed by the minister.

The last day of the market was particularly crowded. There was not a space to turn around in the field. The most crowded stall was that were the big lemon was kept. It was a beautiful sight to see the gigantic lemon among the ordinary small ones. In fact, the king was eager to see it too. He arrived at the stall as soon as he had been informed about an entirely special thing setting foot in the market.
“It’s extraordinarily beautiful. Let this be a prize. At the end of the day, the most hospitable stall will get this lemon as a reward”.
With these words, he took a sword and split the lemon into two, a cut straight through the middle.

No one might have noticed a small kid, about the age of five to seven, with his bare chest, a thread stringed on his body in a vertical manner, and a thick white cloth neatly folded around his waist reaching his legs, carrying an umbrella, like the most typical Brahmin. He had come there searching for something very important for his eyes was rapidly hunting for it, but the crowd there did not let him move through easily. He decided to meet the king with whom he was quite familiar due to the blind worship by his father. He found the king comfortably seated in one of the stalls with his subjects on his side resembling a yaga, which the Brahmins used to perform for sanctity.
“Your majesty, my name is Vamanan. I am looking for a lemon that has been the subject of conversation here and outside. I would like to verify whether it is mine”.
“Soldiers, please guide this kid to that counter where the lemon is kept. Let him examine it.”
The king thought it was the kid’s mere inquisitiveness that gave birth to that question.

Tears rolled form his eyes, as he saw his lemon, cut into two, the one that he had pampered, nourished, the one that remained a reminiscence of his father, and a last look at the fruit, he could see the very same position his father was on the ground when he was killed during the war. Immediately he rushed to the king, his eyes choking with rage and fury. The king saw him coming from a distance and ordered all his subjects to be silent.
“You are the most hated and wretched king in this world. First you took my father away from me, on the pretext of some war just to satisfy your greed, whom I loved more than my life. Now you took away my lemon which I used to nourish and pamper as a token of my love towards my father. How cruel of you. You deserve to be in the same comportment as my father and my lemon is now else the whole world will one day curse you for this”.

The king got to his feet. He looked at the minister, who kept his head down. With folded hands he went to Vamanan.
“I apologise; I really was unaware of it. But a crime committed is a crime and my law is same for everyone irrespective of who has committed it whether he is the king or his subjects. Minister, I order the royal executioner to have my head cut into two in the very same manner as I have done to his father’s reminiscence.”
Words poured out like thunder bolts from the king. Everyone was petrified. People started to look into each other’s faces completely shocked and amazed at what had been announced by the majesty himself. Ladies, with their children on their hips for a moment raised their hand to their mouth in order to hide their exasperation at the unexpected proclamation by their most revered figure after the lord. The trading stopped instantaneously. Everyone rushed to the zone, where the king was standing with a kid in front of him, looks of whose were quite divine and sacrosanct. The king with hands folded, as everyone watched, bent down touched the legs of vamana.
“Vamana, you are the most precious son a father can have and any son who loves his parents is the god himself. I humbly apologize for my misdeeds. But you should promise me one thing. When you grow up, you and your generations should keep the concept of equality among the people alive and make the people realise the importance of a tangible society where all are equal in front of god as well as the law. You should also keep this market alive once in a year so that the succeeding generations will know about me and I could look up from the skies on this day to see my beloved people happy. Hope you fulfil my promise.”
For a moment words from his father filled his heart for his father used to say that we have the most humble king in the world which was lucid from the manner with which he pleaded to him.
“I promise you your majesty. I promise”.

Years passed when in 1957, EMS Namboodiripad, another Brahmin, who levered a motion for the winds of equality in the land of the legendary king Mahabali and together with the people unanimously, gave a rousing reception to the king, the materialisation of our traditional Onam. Whether Mahabali, acknowledged as the king of the demons and the glorified Vamanan, an incarnation of Maha Vishnu, were portrayed with reverence, Mahabali’s vision of a sagacious society and equality among the people propelled the malayalees to insinuate the flames of socialism in Mahabali’s own Kerala.

Holidaying with the Karkkidakam Rains

The karkkidakam rains (the karkkidakam month is acknowledged as the age of scarcity according to Malayalam calendar) had a coruscating effect on me during my holidays in kerala. The rejuvenation, the rains perpetuated had metamorphosed my emotions ameliorating my nostalgia and provoking my childhood aspirations to wander outside as heavy drops came down incessantly thereby stamping a deluge on the nature’s voracity for the incumbent monsoons. From my window, I saw a plethora of emotions on the nature’s flora and fauna as they welcomed the rains, ranging from palpitation to frustration but abhorrence was unprecedently not prevalent. The sky was mobbed with black clouds occupying the vacant slots tenaciously. The normal matting of blue and white colours were nowhere to be seen rather than that dark blue was sketched throughout the vastness of the sky. Occasionally, the lethargic clouds kept moving out paving the way for the next batch of dark clouds but at times they stammered, refusing to move out thus making the rains intermittent in nature.

The musanda plant with its stretched leaves and camouflaging chivalry impinged an enthusiasm quite paramount as its petals infringed out from the clutches that had held it during its incipient stages emancipating itself and moving out freely into the open in search for healthier, refreshing air rather than stay benign and nuke the rains until the Mother Nature’s propounded demarcatisation. The rose that promulgated to be a catharsis as with the rest of the nature’s sumptuous creations, delivered a gamut of feelings, revelry with the first drop from the skies, the alacrity sinking to despair when it became aware that the rains have no intentions to stop as a result of which it was unable to evince its resplendence to the rest of the world. The kariveeti, tall and gigantic in its splendour, kept its head high so as not to miss even the miniscule drop that impounded from the skies. The kuttimulla, the prevaricating climber, made use of this opportunity, by entwining on to the bottom of the giant kariveeti salaciously aware that the giant had its minds completely fixed on the rain. The banana tree, with its huge greenish leaves wide open striking a resemblance to a statuette with its hands stretched and directed towards the sky with an emotional plead to the almighty as never to cease this auspicious moment of their life and to keep the rhythm of the pertinacious rains as such. Its fruit, ripe and delicious, were all set to invade the markets to pertain the tastes of the traditional festival that accompanied the karrikkidakam rains in the most extravagant manner.

What had been the source of livelihood for the millions residing in kerala, a symbol elucidating the state’s reticence and congeniality, standing tall, slim figured with its head bent at the top, the coconut trees looked tired and lousy to an extent that even the rains could not bring a respite to its melancholy thanks to the foreign imports that had inundated Indian markets which struck a nail on the fortunes, the last sort of replenishment for the most ordinary agricultural community. Even the rains, quite obtrusive at times, it seemed found it amusing to tease them fully aware of the dilapidated straits they were embattling with. The mangrove that stood near my house alluded a lackadaisical attitude as they were quite capricious in their response to the rains for they had to complete a full circle of seasons to be eventually fruitful.

Prithvi lay on the car porch staring outside, with the occasional nodding of his head and quivering of lips, hesitating and unable to make a decision as the incessant rains continued their heavy downpour. Unlike most other male cats of his age, he had a long and shrivelled body, with a pointed nose occupying the major portion of his small, but shrewd face. The rains had incarcerated him as he was not able to stray outside with his mates, to stroll and trundle in the neighbour’s lawn, to hide and seek around in other’s kitchen corridors so as not to miss the cussed yells from the owners, to flirt around with the female ones and prove to be the better one among the group, the heroism sometimes quite congruous with ubiquitous cries.. When his hunger bell strikes, he makes a foray into our kitchen with great élan, even the haphazardous rains proved to be no hindrance for him, as he obsesses everyone with his immensely pleading cries and the ultimate cattish cogent style of fondling; rubbing his body on other’s legs as his tail kept an upright position, a clear indication, in the most humble manner, that the time has come for the food to be served.

Pinky kept blinking her eyes which often kept sinking deep into her face as she witnessed the first monsoon in her life. An Adorable Pomeranian dog, just three months old, this karkidikkam monsoon bought to her tribulation and woes which included separation from her mom in the budding stages of her life and thus be denied the facets of motherly love, the lullaby and pampering, a mother showered on her child with. She cuddled around and lay on the floor mat looking out with perplexity in her eyes at the not so often thunder strokes paving way for seeds of doubt spiralling in her as who is attaining such intense pleasure by spraying the water from the top, the displeasure in her being obscure when she raised her eyes with all her might to a limit where her sight could reach, that was a trifle away from her ordinary gaze, an enchanting puzzle, the curiosity fading with the deterioration of the rains.

I could see a frustration in their eyes but still I was quite sure that they never hated the rains for all of them believed that these rains cleansed them from all the wretchedness that was self perpetuating in this world of today. As Beethoven had once said that the most enticing music to one’s ears would be the sound of the rain, which made me wonder whether Beethoven would have refuted his claim, had he been to this part of the world during this season. Due to the continuous rains, the roads in front of my house turned into small puddles, with people paddling to move over through it, buses all covered to avoid the water dripping over to its passengers never bothered to slow down at theses puddles thereby splashing the water on to the people who prefer moving on their feet amid the rains, snakes losing their routine alleyways preferring not to even stick their heads out of their holes, the squirrels already prepared for the monsoon onslaught equipping their stores with provisions to last the full karkkidakkam month, and finally the old lady staying aloof who used to walk to the bus stop with her vanity on her shoulder gently pulling up her sari to avoid it getting strained and an umbrella stretched above her head. The karrkidikkam rains found it amusing that every time she unfolds her umbrella when the rain halts, so that she could balance her loosely held vanity in one hand and pull up her well groomed sari with the other, they come down surreptitiously, fully redeemed, much to the dismay of the lady but a delight to the onlookers; not because they hated her but for her massive yells at the rains.

Shereen Vijayan Kottikkal

VIDHARBHA WOES

{This poem is a dedication to the cotton growing farmers of Vidharba, who were inundated by the natures fury that forced them to take loans which in connivance with the droughts further intensified their troubles until they found an arduous way out of this cursed circle of life….}

I did not see the monsoons;
I only saw the drought;
I saw the tree in front;
I found its branches long and twirled;

The cottons on which I cashed all my wealth,
Left me in dire straits gasping for its health;
That sent me in search for those vultures,
Who were willing to lend me for all my overtures;
I found in them the panacea for my misfortunes,
With a hope on the monsoons to deliver me good fortunes;
But as the days and nights came and went,
The debts usurped me leaving no vent;
I knew the rains had cheated me mercilessly;
Letting all the crops die down meticulously;
My hopes were dashed and my longings drained,
As the besotted relation with the vultures strained;
Those who used to come for their votes and funds,
Comforted me by showing the nations sordid trends;
They evinced for me curses on globalization,
But not even the slightest they were bothered of my demarcation;
I stood still as the world revolved around,
As the incessant vultures intensified their hound;

I found the tree in front,
With its branches resembling fingers blunt;
But I saw on it a curled rope,
That only remained my last thread of hope.

Shereen Vijayan Kottikkal

CAMPUS BLUES-1

{Today is karrikadakam 1, the moth of scarcity according to the calendars. Heavy rains pouring in and the scenic landscapes outside left me completely stupefied as my mind pondered on a rollicking journey through the twilight zone of my life. Yes the campus life…..}

It was not the first time I made this mistake. It was quite normal and most customary for me to commit the same over and over again. During my campus life, I found this my trade mark or most ostentatiously, one more episode went unnoticed, the most affirmative aptitude I presume had branched during my resplendent years of college life. When looking all over again, I wondered was not anyone of my professors frustrated at the flamboyancy I redeemed when they ran through that episode again and again. Or were they inured to my exhibitionism as they kept swiveling at times when I really stood on the dead end? How I entrenched a popular belief that professors are divine when it comes in equipping the most notorious students with a meticulous laxative disbursing their innocuous prudence.

Monday, the first day of the week usually was precedent. Sundays usually were entertaining redressing the stilt lifestyle carried out throughout the week. Games, partying remained the facets of the most ordinary Sundays, the imperturbable modulation only when a new movie had released in the nearby theatres. All the days work and sleepless Sunday nights resulted in cussed mornings. But surprisingly I was never late for the early university bell. Its not that I believed in early bird catches the worm but rather it was a hypothesis that only the early bird could occupy the last benches of the class before any incursions. Hiding in remote corners of the class room especially during the foot note long lecture hours remained a serene objective that was propelled from sheer boredom. Thus Once again it was the most usual Monday morning.

The class rooms, post the eight thirty bell, were tumultuous till the concerned professor steps in. Chats, chirps, yawns filled the air that stroke a hard resemblance to a market place especially on the opening day of the week. Romance, gossips, wean others on new subjects, film reviews and issues of peripheral importance found space in our discussions owing to the fact that we were off the college for an entire two days. On the contrary, the professors too had a lot to share as they prefer commencing the opening session only after a 15 minute interval after the university bell.

I was as usual the first to reach the class. Our department was on the topmost floor of the three storey building and there was a long flight of steps ascending to the classes. The ascent was a lethargic activity which really sucked up our entire ardor. Many a times I had pleaded to the college authorities to shift the lecture rooms of the other departments through the floors so that the others also enjoyed the hectic journey upstairs. But it always fell on deaf ears. I opened the door gingerly, so as not to disturb the ones who had been there before me by chance and that I don’t break their peaceful slumbers. The room was empty.

The lecture rooms were all similar. There was the raised dais and a meter long black board attached on the wall facing the benches and the chairs. On to the side of the blackboard was a cemented drawer entwined to it where the lecturers used to keep their dusters and chalks during their hour long lecture sessions. Being a professional college, there was a single bench and chair for each student, the bench and the chair were conjoined that instigated an insignia of peaceful slumber on it thanks to its specific design. I rushed to my most favorite seat, the one that was next to the window from where I could gaze at the trees outside, feel the breeze and bore no exhilarations during the sessions and no discomfiture for the professors.

As I sat on the chair impetuously, I noticed outside a few friends of mine standing next to the college hostel, the most appalling and contemptible locus in the college. I looked on to my watch that was gifted to me only a few weeks back but had already started showing signs of weariness and slowing down at certain times. I had one full hour before the university bell which made my heart beat in trepidation. Being the opening day of the week, there were a lot of assignments that had to be submitted before the first session. But drowsiness had preoccupied me, and I felt being pulled into a deep sleep. Late night film and ample time for the university bell envisaged my thoughts as I kept my head on the bench and positioned myself for a deep reverie.

I woke up to find a lot of fresh faces with their eyes bulging out, with smiles and howls surrounded on all my side. As I ran my eyes sturdily on them, a familiar face eased my tension that rose to an all time high which was enough to keep a pot boiling. It was my professor and his sturdy look was more than enough for me to grasp the situation I was entangled in. I got up, took a stretched yawn, smiled at my professor and slowly walked out of the room. I was quite happy that the last time I slept in a different room conceiving it to be the one where I had to spend that day; I woke up to find a different professor; But really it was a travesty of my enthusiasm in being the early bird to catch the worm although the worm i dont think is a matter of big concern.

Shereen Vijayan Kottikkal

Kerala Social Center

{The contents of this article are obtained from various PRAVASI magazines issued by Kerala Social Center during the last decade. Any erroneous information is regretted}

The year 1997 is a turning point in history. As India celebrates 50 years of its independence and liberation from foreign intervention, the Malayalee society of Abu Dhabi tantamount to this event is celebrating 25 glorious years of the formation of Kerala Social Center.

Kerala Social Center has been a substantial element not only for the Malayalee society but for the entire Indian Community residing in the U.A.E. The contribution ranges from the impetus for the formation of an Indian School in the Middle East to inspiring the Indian government for the formation of separate foreign affairs cell to look into the conditions of Malayalee citizens residing outside the country. From a mere literary cultural organization, Kerala Social Center has ascended to a status of organization representing the entire malayalee civilization residing in U.A.E during its three decades of its existence.

The exodus of the Malayalee community into the Middle East began in the early 1960’s.
Hardworking, full of confidence and daring, the malayalees arriving in the Middle East were also culturally sophisticated. Working alone was not sufficient for the subsistence of life but entertainment and knowledge had its priority was recognized by a group of civilized individuals thereby nourishing and pampering this organization to move forward in spite of all the difficulties. Thus Kerala Social Center kept high the morals and standards of a magnificent socio-cultural organization becoming a symbol of the cultural evolution due to the dedication and contribution of its members. The proposal for a separate building for the organization to organize and schedule its work was thus born and its initial plans had already started being implemented.
The Center started building its new complex in 1994 during the month of June with an initial sum not even a quarter of the estimated proposal. But the realization of a much awaited dream, a separate complex for the Center, remained the sole motto for its hardcore sincere and dedicated members as a result of which a lot of external aid from various groups poured in thereby the fulfillment of this dream became a reality. Thus on 1995 November 19, a renovated KSC had started functioning days before the announced date. On November 22, 1996 the then Honorable Chief Minister Shri E.K Nayannar inaugurated the complex. Thus a new K.S.C was born.Kerala Social Center had played a pivotal role during the Gulf war in 1991, during the public pardon in 1996 and thereby establishing its diplomacy during the three decades of its establishment. Located in the centre of Abu Dhabi city with an estimated amount over one and a half crore Indian rupees ,with an auditorium that could accommodate more than 1500 people, a newspaper reading room, a library, a mini auditorium housing more than 500 people are some of the characteristics of this organization. Along with the religious festivals, Kerala Social Center has always been active throughout the year through various modes which includes arrival of political and cultural leaders form Kerala, music concerts, dance festivals and so on. Thus, Kerala Social Center has become a backbone for the political and culturally informed Malayalee community residing in Abu Dhabi

THE MEMOIRS OF THE SKY: A Short Story

PART I

I am an orphan. The Almighty might had just a feasible intention when he created me, a house to the stars, the moon and the sun. But later he had given me a responsibility or a conscientiousness that gave me the privilege of being a domicile to his creations. Now I decide even their destiny. When I feel its enough with the sun’s ordeal, I shoo him away. I move the clouds to him, I ask them to rain. I sketch the path of the moon. I give the wind the command to bluster .I like to see the creatures down on the earth, another of the almighty’s pernickety creations that always look up on to me at times with folded hands too. Thus the entire circle is dictated by me. I always felt proud of my splendor when I notice my reflection in the sea below. I viewed the joy and excitation of the creatures as they welcome the rains with penury of emotions and sometimes I wonder why they never are happy when I bestow them with even bigger showers. But I always felt lonely. In fact loneliness had crippled me or rather deprived me of the senses to cheer up even being an impediment in my relation with the Moon, my lonesome companion. He was the only one who used to be merriment for me unlike the rest who had more interest in counseling me on my significance and on my writhing practices especially when I amuse others with the clouds. I linger heedlessly to his advice which really falls on my deaf ears. I am really a spoiled braggart. All these stars, who gossip and giggle throughout until they wear out, the sun, who was the most conceited affiliate of the almighty’s creations, and of course my dearest friend, the moon , the only one who took regular intervals to inquire me of my well being , remained my world, my countenance until the most auspicious moment I fell in love.

It was as usual. The sun had just left after his pompous performance and the moon was in his most jovial mood, exemplifying his entire smile. He was singing some old folk songs too exasperating for me. Human beings, birds animals, plants were all enjoying a sound sleep. I perceived them all on the planet. A tree that stood on a remote field had caught my attention. There was a nest on the tree. I saw the female feed its chicks. All of a sudden, the female bird had started to shriek and was alerting about something to its male counterpart .A snake had crawled on to the tree. The he-bird was now swiveling around the tree and had tried to attack the snake on its head but in vain. The she-bird had moved closer to her chicks and covered them all beneath her feather. The snake was ascending up. The He bird made some taunting attempts to shield its dear ones. The snake had kept its jaws wide open and was countering the he-bird’s trivial assault. But when the He bird found that the nest now remained in close proximity to the prowler it had made a cavernous aggression. But it met with little success. The prowler grasped the bird on its neck and had gulped it instantaneously. The he bird was dead. By then, the she bird had recognized the colossal task to protect her dear ones from the intruder lied solely on her; she made a scurrying attack on the reptile. But the reptile was too good for her. The reptile had then moved its head into the nest while the she bird was screaming and attacking on its rear. One by one it had begun regaling the chicks while the female bird moved around, vulnerably. This was nature’s law. The fittest of the fittest survives. The reptile who had been feasting on the chicks, now turned towards the she bird. One last attempt to impair the reptile had landed her into its jaws. The she bird’s endeavor to protect her dear ones had failed. She too became a prey for the giant reptile. After a hearty meal and the most triumphant sensation, the snake slowly and steadily descended the tree. It then went to its hole. I did not notice the snake’s alleyway because my mind had suddenly raised certain serious concerns to the almighty on his creations. Why were the stronger ones always victorious? If so would not that bring an end to the weaker ones? There would be a time when the brawny duels the brawnier ones. What would be the aftermath of that? The nature had a set governing aspects that distributes and formulates into various forms of life, the most important being the food chain; a definition to the subsistence of the living beings on Earth. The technique of production of the living beings on Earth is based on a pyramid that was devised from the food chain concept. Will this existing mechanism ever spin out of control? I looked at the tree. I had noticed something moving beneath the tree among the bushes. Another snake might be prowling around in the night desperate to quench its hunger. But it was something diminutive. It was a small chick. Oh my god, yes it was the very one among the set devoured by the reptile. But how did it manage to escape this healthy? I did not know what the almighty had in store for him.

It might have been aroused from self respect or a pity on that creatures destiny to survive when all of its siblings and its parents had met such an ill fated end or a mutual affiliation, a synonymous feeling towards ones own kind (the bird too is an orphan), a specific interest grew in me for him. I asked the moon to leave and was waiting for the sun, seeing the helpless situation he had to endure; I made arrangements in accordance with his stipulation. I made sure not a single leaf moved. I calmed the winds down and had ensured warmth for him to survive until the arrival of the sun. That remained the only ray of hope for his survival. I decided to recite one of my all time favorite that would add a gratification to the tenderness.

"The sky would give you the due
That you always held for cue
The sky would be there for you
In your heart always for no rue"

The sun had come .I looked at my bird. He was safe and sound. He was in his slumber .I glanced around his vicinity. To my dismay, I saw a cat that was heading towards him. On the other side I saw a human being. He was carrying a big black sort of stick with feathers directed towards the sun, as a sort of shield for protection. Human beings or as such man, according to me was the Almighty’s most vivacious creations. The concept of free will symbolizing radicalism and the ambiguity in the thoughts contemporizing the endowment, God had bestowed man with. Compassion and brutality both are the perpendicular aspects of man which was in connivance to the hypothesis that materializes the survival of God’s creations. I wondered what feeling would stimulate in the man once I was able to dictate him to the bird. On the other end, the cat was approaching closer. I decided to make my move. I blew. The stick lost control from the man’s hand. It fell near my bird. The man ran back of it. The cat which was drawing nearer to my bird stood still at the sight of man .It then diverted its path. The man regained his stick. All of a sudden he stood still. Now there was the prevaricating situation engulfed by the virtue of human notion. Will he be kind enough to take my bird? He did not keep me guessing. Rather after a brief pause, went closer to my bird. He had picked it up in his hand and walked by. He kept the black stick like thing over his head. I moved the clouds around the sun.

PART II

He looked sullen and gloomy in the cage; the only moments of contentment was when the man used to feed him. When the sun was up he used to remain morose. Moon always brought him siesta sort of attitude. Sometimes he used to stare at his look-alikes who were having a wonderful time outside. He might also have the longing and interest to fly around, sing aloud like them and rummage around for his near and dear ones. Loneliness according to me was not a feeling but a curse, or a blatant numbness sort of attitude that recklessly slaughters your personality and attitude. It always would play with your inner sense succumbed to malevolence. Probably, Loneliness remained the most ferocious of all the abhorrent emotions that had been cultivated in the Almighty’s creations. I really could grasp the mentality of him, the horrendous situation he was engulfed in. I watched him as the sun and the moon came and went. He was growing big. He was learning fast the modes of survival too. He now knew the songs like his mates. He was all set to scavenge the wilderness. I decided to give him his freedom, his prerogative for existence.

The sun was going down. The moon was already on his way. I moved the clouds and I moved the wind. The cage which was adjoined to the man’s house started shaking. The cage busted away. It was caught in between two trees that stood in front of the house. Now I had to tear apart the trees. With all my might I blew the wind. The trees swept away; the force that was developed by the trees broke the cage and had split it apart. The bird was free. The trees went and hit the house sturdily and had demolished a part of it. I never cared; neither did I care about its dwellers for I saw my bird had already started flying in the direction of the wind. I slowed the winds .This made his flight more comfortable. The scent of fresh air and the spirit of freedom had preoccupied him and he scurried into the wilderness.

The sun and moon came and went, I never bothered. I forgot to shoo the winds at times, for my mind was transfixed on him. He was lovely and flew with paramount confidence. His songs enlightened all and sundry around him and at certain times I had felt myself being carried away by his songs.

"It’s a beautiful world, the sun and the moon
The presence of them makes me goon
I like to fly around with all the might
So that I don’t want to be like him to miss the sight

These are my dreams, these are my hope
For I find this wonderland at the top
This is the world I wanna shower my love
As I wish to keep my hum always on the move"

His songs had gripped me. It reverberated in my heart. His songs breathed a new life in me. They were not just songs for me, but my dreams, my aspirations. His songs occupied the cornerstone of my heart and had started to juggle my emotions. I made the winds lighter for him, covered the sun unnecessarily. I made the sun stay longer for him to fly around. I followed him as he flew from one tree to another. By that time I had realized that I loved him more than any other Almighty’s creations.

I wished to be the tree on which he used to sit and sing verses with the intention of brightening others and dusting off the prevailing tedium. I wished to be the flower from which he used to quench his hunger incessantly. I wished to be the wind so that I could feel and experience the warmth of his wings. I wished to be a bird for accompanying him throughout his life. I loved him very much. But there was the much conceited seed of doubt in me. Did he reciprocate that feeling? He had the answer for me.

Once when the sun was up, I saw him sitting on a tree top singing quite emotionally. After a few nodes, suddenly there was another humming. A bird of his same statuette came and sat alongside him. She had started singing too but with a romantic comportment.

"Love is all that I can feel
When you come beside me and kneel.
Deep in my heart I give you a place
From where you can set it in pace

Never say my love is for hire
For that will pull me into the fire
Wherever you go I will follow
Even if u grip my hand into the jungles of hollow"

This was not foreordained. It was indeed the most customary episode of life. I knew that they were in love. Their eyes refused to take leave even for a moment. Their songs were divine and their frequencies matched gorgeously. They began to roam around and bore a big resemblance to the birds that had attained their much awaited sovereignty. Their intimacy grew on a meticulous scale and when it had reached a point of no return they decided to get married. Although I had a thumping in my heart, I felt very happy. At least he was not lonely anymore.

The tree stood tall in the scorching sun and had inscribed the insignia of love and bliss on it. All the birds nearby, far and away had gathered there. Everyone was chirping, singing and laughing with such contentment and glee that it had spread an aroma of peace and happiness throughout the premises. I took a quick look at all of them and had spotted him amidst thousands who had assembled on the tree to be a part of the most significant event of his life. He along with his fiancé had garnered accolades as the most perfect host for the guests as they sang throughout with a few occasional breaks to accommodate everyone’s’ laughter. I was happy too for I had acquaintance with loneliness much more than anyone could even imagine about.

I looked at the tree. Suddenly, in the most casual manner, I caught hold of a lightning I flashed it into the tree. It did set ablaze the tree instantly. With all my might I blew the winds. I did not look at the sun. I had caught hold of another lightning and then one by one by I hurled it at the tree. The chirping had stopped and the shrieks filled the air that sounded more musical to me. The fire extended to the surrounding regions vigorously. I covered the sun with the clouds. I did not want to see him for I was waiting for the moon .I had a lot to tell him this time.



Shereen Vijayan Kottikkal

Indian Budget 2007

1. INDIAN BUDGET 2007
   
   Some points suggested by our finance minister during the budget presentation in February
   
   Tax rate of foreign companies may be lower in order to bring them on par with India Inc. (15.02.07)
   
   The import duty on cut and polished diamonds (CPDs) and gemstones may be abolished. (13.02.07)
   
   Corporate tax may come down in this budget by 3% either through abolition of 10% surcharge or by reduction of corporate tax from the existing level of 30%.
   
   Finance Minister may scrap 120 central sector schemes in the 11th Five Year Plan
   
   Some Valuable suggestions in the budget
   
   Custom duty on machinery imports for the sectors such as leather, footwear, textiles & clothing and sports goods will be reduced
   
   • Short-term capital gains tax on stocks may go up to 15%.Finance Minister has also put additional burden on taxpayers investing in stock markets by raising dividend distribution tax from 12.5 per cent to 15 per cent( he ought to have introduced the securities tax so as to avoid the sudden ups and downs of the stock market)
   
   Chidambaram added that additional irrigation potential of 24 lakh hectares to be implemented, including nine lakh hectares under Accelerated Irrigation Benefit Programme
   
   • There is a possibility of the minimum alternate tax (MAT) to come in for some structural change in the Budget. This is to expand the scope of tax that is currently applicable on certain zero-tax companies( mainly IT). It will cover units taking benefits of the STPI( special tax exemption scheme) scheme in order to bring big IT companies into the tax net. Although NASCOMM has recommended chidambaram to give another 10 yrs for the IT comps (not in SEZ) to move around without tax concerns as they pointed out the rising power of China in this industry, FM was adamant that there should be a halt to this.
   
   
   
   Features
   
   No proposal for strengthening the public distribution system. As the price rises continue to go up, chidambaram says all these recent developments indirectly leads to price rise which is running away from the basic facets of economics.
   
   In spite of the petrol and diesel price coming down on the world market, but India market is unable to absorb the global scenario as there are no provisions for steadying the price of petrol and diesel. The government should also take steps to control these sudden fluctuations in the world market by proposing a price system that would last for these fuels throughout the year.
   
   There is no mention about the food corporation of India (FCI) which should be strengthened to meet the demands of the population. The food grains are being imported at cheaper prices, leaving the farmers in penury and the produced food grains are accumulating in the hands of corporates leading t high prices of these essential commodities.
   
   The rules and regulations related to special economic zones are to be modified. The occupants of the region set aside for the special economic zones should be either guaranteed an employment in that zone or they should be a share holder of the particular zone along with the government suggestion of an alternative habitat. Moreover the companies will come under the tax rules in 5 years and not 10 years as suggested by the government for being tax free.
   
   The prevaricating minds of the investors as sudden withdrawal and investment of the national bonds can be dealt seriously by the government by issuing a specific security tax for these stock market bonds.
   
   Corporate tax should be raised and this should be converted to grama and panchayat developmental projects.
   
   The government should give room to alternate loan facilitators especially certain banks associated with countries like Canada or latin American oil rich countries willing to invest in India. ADB, Japan bank and others should not be the only solution for infrastructure or sewage projects.
   
   The price stabilisation of certain basic crops should be a matter of concern for the government as subsidies should not only be awarded to cash crops and the farmers belong to crash crop cultivation community should not alone be promoted.
   
   The finance minister should have firmly taken a stance against the NASCOMM proposal for the IT companies remain zero tax companies for another 10 yrs rather than the introduction of a minimum alternate tax proposal suggested by him.
   
   The proposal and the drawbacks of the employment guarantee scheme is to be submitted so as to include modifications for a full scale effective launching of the scheme.

Surfing Love

Jen: Hi it’s me…How r u?
Sam: I am fine….Where were u all this HOURS?
Jen: Had something to do…
Sam: I wish to say u something..
Jen: What!!
Sam: I wish to be with u throughout.. would like to always be with uuuuuu..
Jen: Why???
Sam: Bcoz I lov u..
Jen: me too..when do we meet??

The romance behind the screen, the proposal through the pixels. The 21st century is ravishing with a hallucination of vivacious ideas the most prominent among it is the pixel romance. A few love notes( shakespeares or Austen’s) a few nodes is more than enough to eclipse one’s heart with this emotion that has an origin even before the very concept of civilization had its subsistence..Love.
Philosophers have often quoted love as the subject that pursues the highest capacity of mans thinking. Rationalism, idealism all had its derivation in love. Love is above all the gift of oneself. Love has it patience and kindness, simplicity and authenticity but never pride and prejudice. The words that pour out from your heart when you express your love carries with it a subjugation and later a liberation of the very soul that has pampered this emotion right when the cry for your recognition is delivered from the cradle. This era has rewritten the entire concept of love or are we becoming blind with a string of illusions to lead the way through the darkness makes us feel is more than sufficient??
Words do convey, smiles do perpetuate, Talks do resonate but the credibility of that emotion its sanctity and divinity lies solely in ones eyes. Scientifically we see a lightning before the sound of the thunder. Well as philosophy puts it lets take it the other way round. Before our ears or our mouth reacts to the thunder our eyes would have already responded. The concept of vision or predominance of eyes can be quiet useful even to detect the last moments of your life. The conformity of ones death would be announced only after ones eyes comes to rest. Thus naturally a doubt arises ; Without reading ones eyes , without acknowledging ones gaze how does our brain instigate or open the doors of Love.
With cams revolutionizing internet, the pixel romance has also transfigured from mere words through pixels to expressing advertently with actions. But does it really inspires or immunizes your inner self to tally love without catching his/her sparkling gaze that really sends you tingles as one said might be love or might be confined to chicken pox for you cannot hide your eyes in search of the truth that you wish to decipher. Eyes definitely lies but only after presenting the certainty. Your eyes will point out your devotion, your anger, your admiration, your friendliness, your happiness and most conspicuously your Love for love stands completely odd and should not be compared in par with the rest of emotions.
The next time you are in a party or a crowd, keep moving your eyes when definitely you will strike a gaze which will have an impact you might have dreamed of, or which might have a force to pull you or which might have a feeling in that all these years you were waiting for this moment of your life …Believe me then you are love at first sight……..



Shereen Vijayan Kottikkal

Dear Diary

Dear Diary,
It was evening 4:30 pm. As usual my mother had begun her garden hobnobbing and my sis her routine law embalming (being a law student, she had the practice of reading out Indian penal codes and revising it all over again). I decided to go to the temple, a little bit of prayers i believe would yield good result.........I was there .Temple resembled an archaeological monument with it’s astute workmanship, dazzling in the setting sun .The Temple had its virtue embedded in political History. Kerala’s cultural Historians enlighten the tale of a lady who in spite years of her marriage was unable to conceive. On a saints advice she had come to oorakkam (the place where this particular temple stands) from her remote habitation and went fasting here for months, solemnizing Lord Shiva. On due course, karkiddaka masam (a month associated with the monsoons in Kerala) a karim pooyam naal (the 8th star according to the astrological calendars) she gave birth to a baby boy who later was a very predominant king in Kerala’s political anecdote. The awesome, fiery Shaktan Thampuran was thus born (taking a lenient look in Kerala’s History, this particular king was acknowledged as the Father of Thrissur Pooram, a festival marked by the display of 30 elephants in their most resplendent attire and a gala of events preceding it symbolizing a cultural feud between the deities).
I parked my vehicle outside.
Well i checked out the premises to spot out any familiar faces. Well i did find thirumeni (the temple priest) moving around quite fast with a small pot of water, carrying it inside. Prayers and religious rites definitely need a real definition at least a precision on the format they are undergone, according to me. I moved closer to the temple .I stood with my hands folded in devotion my eyes drooping but transfixed on to the roof of the temple and uttered a few religious doggerels .This sacrosanct performance was not propelled out from sheer devotion but it was an obligatory call to the Lord to acknowledge him my presence there ,a practice which i had followed since childhood.
i decided to get inside when a familiar face slowed my pace Being my dads good friend ,i enjoyed a good rapport with Valsan uncle. Either he had completed his religious rituals and came from the temple or i was unaware of his presence there .My consciousness brightened at my concentrating aptitude .Usually my prayers used to be carried away by trivial matters especially about my exams or the people present around but this time a fief of devotion did grip me .i gave him a warm smile. He reciprocated; inquired about my dad and told me to proceed on .I went inside.
I had the usual procedure of a chitchat conversation with thirumeni before i had begun with my normal customary prayers. But he was not inside the inviolable room where the idol depicting lord was kept. I did feel a little uneasy as this had been my usual practice.
Thirumeni was an incomparable, vivacious personality .Not just succumbed to ordinary religious doctrines like the common temple priests,
Thirumeni had his miscellaneous outlook on every day to day (polemical or non) events .A short man with a shrewd smile, his chest bending over every time a smile pops out , camouflaging a sundry and perceptive knowledge base promulgated often to certain signified worshippers, me being one among them . i personally adored him .We used to talk on vivid range of matters which included even politics. Just imagine politics being a bone of contention in the temple premises. It was he enjoyed that conversation too .A uneasiness did grip me, a sort of anomaly.

I looked around for him. Not in sight. Some where inside.. i was looking around when two amiable smiles greeted me..Anju, Valsan uncle’s daughter and her sister Ammu .i knew them from childhood.
I used to come across Ammu often either cuddled up back on her fathers' kinetic or at the bus stop with her school bag which weighs almost as her. I had always remained bewildered by the quantity of books children used to carry which almost resembled hard earning potters...but its been years since i have seen Anju ,the last time during one of my semester vacation ...Time had changed her too .She now
possessed a full fledged smile unlike the past and kept to herself an aroma of the eldest in the family. Her spectacle enveloped eyes refused to sideline itself from her perpetual smile. The way she guided her sister
a clearly personified the leverage and pragmatism proliferated in her during the times . Well i did gracefully acknowledge their smile.

I stood in front of the Lord. I kept my eyes closed but my mind was wandering. Clouds, isn’t the one we see today the one we see tomorrow? or is it different ...that’s why we use the synonym passing clouds....Not a
single cloud would emancipate itself from its allotted natural duration to emboss, relieve the world once its done with it's chore .periodic action .if I am the world and then the clouds are the faces that move in
and out intermittently then the wind of course would be the scales of fate ardent enough to orchestrate the clouds to new a destination thereby tantalizing the world ,a mere spectator to these sequence of events. ......
all these thoughts ran in my mind ..

.i looked at Anju ...she gave me a warm smile again. .i reciprocated.. i prayed .. bowed came outside the temple...i looked up into the sky...
it was a clear sky getting dark...the sun had just set. Far in the dim light, i spotted a solitary cloud ...it had just greeted the world and was waiting for the winds to guide it never to turn back.... ......

Shereen Vijayan Kottikkal