Friends and Ships

“Are you mad at her?”

I gave him a look, “yes, I am. How did you know?”
I hadn’t made it THAT explicit. I never do anyway.

“We were talking about it yesterday. Why?” he asked again.
I never get mad. I’m the always-smiling one. I don’t get angry.
Perhaps I’m not human either.

I shook my head, “They need to know that themselves. I want them to understand why. At least they got the hint now.”

“You’re… you’re a character.”

I laugh with grief.

They’re there, I wanted to say, they’re there to talk about Silly dramas. They’re there to talk about Homework and Dances. Boys and Girls. High school, College. Parents and Rules. Movies and Music. He Said That and She Said This. But not now. Not for This, the death of silliness.

Yes, I am mad. Because my mom thinks she’s dying. Because my dad is overstressed and overworked. Because my sister is burning inside. Because my family is now a play of sorts, that even Shakespeare would hate to pen. And because, because I feel alone, stranded in a place where future and present collide, slipping on either ends. And I am an actress too, molded into a character I do not want to be. All smiles and no play. Made-up, dolled and alone.

Friends, a figment of my imagination.
I’d have been there for you. Why aren’t you here for me? Why can’t I talk to you? Why can’t you listen? Is this what friendship means?

In that case, I abhor that too.

 

 

———————————————————————————————

“Perhaps this is just punishment for those who have been heartless, to understand only when nothing can be undone.”
— Khaled Hosseini (A Thousand Splendid Suns)

Where crowns lose their sparkle..

So recently, I participated in this Thing (that shall not be named as I do not want this to show up in search results). It was  a multicultural pageant with girls from lots of different nations. Obviously, I represented India and there were twenty-ish other girls. Oddly enough, I was crowned. (To be more detailed, my final question was about who my role model is- Indira Gandhi all the way!)

as she lies There..

Blue. Green. Tubes through flesh. Wires through floors. Rectangular worlds with curtained borders. My first look at the Intensive Care Unit. The nurse was excitedly trying to explain every detail of the ward to me, struggling to tie the few English words she knows with some sign language. She was laughing at her own mistakes and I couldn’t help but smile at her innocent disposition.

She took me near an old man, with a million deep lines in his skin and tons of clear tubes through his body.

A step.. forward?

I put a link to my last post on my facebook (aka under my real name!). It’s a pretty scary thought.. well, not really. I was just trying to make it dramatic. I did delete a few old posts and change up a few others too though. Just in case, you know. With anonymity comes freedom; now, I actually have to think about what I write and how it’ll affect others. Or I could just say ‘who cares?’ and continue in my meaningless muses… but that wouldn’t be me.  I always have to over think everything. It’s what I do best!

(I am sick now. So maybe this is the result of me being a bit delirious. Maybe.)

So just to reiterate, for the millionth time, the name that I used until today wasn’t my name. It’s actually my friend’s name. I borrowed the first half of it. It was OUR identity. And it no longer exists. Now this is mine. No names mentioned. =)

As I sit in class…

Woah! Since when do we get laptops for labs? I stared in awe, and perhaps even drooled a bit, as our physics teacher began to pass out brand new and of course, the fully PERFECT Macbooks to everyone. Sanitize your hands, she was saying, you don’t want to get oil stains on these things. They’re worth a thousand dollars each… The instructions went on but by this point, everyone had already tuned out. After all, the point is- we get a new toy.. Twenty thousand dollars worth of equipments for each department? No wonder school taxes keep going up. And that too, just to save ourselves the two-second walk to the computer lab. Brilliant. Now we can do the calculations for the lab right here in the classroom (and then spend another few thousands on exercise machines.. right in the classroom). Superfluous, much? Of course, of course I’d love to peacefully protest and boycott this infringement of basic financial practicality. But.. seeing that everyone else was already playing around with the webcam and photobooth, just one question- should I make myself fisheyed, pop-arted or bulged? I love you, Steve Jobs (almost as much as Larry Page and Sergey Brin..almost)!

Flying kites

“Failure is not in my dictionary,” I began in a defiant tone, “because I am a  flyer of kites. In my hands, I hold the strings to hundreds, thousands, maybe even millions of kites. In all different colors. They dance around in the sky, soaring higher and higher without limits.

Sometimes though, the wind blows too hard, the kite goes the wrong way or perhaps someone cuts the string. That’s what you call ‘failure’. And this kite falls down, slowly. Slowly, ever so slowly, it falls from the sky and comes to rest on a lone tree. More of these ‘failures’ follow. More kites. Blue. Yellow. Orange. Purple. Shiny. Plain. Glittery. Bright. Pale.

Lyrics to Mullulla Murikkinmel

Mullulla murikkinmel, moovanthi padarthiya,

Muthupole thuduthoru panineer..

Panineer..

kaattonu annangiyaal, karalnonthu pidayunnna,

Kannadikavilathu kannuneer..

kannuneer..

(Mullulla..)

Maadathe raavinte manassulla ninte maaril,

Mailanchi chora kondu varanjathaaru? (Maadathe..)

Moncherum chirakkinte thooval nulli eduthittu,

Panchara vishari veeshi thanuthathaaru?

(Mullulla..)

Nenjilu thillakkana sankada kadulumaayi,

Enthinennariyathe vidhumbum penne.. (Nenjilu..)

Maimaayum mizhithumbil nee kolluthum villakkalle,

Nallathe iruttathe vellicham kanne..

(Mullulla..)

Movie: Vilapangalkkappuram (2009)
Director: T V Chandran
Lyrics: Girish Puthencherry
Music: M. Jayachandran
Singer: Manjari
Alt. Spellings: Vilaapangalkku apuram, vilaapangalkapuram, vilapangalkappuram, mulullamurikkinmel, mulullamurikinmel… (and a million and a half others!)

Mullulla murikkinmel, moovanthi padarthiya,

Muthupole thuduthoru panineer..

Panineer..

kaattonu annangiyaal, karalnonthu pidayunnna,

Kannadikavilathu kannuneer..

kannuneer..

എന്നെ എനിക്ക് വേണം

ഞാന്‍ എന്തിന് നിന്നെ പേടിക്കുന്നു?
നീ ഇതു ചോദിച്ച് മടുത്തുക്കാണും
അന്നാല്‍ ഇപ്പോള്‍ ഞാന്‍ പറഞ്ഞേക്കാം
ഒരുപക്ഷെ നാളെ ഉത്തരം മാറി പോയാലൊ

Lyrics to Pularumo

Movie: Rithu (2009)

Director: Shyamaprasad

Music Director: Rahul Raj

Lyrics: Rafeeq Ahmed

Singers: Gayatri, Sujith Suresan

[reey naa.. humming..]

F: Pularumo raavu ozhiyumo, harithalathaavaniyil.. (2)

M:Oru kanal eriyunatho, himakalam aliyunatho,

Athumee kiliyumeeran (really?) nisharam,

Unarvaayi, padarukayaayi ithaa..

[ohh woahh..]

F: Irulaayi pathanju, kadalayi nuranju,

Shashakam kavinja raathri..

Ushase varalle, innuyum nukannu,

Kazhiyaathiripoo njan.

M: Orithal poo choodumee,

Vinninite oram chornuvo,

Vennilav akalunuvo, raavu alineedumo,

Athumee kiliyumeeran (really?) nisharam,

Unarvaayi padarukayaayi ithaa..I

I absolutely love this song. And after watching an interview, I like the singer too (his hair in particular). Of course, Gayatri has always been one of my favorites.

Some of the syllables were really hard to decipher- thus the question marks. Feel free to point out corrections. Also, is there more to the song? This is all I heard in the online versions but I feel it’s incomplete.. just a thought.

Rahul  Raj, keep rocking! =)

.

Movie: Rithu (2009)

Director: Shyamaprasad

Music Director: Rahul Raj

Lyrics: Rafeeq Ahmed

Singers: Gayatri, Sujith Suresan

Alt. spellings: Pularumo raavozhiyumo, raav ozhiyumo, Ritu

[F: reey naa.. humming..]
.
F: Pularumo raavozhiyumo, haritha lathaavaniyil.. (2)

ഓണം ഇല്ലാത്തൊരു ഓണക്കാലം

ഞാന്‍ ഒരിക്കലും ഒരു നാട്ടിന്‍പുറത്ത് പോയിട്ടില്ല. നാട്ടിന്‍പുറത്തെ ഓണങ്ങള്‍ കണ്ടിട്ടില്ല, കളികള്‍ കളിച്ചിട്ടില്ല, പൂക്കളങ്ങള്‍ ഉണ്ടാക്കിയിട്ടില്ല. എന്തിന്, നാട്ടിന്‍പുറം പോയിട്ട് കേരളത്തില്‍ പോലും ഓണം ആഘോഷിചിട്ടില്ല.

Summeritis=Malluwood

dum dum dummm… I haven’t been writing at all recently. My friend termed it ’summeritis’. I concur, I guess. I can’t believe summer’s going to end soon. What happened to July? August always goes by fast so I can’t blame her this time. But July? Et tu, Brute? That’s depressing. I’m scared, excited, nervous and in a peeinthepants mood for this year. But shh, I’m not worrying about it…yet.

I saw half of Manjil Virinja Pookal. It’s funny how Sankar is the hero and Mohanlal is the villain. And today, Sankar is nonexistent and Mohanlal is

Society: The Faceless Culprit

A random thought as I finished hearing a lecture in church. We spend our entire lives blaming society. Society prevents me from doing this. This society is corrupt. This society will not let me live the way I want. This society is wronged. This society is full of evil. And so on goes the drab. But question- who is this society? what is this society? It’s us. Me. You. The lady next to us. The boy across from us. We are the society. Who are we blaming for each mistake we make? Ourselves, of course. So just one quick question. We keep saying that this society should change, so why don’t we?

Dreaming is a privilege

How sad it is to not have ambitions. To not dream. Children, forced to grow up, apparently done with school but with nothing else. Marriage perhaps (for girls that is), failed foreign student visa applications (to ‘greener’ pastures in the USofA, UK, Australia..), nothing more,  nothing less.. Restricted by their nation. Their people. Their surroundings. As Mark Caine once said, “the first step towards success is taken when you refuse to be a captive of the environment in which you first find yourself in.” Abdul Kalam said something too on the likes of dreaming big and getting thoughts transformed into action. Easier said than done.  Perhaps schools should teach dreaming along with learning. Perhaps.

But what about now? What about those brilliant students in my generation, muffled by circumstances? How will they open the windows that have been sealed for generations? It’s not fair.

The Victory of Failure

Have you ever had this feeling.. when you want to do something and that something is what others expect of you, and due to that one reason you don’t want to do anymore? If that makes any sense..  I don’t know why everyone expects great things from me. I’m not such a great person. I consider myself average but seemingly, everyone else doesn’t. And although I want to do this, I want to be here and do well.. I kind of  want to fail, just to prove people wrong. I’m not a genius, I’m not super-talented, I’m not anything special.. I’m just me and I’m normal. End of Story.  Can we just leave it there?

Brownness, Roy, Masjid and Ploy

You’ll never know what it truly feels like to be a minority unless you’re in a country where a five-year old constantly stares at you and tries to figure out what sort of creature you are because she’s never seen a dark-skinned, “big”-eyed person before.  It annoys me, yet at the same time,  I understand it. The eyes that latch on to me as soon as I step out of the house. The drivers that turn to look at me properly as I walk the streets. The way they get excited over my speech. How everyone stands up to greet me. Awkward, painful and at the same time, very humanly. If that makes any sense.

On other news, Arundhati Roy’s new article is up on Outlook India about Democracy’s Failing Light. I live for her essays, you see.  

ആ..(വട്ടായോന്നൊരു തോന്നല്‍)

മലയാളം ഒന്നു ശരിക്കും പടിക്കണം.. എന്താ ഒരു വഴി? ബ്ലോഗ്ഗുകള്‍ വായിച്ച് വായിച്ച് അറിയാവുന്ന മലയാളം കൂടി മറന്നുന്നാ അമ്മയുടെ പക്ഷം. ആര് കണ്ടു? മലയാള ദൈവങ്ങളെ, പൂജെക്ക് ഞാന്‍ റെഡി, ഒന്നു പ്രസാദിക്കൂ പ്ലീസ്സ്..

The Shades of “Liberation”

Islam has always fascinated me. When I was little, I found the muezzin’s calls from the mosque near my house beautiful. I loved to just sit outside, close my eyes and listen. As I grew up, Islam had other significances. Islam was my friend, who happened to have ‘Osama’ as a part of his name and you can imagine the discrimination he has faced. Beat up by mobs, spit at and completely humiliated, he left America last year. Islam was my Hindu friend who found out that she was actually adopted from a Muslim family. She cried more because she had Muslim roots than because she was adopted. I slapped her across the face. My best friend. The poor girl. Islam was the most misstated in that ridiculous History curriculum  I wrote of earlier.  Islam is my friends from Pakistan, Sudan, Iran, Qatar, Bahrain and the list goes on. And of course I have Indian friends from all different religions.  So what’s my point? That Islam didn’t make my first friend a bad person, he endured more than any human being could have and he still didn’t let go of his faith. Islamic roots didn’t hurt that Hindu friend, whose doing fine now and is actually thinking of converting to Islam. And those friends I have, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with them. Yea, I just felt the need to affirm their normalness.

I go to the mall once in a while with my friends. We’d be a group of girls just walking in the mall, sometimes loud and sometimes quiet, but no matter our mood or our noise level, we always seem to attract unwanted attraction. “Hey beautiful!” men, or perhaps I should call them boys, would yell and crowd around us, “Wanna come over tonight? I have a king.”

As he lay sleeping..

My father is sleeping
on the bare wooden floor.
He hasn’t woken up though
we have visitors today.
Lots of them sit around my father;
their backs to the open door.
Why, I thought, did my father go to sleep
on this bare wooden floor
as his bed lies inside,
waiting for him?

Then I realized the shocking truth

and my eyes filled with tears.

I wailed and ran to a corner,

trying not to cry.

Ch 1: Explorations and Observations

“What did I do to deserve this?” Eraa screamed, his eyes overflowing with tears. Poor Eraa. Yesterday, the happiest 17 year-old in the world; today, an orphan, without a place to go. Yesterday, a rising student; today a branded terrorist.

I looked helplessly at the writhing figure in front of me. What could I do? I was a mere volunteer. Though for whom, I wasn’t yet so sure. It is The Empire’s new program, to ‘educate’ the young Americana citizens on how amazingly They’re handling everything in the Middle East also known as the best brainwashing technique known to mankind. There are seven of us, new-age teens, the “chosen ones” sent across the seas. Our assignments are simple enough; it ’s the ideas behind them that seem complicated. We hang around the camp each day, take videos and write journals about the things we see. They selectively choose some of these to publish as the “true life entries from our teen ambassadors.” For records sake, none of mine has been published yet, nor will they ever be. Our supervisor, the second highest military officer in the royal forces, has warned me twice already to write things that suited Them and to take videos that only justified Their side. Of course, he didn’t quite put it that way. After all, we are necessary for Them to rope in more people to this place. We’re not allowed to interfere. Not even allowed to talk to the prisoners. But we can observe them. Silently. And write the so-called truth. Scientists and explorers, armed with blindfolds on our eyes.

Vishu Thoughts

“Anju! Come!” Sharmi clutched my hand tightly as we walked together with our eyes closed. It was Vishu. Vaithili miss, Sharmi’s mom had prepared a kani* for us.

“I’m not even Hindu!” I whispered in her ear, afraid that I’d be making some sort of grave mistake by seeing statues of Vishnu and Krishna in the morning. After all, aren’t these rituals all holy?

“So..?”

Obviously she didn’t get my point. Sharmi. My best friend. And this, my first memorable Vishu in first grade in the BestPlaceInTheWorld, my version of Kansas, of Eden, of Utopia.

Here, that day, I learned that you don’t have to be Hindu to celebrate Vishu. To wake up seeing a kani* or to get a kaineettam**. To make a symbolic journey from darkness into light. Here, I learned to believe in myself and my goals. Here, I learned to trust people and truly celebrate their differences. Here, I learned unity, truth and righteousness. Here, I strived to be the epitome of perfection. And most of all, here, I was me and I was comfortable. I celebrated, cried, laughed, dreamed, leaped.. and perhaps, even fell but always with a hope of getting back up. Perhaps it was the age but leave me to convince myself that it was all the place.