Cold, Cough, Headache and Solitude

But for the portico lights and the lights drifting out from the houses near by, I am sitting in darkness. Sound from some TV program sneaks under the closed door. My runny nose demands my attention, the sweaty body irritates me with its being. The cool breeze flying by is soothing on the body and ticklish on the nose.

My wife is in Bangalore, my elder daughter is somewhere inside with her cousin. My younger baby is away at her grand parents'. I suddenly lost the purpose of my existence.

There is no one around me demanding attention or rendering it to me. If I dissolve into the breeze, I will be nothing but a sneeze unheard.

But then, somewhere in the darkness, I see a pair of small hands outstretched, two eyes wandering and a lonely thought floating around. And like feeding on a faint flavor, it keeps me going.

Rain

Rain ages with us. When you are a kid, it is very playful, when you are a teenager, its very angry, when you are young, its very romantic, and when you are in your old age, its very laid back soothing and comforting.

വര്‍ഷാകാലം

പെയ്തു തോര്‍്ന്ന മഴ. ഇലയില്‍ കിടത്തിയ ശരീരം പോലെ മരങ്ങള്‍ക്കിടയിലൂടെ ഒരു കീറ് ആകാശം. മഴയുടെ ഓര്‍മ്മപോലെ തിണ്ണയിലെ നീര്‍ച്ചാലുകള്‍. ഒറ്റക്കിരിക്കുന്ന ഒരു കപ്പ് ചായയും.

For those who cannot read Malayalam a rough translation will be
Title:Rainy Season
Content:A Rain trailed off, A Piece of Sky like body laid on the banana leaf, Trails of water on the sill like memories of the rain, and a lone cup of tea.

I should say this is a thought better expressed in the vernacular. Like the laying the dead body after giving a bath, covered in white cloth in a Banana leaf as part of the last ritual. Very hard to express in a language so foreign to me!

Gurusmarana

There was this very short man, who used to shuffle around in his short dhoti and half sleeve shirt, screwing up his face towards the sky, like an over grown kid. He had a lot of kiddish beliefs, One of them was that when the three horlicks bottles he kept the buttons and broken bangles he picks up here and there, is full, will mark the end of his time here.

He had predicted my SSLC marks to the last digit looking at my model exam marks. He predicted my fall from grace for the first time. I hated him for that for a long time to come.

The first time I met him was probably when I went to the School, with my elder brother, to talk about my admission. Then he gave my brother an abstract painting he had done. That was lying in dust for quite sometime somewhere in our old house.

He was very fond of my brother. I too wanted to be in his good books. So I used to go to his room in the school hostel when ever I got time to. And I used to show off in front of my friends that I knew him in person. He knew me only through my brothers.

Yesterday, when I was talking to my wife, she told me, all the three bottles were finally full. I don't know what my brother will be feeling, but a bottle filled with red bangle pieces spilled in my heart.

Tuglakabad

Couple of days back, I passed by Tuglakabad. The fort where Tuglak created his capital and could not use, in ruins. Like a person's shattered dreams. It also earned him a lot of bad name for hasty  decision making, lack of planning etc. And now, the stones stand against the gray sky and stare back down at you as you pass. Tuglak must be still wandering in the fort at night. He may be standing on top of it as pale as the moon above him, looking down at the stream of lights. Will there be regret in his eyes? Is it the star reflecting off his eyes or is it tears? The current beneath hardly care.

Further up, Kutub-Minar is standing the test of time. When I was returning, I could see some lights inside there.