Babbler beholds her bonds…

A longing that bloomed on its own…and the time when those longings lament…the violins of love that sings the calm and composed melody…as a silent tender pain…all those coddled castles in the air…when pinched and flipped in the wheel of life…from a distance the soft breeze that brush over brings an aching sigh…On the lush green branches of life…in the moonlight, when the chirping love birds where fast asleep…someone came and whispered in my ears…your lovely voice crushed by tears..

All those lamp light memories….flashing when flickered and burnt…abide by its side… gazing…a tear drop twinkled at the corner of my eyes…when over those flower beds that never blushed… when over those shores that never rained with flowers…it echoes in my ears your shattered voice…

A real ecstasy and a passion unknown

The lovely Monsoons of Kerala are something which I really get turned-on. My home town Allapuzha towards south Kerala is a place of natural beauty and a hot spot for tourist round the globe. Our suburb bed the slogan gods own country – Kerala, a State in southern India.

Our monsoons, the most enthralling rainy season begins by the month of June and pours down till the end of September. This is the time when Mother Nature augments herself in soothing green. Coconut trees doll up either side of the muddy pathways, the streaming rivulets and backwaters warble a silent song of joy imparting a feel of freshness and energy for the commencing year. My village folks describe that rain, along with water pours in happiness to all living creature on earth.

Onset of monsoon is the beginning of a new academic year in Kerala and this is also the time when farmers saw the seeds of prosperity in their farmland. After the long dry summer months monsoons are always a welcome change.

As a kid I have always loved the early monsoon mornings when my school reopens after two months summer holidays. The intoxicating smell of the dry earth getting drenched, the splashing waters and the tiny paper boats sailing on the clogged water takes me back to those happiest days of my life. The washed streets and the fresh leafs seem to smile with me rejoicing the spirit of meeting friends after a long break. Getting packed with new uniforms, shoes and socks, new books, bags and umbrellas and getting it wet right away, splashing and wading through knee deep waters, experimenting with my new little umbrella were some of my little deeds on the way to school. I and my kins used to enjoy the rainbows and raindrops that dip down our inclined roof on to the pretty white sand, later all the water droplets join hands to form a small pool for us to play.

It is so wonderful to watch the large thick blanket of dark blue clouds hiding the big Sun. Even during the midst of the day it appears so dark because of the clouds, and sometimes Sun peeps in between the clouds and that single ray of light along with bitty rain drops is so amazing to watch. Nanny has a wonderful story about this, it is during this time of the day that Mr. Fox gets married and little children are not allowed to be out of home.

Evenings of monsoon are also beyond words to explain. Birds chirping and perching swiftly, the white cranes flying across the clouds, watching them by sipping on my cup of hot tea laying back on to the wooden bench in the portico of my home is all what I could call coming back home.

According to Ayurveda monsoon is the season for rejuvenation. During this time of the year people take in special diets with proper amount of medicines and ayurvedic therapies, which will refresh our body and keep us healthy for years. Mom prepares special herbal gruel with selected herbs, which is the most delicious porridge I have ever had and healthiest too.

The rainy seasons are like periods of deep meditation which revitalizes our mind and soul. The umbilical bond that I share with my native will for sure bring me back to this gods own country to enjoy the spirits of monsoon, wherever I am and however I am backed with the slew of promises and responsibilities on my life.

Babbler lost her beatific boy…

Little babbler cried…for she lost her lovely boy. She bends down before the world, to get back her little toy… It made her world; so colorful. It had a voice quite unknown to others. Babbler loved to be bubbly and playful for she believed the world to be a bubble. Men and women around might be serious, for their role might be so…some might be tricky, some confused, and some worried…as is their roles…but what has babbler got to do with it…babbler was born with an aura of dreams…She has lived with it so long and dint she live pretty well..? Babbler just love to babble…She never wished to be an orator. Babbler miss the drawings on her palm…babbler miss the smell of pure pretty jasmine flowers…Those butterflies that used to invade her tummy…The warmth of the fire woods beside her…the little hands for her to hold on…Is there a better world outside…? As soft and cozy as this…or is it that the elders are jealous of her world for you wish to pull her out? Babbler is indeed so silly…confused as she is…babbler just knows to babble….bum bum bum…my sweet little bum…sleep in my arms as I hum…bum bum bum…my sweet little bum.

For the man who let know that my pen also inks…

There was a day long back, when little babbler never knew how to babble. She was then into a big room with huge black doors. Inside was walls painted in white, it was nailed with sketches of different faces and in the center of the room was a big black table accompanied by black cushioned chairs on either side.
Babbler was welcomed in and was asked to take her seat. Opposite to her sat a man tall and fair in his 20’s. His eyes so sharp and his guise radiated a formal air which send babbler completely blank. Her ears could hardly sense his speech and her eyes showcased the blinking stars.
Babbler could only recall the day he asked to join the team. Babbler was then exited to experience the circus of colors which he offered her. He gave her a brush and she made a color mesh with it. He demanded more, but babbler was insane. The pretty scenery with a hut, a sun, rivulets, mountains and a tree was her dream that was left unnoticed. He never knew that little babbler had a crushed bristle on her brush.
He replaced her brush with a pen. Little babbler felt good when she was given a pen when all others possessed brushes and pencils. She just knew that she had been given something different. She realized pens ornament her hands better than brushes and she loved it.
Babbler then learned to ink her pen. It then opened to her a world of 26 different faces, big and small. Some stood straight and some slanting and some others were running; the world was new for her. She stood gasping at the new world not knowing what to do. He then announced “You are supposed to be here and they are your friends. Go on.”
She touched one of them and they smiled, she called him A then was B C D and so on. All of them soon became her friends. Each one then had a color and a life to offer her. She then realized that they are her best companions whom she had never noticed till then.
And now, to the man who let know that my pen also ink; it was all him –who let me in. What is that babbler gave him back? - Only a word that she will be back, which alas she could never stick to.
This is in due, to let know that you are the man who swayed my way. She could now babble and people love to hear her babble. And if at all someday her babble turns out to be an elegant speech it would all be to salute you – my boss.

Babbbler's ballad

On a big long road,
with no directions about where to go.
I found you,
some unknown intuition made me move close to you.
You held my hand tight and firm.
And help me move through fairly well.
At an instant,
You dropped my hand and moved on.
And I experienced the vacuum on the path,
Which was till then embraced with lovely breeze.
How to move on further is a question unknown,
And hard to find.
But I kept saying have to move on,
Before the vacuum engulfs me.
Each step that I leap ahead makes me tremble.
The road is long and diverse,
not knowing the direction,
I move the way I believe I can keep pace with you.
And once again be secure under your strong arms.
You move so fast hard to trace up.
If I lose track of you I might get into another way.
Hard to come back and hard to find when you turn,
Please my lord, hold on.
Till I walk along.
For the road is big and long.

Simran loves the twilights at the shores of Mareena.

A sassy walk during the latter part of the day on the shores of mareena beach could be like tossing a coin, to fall with head or tail, to relax yourself watching the blue tides and enjoying the lovely breeze or to extend your hands to little Simran who goes roaming in the crowd with her companion Vijay -a monkey. Her gang of friends who goes begging to fill their little tummies. A young lady in her early 20’s with her three kids. She discloses that she was married at the age of thirteen and she lost her husband a year back. The latter and her kids do some meager works the whole day and the beach is their safe place of rest. A lovely baby boy born with the breeze in the tent cuddle along with his Vellore based tribal family. A psychic middle aged engineer as he explains, the story of his girl friend who cheated him, and his dream of building a mosque on the shores of Mareena. Hundreds of such people spend their whole lives at this well known beach shore. As we slip out of our dwellings to enjoy our weekends on the shores isn’t it customary to share a word, a touch or an eye to these meager groups of the society for whom the shores are their homes.