Thursday, July 21, 2005


Three hours is the time that my cell takes to recharge from drain. I am human; I probably take much longer. Well, let me come to the things that matter to me right now and are lingering in my mind.

Like how a small insignificant tiff rushes out all the past trivial tiffs to the forefront, the events in the few hours of a fine and sprightly morning acted on all the similar performances that failed to arouse emotions of any sort earlier.

So, what is it?

An hour-long morning walk and an hour spent in a temple.

It is always a welcome break—a peaceful saunter on a serene Sunday evening, when the families in the locality sink into family welfare activities leaving the streets deserted and without much activity. The oldies sit on the porch munching away the talks sensible to them. The youngsters sit on their cycles, sniggering but very apparent in their act of passing petty comments on a passerby.

The vicinity of the temple is an idyllic setup, with a hum arising from the susurration of the ladies who make basil garlands. There is an occasional rise in the decibel level whenever they beseech the devotees to bestow garlands, off their kiosks, onto the shoulders of the One in the sanctum sanctorum. The chime arising from the direction of the two cows serving the needs of the temple, adds a musical backdrop to the rustic lure. Looking closer at the tenderly looking cows, there is a yellowish orange smear on the forehead that brings divinity. All this makes a perfect stage for a trance.

The temple’s design falls in the design gamut of a typical south Indian temple; it has one main sanctum and multiple sub-sanctums. Typically, the sub-sanctums are would be that of the son’s or the daughter’s or of the people important to the One in the main sanctum.

As I was trying to connect to a Goddess at one of the sub-sanctums, this happened. A little boy who had accompanied his grandfather was enjoying his freedom confined to the temple grounds. He was sauntering in the yards whilst his grandfather reached one of the sub-sanctums. However, in no time the kid traced his grandpa and reached him. The grandpa, immediately, on a serious note and in a mildly threatening voice asked him to pray to the Goddess. The kid went to the locked gates and very endearingly said, “Saamee, saamee!!” that my reverence was distracted by its endearment. I am just wondering from whom or where the child had learnt to emote.

And the tone—it is still resonating in my ears!

The highlight of the temple visits is the time spent on the verandahs of the temple after offering prayers. Ideally, for me, it is the most sacred of the moments spent in the temple–the time spent in revisiting oneself and focusing on the revitalizing the soul. But when you are looking at connecting to the world, you tend to watch people around you and enjoy the things going on.

A kid’s obeisance replicated from its parent—the kid laying down itself as prostrate as its father and checking now and then if its father has risen and if not, ducking back to its original position, another kid nodding the head up and down—an interplay only known to the kid and the mother, a few children riding on the backs of the sculptured elephants and crocodiles positioned by either side of the sanctum, and another kid going far away from its parents and after discovering that it has gone far away, coming back with such happiness and falling into the arms of its parents and a lot more such sweet things happening around.

It is very true that the meaningless murmurings and acts are always sweet to the senses. Even the repeated acts of a kid chasing away all the pigeons that are being fed won’t let me imagine worse things about it. I readily do agree that our tolerance level is very high when it comes to kids because we don’t assume that they are aware of the “rules”.

Tuesday, July 12, 2005

Block and Bliss

I felt like standing in front of a tub of cold water,
for yet another session of the morning ablution,
knowing that I will be able to surpass the block
and enjoy the bliss,
only if I let it run down on myself for the first few times,

every time...
I sat down to write.

Sunday, July 03, 2005


An analogy is poetic; a comparison prosaic.

A kid toying with a trick it recently learnt to play

Newlywed Couples
Fresh toothpaste and a new toothbrush

Parents, Kids and Identity
Flower that bears fruit

Wrongly crossed cross-legged posture

Sea, Surfers, and Surfboards
City Roads, Adults, and Bus Footboard

Advice, Acceptance and Results
A Good Pen, Willingness to Write and a Beautiful Handwriting

Mind and Tempered Mind
Sour Curd and Sweet Buttermilk

Fate and Premonition
A Mortuary van following an Ambulance rushing to the hospital