மதுரையில்... (Madurai)

அன்று: கொடிகம்பத்தில் ஏறி ஆடியது.

இன்று:பேருந்து ஜன்னல் வலியே "ஏதோ" ஒரு பெண்ணின் துப்பட்டா ஆடுகிறது.

அன்று: வராதே ஆபத்து காத்திருக்கிறது என்றது.

இன்று: என்னை மட்டும் பார்கதே என்னை போல் நான்கு பக்கமும் பார்த்து வண்டியை ஒட்டு என்கிறது.

அன்று:கோவலன்.

இன்று: மாதவன்.

அவன்: இறந்தான்.

இவன்: ( எதிரே வந்த வண்டியை) இடித்து விழுந்தான் !

அன்று:கண்ணகி மதுரையை எரித்தால்.

இன்று: கண் அழகி என்னை கண்டு கொள்ளாமல் செல்கிறாள்!

நரகம்

இக்கதையில் வரும் அனைத்தும் கற்பனையே... (தப்பா எடுத்துக்காதிங்க )

காலை வெயில் உடம்பிற்கு நல்லது என்பார்கள் உனது காலை வணக்கத்தை சுமந்து வரும் குறுந்தகவல் (SMS) எனக்கு அதைப்போன்றதே. உனது காலை வணக்கம் என்ற இரு வார்த்தைகள் என் நாட்களை தீர்மானிக்கின்றன. என் நாட்களை முடித்து வைப்பதும் அவளுடைய வார்த்தைகள் தான்.

" கோ டு ஹெல்" ("Go to HELL") இரண்டு நாட்களுக்கு முன் அவளிடம் இருந்து வந்த குறுந்தகவல் (SMS).

செல்லமாக திட்டுகிறாள் என்று எண்ணியது என் முட்டாள்தனம். இரண்டு நாட்களாக அவளிடமிருந்து குறுந்தகவல் வரவில்லை...

நான் நரகத்தில் இருப்பதாய் உணர்கிறேன்!

Daily Lessons

Madhav's diary

26th December 2008 –

The dawn with a run of the mill opening. It is a holiday and I got up late. Holidays are for it, I unfalteringly believe. The day, a sunny one, faded in its own way. I did work proactively preparing for future lectures. I prepared a ppt presentation on NON-FINITE verbs, a real good work I think.

Dusk showed its face and I planned to go town to get new books for me. Mrs. Malar gave me Rs. 1000 to buy books for my department. I went to a shop and shoved the chit, which gave the titles of the books that I was in need. I notified the manager of the book company that they are a part of the syllabi, when the latter asked me the purpose for my purchase. When I gave the reason he said that they are not going to bill, but provide them as specimen copies, I was enthralled. There were several other books left in my chit, so I headed to another bookshop. The second bookshop was not that fitting, for they did not have the books in my roll and if they have at all, it was of shoddy quality. After purchasing them, I went to the third bookshop – to buy books for my little nieces. I parked my vehicle deliberately at a long distance, with the simple reason that I could have a walk. I purchased two books – one in Tamil and other in English, with stories and illustrating pictures contained in them.

As been said earlier I walked along the wide road before Madurai railway station. I strolled, zigzagged, even jumped when men standing in the platform spitted their saliva not minding of pedestrians who walk along the platform. As I crisscrossed the crowd of congested people, I met a woman in plain green saree, standing at a distance beneath a white light. Something in her attracted my eyes. The way she wound the saree, the single streak of her saree that traced a good silhouette of her body, the contrast of her dark skin with that of the pale coloured attire, many such outwardly appearances would come as reasons for me to gap at her. I never thought that she would see me at all, that is an added sense of courage and that encouraged my eyes not to shift from her. As I came near her, she came towards me, behind a man. The man asked me whether I want her. I was just shocked – a PROSTITUTE! A whore in Madurai, so public, in the heart of the city, shameless, daringly was asking me . . .

The surprise in me kept multiplying itself as I hastened the pace of my walk. I took my bike, without turning back to see the woman. I was utterly frightened, I should confine. As I drove my bike, making sure I have rolled up a long distance, I ruminated about what has happened with me. I smiled, a smile of satisfaction, not that I have escaped from the clutches, but they have recognized me as a grown up man. People forsake me to consider me as an adult. I too regret considering me as a grown up. This incident made me, makes me think that I am A MAN!

spitting

Hi this is my debut poem in English. I wrote this when I was pursuing my M.A. in the American College, Madurai. I still remember those days…Dr. Love taking us to Kodai International School. This poem is special for me not because it is first ever try, but this is my only work that has some social flavor in it. I hate people spitting on the roads, especially when I walk or drive. Now you must have got the reason behind the creation of this poem. The day before reading this before the audience we (my classmates and seniors) all rehearsed articulating our poems. Dr. Love said that we got to say our name and then go reading the stuff. The rehearsal went really well until I came. “I am Madhavarajan SPITTING”, is what I said and there was a thunderous laughter…
Here we go with the poem
.
.
.
SPITTING


As I walk on the streets,

I cautiously detour and

head for the unused platform.

When I stand at the bus stop,

I jump here and there,

for they shoot towards my legs.

When I see the foamy,

gelatinous splashed out,

My salivary glands explode.

Should I spit on the road

Or on the two-legged beasts?

by,

madhav

earring - cryings!

A thin streak of gold,

dropping down her ears - holding a shinning bead,

like my tear treading down my cheeks!

Wriggled

I have perceived, always perceived, an old saying that diktats a verity that if you do evil to someone in the morning, it vaults back to you the very same evening. For better understanding, I allude to Newton, who says, “for each and every action there is an equal and opposite reaction”. It is true I would say for I experienced it. I did (often do) vice and got it back to me the very same day. Do not think that I am philosophic in tone. I am plain, I sense. Read the following anecdote and you will know what I am trying to say.

That morning, a humdrum morning, I went to my class and some how I started talking about disturbances I face inside the bus in which I travel. I was talking about men/women who sleep and become a pest to the co-passenger(s). I talked about its fun part and about the furious parts. My students enjoyed it. Then I said about men who sit at the back of women and about their uneasiness when the shawl (dhupatta, we localize it) of the girl comes to the back seat accidentally with the help of the wind. My students had a roaring laughter when I expressed my thoughts. I never, myself, have experienced facing a shawl, so I was cracking many jokes.

Evening came and I started back to my home in the same college bus. The bus sped in the National Highway and as it increased its pace, my heartbeat increased its lubs and tubs, for a shawl came running towards me from the front seat. At first, the shawl touched my knees and my bag, which I always rest in my lap. I did not mind it. Later, because of heavier wind, the shawl touched my hands and slowly crept to my shoulder. I felt like the game that I play with kids, my two fingers (imagined as the legs of crabs) climbing carefully over the kid’s little arm to tickle it.

The shawl did not tickle me nor did I laugh but I was shunning at the non-living thing that was well animated the hands of the wind. Then it touched my face. Could it be called slapping? No, it could not be called so for it gave a pain; it made me wriggle but not literally and physically. Now, I thought, that shawl be renamed as shovel. Shovel usually gets coal and throws it into a burning furnace but this one takes my face and throws me into a different world – a world of shyness, a world of speechlessness, a world of cowardice, a thoughtless, numb world.

In a spur of a moment, a hand came pulling the shawl away from me. It was the girl’s – the owner of the shawl. The girl chuckled for she was my student who attended my class in the morning, wherein I talked about the pathetic situation of persons, who face the furious blows of a shawl.

Love drama (trauma)

Beginning:

She spoke,

I smiled.

Middle:

She spoke,

I spoke.

End:

She spoke,

I spoke,

But not with each other

Madhav

THE SILVER IDOL - an one act play

The play The Silver Idol by James R. Waugh is about a silver idol that Jack brings from India. The play depicts the Westerner’s view of Eastern countries.

The play takes place in the drawing hall of Mr. & Mrs. Pryde’s home. As the play opens, one could see Mr. & Mrs. Pryde’s family busying themselves to receive Jack. Betty, who is engaged to Jack, is preparing herself to meet Jack. Harold, the son of Mr. & Mrs. Pryde, could not believe that Jack is back. Harold, the youngest of all is much interested in hearing strange stories from Jack who has been to a strange country like India. Jack comes to their home and all the family members are eager to learn about adventurous experience that Jack has had this time in India. Jack though feels reluctant at first, starts narrating an event that he faced in India.

Jack met an old man in India, who was being robbed by three rogues. Jack fights with them and saves the life and the valuables of the old man. The old man presented him a silver idol, which according to the old man was of Tibetan origin having magical power. The old man said that the silver idol would grant three wishes to the person who has it. He warned Jack by quoting two stories about the silver idol, which granted the wishes of its owners, but the ends were very different and tragic.

The old man said that the silver idol’s first owner was a rich man. As he had enough money, he wished for peace in his life. The next day everyone saw the rich man dead and without any worries. The second story the Indian old man said to Jack was about the strangeness of the silver idol was that of a man who had lost his wife when she was very young. The man loved his wife very much and he was passionate about her even after her death. When he got the silver idol, he wished his wife would come alive. Days passed but nothing really happened. He once went to his town and as a kind of remembrance; he went down the lane where he had a store once. To his surprise, he saw a shop that sold the same articles that he sold and the person who was selling things was exactly his wife. However, the pathetic situation was that the woman was of the same age as she had died and the man was too old and therefore she did not accept him as her husband. The man told this truth to all people in the town but nobody helped him. People considered him a lunatic and they put him in jail.

On hearing all these terrible, unbelievable and strange events, the Pryde family gets much impressed. Jack and Betty goes to the theatre. Jack absent-mindedly leaves the idol in the table and leaves for theatre with Betty. On his departure Mrs. Pryde and Harold plans to use the silver idol. Mr. Pryde warns Mrs. Pryde and Harold about not to use it. However, they both wish for a Television. As soon as they wish for a TV set, there is a knock at the door and a Visitor comes and informs the family about their winning a TV set in the competition, for which Mr. Pryde sent a coupon a month ago.

This sudden arrival of the TV set surprises Mr. and Mrs. Pryde but not Harold. Harold says that it happened very naturally and not because of the power of the idol. Saying so he asks his mother to try for another wish and it is to foretell the matches that would be a draw in the forth-coming football cup. Before this wish comes true, Jack and Betty returns home and they come to know about what is happening. Their second wish also comes true, but Harold says that he is not satisfied. He says it has happened in a natural way.

Then the whole of the family, including Jack, starts discussing it and Betty says Harold to switch on the radio for some program. As they are talking, Mrs. Pryde says that she wishes to have a lot of wealth with the silver idol in her hand and that happens to be her third wish. The answer for this wish comes through the radio that gives the summary of the program. The radio voice asks all human beings to be content with what they have, and to be happy with the existing things and not to wish for more on seeing their neighbours and friends.

Listening to the radio talk Mr. Pryde and Jack feel safe and they ask Mrs. Pryde and Harold to follow it throughout their life. Jack by the end of the play on seeing Mrs. Pryde and Harold dissatisfied asks them to turn the silver idol and read what is written on it. To everyone’s surprise below the silver idol are the words “Made in Birmingham”. Jack later says that he has played a trick on them just because Harold asked for a good yarn. The play ends in a good note that we should not be jealous of others and imitate them but to be content with what we have.

Not a Nightmare!

People, especially all the new friends of Durga, cornered her with the interrogation, “why do you stay alone in your room?” They sometimes shoot the same question as, “why don’t you share room with other staff members?”, for all these typical queries pat comes an answer from her mouth, “I like to be alone. It gives me freedom and independence.”

“Let me see how long you’re going to repeat the worn out words…”, the words would swoop out of their tongues and “there is much secret about her and her behaviour”, would be words that would throng locked like that of a dog that is been tied with a lengthy, strong chain. Durga would never give an ear to all those unheard words. She believes in “INNOCENCE IS BLISS” and not in “heard melodies are sweet and those unheard are sweeter.”

She had a happy living, an independent living of her own – in her own world. She was working as a Lecturer in a college, which is near her room. For the first few days she felt work like a hell, it made her stay away from home…she would weep, yell alone in her lonely room…nobody would listen to her. This was for few days but she assuaged herself and now she is much fine and at ease with her job and the environment.

Her mansion had just two rooms, which were identical. Nobody, not even she, could find much difference about these two rooms and they could never come out with a proper conclusion on how to use these two rooms. Not even a professional utilitarian thinker would say it cut and right to use the rooms purposes. It took Durga a week to keep her things. She often shuffled things even after several months passed by.

The owners of her house were kind persons and they possessed good heart for they were consoling Durga when she was new to the place. It gave much solace and thus she managed to stay in the room though it looked awkward. The flooring of the room, especially, had well-established roots in it that had spread all over the room. There was one more room near hers and a woman, a schoolteacher, was staying all alone. The teacher’s presence in her room could be confirmed with the noise of a radio. If the radio blares like donkey then the teacher is out of reach and if the noise is lessened then it symbolizes that she is IN and listening to the songs, the usual program with the radio stations. Then in the first floor, where Durga stayed, there were two other rooms, waiting for a dawn. They both were not completely built and those nacked red bricks would long for a skin to cover themselves and their vain attempt made them mirror a human skin during the hot summers of April.

Both these women, who shared the first floor, were also asked to share a common toilet and a bathroom, which was hidden at the back of the half - built rooms. During night times, very rarely, Durga would get scared to walk through the dilapidated, ghost like rooms to use the toilet. Her pace would increase as much as it could if she happens to use them during the darkness. The ground floor had three houses one for the owner and two for outsiders. In one of the latter houses came new tenants who were much old in age. They were a couple – an old man and an old woman. Durga usually never talked with the neighbours. She did not know anything about them, but they knew her very well, she would think to herself.

The new tenants made her a bit more frightened for she would often see the old man in the first floor walking from the toilet but she would have never seen him cross her room when he was heading for it. This would surprise her. She was also taken aback when she saw him roaming aimlessly in the first floor, which had nothing to amuse him. The way he looked at her was one more thing that would threaten her to death. She almost all the time, stared at him, shunned at him and had negative remarks about him. As days passed, she also tried her level best to avoid seeing the old man’s face. She thought of complaining the old man to her owner but felt a bit reluctant and silly to do so.

Days passed a few with threat and a few with a sound sleep. One night after her usual works, Durga went to sleep and had a sound sleep as soon as she stretched herself in the mattress. Early in the next morning around 3 o’clock, Durga sprang up from her bed. She did not know the exact time, she could not recognize the exact hour – night or a day. Everything was dark around her – pitch black. She could hear the barking of a dog, it also howled occasionally. She then lay down once again with her eyes wide open like that of an owl. Some unusual sound tore her eyelashes but what was the sound she could not recognize. She lay in the mat for some time and once again, she heard it – distinctly. It was the sound of seashell being blown by a person. This noise was also accompanied by the sound of metal plate struck by a metal rod. It is a death knell, she thought, with a sigh of relief. “Probably some one would have kicked the bucket”, she muttered and went to bed. She did not dare peep out of the window to witness the death procession. She got up afresh the next morning and came to look for the dead petals of rose in the road. To her surprise, she could see none of them. “Probably they were not accustomed to this culture of mine. It’s a nice habit they didn’t waste the beauty of a flower”, she said and went ahead with her daily chores.

The next night, early in the morning, again, the knell was heard and it never forgot to probe into the ears of Durga. She woke up from the sleep, not from the bed. Her heartbeat was on par and rhythmic to that of the knell. She was not able to lift her head; it denied accepting all her orders.

Voice 1: “Daily a death? Absolutely no! This must be the call for me from… who else other than Lord Yama.”

Voice 2: “But this is too much. I’m young and also a good person then how come you can come so early?”

Voice 3: “Why you came yesterday then? Is it to inform me?”

Voice 4: “Are you going to take me? Why don’t you come when I’m in my home, with my parents?”

So many such voices sprouted out of Durga’s mind but they were all Durga’s for they had only words but no sound. The sound came nearer and nearer, louder and louder and this respectively was reflected in the increased throbbing of her heart. She thought that she was at the throes of life. The sound came very near and she closed her eyes tightly so that a few teardrops oozed out from the sides of her eyelashes. It was as that of squeezing a lemon – you get more juice the more you squeeze. The sound then passed by her and got lost in the empty air. She heard it moving away from her and finally it died. After an hour or two she thought “why didn’t He take me away today itself?” Even after all these terrible things, she refused to raise her head from the mattress.

The next day about seven in the morning, she inquired the neighbour about the strange sound she’s been hearing for the past two days. The neighbour said that she never experienced such a sound. “It would be a dream then. But why I alone heard and nobody did?” She didn’t get time to think over an answer for her work compelled her so she left things as it is and went ahead with the day’s work.

She came home after a long work and as she opened the doors, she heard a rattling sound coming from the dilapidated building. She switched on the bulb and peeped into the house very quietly and to her surprise came out the old man with his eyes fixed towards Durga. He crossed her with a big stare. She was taken aback. She did not go and wash her face that evening and kept herself locked inside the room for she could hear the earsplitting noise of the radio, belonging of her neighbour. She thought of nestling in the owner’s house but her ego did not let it. She did not sleep well but sleep creeped into her eyes during the late hours of the night. Her sleep was shook to its root at the same hour, at the same minute, at the same second as that of the previous day’s.

“Huh! The same sound and nothing else”, said Durga and snored. “What a surprise! Was it me?” she exclaimed the next morning. “But I want to confirm and crack what is going about me or the world.” saying so she planned to get a terminus for all her trepidations.

During lunch, which she usually takes in her owner’s house, she reluctantly conveyed the horrors she’s been experiencing for the past few days. The whole world around mocked and laughed at her saying that it is a usual habit of the temple priest to wake the people in that particular divine and holy month.

On perceiving, this Durga first exerted a sigh of relief but later could not digest the fact that the whole world is laughing, not with her but at her. This she could not bare. She was also not able to leave the place JUST LIKE THAT, for the elders may think it to be a sign of disrespect towards them. She felt it difficult to inhale and swallow the food amidst the sound and fury of others.

That evening as she came back home from work and a small boy, in the street, who said, “I too believe in ghosts”, interrupted her.

K. madhav

Mock(ed) Interview

It is our habit, as Soft skills Trainers, to conduct Mock Interview sessions to our 'beloved' students. Here follows one such occasion wherein a student thrilled me with his exciting answer.

Me: Tell something about you.

Pat came an excellent answer with his name, academic background, family background, achievements and he ended saying, "my hobbies are playing cricket and listening to music"

Me: What things you can apply to your life as a cricket player?

Pat came an excellent answer with all possible things from team playing, time managing skills, etc.

Me: (much satisfied with his answers) What kind of music you hear?

My Student: Whatever song they play in my hostel before the study hour.

Me: !? (A thunder of laughter from all around his friends)