Love Stor(e)y

I got into the lift (elevator)

............................It
............................Went
............................Down

............. She entered
............................I
............................Wentnear
............................Her

...........Another entered
............................She
............................Went
............................Nearhim

Ground floor - - - they went
............................I
............................Fell
............................In
............................Love
B A S E M E N T

Zen in me - 1

Marching Forward Unmindfully

I was driving my vehicle, in a busy road, at a busy time. I drove with great care and regular pace-40km/hr. A man behind me kept blowing his horn. The road was wide; there was no one on my sides. The man kept blowing his horn. I kept moving at my regular pace. The man kept blowing his horn.

Cup Sssssssssip

An artistic creation, in my hands!
I take her and she slides as I wish
Transparent, nothing she hid from me

Now she lays open
Still she is clasped by me
She readily unfolds her warmth
My lips rubbed hers
I utterly nestle and succumb to her
My fingers keep running over her ribs

She quenches my thirst and is empty now
Ten minutes, everything ended between us
“Once hot and now arctic”, I mutter
I threw her debris
I am denied one more cup of tea

A Dream I Dream

I had a dream…
I was with a girl! (let me name her as Maya)…

We, Maya and me, are in a beach, an unknown beach, with vivid water reflecting the sky. The sea is blue, a clear blue, exposing its corals and inhabitants to the outer world. Eagles and albatross keep flying hither and thither but never wish to take a plight into the water and scoop their prey. They maintain the serene atmosphere by keeping themselves aloof from plunging. It is better to fast than to perturb the calmness of air, they fancied themselves. The waves chased each other as kids do, when they are let out in an open ground after a day’s time spent inside a house. Everything is good with the sea.

The white foams carried by waves, like an emissary, try to climb up the mountain, forming a part of the seashore, adjacent to the sea. The mountain resembles a big wall, brown and uneven surface. Occasionally herbs sprout of the rugged surface. The herbs, green here and there, are like stars shinning here and there during darker nights.

The mountain stands erect, never seems to be moved by the strong, gushing winds of the sea. The waves thump them avenging their failure and incapability of moving the rock. The waves deposit some crabs. The crabs move sideways. They metamorphose their colours when they silt in the rocks. Tiny, little, birds are finding it hard to brawl with the crabs and win them as their prey.

The shore… the shore was filled yellowish sand. The colour was as though they are sawdust that comes after scratching a big teak wood. I find sand everywhere, no tree and no human beings except Maya and me. Not even a single palm tree to my sight. We both are there couched comfortably in the shade of the huge mountain. We both are occupying a small place that connects the seashore with the mountain crest.

There is no sound in the shore except hush of the fast blowing wind pushed hardly by the sea. I feel as if the sea sends the wind by compulsion so that Maya would not mind the burning rays of the sun (dreams have exaggerations and hyperboles please LET ME DREAM!). Maya is in her black dress, she is good with a smile, the smile that the waves are craving to taste. I stand as her guard never letting the waves touch her feet or taste her beautiful lips and so they fall without entering the shore.

I allow winds as my Maya wish to enjoy them. I keep watching her, her child like face and childlike play in the sands. She is screwing into the sand by using her tiny, tender fingers, just to see them closed by her other fingers. We speak no words. She occasionally shares glances with me. I am not able to take away my eyes from her eyes and busy fingers. Silence is eloquent.

Maya gets up from the place and she wishes to run around the beach. I say to her, “Its better to sit in a place and enjoy the place, by safely cuddling in my arms.”

“No, I wish to run. There is nobody here. I wish to be myself dear,” replies Maya.

“Alright, I have no objection. Try not to run too fast, so that you can avoid slipping in the sand.” I put forth my request.

“Why on earth are you here with me then? Will you let me fall down?” she interrogates and starts to run and hop around the place. She beckons me as she started to run.

I did not mind about the waves that are trying to invade into our territory, my territory. I start to run beside my girl. She is running by my side. She smiles as if she has done a BIG job, her seven years itch. I keep running by her side looking at her for some time and later I shift and gear up my imagination towards the waves that chase each other. I fancy the first waves to be my Maya and the second ones representing me. The second waves go at the back and I am going behind Maya.

I keep matching the pace of the waves with ours, as it happens with all of us when we walk with someone dear to us. We try to march with the same leg that our partner has, if we keenly concentrate on their leg movement. This keenness on leg movement would end up with us getting unconscious of the words articulated. I get lost in turning my head left and right. The sea is to my right and my girl at left. I left her unnoticed when my head is towards the right. During my sequential swing from left, I find my girl kneeling in the sand. I sit besides her smiling, which she admires many times. She too smiles at me…

There ends my dream…
I wish to dream the dream
I do not know what it all meant. It made me happy. It makes me happy.

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.