Sketches from a Writer's Album

The Dirty Girls Social Club- Alisa Valdes Rodriguez

2010-06-17T01:54:00.000-07:00

Valdes-Rodriguez's debut novel delivers on the promise of its sexy title, offering six lively, irreverent characters: the sucias ("dirty girls" in Spanish), who have been friends since college and get together twice a year to catch up. The book opens at just such a meeting, six years after they've graduated from Boston University, and takes us through an eventful year in their late 20-something lives. This diverse group of women defies stereotypes. There's reserved, conservative Rebecca, founder and editor of a magazine for Latina women, whose marriage to a preppy, Marxist theory-spouting academic is on the rocks; Sara, a full-time mom in Brookline, from a rich Cuban-Jewish family and married to an abusive husband; Usnavys, ambitious and entertainingly materialistic, who's an executive with United Way; Amber, a struggling singer and guitarist; Elizabeth, host of a Boston morning TV show and a born-again Christian; and Lauren, a feisty, hard-drinking newspaper columnist, half Cuban and "half white trash." The book addresses serious questions-prejudice, the difficulty of winning respect from Latino men-but balances them with enough budding (and dying) romances and descriptions of clothing and decor to satisfy any chick lit fan.Th

Cujo – Stephen King

2010-05-24T23:21:00.001-07:00

One of the heart-stopping horror novels of Stephen King, Cujo unveils a chain of tragic events when Cujo, the pet dog of Joe Campers had inflicted with rabies. As a mechanic, Joe Camper is leading a quiet life with his wife Charity and son Brett. Working in a small workshop annexed to his house, Joe Camper is respected in this small American town as a professional mechanic. Cujo is Brett’s best friend, they shared a deep friendship.

Vic Trenton is an advertising professional living with his wife and son. Vic’s professional life became problematic while he struggles to maintain a big account for his ad agency. Leading a life of a desperate house wife, Donna enters into an amorous relationship with a passionate local salesman turns poet.

When Donna’s car Pinto needs a mechanic, the Trenton family decided to meet Joe Camper. Brett and Tad, son of Vic Trenton befriended and they shared a deep love for Cujo. Meanwhile Cujo had afflicted with rabies from a bat while he roam around the open field and enter into a hole. Camper family doesn’t know the pathetic condition of Cujo. Cujo has begun his serial killing. When Charity and Brett decided to visit her sister, soon Joe Camper became the prey for Cujo.

While her workaholic husband were away for business, Donna takes her ailing Pinto to Joe Cambers' garage for repairs only to be trapped with her son Tad in the sweltering car by the monstrous dog.

Stephen King has never written a book in which readers will turn the pages with such a combination of anticipation and dire apprehension. Doing so, they will experience an absolute master at work

The Broker- John Grisham

2010-04-26T23:11:00.000-07:00

Joel Beckman, a powerful financial broker jailed for six years who tried to sell a secret surveillance system to Pentagon, gets a sudden pardon unexpectedly. A top plan of CIA, the parting president, Morgan withdraws all charges against Beckman and hides the news from media. Half doubtfully and half cheerfully, Beckman received the offer and agreed to take the chance of freedom. Shipped to Italy, Beckman was forced to live in a fake identity and fake name as Marco. Meanwhile CIA makes plans to unveil the identity of Beckman to China, Saudi and Israel who are in a run after the surveillance system.

Primarily, the secret surveillance system was spotted by 3 young Karachi based Pakistan IT Professionals, after their initial wonder, they developed a software called JAM, to control the system, and they tried to sell JAM to Joel Beckman. Realizing the potential of the stuff, Beckman tried to sell the system to Pentagon and the effort was hijacked by CIA and Beckman was caught with the red hand and they put him in jail.

Living in an Italian town in a fake identity as Marco, Beckman was forced to learn the Italian Language as per the plan of CIA, while learning the language Beckman developed relationship with his female tutor and she helped to flee Beckman with the aid of her husband’s passport.

Reaching back Washington, with the help of his female tutor and son, Neal, Joel Beckman reestablish his firm with his intellectual moves…

The Broker ( 2005) is my first John Grisham novel.

The Music Room- Namita Devidayal

2010-04-26T02:48:00.000-07:00

The Vodafone Crossword Popular Book Award-2007 winner Namita Devidayal’s The Music Room is an interesting novel. Written in an intimate tone and mood, the novel tries to portray the relationship of Guru and Shishya in its traditional Indian way.

By her mother’s interest Namita, a ten year old girl went to learn classic musical from Dhondutai, a respected singing teacher from Jaipur Gharana. As the only remaining student of the Alladiya Khan, the founder of the Jaipur Gharana, Dhondutai pass on her great gift to Namita and eventually little Namita turns to be a matured singer and she unearth the treasures of Indian Music with the help of Dhondutai. Travelling through the life of great musicians and their style, Namita understands the greatness Dhondutai, and the sublime spirit of music. More than a novel, The Music Room is an autobiographical account of the author itself.

Death in Holy Orders- P D James

2010-04-15T21:15:00.000-07:00

Death in Holy Orders is a masterly exploration which distinguishes P.D. James as a novelist: the sensitive evocation of place, a complex and credible mystery, respect for forensic detail, and the tension of a plot that never flags. The story is set in an Anglican theological college on a desolate stretch of the East Anglian coast. When the body of one of the students is found on the shore, his wealthy father demands that Scotland Yard re-examine the verdict of accidental death. Dalgliesh has visited St Anselm's in his boyhood and, as he is due for a holiday, agrees to pay a visit .As the weekend brings another murder, Dalgliesh soon finds himself embroiled in one of the most horrific and puzzling cases of his career.

P D James is the author of 16 novels. Before her retirement in 1979, she served in the forensics and criminal justice departments of Great Britain’s Home Office, and she has been a magistrate and a governor of the BBC. The recipient of many prizes and honors, she was created Baroness James of Holland Park in 1991. In 2000 she celebrated her eighteenth birthday and published her autobiography, Time to be in Earnest.

Short Cuts- Raymond Carver

2010-04-09T05:07:00.000-07:00

Raymond Carver (1938-1988) is one of the most significant voices in Short Story in 20^th century. He is also a poet. Short Cuts contain nine stories and one poem. Drifting between the jobs as hospital porter, a textbook editor, a dictionary sales man, a petrol station attendant and a delivery man, Raymond Carver took writing as a career for living. These vast experiences contributed a lot to his stories.

Short Cuts include some of Carver’s best and most “Carveresque stories.” “Neighbors” describes the kinky behavior of a couple supposedly taking care of an apartment while friends are away. In “So Much Water So Close to Home,” four men discover a murdered woman’s nude body in the river but do not report it until they have finished their three-day fishing trip. “A Small, Good Thing” concerns a boy fatally injured by a hit-and-run driver on the morning of his birthday.

“Lemonade” is a fairly typical Carver poem without rhyme, meter, or poetic rhetoric. It describes a father’s grief over the death of his son and is written in the author’s characteristic low-key, conversational manner, helplessly commiserating while conspicuously shunning the kinds of speculations and epiphanies contained in such elegies as John Milton’s “Lycidas” (1637), Percy Bysshe Shelley’s “Adonais” (1821), and Alfred Tennyson’s “In Memoriam” (1850).

Based on this collection Robert Altman has made a beautiful film named as Short Cuts, which acquired a cult status

The Godfather- Mario Puzo

2010-04-01T01:33:00.001-07:00

A source book of Italian Mafia and its ruthless family owned illegal businesses; The Godfather traces the family history of Don Corleone, the Godfather and his heirs to the throne. Settled in the conflicting period of 40s and 50s, novel begins with the wedding of Connie Corloene, much pampered daughter of the Don, the wedding turns to be a mega event with the presence of Italian Mafia families, who operates in Newyork. Apart from the olive oil business, Don Corleone runs the Gambling business in Newyork. Enjoying a reputation of the most powerful mafia don of the city, Don Corleone achieved this position with the help of his strong henchmen Clemenza and Tisso and the help of powerful bribed politicians in the city.

With the entrance of Sollozzo to seek Don’s help in narcotic business, gradually the quiet scenes of the underworld life changes into a bloody battle between the five families in the city. Sollozzo shoots Don, and thus begins a mob violence in the circle. Sonny, the first son of the Don, took charge of the office and his unreasonable acts of attacks spread the unrest into the entire mafia system. Mickele the second son of the Don kills his father's enemies, Sollozzo and captain and he flees to Italy. Meanwhile Sonny gets killed and Don Corelone returns to his apartment after a long period of stay in the hospital.

After Sonny's death the Corelone family loses t its powers and the other families captures the power of Corelons. Mickele returns from Italy and restore the powers of Corelones and he becomes terrific after the death of Don, Corelone, the Godfather.

Mario Puzo is an Italian-American Author.This book was adapted into a cinema by Francis Ford Coppola and it won many Oscars and is a nominal film in the history.

The Spice Route- John Keay

2010-03-26T00:41:00.000-07:00

Through tracing the trade route of the spices, John Keay wrote a new history about the ancient world. Spices have played a prominent role in the construction of the modern world, without any healthy quotient spices attract world’s first explorers and travelers.

The resulting volume, culled from historical commentaries and records, is a colorful and detailed portrait of the astonishing impact man's love for flavor had on the earliest stages of globalization. The route by which Keay's narrative travels is seasoned with facts and anecdotes, ranging from ancient historians' fantastic reports of men with "pendulous upper lips" and the heads of dogs-or none at all-to the Muslim invasion of India and the Islamification of Malaysia.

There is a surprising mythology surrounding the spice trade, and Keay does this angle ample justice, citing figures such as Marco Polo, Ibn Batuta and Roman playwright Plautus. Although Keay ends his book with the grim conclusion that the forces of globalization are to blame for the demystification and downfall of "spice," the work itself is nothing short of zesty.

Girl with a Pearl Earring-Tracy Chevalier

2010-03-22T21:52:00.000-07:00

Inspired from the renowned painting of Johannes Vermeer’s Girl with a Pearl Earring, Tracy Chevalier wrote a beautiful novel, which comes under the same title. Vermeer is a 17 th century Dutch Baroque style painter, who lived and worked in Delft, a canal town in Holland.

Griet, a 16 year old girl was appointed by the renowned painter, Vermeer, to do domestic chores and clean his studio. Coming from a poor family surrounding, Griet was forced to take the hard job and eventually she became the second maid in the house. Apart from cleaning, washing and thousand other domestic duties, she has to run for the fish, meat stalls and fetch water from the nearby canal.

Amidst in the hectic household work, Griet showed a growing interest in Vermeer’s paintings, the painter realizes the talent of Griet, and he made her as a model for his painting titled as Girl With a Pearl Earring. This shocked the wife of the painter and thus began new problems in the household. Meanwhile Griet developed a romance with Peter, a young butcher in the market. Griet was forced to stay aloof from the house and later she married Peter out of her indebtness to him in many ways. . After a decade she heard that her former master died and family fell into the depths of soaring debts. And a few days later her former mistress called and gave her the pearl earrings as per the instruction in the painter’s will. The most touching in the novel would be the stage where, Griet sells the precious pearl earring to pay off all emotions towards Peter and to free herself completely from any worldly debt

Girl with a Pearl Earring, won the Barnes and Noble Discover Award. Nearly 4 million copies of the book has been worldwide and made into a film starring Colin Firth and Scarlett Johansson.

THE MUSEUM OF INNOCENCE- ORHAN PAMUK

2010-03-20T00:02:00.001-07:00

Nobel Prize Winning ( 2006), Turkish Writer Orhan Pamuk’s new novel The Museum of Innocence is a riveting story of love, longing and anguish. Set in the life of Istanbul elites, the story revolves around the love life of Kemal Bey, an elite class business man and Fusun, a village beauty. Span from 1975-2008, the novel traces everyday banalities of life in Istanbul society and the history in general.

Kemal Bey is engaged to Sibel, one of the wealthy, eligible young ladies of Istanbul high society. While the preparations for engagement were progressing, Kemal Bey fell into an amorous relationship with Fusun, his distant relative. Engagement breaks and Kemal’s love for Fusun had no bounds now. Shockingly before their love blossoms Kemal loses Fusun in the alleys of the city. After a long period and a long search in the cobble stone alleys of Istanbul, Kemal at last finds the house of Fusun. But by this Fusun had been married to Feridun, a would be film maker and scriptwriter, still Kemal frequented the house, with the hope of Fusun accepting his love. At last, Fusun get divorced with Feridun and after the incessant visit of 8 years to the house, Fusun joined with Kemal. But fate hit Kemal in a different way, in a drunken mood , Fusun drives the car to kill herself, from then Kemal gets lost in her thoughts and start to collect her things and start to build a museum to remember her. One of his visits to world museums, Kemal dies with heart attack.

The 531 page novel is absolutely a beautiful read. Published by Faber & Faber.

A Hundred and One Days, a Baghdad Journal- Asne Seiesrstad

2010-03-19T04:42:00.000-07:00

After the success of The Bookseller of Kabul, Asne Seierstad, Norwegian Journalist wrote a terrific wartime account of last decade’s famous battle ground, Baghdad. A Hundred and One Days, a Baghdad Journal told the story of the doomsday of Baghdad.

In January 2003 Åsne Seierstad entered Baghdad on a ten-day visa. Through bribery, pleading and begging she stayed for over three months, reporting on the war and its aftermath.

A Hundred and One Days is her account of life in Baghdad in the lead up to, during and aftermath of the American invasion. As a journalist Seierstad is used to reporting in a factual manner and through A Hundred and One Days she allows us a glimpse of what life for the locals was like during those terrifying months.

In the lead up to the war Seierstad found it nearly impossible to find anyone to talk to. Everyone was terrified of Saddam's regime and repeated a political spiel as if they were brainwashed. Seierstad did not give up though, and slowly but surely how the Iraqi people really felt about their illustrious leader began to emerge.

Through the assistance of a local interpreter Aliya, Seirestad gradually pieced together exactly what life was like in Baghdad during Saddam's reign. Although given the opportunity to leave before the American bombs began falling Seierstad chose to stay and continue to report on the city under siege.

Through her writing Seierstad brings us images of children mutilated by bombs, houses reduced to rubble, a children's graveyard where no markers are used, men who were victims of torture without fingernails - the list goes on.

Having read The Bookseller of Kabul and loved it I was looking forward to A Hundred and One Days and I was not disappointed. Seierstad's writing draws the reader in and allows you a firsthand glimpse of life in another country. Not the version we see on television, but how the real people live and cope.

On Reading

2010-03-04T22:54:00.000-08:00

For most of our history, reading has been done by just a few specialists, and aloud. In the fifth century, Saint Augustine was famously perplexed by the weird habits of Saint Ambrose: "When he read, his eyes scanned the page and his heart sought out the meaning, but his voice was silent and his tongue was still. Anyone could approach him freely and guests were not commonly announced, so that often, when we came to visit him, we found him reading like this in silence, for he never read aloud."

IFFK-2009

2009-11-23T23:06:00.000-08:00

The film buffs of Kerala is waiting for the 14th IFFK-09

My debut novel

2009-11-09T23:17:00.000-08:00

My Dream Come True...........................

THIS IS IT

2009-10-31T02:38:00.000-07:00

King of Pop, Micheal Jackson resurrected.

Nine Lives- William Darlymple

2009-10-26T04:01:00.000-07:00

I am reading this...

Indian Purush

2009-10-24T04:27:00.000-07:00

Indian Male is in a transforming period, from the village heavy mustached male to new chic urban male, there is a lot of transformation. Look at the Indian Male, these days they wear peppy colored jeans and they carry fancy mobile phones and they even speak in hush sexy voice these days. Marketing people are wise people to channelize their fancy in this slot. Look at the new model cars its all appealing to the new age man hood by its trendy design and colors.

On Beauty

2009-10-22T22:50:00.001-07:00

I adore Nicole Kidman

I can Quit Smoking

2009-10-18T21:17:00.000-07:00

I constantly fail to quit smoking. Several times i tried to quit this suicidal pleasure. By changing my route to office, avoiding regular wayside tea stalls, but everything turns into failure. Last night I read an interesting book about quit smoking , it is Richard Craze's Stop Smoking Stay Cool, a hardcore smoker for 40 years , Richard tells about the parasitic nature of cigarettes , written in a humorous tone , this engaging book help you quit smoking. Last two days I never inhale a single smoke, oh god its my third day. Help Richard!

Kanyakumari Morning

2009-10-15T21:11:00.000-07:00

It is good that ,every bad night had a good dawn. Kanyakumari morning, which is situated at the southern tip of Kerala. Famous for its sunset. It is said to be that Swami Vivekananda used to swim the sea to reach the Vivekananda rock to practice his blissful dhyana.

Akutagawa

2009-10-15T02:15:00.000-07:00

I would like to write like Ryunosuke Akutagawa. Roshomon is a great story which I read in my entire life. There is no drama in this story its full of life.

In praise of Erotic Literature

2009-10-14T02:36:00.000-07:00

For centuries Erotic Literature were considered as taboo literature. Many writers of this genre of literature were expelled from their home country; their books were burned in public, publishers were hunted by church and state. Fighting against all odds these great writers became world famous and their books turns to be classics.

Lolita, Madam Bovary, Lady Chatterleys Lover, we could number so many classics in this genre. In India, Kamasuthra stands out as a guide and encyclopedia for this amorous pleasure. Apart from the known writers most of erotic literature was written by anonymous writers. I would like introduce two great works in this genre for the readers of erotic literature.

John Cleland’s Fanny Hill (Memoirs of a Woman in Pleasure) is an unknown classic in erotic literature. It is about a poor country girls’ experience in the bawdy houses of London in 18th century.
John Philip Lundin’s Women is an erotic classic. This wonderful read is about writer’s own memoir of sexual experience with ten women around the world. Claudine-the American whore, Lynn- the virgin, Odette-French girl, Florence , Laura, Marsha- Russian woman, Anne- Sales girl, Suzie- a Korean woman, Hisako-San- Japanese, Rita-German

Kochi Palace-Kerala

2009-10-12T21:16:00.001-07:00

Tripunithara Hill Palace has been the residence of erstwhile rulers of Kerala. Built in 1865, the Palace complex consists of 49 buildings in the traditional architectural style, Hill Palace is the largest archaeological museum in Kerala, near Tripunithura. It was the administrative office of Kochi Rajas. Built in 1865, the Palace complex consists of 49 buildings in the traditional architectural style, spreading across in 54 acres. The complex has an archaeological museum, a heritage museum, a deer park, a pre-historic park and a children’s park [2]. The land surrounding the Hill Palace has rare Medicinal Plants

Story of a Goat

2009-10-09T23:26:00.000-07:00

My childhood was blessed with the presence of different kinds of animals. We had cows, goats, rabbits, hens and a cat. I dearly loved all those animals. They were like our family members; they contributed much to our family income. I still remember... we had a very peculiar goat that had a different beard like an intellectual. She was an old goat; my nose could still recollect her piercing goat odor. She died by over -eating some bad leaves. I remember that was the only time in my life I spent my whole day in tears. My last home coming, my son played with our new goat and her lambs. Where are my childhood family members?...They were died or passed to other farmers ..Oh my great friends I miss you in my wretched urban life.

Media-Diet of Kerala

2009-10-09T05:19:00.000-07:00

More than 7 Malayalam News Papers,

5 FM Radio Stations,

7 Regional T V Channels,

100s of Magazines,

Oh …God! I struck constipation…

Page 3 Kovalam Literary Fest......

2009-10-08T21:18:00.000-07:00

Last evening I attended the reading session of Ira Trivedi's The Great Indian Love Story at DC Books, Trivandrum. The cosmopolitan writer babe was in a sexy attire , her sexy cleavage was visible to her dear readers. She said the book was completed within 30 days by writing 10 pages a day. This writer babe has come down to Kerala to attend Kovalam Literary Fest, which turns to be a Page 3 event sponsored by Kendra Sahithya Academy and leading publishers of India. I have heard that there are restricted entries to the venue and the regional writers were envious for the celebrity status of new- breed Page 3 writers. Like the ingredients of her novel the book reading session was the mix of glamor...glitz and Sex. Thanks Ira Trivedi and Kovalam Literary Fest.

Branding God’s Own Country

2009-10-05T21:34:00.000-07:00

What makes a great brand? The answers may vary but everybody would agree in one point, the power of a 360 degree advertising campaign. Branding India – An Incredible Story tells the story of two powerful advertisements campaigns, which positioned India and Kerala as the prime tourism destinations in the world. Amitabh Kant nicely wrote the story of Brand India, and its incredible positioning story, where he himself involved in the two campaigns, Incredible India and God’s Own Country.

God’s Own Country, the tag which positioned Kerala as the prime destination in the world is the child of Walter Mendez of Mudra Advertising. Many things contributed to fix Kerala in the world tourism map. Wieden+ Kennedy,Mudra, Stark were the creative agencies who make Brand India through their creative positioning Strategies. V Sunil, Executive Creative Director, Wieden + Kennedy has creatively made the ‘Branding India – An Incredible Story ‘ more enjoyable.

2009-10-02T22:33:00.000-07:00

Kerala Women is blessed with long hair. Folklore says that even woman hide their lovers in their lustrous hair. There is many indigenous ways to protect hair from split and fall. Older woman of every kerala household known some ancient ways to protect their daughters long hair. One who see Ravi Varma paintings will have opportunity to see the beauty of hair. There is a common nostalgia of Kerala men that they wish to marry long-hair woman.

Chinese Nets at Fort Kochi

2009-10-01T01:46:00.001-07:00

Every traveler who come across Fort Kochi will captivated by the sheer beauty of its Chinese nets.

It is an architectural marvel with simple wooden structures, it is amazing that there is no machines or motors connected to this fish net. The net will reach into the depths of water with the help of some rocks which is attached to rope. Chinese Net is the daily earning of poor fisher man.

Madurai - My Travels in South India

2009-10-01T00:17:00.000-07:00

Madurai is a classical city where ancient trade system still functions, where ancient man peddled man cycle rickshaws still roams, where ancient poetic sects regularly met and recite classical texts, where ancient sacred hymns sung 365 days for the citadel of the fish-eyed goddess, where ritual and religion rule, where modern world came stand-still in front of the classical world.

When we came for 3 day visit for Madurai, It was our third visit for this India’s foremost temple city, which situated in the southern tip of the sub-continent. Magellan to Marco Polo, and William Darlymple to Michael Wood has visited and spellbound with the beauty of this ancient city, and they share their excitement through words to the world.

MILLS AND BOONS

2009-06-06T04:17:00.000-07:00

After reading Kamu, Kafka, Satre, Neitche, I switched over to Mills & Boons, thank god!

3

2009-04-18T00:03:00.000-07:00

In my village, there is a popular belief that when a death happened in the village, the spirit of the dead roam around the village and grab other two souls to travel the nether world. People witnessed the death of 3 in a row at several times in our village. When the church's death bell tolls or the temple mike announces the death of one, we eager to hear the next death and a chilling fear tremble our very bones. Old and the diseased hate to hear the death bells. I can hear the distant church's death bell....

My travels to Old Books Stalls

2009-04-08T04:19:00.000-07:00

I like to suffer the dust and damp of old books. I went to old books stalls regularly. That way I spend my evenings...

One Man Tango

2009-02-19T03:25:00.000-08:00

A true artist must conquer or be destroyed, create or die, move or be caught in the crush. In a man's work there are not only the seeds of life but also the seeds of death. The power of creation that sustains us will also destroy us, like a leprosy, if we leave it to rot in our vitals

Anthony Quinn
ONE MAN TANGO

The Long Strider

2009-02-05T23:11:00.000-08:00

Reading travelogues is an interesting travel experience through words . Last week I read The Long Strider, a trail through the first English Traveler Thomas Coryate's travel route to India. Dom Morrais and Sarayu chase the old route and amazingly wrote the book.Thomas Coryate traveled in 1613 to India or highly risk route and witnessed raw life of the sub-continent. Apparently the traveller cant complete his ambitious book on India and he died at Surat. A beautiful read, Thanks Dom Morrais and Sarayu

Hello 2009

2009-01-05T02:18:00.000-08:00

Adore you...
The spirit of new year...
Bless me..
With your fruits of earth...
Bless me ...
With your bountiful happiness and gaity...
Dont forsake me..
My ways are long and weary...
Bless me with your 4 seasons...
Bless me with sunshine, raindrops and moonlights..
Hello...Spirit of 2009
Keep my dear ones healthy and blessed this year...
Bless the earth with your perpetual kindness...
Hello..spirit of 2009..
Make me happy this year

Mobile Proud

2008-10-27T23:13:00.000-07:00

We are PROUD about different things. As an interesting human behaviour this reflect our socail standing and the very character of the individual. Hosewifes were PROUD about their kitchen..the utensils...cooker...6 ltr refrigerator...6 kg washing machine etc...this Proud is called KP(Kitchen Proud). Mothers were Proud aboutt their Younger Sons...they proudfully exhibit their YS in social gathering and Proudly Praise their virtues...this is calle YSP..( Younger Son Proud) and follows Car Proud, Garden Proud, Dog Proud, Degree Proud, etc, etc.... But these days I found a new set of people who were Proud of their cell phones...Just look around...you found a guy Proudly exhibit his brand new Mobile to an admiring crowd..this is called MP - (Mobie Proud)

MINARET

2008-10-24T03:42:00.000-07:00

Leila Aboulela's MINARET is a beautiful read. The story revolves around the life of Najwa. Born in an elite, respectful Sudanese family, Najwa falls into the pit of downtrodden life with coup of Sudanese Government, where his father was once an influential businessman and politician. After his father's arrest Najwa and her family moved to London. She found her very self in the urban, globalized England , and she starts her search for true self and faith. After her mother's untimely demise and her brother's arrest for dealing with drugs, Najwa started to work in rich Sudanese household for a living.

Bleak House

2008-10-20T02:46:00.000-07:00

I like Gothic Literature. I like forsaken bleak houses abandoned in countrysides. Once I visited such a bleak mansion. The very house is surrounded with creepers and age-old trees, an ancient gate is ornamented with a wood nameplate which read as CHACKO VARGHESE, PUTHUPARAMBIL . I never know who is this Chacko is. But through the transparent window I had seen his families entire photo hanged in the walls. Photographs of a heavy moustache man in formal suit and a dazzling looking girl in midie and top. May be the man is Chacko and the lass is his daughter. But I never forget the piercing eyes of the girl.

HAPPINESS

2008-10-18T05:38:00.000-07:00

Happiness is an Old Saint,
Sitting in a tavern with unhappy drunkards
Joy is a virgin
Born and brought up in a brothel
Calmness is an innocent son
Killed by his way-ward cruel father
Silence is a wife
Hanged by his husband
Me
A human
In search for Happiness, Joy, Calmness and Silence

Of Lineage

2008-10-10T22:26:00.000-07:00

Everybody boasts 'Lineage' or ancestry or bloodline of descent but I hate this. I love Heathcliff like brats and their very struggle to exist in a fucking lineage driven world. Kings, Rulers, PMs, Musicians, Bollywood stars, Gandhi clan of Indian Politicians,Writers, Cricket Players, Actors, even whores boasts about rich lineage. Recently I had seen Cilnt Eastwood's The Good, the Bad and the Ugly...I love the pirates and their very existance. I love the great people who emerged from street and forcefully captured the power of wealth, power and fame from the hands fucking lineage sons and duaghters of this bad world. Huree to all tramps and pirates

SONGS

2008-10-07T02:54:00.000-07:00

Working in an FM Station I am forced to listen film songs in a non-stop manner. Daily 8 hrs of Malyalam-Tamil-Hindi songs. Apparently every corner of our station is studded with blaring automated speakers, even in pantry I can't keep away from songs. Songs!!!. In malyalam lyrisists they have particular love to certain words such as Makara Manju- Winter Snow, Kalli Penne- Oh..my thief girl, Kuliru- Chill, Kinavu-Dream, Mizhithumpu-brim of the eyes, peyyuu- shower....Tamil lyristst love to write En Azhake- Oh my beauty, kathal dinam- day of love, nila- moon light, Uyiru- breath to life, Unnai- You, Penne- girl,

Book Review- The Harmony Silk Factory- Tash Aw

2008-09-29T04:10:00.000-07:00

"Unputdownable" says Dorris Lessing about Tash Aw's debut novel- The Harmony Silk Factory is right. Tash Aw narrates the wonders of exotic east wrapped in the life of Johnny Lim- a vagabond turned hero and his mysterious wife, Snow. The story is set in the backgroud of WW 2 .Like Rashmon, the fall and rise of Johnny Lim, unfolds through the eyes of three individuals, Johnny's son , Snow and Peter Wormwood. Half of the story is told by Johnny's son, portraying the Heathcliffian character and early years of tactful Johnny, his short stinch as a miner and his entry to the valley and Snow's home. The scond part of the Story is being narrated through the diaries of Snow. The mysterios diary notes reveal their honymoon trip to Seven Maidens - island and the ghostly happenings there. Peter unveals last part of the story. The innocent and much diturbed life of Johnny.

ADVANTAGES OF A GOOD NAME

2008-09-24T23:14:00.000-07:00

A name is a tag. A tail which follows you everywhere. Apparently I am branded with a bad name. "Jacob" that is my tag. My christian parents took this name from Bible. In Bible, Jacob is a treacherous brother, who cheated his brother and take advantages of younger-son blessings from his father. Certain times I express that biblical Jacob's treacherous trait. Oftentimes my mother used to analyse my character with biblical Jacob. But god's grace this biblical Jacob was once blessed with the angels of Jehovah. I too.
But in my Indian-Kerala existance my name embit the image of a cyrian-christain Achayan.
In Kerala the common names are Ajayan-One who can't defeat, Sathyapalan-One who always vigil truth, Arun- other name for sun, Sundaran- The beautiful...and many other names Sreekumar, Anil, Sunil, manoj...etc. All these names had a vibrant youth feel. I miss this. Jacob- the very name throw me into the pit of a bad brand name- Achayan

Muniswami- The man who peddles other men

2008-09-14T23:36:00.000-07:00

Madurai roads is always bustling...brand new bmws to age-old cycle rickshaws honking 24 hrs in this Temple City. Coiling Circle is the shape of the city here. On our short tour we climbed Muniswami's Cycle rikshaw. Looks like a black seer the drunken Muniswami take us to the honking city. Musiswami had two wives and 12 children.Last 20 years Muniswami Peddling through the temple roads of Madurai. Yelled with the motor vehicles passed through the roadside Muniswami makes the way to his cycle and his life-cycle.

Trailing throgh the Temple City- Madurai

2008-09-14T22:50:00.000-07:00

Trailing through the Temple City- Madurai is an enthralling experience. Myraid colors of dieties, cow-dug smelling streets, labyrinth of narrow alleies, silk-cloth shops, people carry man peddling cycles, scorching Indian sun and finally the poor south-Indian mass. Madurai-meenakshi temple is a classic example of great, intricate, much laboured Indain Architecture. The 4 tower temple is built by various king at different times. Following the Durga cult in the Indian sub-continent is an interesting thing to bhakthi travellers .

Madurai had great folkloric history, once Kannagi burned this ancient city. The story of Kannagi plays an important role in history of Madurai.
Story of Kannagi - from a website sorce
There lived a merchant by name "Maasaathuvaan" in Kaveripoompattinam. He had a son called "Kovalan". He was married to "Kannagi" who was the beautiful daughter of a merchant by name "Maanaikkan".
Later Kovalan fell in love with a dancer called "Madhavi". He became a spendthrift and soon he lost all his property. On the occasion of "Indira " festival in Kaveripoomopattinam, he had a dispute with Madhavi and he went back to Kannagi. Inorder to regain his property, he went to Madurai along with his wife kannagi to start a business. They were accompanied by "Kavunthiadigal".But she continued her journey after leaving the Kovalan and Kannagi in "Puranjery" where they were accompanied by "Madhari" who was a cowherdess. She helped the couple in all ways.Kannagi gave her Jewelled anklet ("Silambu") to Kovalan and asked him to sell it so that he can start his new business. Kovalan went to market to sell one of Kannagi's anklets. In the meantime, the queen of Pandiyan King Nedunchezhiyan,lost her anklets ("Silambu"). Actually, the court Jeweller had robbed the queen's anklets. Once the wicked jeweller happened to see Kovalan with Kannagi's anklets in the market. He seized the anklet from Kovalan and informed the king about it. The king sent gaurds to arrest Kovalan. Kovalan was accused of having stolen the queen's anklets and was killed as per the king's order. When Kannagi came to know about the news, she went out into the town,with her eyes ablaze with anger, carrying the remaining anklet in her hand as proof of her husband's innocence. She made the king realise the truth by breaking her anklet which was made of Manickam. When Pandiyan king came to know that he had punished an innocent ,he died in his throne by saying "Oh! I am the thief and he is not the thief". The queen also died at that spot.Kannagi burnt Madurai into ashes in consequence to the injustice caused to her husband Kovalan.

It is an important centere of commerce since 550 AD. The Pandyan King Kulasekarar built a great temple and created a lotus shaped city around the temple. On the day the city was to be named, as Lord shiva blessed the land and its people, divine nectar (Madhu) was showered on the city from his matted locks. This city was henceforth known as Madhurapuri.

Onam

2008-09-06T01:19:00.000-07:00

I normally like Festivals. But the euphoria of Onam is disgusting. Images of Onam is reflection of Keralites nostalgic mind. Ksavu Glittering Onamudu remebers me the elite Kerala man and woman. And I hate the typical vegetarian Sadya ( feast) . But I like Payasams and yellow-colored banana chips. But in my childhood I partaked in onam festivities like collecting flowers from the nearby houses and cleaning the moss seaten walls to invite Maveli ( The First Communist-Socialist King in Kerala) . In my literature spirited youth I celebrated Onam Days with reading Literature filled special magazines.

Cave

2008-09-05T22:42:00.000-07:00

In old age man dwelled in caves. He kept his hunting tools and stocks in the cave. Everybody knows the cave-age of man. Ages flashed. Man had new environs to live and work. But his old instinct of savegery still pretains. Sorry ,I hope you know all about it. Recently I am shifted to a cave-flat. In the basement I rarely met our co-cave dwellers, like two tribes dwelling in the savage forests of Amazon we parted and never tried to smile at each other.

OM MANI PADME HUM

2008-08-20T19:16:00.000-07:00

I like this budhist chant very much OM MANI PADME HUM- BEHOLD THE JEWEL IN THE GOLDEN LOTUS...

Sunday on a Foggy Beach

2008-07-07T04:27:00.000-07:00

Last sunday we were together at beach
We walked and talked
Nothing communicated
Fog and foam
We chated irrerelavant things
Tissue of lies
Sand, empty bottles, crushed cigarettes, wet dreams
Philosophy and pornography
Spoonful of bitter cofee
At last we found a wornout barby doll washed away
We wind up or Holiday

Zorba

2008-06-30T22:55:00.000-07:00

Last week I struggled with Zorba. The eternal classic from Greek Master Nikos Kazathzakis, Zorba The Greek. Shivered with the mighty strength of Zorba I fell from the abyss of humanity. When I compare my life with Zorba I feel ashamed I am floating through the surf of life. But this may the happiness of human life..

Monsoon

2008-06-28T00:18:00.000-07:00

I like cloudy evenings. It fills me with immense fear. In my boyhood our home drool when rain dance through the whisling rubber trees. I love to be sleep while fat rain drop falling in roof tops and banan leaves. Cycling to rain is great when drizzle bike through the roads is good.It is lovely to be in forest when it rains. Once we were in forest when rain started it dance in the mountain tops. It is celestial. I wish to sitting at our old ancestral home in monsoon and experiece the compete laziness . Books another treat we can slow with sip of tea in monsoon days. In this monsson i will re read God of Small Things and Wuthering Heights

SOME DEFINITIONS

2008-06-04T22:04:00.000-07:00

HUSBAND- A HISSING SOUND OF BEND

WIFE- THERE IS ALWAYS A KNIFE IN WIFE

CHILDREN- DRILL EVEN CHILL

FARM

2008-06-04T21:30:00.000-07:00

Normally I dislike to do any household duties but everyday I fetch milk from our nearest farm. I love to go early morning into the farm and I enjoy the vista of beautiful cows standing in the cowshed. The farm contains poultry and other animals too. Rabbits, Goats, and the like.There was always a huge Q in front of the stall. I put my can and the milkman pour white surfing milk into the can. This is the one and only domestic duty I do. One day i went early to the farm there is no cows and milk man. Desert, there is no grass in the field. And atlas I saw a board and small shop, the board as MILMA

A BABY COULD MAKE YOU A MIMICRY ARTIST

2008-06-03T22:40:00.000-07:00

You can't make a serous man a mimicry artist. But a baby can. My 10 month old baby boy is doing such a marvelous job in our family. He emit babble sounds everybody imitate that sounds and they add new sounds to his babble vocabulary. Blu..blu...bluu...blu...bla...blaa...suck sounds. Last sunday we had a visitor in our home he is a serous middle aged man I had never ever seen his laughing face. Normally he growl and make other grotesque voice if we need any answer from him. I passed my boy to him firstly he hesitate to play with the boy. But my innocent son laugh at him and make him smile nicely. Then my son emit some sounds like bla..bla..again he smiled when I came back from kitchen I heard the serious man making grotesque BLAAAAAAAAAA.....

I lost my ability to tell stories

2008-05-27T01:30:00.000-07:00

Once iam wish to be a writer, i imagined things that will shake my very self. I dreamt about dragons, rainbow, misty mountains. But i lost all

Green Day

2008-05-02T01:02:00.000-07:00

I observed Green Day today. Planted 7 medicinal plants. Earth thanked me for doing such a good deed. But I killed morethan 10 earthworms. After a long period i touched wet earth, wet soil. Watering roots is a good thing. I planted kanikonna, ashokam, mandharam, nelli, madhalam, vazhana, and other plants. After rejuvenating job i went to wash soil washed away from my hands and toes, nice feeling.I sprouted with leaves

I Exist

2008-04-30T05:29:00.000-07:00

Morning
waking to a day of possibilities
everyday new hope and new dreams
Midday
ash sky with withered dreams
Evening
setting with anguish and dismay
Night
fearing unintrepeted dreams
I exist

About Cultural Centres

2008-04-28T21:23:00.000-07:00

We have 2 cultural centers in the city. One is Russian and other is French. Russian Cultural center is in a dilapidated situation, they stocked a good pile of old-marxist-leninist malayalam traslation books, these books were the study class material of communist party of india, kerala.
The only russianness of russian center reflects through librarian's moustache. I found a tiny spider webbed its art in the tiny russian flag lying in the desk. French people always boast themselves, wine, painting, piano they have typical things at stoke. No new books in their library only French books. And a cultureless director...we have 2 close these 2 cultural centers

No escape from Art

2008-04-23T23:38:00.000-07:00

Devil And God is dual existance of man..I belive so. When I trail the path of artistic life of Paul Gauguin I found this truth. I had read Somerset Maugham"s The Moon and Sixpence and Mario Vargas Ilosa's The Way To Paradise , amazed by the beauty and power these two books and the artist soul these two books discussed I spellbound by the shere beauty of the Gauguin's life.Day and night I ponder over the power of artist and his very agonizing life. I found Gauguin as saddist and seducer. I found Guguin as spiritual child and spirited god. An artist with revenge.After reading Guaguin i had headaches for two days. Never-before I trail a painter like this I had surfed all his painting and download and created a folder. Black magic is the power of art Ilosa wrote in The Way to Paradise. Really Guguin spell cast on me there is no escape from art

Reading Rajanikanth sorry Rajani Cinema

2008-04-02T04:44:00.000-07:00

We worship star gods and godesses. Like any Rajani fan I used to whistle and giggle when a Rajani movie is running on the screen. While reading Gayathri Sreekanth's THE NAME IS RAJANIKANTH I felt that irrestible instict to race my voice. Every page I clasped because Gayathri is trying to create an aura behing the star. The most funny thing in the book is that Gaythri tried to traslate some famous punch dialogues of Rajani. Example: Movie-Padayappa- En vazhi thani vazhi-My way is unique, Movie-Baasha-Naan Oru thadavu sonna, nooru thadavu sonna mathiri-If I say it once. I laughed and roared after reading the traslation..Hureeh

Haiku

2008-04-02T04:38:00.000-07:00

Piercing Summer
Golden glow of the summer evening
A cat on the terrace
Oh god! Iam in a good mood
Rushed to the roadside teashop
Have a tea and wills

Lost

2008-04-01T00:27:00.000-07:00

Rajesh

2008-04-01T00:08:00.000-07:00

Gloomy Sunday was his favourite youtube video. Mario Vargos Illosa was his favourite latin american novelist. He talked a little but walked a lot. He was simple but never humble. Suicide attempts was his preferred hobby in orkut profile. His orkut album contains 6 photos with hidden faces. His writings shocked the politician and the potential reader. He was a complete mystery to his friends. He was a passive listenter in nightlong orgies. He wore cotton shirts and cotton trousers. A cap less pen was his weapon. He lodged with cheap lodges available in the city.He attended film festivals regularly. 6 attempts atlast he won the game.

ON AIR

2008-02-04T04:14:00.000-08:00

Air, the very word is the essence of life. But dead air is a different thing, when you are on air dead air can kill you. Sorry it is the bloody jargons we using in fm radio stations. As a copywriter in a new fm radio sation literally iam on air. Clients demanding 10 second commercials 100000000000 things in the same ad. I smoke 4 cigarettes to do a concept. God is on air as we believe i think he is controlling all fm station bandwidths. In my childhood I raise my eyes to the sky and address god. These days I look into the sky in a different angle GOD DEAD AIR.

Last Xmas

2008-01-15T03:05:00.000-08:00

Last xmas I went to home
Whithered Rubber leaves welcome me to Home
Glittering moon lead my way to home
Abandoned countryside
Whistling wind rotates
Mountain road sleeps like a drunkard
Silence
Starless night
last xmas I went to home
My childhood playmates is faraway
My sick brother is faraway
My old parents welcomes me
Dinner table with out special feast
Last xmas i went to home
Homecoming, a cruel experinece my heart mourn

Kindling Kalidasa

2008-01-11T03:11:00.000-08:00

Last night I read Rthusamhara, Kalidasa's debut work. Recharged with Rithusamhara I regained my vista of visual senses. Verses with smell, sweet, love, pain, seasonal longings, despair, death that's what I felt with Kalidasa. Rain poured...love kindled. When I read the lines, lust of hidden energy sparked through my vains. Myraid hues of Indianness gave me the feeling of travelling through the ancient Indian Cities. Like the feeling of Italo Calvino's Invisible Cities, I fell in love with Ujjayani. I fell love with dancing devadasis, dancing peacocks, fruit bearing Indian trees, street shops. Oh God in my yearly years of youth I spend reading rubbish like existentialism. Oh kalidasa my immortal poet! You regained me from the depth of ignorance. Thanks dear poet.

2008

2007-12-31T18:08:00.000-08:00

What brings a new year? Candies of happiness or candles of sorrow. But I set my resolution I will be simple and more human in 2008.I will devote 1 hr to write regularly. I will be happier than the last year. I will be more creative than the last year. I will be go back to my simple rustic life. I will be contentful and resourceful. I will read 50 pages regularly.

Turtle Family

2007-12-22T00:14:00.000-08:00

I had seen a beautiful cinema at last IFFK. Turtle family. Apparently the so called Jury neglected the film. I like the mood, characters and the plot of the film. Uncle manuel is superb. Like most of the films screened in the festival the story revolved around a restless family.The key visual image in the film is uncle manuel's turtles. He is the key man who had connection with the family members. Turtle Family is a slow moving family. Hats off to Ruben Imanz

About Office Politics

2007-12-05T21:42:00.000-08:00

These days I am subjected to a prey for office politics. If you are working with a good for nothing colleques you will face this kind of problems. Through my experience few things about this agony. First never try to give anyone in an opportunity into your office through you. Do only the jobs assigned to you.Never try to teach your boss and colleques. Dont yell to approve your ideas in the office, because let them go ahead with their mundane ideas. If you can't cope up with the group quit the firm as soon as possible. Keep mum in office meetings. Dont disclose any secret to your supporters because they turn to be your enemies soon. Always wear a false smile and always wish your colleques. Support them. otherwise you will fall in the pit like me. Go ahead.

About Jean Genet

2007-12-04T21:57:00.000-08:00

Last saturday I went to the old bookshop. I love to read damped dusty books. Scanning through the books I found Genet's Our Lady of The Flowers. The erotic masterpiece that shooked the corners of the solid society. I decided not to bargain for this, I take the book and asked the price. The boy told Rs.20/-. Oh god Genet worth only 20 rupees. Back with60 km in speed I start to reading...there is no word to count the experience. I went the old book shop last day again I found Genet, now it is Theifs Journal. Again 20 Rupees. Genet will never believe this.

THE GREEN HOUSE AND THE BLUE MOUNTAIN

2007-11-06T01:03:00.000-08:00

Chapter-3

Boyhood and By Cycle

Collecting the smells, sounds, songs, sorrows, tastes and the appearance of boyhood makes me nostalgic. If you look at your own nostalgia closely, you’ll find most of it relates to the place you grew up, what you were wearing at that time, which are your playmates at that time like stuff. Its mental makeover that makes everything in the past seems better.

I still wish to look over from our blue mountain top to the hazy foggy village in December days. I still wish to sit in the third bench of our country school.
In my Indian boyhood I was subjected to religious submissiveness and parental humiliations.

Our country school was situated in a hill side. In my first standard classes was end in midday. Chanting Malayalam syllables in a hoarse voice was the only activity conducted in the school. In my second standard I had writing Thara…Para.. in Malayalam.

Our head master came in a by cycle. It is our guiltiest pleasure to release the air from tire tubes. Our bald headed head master gets angry when he realizes the condition of the tubes. My first encounter with the female sex happened in the school’s open toilet.
We boys are stand still and face the wall to pee, but girls normally sit and release their bowels. Once I peep to these sitting pee girls. That was in my fourth standard.

Our back school ground was a bushy forest. Fruit trees covered the bushes and normally the forest became our favorite arena of activity. We climbed the trees and pluck the fruits from the tree top. Some of them stock it for homes. It was ruthless rustic life.

Its Jojo’s idea to hire a by cycle and travel through our village. We prefer Sundays and Saturday to this trotting. Our cycle went through narrow streams, through tall trees, through lonely homes, through foggy mountain paths, through the valley of wetting rocks, through paddy fields, through forsaken churches, through LP, and UP schools.
While this travels my senses were brooding, I became a Robert Frost in heart and a Wordsworth in mind. Once while in our expedition we smoke a beedi butt in the shadow of a big tree. On the way to back to home we chewed several leaves to ward the smell.
Apparently my friend confessed about this smoking sin in a Friday prayer. I still keep the sinful boyhood habit.
(Will Continue..)

Novel

2007-10-26T02:23:00.001-07:00

THE GREEN HOUSE AND THE BLUE MOUNTAIN

Chapter-2

Lessons

My early years were surrounded in the home. I played with fire, earth and water. Still water is a problematic element for me. Once it tried to wash out me from life. But I can’t resist the joys of water. I danced in the pouring rain. I went to fishing in the small ponds. Still, an overwhelming well is a wonderful treat to my eyes. After that swallowing episode Father, put a strong coconut wood across the well. In rainy seasons I went to this well and measure the water level with my eyes. Mother takes me to bath in the well side under a group of banana trees. Those mornings sun was pierced through the green banana leaves. I clap my hands and laughed with the colors.

Earth also gave pain to me. Once I was playing with sand and stones, one tiny stone went to my nostril. My cousin Biji took me to the primary health center, 5 km way from our home in his bicycle. I sit in the cross bar and mother take the back seat carrier. Dr.Tharakan took the tiny stone and he patted my cheeks. After that episode I was shunned to touch the stones. Animals were my playmates at that time. Black dog was my sole companion. We sit together and wait for Father at evening. He roared to the cocks who had tried to enter the home. I wept when he died after consuming an ill meat.
I cried three days. We buried him under a rubber tree. I put large stones to remember his tomb. Later years I read, Budha confronted death in the similar way.

These days my name falls like tag into my soul and body. Everybody yelled ‘James do that and don’t do that.’ When I try to climb a tree or try to throw a stone or try to tear a book this yelling irritated me. Once I hit our small lamb with a stick Mother had seen my act and hit me by the same stick. My pleasure turns to be a sudden pain. But I wondered when a visitor came to our home Mother sadistically kill a cock .Its drooling blood dipped through the way and it eyes jutting out from the socks.

At the age of 3 I went to the house of the traveling master. Master lives in the mountain.
One day Mother took me to the mountain road and after a long walk we entered a small thatched home. I remember 4 or 5 pupils sit in the verandah and write something on a dried coconut leaf and they yelled Aa…Aaaa..Ee…Eeee…. Mother enrolled me to the class. Master smiled to me. Mother told me that this master traveled to the rich houses in the village and teaches letters to the students. We are poor so we have to come to this hut regularly. Master put some rice to the mat and I sit in his lap, both of our fingers sketch in the rice…Harisree Ganapathaye Nama.

(Will Continue…)

Novel

2007-10-25T04:55:00.000-07:00

THE GREEN HOUSE AND THE BLUE MOUNTAIN

Chapter-1

Birth Pangs

His mother says “It was a rainy day. It started at the evening. His father was away. Kalikochu and the black dog were with me. It was a normal delivery. He was a small bony boy. Kalikochu midwifes me to deliver him. His father came at night. Pain and panic make me in deep slumber; I still remember he cried nightlong. Rain was pouring. Small kerosene lamp flickered in the whistling wind. In sleep I heard Kalikochu‘s hoarse lullabies.”

His father says “I am a painter. Not an artist. I paint walls and fences. That day I was away with my work. It was a huge bungalow in Thiruvalla. It was the final day of our14 day long commission work. Team leader Pappachan gave 200 Rs. to me. We were happy, on the way back we visited a toddy bar, Pappachan paid the bill. It was raining. When I reached our small hut I heard his voice.”

Kalikochu says “They are Christians, but good people. I used to do small domestic duties for them. Kunjumol considered me as her mother. It was a killing pain. There was no one in the home and in the neighborhood. I prayed to all my deities. It ended with 45 minutes. I take the baby. I washed him. He cried”

I was born in a small, poor family. My ancestors were farmers; they came in this mountain side and settled in the valley. When my mother came to this place as a new bride this place was surrounded with thick forest. Jackals and foxes were the daily visitors in the back kitchen. When my mother was conceived with me she fell in the well.
This well was a small one, surrounded with moss and green sprouting.

We had a good stock of cattle and poultry, 3 cows and 4 cubs, 2 goats, 2 dozen hens and chicks, a cat, a dog and a parrot. Mother and cattle roamed through the rustic village and neighborhoods. At night we heard howling of foxes. I cherished that lullabies.

No snuggies and no Johnson & Johnson. Visitors came to visit us. Mother talked and gossiped. Sleep and smile, which was my role. My maternal grand mother came with her home-made medicines to rejuvenate mother. My Christianizing ceremony was conducted in much gaiety. Cousin Elson carried me to the parish. A small congregation surrounded in the altar. Priest showered the holy water into my head. They called me ‘James’.
(Will Continue…)

Old Church

2007-10-18T23:11:00.000-07:00

In my Christian childhood I used to visit my country church usually. Its moss eaten walls were damp and green. Doves always perched its roofs. Always its altar emitted the smell of camphor. Old church is situated in a scenic hill side. Its silence always interrupted by whistling winds. Surrounded by blue misty mountains it became vanish from view in winter. Its thorny bush path is surrendered to grass sprouting. Its tall bell tolls on Sundays and call the worshipers for worship. Sin and solace…love and lust…these 4 words nailed me into a cross. Today I found 4 wounds in my body. I heard the heart piercing bell toll of our old church

A Love Poem and a Lollypop

2007-10-17T00:34:00.000-07:00

A lollypop and a love poem have same ingredients. Licking a lollypop and loving a love poem is same. One comes with a stick and the other comes with a prick. One quenches the thirst of lips and other quenches the thirst of hearts. One sticks in the lip and other thick in the tongue. Swallow a lollypop and a love poem; the end result will become sweet. The shape of a lollypop and the shape of a love symbol is same, heart. Gifting a lollypop and writing a love poem will attract others. The color of a lollypop and the color of a broken heart are same, red. One helps to cherish your childhood and the other helps to recoup your romance. One helps to hanging out with friends and other helps to hang in a tree. Overeating of lollypop leads to dysentery and the rereading of the other leads to death. Both are momentary happiness. At last, a stick and a kick last.

Lodges

2007-10-14T22:41:00.000-07:00

Long 5 years I lived in 12 lodges. Today I am longing for a lodge to sit idle and simply recollect my old agonizing life. For a bachelor a lodge room is his first love. It is his comfort place in a complex world. From this dark room he dreams his new dawn.
Loneliness in a lodge is like locking you in a large room. Loving and lodging is two different things.

When a lover is gone back from his lover’s lap to the lodge is quiet agonizing. I went through this torturing period when I was a lodge dwelling lover. When I was a student of Journalism in Press Club Trivandrum my first lodge was Bhaskara Bhavan. My classmate Thomas was my first roommate. Every lodge room has its own rotten smells. Our room stinks like an old sheet used by generations. Its floors always flourished with foamless cigarette buts. We share a small cub board. Thomas sleeps like sloth in the whole day and I went to my love’s meeting points. Every lodge has its bunch of broken humans and broken animals. We had an interesting character in our lodge, a problematic post master, in salary days this man came with food packets and feed the cats. Fish fry, chilly chicken, parotta …and other eatables, amazing thing is that these crooked cats simply sit in the wall and wait for him in the feast day. This man had no relation to other human beings in the lodge. I had never ever seen he had even smile to a human being. When we had seen this fiesta while our pockets became empty we like to transform to a black cat..mewo…mewo……mewo…..( Will Continue..)

Resurrection from Routine

2007-10-12T19:59:00.001-07:00

Resurrection is a word connected to Christianity and Cross. For me resurrection is recouping my life from routine. Today I rise early; normally I rest in bed till 7am.
I brushed my teeth before the first milk tea. Today I walked to the farm to fetch the milk. Today I will quit smoking, the great break for the day. I will found a new route to reach my office. Today I will try to help a human being. I will try to find happiness in every given moment allotted by god. I will try to smile like a small kid. I will start my story writing seriously. I will set my goals. God help me to let resurrect. Let me resurrect in the third day. I can’t stand the smell of this rotten tomb of routine.

My Guiltiest Pleasures

2007-10-10T00:54:00.000-07:00

Theft ( Kleptomania)

As a kid I got kicks for shoplifting .In my childhood I stole stickers and candies from our crook old shop keeper. This shop keeper was a land lord in our village; his estates include paddy fields, coconut groves, rubber estates, banana groves…etc. Vast vicinity of these lands subjected to our playground. Exploring and excavating through these jungles we found falling coconuts, arc nuts, ripped bananas and other sellable commodities. My companions always depute me to sell the commodities to the old shop keeper. He always calculated the lowest prices to the products. After collecting the cash with a palpitating heart I feel the deepest guilt and a highest pleasure. But I left this theft pleasure.

Smoking

Smoking is my greatest guiltiest pleasure. Started at the age of 16, still I had continuing this cruel, killing habit. My first smoking experience is worth writing. Once, after picking a 555 cigarette from my Papa’s packet I slip to the shade of the haystack, gazing to the cow shed I smoked. After completing the cigarette I went to my room, an alarming cry alerts me to look at the terrific scene. Haystack got fire.
I was subjected to 25 flogging. Still when I burn the cigarette I can feel the smell of burning haystack.

Peeping

Fetishism
Sorry, you know, I can’t narrate.

( Will Continue…)

Tips

2007-10-09T20:19:00.001-07:00

Dating tips, mating tips, cooking tips, fixing tips, dieting tips, traveling tips, driving tips, gardening tips, cleaning tips, jogging tips, yoga tips, planning tips, pregnancy tips, feeding tips, beauty tips, body tips, reading tips, writing tips, exhibition tips, exhibiting tips, memory tips, management tips…we are living in ‘tips’ surrounded world. I think tips are meant for easy doers. Normally it comes in 5 numbers. One of my Aunty had good collections of these tips, wherever she found a Malayalam woman magazine, especially Vanitha or Grihalakshmi she tore the ‘tips’ page and put it in her bag with a nice smile. When the situation needed she vomits her vast tips knowledge. In Malayalam language ‘tips’ is considered as Podikaikal. Normally tips are written in questionnaire form, How to erase an oil mark in your shirt, like stuff. I fed up with these tips thicken magazines.

5 Tips to avoid TIPS

Do not touch a Malayalam Magazine.

Tips are written by editors, not experts.

Experiment with tips is experience with chance.

Truths behind the tips are always false.

5. Stick to a tiny tip? Sit down and think.

My Aunt’s Home or Wuthering Heights

2007-10-07T19:47:00.000-07:00

Coiling roads lead the bus to the hill top. Embers of the evening sun pierced through the thick woods. Bus took sharp turn on the curves. Chilling wind circling through the woods .Bus is almost vacant. The bus has to viand two circling coil to reach my station. I had to cross a stream to catch my aunt’s home. Bus has stopped. Its headlights headed to the mountain top after a short while. I stepped in the stream, steeping through the black rocks it ended in the deep fathom. 3 years had passed. Flicker of the light gleaming from the bleak house. Instead of ‘Aruvikkuzhi’ I like to name the home as ‘Wuthering Heights’.

In my childhood my vacation visits were ended in Wuthering heights. Memory of those vacation days and its happiness was the fuel for my quick visit. I cherish that good old days, morning summer walks to the mangrove, bath in the stream, candle lit dinners. Neighborhood is an odd word here. What makes Aruvikkuzhi as Wuthering Heights? Is it its hilly existence…? Or is it its chilly winds howling through the rubber trees? Otherwise is its tumultuous Catherine like human characters? Elson is exact the copy of Catherine, I remember her rustic and at the refined passions, I remember her white frock with the blue flowers, I remember when she sings in the church coir her music reverberated in the altar.
Admirers and lovers try to tackle her.

But Aunt gave her hand to a Heathcliff. That matrimony ended in mutual distaste and divorce. Elson ended her life in the stream.

I pressed the Calling Bell. Traveling through the tunnel like rooms ring tone echoed in the mansion. I heard the rustle of frock, hand unlock the heavy latch of the wood door.
My host, ghost of Elson; welcomes me with a candle light.

Cinema Paradiso or Lakshmi Theatre

2007-10-05T04:45:00.000-07:00

In my childhood I have to feed the cow to get permission to watch movies from our nearest country Cinema Theatre. After laboring with the lazy cow over our green pastured mountain tops I went to Lakshmi Theatre to watch the matinee show. Normally I got 2 Rupees from Amma to take the first raw ticket. There were no chairs and benches in the first raw, the spectators should sit in the mat. In those days Lakshmi Theatre was a thatched one, it walls were covered with bamboo mats for sound proof, and there is no fan to beat the heat for the first raw sitters. Still I remember the thrill of my first film. It was a Mohanlal hit, Irupatham Nootandu, the story surrounds with a under world don, Sagar Alias Jackey, emerged from a down trodden life he became the don and finally the hero turns to be a oppressor of evil forces. There is particular background score in the movie
Tu…Tu…Tudotu…Tu..Tu…Tu..Tudotu………………. For the entire movie time the first row sitters should raise their eyes and torso to catch the film. First row sitters was the perfect film buffs, they shrill at every twists and turns of the cinema. Once I had seen, when our movie house played Ahashadootu., an iron-built man sobbed with full heart.
That was the first moment I had realized and wondered that screen can make a man sob.
As a boy I had thought that these actors are acting behind the white screen, one day, after the show I went to the backside of the theatre to check the reality, but I had only found the brick wall. Lakshmi Theatre was a strong presence in our life, at nights its jarring speakers emitted hit Malayalam music, traveled through Rubber tree tops these music reached our home, lullaby to infants. My first encounter with sexuality was happened at Lakshmi Theatre, screen had showed me the enigma of white women flesh, and I shuddered. After this great revelation I revolved round to see more white flesh, screen pacified my thirst.

Home-Coming

2007-10-01T00:28:00.000-07:00

Last Saturday I went to home. When I sit in the train a trail of thoughts followed me. I had purchased a Doll Monkey and a Teddy Bear for my brother’s daughter. Rain and train had started at the same time. Rain drops drooling through the window panes like drooling saliva of a baby’s mouth. Yes it is home-coming. A roof and a room are waiting for me. I enjoyed the sheer pleasure of thinking up on it. My co-passengers were in deep slumber. Often a tea boy or a peddler had visited our room. A bookseller exhibited his stuff to the idle sitters. Vasthushatra, Better Sex, Gardening etc. I sipped the over sweated milk tea. Whenever I think on my home I had a deep feeling about it. When I was a kid our home was a thatched one surrounded with splendid trees. Rainy days it showers through our bed rooms. My mother had defended the dipping leaf holes to put another leaf to cover the shower. As a boy I experienced the habit of wetting in midnight with the help of rain drops. Yes it is home coming. I adore my beautiful home which situated in the mountain side. Like a Haiku I love my home

Spring rain-
Under trees
A crystal stream- Basho

My Eco-Friendly Shoes

2007-09-27T00:22:00.000-07:00

I had a Pair of 2 year old, rotten Reebok shoes. It is in a wretched condition. Rainy days my Reebok emit rotten smells. I hate to wear soaxes. Normally I put my shoes in the portico when Iam back from work. Every kid who visit our house had an irresistible thirst to kick my shoes to the corners. While Iam fed up with these monsters I decide to put my shoes in the dark, damp corners of the portico. I place it nicely inbetween the old jars and useless utensils. Few weeks back when I rush to put my legs into the Reebok I felt something touching in my toes. With a shrill I take my legs back. A lovely little frog jumped out, few seconds little frog looked at me and then it leap through the leaves. Few days back I found the same frog in my shoes. Last day I found a Cockroach in my Reebock.Today I found a white lizard. Tomorrow???

The Man Who Sells Smoke

2007-09-26T19:22:00.000-07:00

In a market driven, man made, mad world we have to confront different products for different use in our daily life. Streets were stinking with these stray silly sellers. Recently I had met a man who sells smoke. He simply do the daily fumigation job for the street side shops.He has an interesting instrument in his hand. He put the gum frankincense and other smoke emitting herbal, small grain like powders into this insrument and finally put the burning coal. After a few seconds suddenly the sweet smelling smoke emit from the instrument.Then he simply shake the smoke emitting insrument, with this swinging action he enter into the shop and spread the smoke to the stinking corners. Now a beautiful odour stay in the shop. After this highly professional job he collects his fees and simply enter into another shop with this smoke emitting instrument with a beedi ( a typical leafmade Kerala Cigarette)
in his lips. I adore him for his odour emitting smoke and his guts to live in this globalized globe.

How to be a Paying Guest

2007-09-22T01:28:00.000-07:00

In Indian culture a Guest is considered to be as a God. Athidi Devo Bhava. But the status of the solitary paying guest is different. Instead of a God he is considered to be a Ghost.
Normally aged couple considered him as a solitary sentry or a god fearing guard. At morning they put yesterday’s cold ‘putt’ on his dining table. They compel him to comprehend the home rules. They govern his given timings. They considered him as a broken bachelor. At night he walks pace up the pavements to keep the peace. Otherwise
he had to confront the cruel dog. He walks like a dead man walking towards singing stairway. His jutting dwelling welcomes him like a mouse on a hole. After a shower on the stinking bathroom he changes the lid of the litter (food). At the day break they call the paying guest to fetch the grocery. At the end of the month, they crawl up the moss eaten stairways to collect the strange man’s sum. They laugh; crack a crazy joke with the junior. They bless him! Athidi Devo Bhava

2007-09-22T01:26:00.000-07:00

A human interesed story

2007-09-21T19:35:00.000-07:00

Last day i had met a middle aged Tamil couple at the periphery of the park. I was on my way to the wayside makeshift teashop which serve milk tea and Bonda( a ball shaped, typical Kerala snack). Usually on my wayback to home I dropped here to eat this Bonda and the over sweeted milk tea.A simple luxury.A Tamil couple pleaded me to write a petition for them to the park police station. I hesitated for a few moment after a few seconds my hand take the momemtum. Tamil woman explained me the whole story. The man is a headload worker near NGO quarters.He used to be play cards on his idle hours with idle auto-richshaw drivers like any other headload worker.This time he palyed with his Chengalchoola pal. After few rounds poor headload worker got kicks and ill words from his pal. I had wrote the words. They marched towards the park police with scrampled petion paper.I overheard the woman who says " Look, its your 133333th petion on the same matter"
Yea we are humans. I think!

Words and Images

2007-09-21T01:57:00.000-07:00

Rose
Symbol of love
symbol of death
she got a bunch of roses from him
He got a bunch of roses from her
They nicely put a buch of roses on my coffin
They scattered withered roses on my tomb
Submerged with love and hatred I resuurrected
They pluck the rose bud from my green
( Will Continue....)

How to be a Model

2007-09-20T23:06:00.000-07:00

Yester evening we had a model shoot. Not a big deal. A small scale photoshoot for a jewellery job. At 3.30pm a novice model and her south-indian amma came in an auto-rickshaw.
A lolitha like figure. They had a particular walking and talking style. Lolitha smiles a lot. Her ruby red lipstick licked lips parted at every individual. Amma was exhibiting her tenderness to her baby on a nauseating way.Crew took her care and take her to the shooting spot. Oh god...Achu your hair...Amma yelled at her back. Lolitha got irritated, she muttered some words. Reflectors, Camera, Make up everything ready. She came to the spot like a model on a ramp.
Eager eyes watching. Our cap crazy art director try to teach her some arresting postures. Lolitha laughs a lot to hime. Like a typical art director cap crazy patted her back and said babe you can...just do it. All ends within a half an hour. They marched towards the parked auto-richshaw with waving hands and whitewashed mouths. After our tea-session I asked my boss
Boss how experiened is she? With a puff and whiff he told. Its her first assignment. Dear Lolitha good luck.

How to be a Baby Sitter

2007-09-18T20:46:00.000-07:00

Iam not an experienced babysitter but a few weeks ago I had started this idle duty to my son. Normally i do read three or four trash magazines when i sit besides him. In West you can avail the service of professional babysitters. I had try to contact my service agencies to connect with a professional babysitter. No chance. So i armored with feeding bottle and brand new Snuggies and marched to the room like a solitary sentry to a cursed solitary post. The new born is sleeping like a Maharaja of Travancore attending with bunch of bountiful service men and women.I envied him for his naive sleep.At the middle of night he starts his daily routines ,blinking to the tubelights , regular exercise and starting nightlong crying. I try to pacify him by singing horrible lullabies. Rararo...Rararo...After these horrible nights i went to the office with black circled eyes. These the colleque guys told me that they usually heard Rararo...Rararo...from my cabin. Now I became a professional babysitter. Rararo....Rararo..Rararo.......................

Being a husband

2007-09-18T03:56:00.000-07:00

Honda Activa Diaries

2007-09-18T02:17:00.000-07:00

Dairy 1
I think you had seen Motorcycle Diaries, the great movie which visualise the great journey of Che and his friend through L.America. Like you I also admire the movie but my Honda Activa Diary is different from their marvellous journey. After daily abolution i start my petty jorney to my petty office on a pretty Honda Activa. Normally i have to stop three signal rounds to reach my office. Office? no a dark room with two computers and three good for nothing guys. Oh great you got it is a highly creative ad agency ha ha ha. Sorry for the delay the black beauty is a gift from my F.Law. I call it a voyeristic vehicle, because normally i peep into the saree fleets of my fellow travellers beautiful wives, daughters, cousins, aunties whatever it is. I adore that beautiful white ( Honey red) underbellies. We should salute them. While i was engaging in this pleasure my voyerstic vehicle twice try to kill me. First a near death accident with KSRTC Bus. Second a chance to fell a PWD well. But I love my journeys.
( will Continue)

Fatherhood

2007-09-18T01:04:00.000-07:00

Once Augustine Strinberg, the great sweedish playwright wrote Fatherhood is an Illusion. I believe so. When i received my new born in my trembling hand i shudder with wonder. After some moments i regain my senses and heard whispering of Mother. 'He seems to like me'. Oh God the fucking father is out.

Loneliness

2007-09-18T00:54:00.000-07:00

Imagine a solitary bench in a park. You are sitting there surrounded with rotten elders. Doing nothing. Simply watching kids and lovers. Occasionally a bird will fly over your head. Adoring the beauties of the nature. Your bench is also a rotten one, moss inflicted it damp sides, a fly rests its ugly wings to the corners. Maybe the opposite bench elder sitter would be munching some peanuts. Doing nothing. Nowhere to go and noone to come. Suddenly you will feel your bushy hair became white. Peanunts in your hand. Whispering wind. With a deep sigh you linger into the bench like a rotten leaf

Reader

2007-09-18T00:18:00.000-07:00

Daily routine of the Reader begins with try to read his yester night’s ugly dreams.
Like a book written in an alien language most of his dreams decipher nothing to him.
He closes his Book of Dreams without a book mark. With a cup of milky tea Reader swallows the day’s first word intake. Murder, theft and other crimes is his favorite brew. He read the editorial. It is always complex to comprehend. But he still read it, like an obedient student he still remembers his English Teacher’s remedy upon his bad English. After his daily ablution, Reader ready to embark on his Black Honda Activa, it is a gift from his Father in Law. Reader is on his way to his favorite libraries, situated at the three corners of the city. On the road he tries to reread his favorite bill boards.

Now Running Booklist

2007-09-16T20:21:00.000-07:00

The Serpent and the Rope - Raja Rao
Visitors- Anita Brookner
Essays of Elia- Charles Lamb
Buddenbrooks- Thomas Mann
Steppenwolf- Herman Hesse