The privileged

Have you ever come across a situation where you always end up finding that the younger or the youngest is the privileged one?

Some of us fall into that category often. Others, like me, do so rarely, but there is always this younger one who seems to be the apple of everyone’s eye. Its adorable to watch somtimes, but most of the times, your blood boils looking at the evident partiality and all that crooning and cooing for this  younger one!

Well, I am a person who is plighted to witness this biased treatment at home, every single day!

He is, undoubtedly, the most privileged – let me repeat – most privileged in my house. People fight in my house to take care of him, to feed him and to ensure he is bathed. Well, quite an endless list there!

My family, un-apologetically practises this extremely biased treatment towards this “younger” one and its sometimes quite a sight to see how much command this little guy has on this house. Even my dad, undoubtedly the strictest in the house, thaws at this little guy’s whims and fancies. Coming back from Bangalore for the weekends, this is one sight that surprises me – of how this tiny one, wagging its brown/black tail at me every morning seems to be the actual star in this house!

Caesar (a.k.a Cheecharu), my 10-month old German Shepherd is the newest member in the house and hence, the most loved one. He is everyone’s favourite and not to mention, gets all what he wants either by barking, wagging or whining at the top of his lungs. His paws wake me up almost every morning because though i dont, he has a routine! He is also too possessive when it comes to neighbours and also neighbours’s kids and crows! Yes, crows! He hates crows more than he hates cats!! Wait, but arent cats and DOGS supposed to be the natural enemies? Shouldn’t someone be telling that to Caesar?

Not to mention, my parents are the proudest to have such an obedient and quite disciplined kid now, unlike the other two human kids they brought up until last year!

The names, oh the names! Caesar is called the most funniest, weirdest and cutest of malayalam words that my mom could dig out cause she found they were adorable enough to be used to call a dog! Caesar is called – kunjappoo, kuttusee, undapri, chuttapri, babloo, cheecharu, kunjaa etc, among the other instant ones that get triggered when my mom sees this guy  wagging his tail and running towards her.

Also, his indecency displayed in breaking pots and vases and pulling out plants in the house is rewarded by a word of caution of no treats for the evening (like he cares!) and also sometimes by a whack (depending on how badly my dad’s nap was disturbed) and a shower of words that is used to scare if kids in primary school, to which he listens quite patiently like he understands every Malayalam word!


Thus starts my endless tales on Caesar, which we titled as “Caesar Puranam” (epic in English), which my mother never ceases to call both of us and narrate every evening when we are not at home!

We wake up to “Ceeeesaaarrrrr”

We go to sleep to “Goodnight cheecharu”

With the Flow

Sipping the cans of beer, we call it a day.

We sat in silence, watching the sunset by the banks of the gently flowing river.

“Remember those good old days when we as kids, used to hide by those huge rocks, right there?

Our mothers would come scoring down on us for having player by the river side again, i muse.

Thrashed again, we would giggle a good night to each other!

I used to collect those weird looking pebbles that used to get washed ashore.

And you would come up with some wonderfully coloured ones to add to my treasure trunk. Though “stones” you would snort, we had enjoyed this silly hobby!

Remember those scary monsoons, where the river swell threateningly! Where the rocks we used to hide beside would disappear tragically?

Oh also, remember how during summers, the water would shrink to a level so comforting that I could happily collect those pebbles and watch those tiny fishes hobble by!

It all seems like yesterday!

I wish life hadn’t changed so much for us.

You know, just you and me would have felt just perfect!”

I look down at those cans of beer, knowing that the second was also mine.

I stand up slowly, taking a dreary step towards where you lay, still.

I place those flowers at your tombstone like I always did.

I sit by you and tell you the stories of the fiver again,

The river that took you from me, forever!

“Take me back”

Home, was a different kind of feeling that day.
The sand was wet from the rain that beat down relentlessly since morning and smelled of exotic scents that couldn’t be named. The sky had decided to change its robes for welcoming dusk and had decided upon a crimson hue from its wardrobe, adorning the puffy grey clouds with the soft orange that threatened to peep out from behind. Dusk was finally settling in.
It was time for the evening pooja. The chiraad had been lit, illuminating her face in the dark, the only patch of light that was to be seen as the evening sky began to darken again. The street lights hadn’t twinkled itself awake yet and she wondered when they would so she could pay a visit to the tiny tulsi plant at the gate entrance to her house. The chants from the temple across the road drifted up to her ears and she could even see how the crowd would now be craning their necks and pushing each other to have the longest and best glimpse of Lord Shiva in his full glory after the deeparaadhana like He would bless those who stood before Him for the longest time. She giggled to herself at that thought and set her chiraad down at the steps. She could now hear the main bells that signified that the ceremony was over for the evening and now the devotees could patiently (or rather not) wait for the payasam to be distributed by the priest. She wished she could be there again today and regretted not planning earlier at the thought of the delicious payasam. 
Inside, her mom was humming a happy tune, terribly impressed at the pazhamporis she was preparing after what seemed like an eternity. She called out to her to grab a quick bite before she presented it to the males at the table, as she knew it would disappear before she even set it down. Such were the fights that went about for homemade snacks.
Home was a different feeling today. It felt of a childhood that she’d long tucked away in a corner of her head, she never bothered opening.
It smelt of oil lit vilakku, old note books, and snacks prepped only for the tired kids who came back after that important game of cricket with the ones from the street across.
It reminded her of the games on tree tops, of raw mangoes smeared with salt and chilly powder, of scraped knees and dirty elbows, breaking windows, quick baths and talcum powder, daily visits to the temple in the evening and of people who had long gone beyond her circumference of friends.
Home, made her reminiscent of those days and miss that innocence which slowly faded and was replaced by something she couldn’t exactly point out.
Home, she felt, finally reminded her of why she had always needed to come back, time and again.
Home felt of who she once was and whom she will never get to be again, leaving her wondering why she ever grew up.
Looking up at the sky which had now turned a deep shade of blue, she picturised her God and murmured a prayer that she knew could never be fulfilled, “Take me back.”


She loved the pace. The way her limbs moved as she sped past the trees and bushes. The smells that drifted past, the sounds that she never bothered listening. The way the wind brushed her face. She always wondered if it could get saltier!
The sky always beckoned her. It seemed as if she belonged there. Looking down upon the whole world, gave her the favourite view. Upon the cliff, she was her own queen. Watching the foamy waves lap hardly at the rocks beneath, crest after crest, she felt this was the magical world she had seen in her dreams. And the flight. Oh, she could never forget that.
The land of magic had taught her to be daring. To conquer her greatest fears was the greatest accomplishment and so she’d learned. But learning wasn’t enough! She embarked in the glory of having overcome her fear of heights. She’d always heard her grandmother say “You can never fly dear, if you remain scared of the height”. And so the day she jumped off the cliff, she’d flown.
Suspended in mid-air with no substance above or beneath her, she had the most exhilarating journey and so she couldn’t forget even the tiniest detail.
And so she flew at all times of the day. Off the cliff she’d jump to wave a thrilled hand at the frothy waves, to skim past the ocean surface and say hi to the Aquas, to touch the fluffy clouds and experience the wonderful sensation of them dissolving between her fingers, to play hide and seek with the sun and to pause for a breath and the solid rocks. The trees hummed their silent remorse at their immobility, as she sped past, singing what the cuckoo taught her.
To fly was her biggest dream and now that she was always atop the clouds, she remembered the girl who had dreamt of the magic land and her frequent flights.
Stepping out from the cockpit in a freshly pressed white uniform, she remembered, once again, what it means to have lived her dream. She was a girl, who had soared high, looked down and felt proud that she’d actually flown.

You will not know me, Child

O dear, you will never know me!

You will not know my childhood odyssey and the wars of street cricket.

You will not feel the happiness in plucking flowers for the festival, nor dressing up for the temple. You will know them as rituals, not as brotherhood. You will not have ‘battle scars’ on your knees that I have as the result of running faster than the other friend in hide-and-seek. What’s worse, you will never know to play hide-and-seek!

Your nails will be polished and lips coloured much before I even knew their spellings right. Your fingers will tremble over the i-pad while trying to finish that car race that you think is the best game in the whole world. Oh Dear child, you haven’t really known my childhood.

You never will know how to stone a mango from its tree. To jump over fences and embark on a treasure hunt to find that missing cricket ball. You will never know the joy in feeding a street dog, nor watching an ecstatic mom give birth to a cuddly litter. You will never know to climb a tree nor swim in the pond, for ponds are now replaced by filtered and coloured pools.

O dear, you will never live the life I did, never understand the fun I had. You won’t even have the time to talk to me after school, you ten year old, as you rush to your room to finish that robo-attack that you had to pause because of your school bus. Maybe even you wouldn’t want dinner too! The only sound I hear would be your commands from across the closed bedroom door and not the happy screams from down the lane, like the kids I used to play with. You will never learn to trust, will you?

Oh dear child, know that I’ll always be there for you though you will never feel the bond.

You will now dress up as you have to upload ‘stories’ upon stories in all the apps you have in your phone. For me, stories were always from my dad’s imagination and lingered longer than a mere 24 hours!

You will come back and count the likes and reply to comments and not tell me about the day. Well alas, you have better companions in the virtual world.

You will not go out to play in the hot sun, nor come back drenched in sweat and mud.

You will not enjoy the beauty of the green fields, nor drawing water from the well. That’s already become history, you would say.

You will not devise new games, nor mingle with the neighbours. They’re so irritating and annoying, you would say.

You will never know the childhood I’ve had, my dear.

And  I would still feed you cut mango, dipped in salt and smeared with chilli!

‘Cause you will never know the tastes of my childhood – the dripping, drooling tongues that still water over them!

Amidst Nature’s ghosts

Towards the lullaby of the waves and the calling of the setting sun.
The days were set and the time was right. We were packed and prepared. A fruitful planning which started almost 4 months back.
The curvy roads didn’t bother me. I was used to the twists and turns and the toppling of bags. Of the smell of the wind on my hair with the windows rolled down
It was almost twilight and the night sky was looking it’s best as if to impress us and wave us off a great start. Stars lined up as if in a parade and moonlight shone across the path.
It was a brilliant start.
Bereft the worries of life, we happily sang and played until sleep slowly shackled us. The night was getting darker.
Cloudier it got as we moved into the woods. Scared I woke up, gripping my half open window sill. I straightened to see if the stars were still bright and shiny, but they had lost their charm. The night was still getting deeper.
Slowly, but steadily, the darkness crawled deeper into the woods. As the bus took the sharp turns with no lights to guide the way ahead, I saw the ghostly trees waving it’s sinister branches. Terrified, I held on tightly to the little piece of metal my hand could grab. The night was still getting darker.
I crumbled inside, feeling vulnerable, scared and lost to the darkness. The trees with its dark tresses welcomed me out the window and i was scared they would reach in and pluck the life out of me. They seemed to be the Messengers of Darkness trying to dim the light that still shone there. I felt incapacitated as I looked out to see if humanity still thrived in those scary woods. Stripped of lights, houses and any signs of inhabitation, the woods seemed to have been blessed by the dark Lords. It’s droopy branches and pallidly brown leaves shocked me as the manifestation of ghosts themselves.
For the first time in my life, Nature beheld my fear.
Until we reached the sandy beaches and the waves kissed their welcome songs at out feet, the memory of that horrific night stuck to me like a dry leaf that doesn’t fall off.

The day I got “High”

It was a particularly unbelievable event. For my friends atleast, when I described this instance of getting high.

Well, I couldn’t believe it myself when I think back about that day, almost a month back from now. How weird! For a person who is always the mommy in the gang, making sure that all those drunk folks get back home safely, notifying the Ola driver of the right directions to home, inspite of their incessant, drunk murmurs of the house being next to a banyan tree (which, of course, no on knew where!)

It wasn’t one of those days when I was frustrated with life. It wasn’t one of those days when I was in an I-wanna-try-everything mood. It just happened, because I felt safe getting high

Basically, it all started with that irritating greyness called smoke. I hate smoke, in whatever form. It irritates my eyes and chokes my lungs. What surprised me is how they coolly slipped their mouth and nose into a pipe and inhaled that burning remnants of that brown leaves and puffed out random patterns which my knowledge of geometry couldn’t define. Bong shots, they happily called it. And in an hour or so, that evil slowly crept into my head too. That’s what passive smoking does to you. I never knew when I got high.

No no, that wasn’t the word they used. Cut, it was called. In that dreamy state, my mind wondered how easy life was when cut was just when blood oozed out, little by little. The thought of blood created some sort of a repulsion in me and I decided to stay out of all such gory details.

I heard them laugh when I struggled to put my heels on and told them that I felt sleepy. Sleep should be the last thing in your mind now, they advised. And I listened as much as I could, obediently when they took me to the pub!

Pubs, as noisy as it can get, where places the moral me would never frequent. I was drowsy, but safe. There were strong fingers intertwined with my weakness that kept me moving forward. After ordering a cocktail for myself, I was surprised at how happy and quirky I felt at the same time. Well, time was as immaterial as it had always been, for me then. I don’t remember looking at my watch ever that night. Those hands kept me safe, secure. I drank my cocktail bit by bit, waiting to see if it would actually give me the kick I was expecting. Yes, cocktails get me high. But no, they betrayed me too, that day.

I was still dazed and dreamy through all the laughter and fun. But those hands never left mine and I knew they would keep me safe. I laughed at odd moments and dozed off silently for a while too. But never did I feel embarrassed about the Me, that day

I enjoyed being there, that night, in that state which people called “High”.

The day that would be etched in my senses for ever ended with small sips of beer and marks on my lips. Kisses, I felt tasted the best that day. My hands were still safely in his. I slept.


Cafés are always the place for a quick catchup, a short update and even a puff or two together with people who can manage to be free for that. A quiet evening at a small cafe seems like the best beginning to end the day. And all the more better, if it’s a Friday.
I like watching people in the evening, when life seems to have calmed down for a while for those lucky few. Not in the morning, not at night, but only the evenings. That’s when people begin to evaluate their day, how things have been so far and how they might turn out to be later. Thats when they get a stability about this short period, called a day. That’s when people are most calm, not being a part of the morning or late night’s traffic, dinner plans, parties, wrap ups and deadlines. Watching people in the mornings are never a happy sight and that’s basically because people tend to be cranky and cross if they’ve had a bad start.
But once it’s almost mid eve- that 5-5:30pm of the day, that’s when they seem most carefree. Happy. Content.
Seeing such contentment makes my day and that’s what triggered me to take this step of writing my blog after this whole time!
Thanks for keeping a tab, my dear readers! Need some motivation to keep my thoughts coming!


The smell of oil drifted in the air, an old talcum powder clicked open. Her long wet tresses had made a tumble down her right shoulder, making a wet trail down her red blouse. 

She lightly shook the droplets from her hair before she began drying it with that old cloth. Once done with that, she proceeded to tidy up her ever-compelling face. Adding that black line under her eyes was her favourite part. She made a subtle but thick stroke down the lines of her wide eyes with the Kohl that was made of the purest oils and camphor. She softly pinched that red color from her cube-sized box and brought it to her forehead. She studied her face for a long time in the mirror. Man, red was just her color. 

She was a goddess in front of every man. Incomparable beauty matched with the perfect curves that would shame even the fully bloomed flowers. The mighty rivers could hide their falls in front of her flowing tresses. Her ankles wore the most melodious music, tapping to the rhythm of the way her bangles swayed with every movement of her hand. And her eyes. No man could, but look more than once. Such depth, power and passion lay within them.

Unexplored, she was. Her name was Seduction.

Till we meet again

Like the light that glowed from the lantern in the subtle night, her heart twinkled with that warmth. The deja vu had struck again.

She saw it all again when he called her name. A butterfly fluttered lightly in her heart, a wave softly lashed at her feet, the sun spread it’s orange rays on her face and she went back in time.
“Do you believe in re-incarnation? Of us meeting again in another life?” She was always curious to find out.

“I don’t know yet. But what I do know is that I love you with every ounce of what I have in me” he smiled.

She knew she would remember this day all her life. She promised herself that when they did meet, because she was so sure about it, she would remember this moment.

The day they meet, she knew she would realise the promise would stay true. Because whatever she felt was true, pure and inexplicable.

Living that promise once again today, she knew she had found him once again, in another life. Their lives had entwined, like it did, way back in an ancient era. The beauty had dawned.

Their life had just begun.