THE INDIAN COMMENTATOR

Some say that everything changes, except change. They are wrong. 'Change' also changes in its approach, becoming, and familiarizing. By familiarizing, I mean, the sustenance of a change for a long period. Each of these attitudes will change. To include 'change ' in a definition would not be recommendable, for the very moment the definition establishes itself as a system, complacent in itself, it needs for a change. And change is inevitable for the sustenance of life. Change can be anything, and can happen anywhere. It only needs to give a de-familiarized experience to the usual stream of life. Sometimes, it just happens, and sometimes we are in need for it. Sometimes, a break of routine can be a change. Or an early rain, pre-seasonal, can be a change. Change can occur anywhere, wherever life happens. The term life is not necessarily the biographical phenomena. Otherwise, the space can be said to have no change ever or my statement will be summed up as an error...

Unseen Perceptions. I saw the until then unseen breeze, I heard the imaginary birds, I saw the stars, shine in day light, I heard the waves in the distant ocean of sand. What happened to my world? I kept asking, A deflection or a new scheme- Of my eyes to see things or is it a dream! Is it a life or lifelessness, I kept wondering. As I am taught that no one can see breeze, As I am aware that no imaginary birds, Or no stars embellish the world, in daytime. No waves of sand will be heard, I wondered. It was hard to keep my senses normal, It equals naught if, try to be calm, On these, all said, a causeless abnormality, I too thought, until I wrote, I am in love and I love you.

The boy who knows how to fly the kite, Knows what freedom is. But his mother will never let him play- Outside for long. His teachers have always insisted, On studying and utilizing- The most precious hours. The boy who knows How to make the kite, Has a mind, Which knows how to stretch, His hands for the unbinding freedom, Concealed somewhere unseen- In the vast sky. Always, who has searched for a cloudless sky, Knows how to search for- The milieu which suits to resume- His quest for freedom. The boy- Knows, that on some occasions, The wind, the thread, the hands, And his luck have played something, Unperceived by others, and have- Taken his kite to a world where, No colours rule and no borders divide. He knows this, for, he is the boy who knows- How to fly the kite.

I was trying hard to forget the heat. It was too hot and my body was literally burning.The sun was in its peak. I took in my hand, the book-"Left Behind" by Tim Lahaye and Jerry B. Jenkins. That was an interesting novel and I read up to thirty pages in a sitting. For I wanted to forget the heat. Tim and Jerry had marvelously been influencing me through their 'mysterious' plot and flowing language. But still, I was unaware of one fact, the fact that why I could not be able to shun this constant tribulation from atmosphere temperature. "Has our earth strayed from its orbit, and reached near the sun?"- I thought, as every science savvy ignorant. It might be over forty degree Celsius, the temperature. The book was luring, but it was an irresistible instinct that, made me to think for a moment on the good health of my body. I decided to undress to protect myself from frying up. There was no one else in home and so no Indian cultural dilemma obstructed me. I do...

I wonder who had stirred up- My heart long before- I started counting the days, The days of my age. I wonder who had splashed- The streams of blood, Inside the vulnerable skin, Before the dreams could come, In the lobes of my brain. Who did that sovereign act Of knitting a scrap of flesh- With life, tender divine. Lucrative deals, which- The Businessman brought,are- Deals of love and of deep relations. 'My Lord', as always- My soul recites, whenever- I ignore the way to church. An exasperating thought of confession, In forgetting The Artist, Who had painted the universe, Beautiful, long before- My eyes opened.

Along With the Wind. -------------------------------------- Let the wind be blowing, And make the stars clouded beings. I know the wind will carry, Your scent in its bosom, June or May. It is night and eyes discard the dream, For I don't want to see you as a dream. Vanish quickly is the nature of dreams, earthly. But I want you with me permanently. I still remember that kiss, which you have given me with your eyes. I know the taste of you feet, that- In metamorphosis, I tasted as sand part. I have stripped to embrace the wind, To feel the presence yours in its hand, Like the bird in the sky's lofty stall. I embraced the wind and felt you full.

I asked my mother once, "Why do we celebrate festivals, Amma? Are celebrations not just a waste of time and money?" Amma smiled and said-"No, son. Celebrations are necessary, as necessary as relationships. For if the relationships to survive, they need, get-together and reminders to pass this feeling to each other that you are near, to them, as near as to any extent they want. Celebrations do just the same thing. They fill the deprived minds with invaluable love and satisfaction". She stopped. I was trying to understand her properly. I wanted to ask her for more clarification on the topic. But then I found that no doubt existed in my mind. I saw my cousins running through the courtyard. It was the day of 'Vishu'; the Malayalam new year, according to the Malayalam Calendar, which comes in the month of April on 14, according to the English Calendar. I also ran with my cousins, to play cricket, in the nearby playground. I didn't feel anything wasted. I...