Skip to main content


I am ordinary; a common man from Kerala, India. And that meant I believe, or should believe in the concepts of logic, reality, reason etc. For the common man, life under the constant influence of these factors is natural. Normality is my religion. I find myself under the comfort of “adjustments”. I know if I adjust my life for someone else, the other person will return the favours through another set of “adjustments” at the time of need. Logic is the skeleton of reality. Reality is the ultimate sense driven out of perception; sensory and intellectual. Reason is the guide that leads one through the intricacies and extraordinary spaces situated in the verges of reality, which although counter the normal, are highly recommended for the existence of the normal on the plane of signification. In other words, the extraordinary or the not-normal is necessary for the normal to make sense. The effect of the normal is drawn from the comparison caused by the influences of the not-normal. The reason works to distinguish and to elevate the ordinary and the normal over the extraordinary and the not-normal. And my ordinariness pertains to my inclination towards these notions.

But there are moments in life, when all this go topsy-turvy. I mean, there are moments in which we realize the presence of a strange open door, which shows us scenes we never have imagined ourselves seeing, or events, which we have never thought of witnessing. We perceive the not-normal, and feel the extraordinary, surprisingly at hand-within ourselves. I mean instances like giving away one’s life for nothing, or waiting for a whole life time for the sake of a lost relationship. It is a similar experience that I am going to share with you, here.

Though the moment was undesirable, the presence of the girl consoled me. I was ready to enter into the territory of conflicts. I knew very well what lies ahead of me will be a series of unprecedented moments, and it will without any chance to doubt, lead me to conflicts, internal and external, sensory and intellectual. She had already entered into one of the most tumultuous places in the world: my mind.

Her eyes hovered over mine. I realized the trails they left in my mind. They were powerful—the trails. Her eyes were full of empathy, and they expected it in return. So I stood there, listening to what she said. I could not hear the acoustic images she produced. For me, her language was her eyes, and the bright smile her lips carried. As I said, the moment was undesirable. To live through an undesirable period is like entering into a battle field, where one is alone, fighting with oneself. And that exactly is what she wanted me to do: waiting for inquiries in the reception desk the whole afternoon, alone—to fight with loneliness.

When one faces an undesirable situation, the self divides into two. One part will stand up for the decision that had been made in favour of the errand, and the other part will vehemently oppose the decision to face the situation (something that cannot be changed, because no one can go back in time to alter the moment in which the decision was taken), and each moment spent in contact with the undesirable situation would be transformed into a battle.

The paradox in my decision was that what I decided was far away from any of the human actions categorised with the word—decision. I spent the whole afternoon behind the reception desk regretting my decision. She was the one supposed to take up the job that day. But she had some emergency, as per what she said. I too was busy with my academic papers, which were to be prepared within one month, for which I dedicated my time every afternoon.

How could I end up doing something completely illogical and out of normal?

I was drunk with her sight, with her tresses, her smiles, her eyes, and with her religious taboos. She was veiled. She was a Muslim. To lift the veil was a taboo. But the shawl of the Churidaar that she used as her veil was hardly in place and I feared myself of risking my sanity, to forget my language, to lose myself. I had promised her in the meantime to stay in the inquiry desk as the receptionist, until five in the evening from the noon, all alone—the decision was made. I could have done anything, if she had asked. And now, thinking about it, I am really scared. I could even have died had she asked me so!


sheri said…
oh, my goodness! your step by step into the place of the receptionists chair was a journey, to say the least! it was amazing to me how you broke a few minutes of time into an exquisite trip to your heart and mind. and now, my big question it merely her veil that keeps you apart from this obviously stunning creature??
ANULAL said…
Hi Sheri, Thank you for that question. Let me think. I will come back soon. Remember, every moment has a lifetime in it.
Wow....ur description is just amazing....presence of strange open door....yes it has happend to me ..I can truly relate with it...hey click her picture and put it on ur blog....just jokin buddy....whats ur next step now??
ANULAL said…
Love you dude for your presence. take care..

Popular posts from this blog


Ancient Promises is Jaishree Misra's debut book with a fresh narrative voice in comparison with the other novelists of her time.
An unforgettable story, told in first person narrative, Ancient Promises combines in its narrative strategy, romance, myth and social criticism. Jane Austen succeeded in bringing irony in her novels, through interesting and poignant observations, which were most often witty as well. Taking the same line of novel-writing strategy, Jaishree Misra gives opportunity for readers to enjoy the book in multiple perspectives than just a single faceted love story.
Of course, Janu, the protagonist is the narrator and this is her story. However, this is also the story of Kerala and its marriage customs. Many irrational and unjust customs still exist in this southern land situated in India's south. Many European cultures have established trade relations with Kerala, even before the time of the British. But in the long run, it can also be observed that the nature …

DELHI IS NOT FAR BY RUSKIN BOND: A Love Story without Losses

“…and I know that this one lifetime, however long, cannot satisfy my heart” (111).
__ Ruskin Bond
The Commentator says; When it’s about love, some believe it’s natural to make mistakes. The truth is ‘mistakes’ and ‘love’ do not coexist. Mistakes are not love. Love is not a mistake. Before the book review, let me recount to you a love story flew by my life a couple of months back. As some of you know, I love blogging. As some others of you are well aware, more than blogging, I love the experience of writing. Blog or my other publishing ventures, this love for writing is at the core of it all. A couple of months before, I had thought of writing a review of the book Delhi is Not Far by Ruskin Bond, author of The Lamp is Lit. Opening a word document, I wrote the title of the book with the author’s name as a ‘clever’ appendage. Then I kept it to gather some inspiration and relevance. Then I forgot. To be more precise, I pushed the priority to love to another rather unimportant spot and, for…

Spam Luck

Our client is looking for 100 English writers; we could pay up to $10,000/month with bonuses for writers who deliver good content on a regular basis. No experience required. Payment via Paypal, Check, or a Bank Wire.
Mithun Vadakkedathu signed out. But he did not forget to mark the mail he just read as spam. He had been signing up in job sites and this has become his day job.
The previous week he had gone to the Parassinikadavu temple and paid for Vellaattam, the worship dance for pleasing Muthappan, the deity of Parassinikkadavu temple, the ancient God of the commoner.
He groped in his wallet which had holes inside and threads were coming off from its bottom. The outer layer of rexine was removed from many places by time.
Mithun took out three pieces of paper, three tickets: one red, one grey, one pale white in colour. He murmured; “O God, all my prayers, all the Vellaattam I paid for are gone without purpose. I must have done something terrible that I still do not know myself. Perhap…