THE INDIAN COMMENTATOR

I am that star in the distant sky, which is in deep love with the goddess of night. I cannot come down to reach her nor could I go away from her or blind myself completely. It might be just a feeling, an unreal, insignificant psychological temperament. But I think it is something surreal, too, because it is not just a feeling. It is a reality—my reality. I am that star, the writer, which is in love with the goddess of night, the words printed in black on the pale real surface. It is more real than anything possible for me. But until I scribbled down these words on paper, I was living the predicament of the distant star. So now let me keep an eye on time; let me switch the track. I was under a serious block: ‘only one of such kind’ of a writer’s block. A warrior’s god is his technique. Until he invokes his god, I mean the technique, his status as a living organism is under perpetual threat. I know I am not quite right. Well it depends, my friend. It depends on how close one knows o...

"Sometimes a story just knocks at your door." --Anu I was writing a story, feeling well. The sun was shining bright outside and my room enjoyed an uninterrupted supply of electricity. Everything communicated something good. Then God appeared to me. He had a sullen face. He said- “Today, for the last one hour, you forgot to think about me, whereas for the previous one week you were giving enough time for prayers.”  “Mr. God, there is no point in arguing about this. For the last one week, I was silenced by a block. It is only today that I regained my flow,” I told him and resumed writing. He stood there and with each of the words I jotted down, grew more and more fierce. I could not help it. I had to talk about the fathomless sea of silence I crossed within the past days of creative non-productivity. Therefore, it was hard not to write. I must utilise my boon; otherwise it will be transformed into a curse. It had been a whole week for which I was trapped in the writers ...

Below is story sent to me by Terri.    Her blog Bloomingideas .  Thank you Tia Terri.    God Loves Drunks Too   A man and his wife were awakened at 3:00 am by a loud pounding on the door.    The man gets up and goes to the door where a drunken stranger, standing in the pouring rain, is asking for a push.   "Not a chance," says the husband, "it is 3:00 in the morning!" He slams the door and returns to bed. "Who was that?" asked his wife.. "Just some drunk guy asking for a push," he answers. "Did you help him?" she asks.  "No, I did not, it’s 3am in the morning and it’s bloody pouring rain out there!"   "Well, you have a short memory," says his wife. "Can't you remember about three months ago when we broke down, and those two guys helped us?    I think you should help him, and you should be ashamed of yourself! “God loves drunk people too you know.”   The man does as he is told, gets dre...

"Any deed is justifiable if one is chasing one’s dream." - Anu. He checked the baggage one last time then slid it under the bed, stashed it in darkness. He did not want his mother and elder sister to see it. He opened his computer and started browsing through the internet. He checked his mail box. Signed in to chat room, and found one of his friends; a girl. She was some one with whom he wanted to go beyond an ordinary friendship. But he could not. That relationship never took off, he thought. “What’s up?”—she asked. He had nothing to say. So he said—“Just chilling.” “I thought you have something to tell me. You disappointed me.”—said the girl. “There was a gasp from the young man. He drew enough air into his lungs to feel at ease and to try lower down the sudden rush of adrenalin. Her words were inviting. There was an opening, a door opened for him. He could enter now. This was the time. But how? He was confused. He then decided not to confess his love to the girl. In...

"Life teaches us everything. But to dream is a quality that we all bring with us from the Unknown." --Anu   7 How fortunate my present is, With dreams to bridge- My yesterdays and tomorrows. “Dreams”, my new series of I-Poems , winds up here. Hope you enjoyed. There is always a question in the back of my mind. As a writer it concerns itself with the reason for my being. Why do I write? Some say in their comments for my poems and stories, that my works are deep, and they invoke deep thoughts, etc. It is through them that I learned the answer to the crucial question. I write for all those who in some turn in their lives need a depth to search themselves out or a thought to make them live a moment of fulfillment. My life will become blessed, if I reach any where near of being what I dream to be. Every time when I touch my pen on the paper or hover over the key board, I plead the Higher One to make me able to communicate with someone, to make sense, to share my soul and th...

"You just don't have the Right not to listen to your dreams." --Anu 6 A forgotten dream is the graveyard- Of the present of tomorrow.

"When we are walking the road to our dream, the first thing that we are tended to look for is the footmarks left behind by the previous travelers to guide us, forgetting completely that we have taken the path of our own choice, and there might have hardly been any who had traversed the path."   -- Anu.    5 I did not know there existed, A boundary for my dreams, Until, I reached your feet. 

"There are people who believe that dreaming is an insanity. The sad part is that others who have dreams, do not show enough confidence to trust their own dreams." - - Anu. 4 My dreams exist, in insomnia.

"A dream has power to poison sleep."  -- Percy Bysshe Shelley, "Mutability" 3 I looked ugly in the mirror, But in your eyes, Handsomer than ever, For in them, I had seen my dreams, reflected. 

Here is o ne of the comments I received for the post titled "A true Story" through facebook , from Ms. Rosanna Bruno : "Tieni sempre presente che la pelle fa le rughe, i capelli diventano bianchi, i giorni si trasformano in anni. Però ciò che è importante non cambia; la tua forza e la tua convinzione non hanno età. Il tuo spirito e' la colla di qualsiasi tela di ragno. Dietro ogni linea di arrivo c'è una linea di partenza. Dietro ogni successo c'e' un'altra delusione. Fino a quando sei viva, sentiti viva. Se ti manca cio' che facevi, torna a farlo. Non vivere di foto ingiallite... insisti anche se tutti si aspettano che abbandoni. Non lasciare che si arruginisca il ferro che c'è in te. Fai in modo che invece che compassione, ti portino rispetto. Quando a causa degli anni non potrai correre, cammina veloce. Quando non potrai camminare veloce, cammina. Quando non potrai camminare, usa il bastone. Pero' non tratte...

Grandchildren are indeed a temptation for any of us; their curiosity, eager questions, and excited eyes. It is for them we create history; to satiate their curiosity, answer those eager questions, and to fill those bright eyes with more excitement. Every one of us desire to leave such a story behind that would later around a campfire or an armchair inform what we were and in what proud siege we had conquered all the worries and occupied success even after shattering ourselves in the storm of failures. Ajay Sangeeth is one of them who had revived history. He recreated the age old traditional boat service across the Anjarakandy River for the people of Muzhappilangad. His grandchildren will surely have a lot of stories to tell their grand children. The river, known by the name Anjarakandy River , skirts Dharmadam village separating it from the main land. Dharmadam village would look like an island in a sky view, with its three sides surrounded by sea and with one side, river. The p...

"No dream could be detached from fulfillment, unless you lack faith in it." --Anu. 2 Everything protected, Is precious; Wealth, Eyes, Heart, Faith, Soul, And dreams!

1 The journey towards my dream is painful, But I am happy, For the pain is the sign of me, being alive.  I present to you  “Dreams”: The New Series of My ‘I-Poems’ . Somebody reminded me of my ‘i-poems’ today. And it was then I realized how I missed them too. So in the first month of this year, I have decided to start a new series of i-poems. Whoever you are, whatever your aesthetic temperaments are, we surely have one thing in common—Dreams. We all have dreams even though, each of us signify them in our own terms. For some of us dreams may be the only reason to remain alive. But for some others dreams are the extraordinary moments that help them to skip through the hell fire of daily worries and the tortures faced in the struggle for existence, smoothly.  It seems to me a better way, to disclose one’s dreams rather than to define what dreams are, to understand someone’s idea about dreams. But if you ask me what my dreams are, I would say I do not have any. Becaus...

"Life is like a novel. It's filled with suspense. You have no idea what is going to happen until you turn the page. "--   Sidney Sheldon. Courtesy: citynoise.org The Girl and the City My teacher had told me that each day is an opportunity to learn new things. But today I learnt nothing; it was too tedious and boring, the young girl thought. She was a student of theatre. She learned drama from a man called Pavan. They had their classes in one of the cities in North India . Now it is vacation and they are here in this hopeless part of the world, Kannur, South India , she thought. She felt there was nothing new to learn from here. Her teacher had advised that as an actor one should observe the surroundings, the people and the nature and learn from them. That is where inspiration comes from, her teacher had said. She knew her teacher’s wisdom never failed. She had personal experiences from other cities of confronting inspiration in the form of people, events, and a sort...