THE INDIAN COMMENTATOR

III Forget not, the clouds- That covers the moon, Showers the drops for thirst. 

Sweetness , sometimes, is sweet in ways that are quite amazing. I have been awarded by Tia Terri , with an award that looks like an apple held out in both hands, with a heart carved in it. Indeed a sweet award. Usually, I find all the awards with some sort of name attached with it, like “Kreative Blogger Award”, or “Cute Blogger”. But this time, there is no name tag attached with this award. So I decided to name it, just for the fun of it. And for those who find it in anyway unwelcoming to your temperaments, I keep my apologies open. The name is: Sweet Blogger Award. I thank you Tia Terri, for this really sweet award. In appreciating others, we appreciate our own sense of friendliness, acceptance and aesthetic sensibility, especially in the case of artistic products. I here leave five links to the winners of Sweet Blogger Award from my blog: The Indian Commentator. Red Handed http://anuglyhead.blogspot.com/ Neeha http://wannawritee.blogspot.com/ Anya http://anya-kareltje.blogspot....

II In the rain you looked for me, And cried desperately, By not finding me. I was not the rain, But the moisture lining your, Footsteps on the cold floor. 

Summer is the season here in my place. And it had been raining for the past three days, especially in the evenings. Even now the sky is dark, as if it still holds the blessing of drops; cool, and comforting in the shimmering sun of the summer and the hot weather. This humble man with the destiny of a poet here jots down with all his naïve understanding, nature and human mind: Rain i-poems. I I counted the drops, One, two, three and- Gasped at the eternal rain. And then I counted back three, two, and one. And the rain smiled at me, In my transformation, Into a child. 

Out of all the malignity on the earth, a creature was born. It lacked everything that is human, except rationality. And in every aspect of existence it was anti-human. It was called: Macabre. On day it abducted Archangel Michael. Although, Michael could resist its powers successfully and destroy it easily, he succumbed, so that he can test it, as done by those who are wise. Macabre wanted to get a blessing: the power to consume the whole of humanity. “I can’t give you a blessing that could result in destruction,” the Archangel said. Macabre knew what Michael said was unchangeable. He was aware of the powers of the Archangel , who could perhaps destroy Macabre with a single swirl of his sword. And he also knew that Michael was testing him.  “Then give me a curse which though holds the power to destroy me, could satiate my desires.” Said Macabre, instantly without giving in, and what he meant was eating up the whole of humanity. He came down to the earth to eat all the humans ...

Molecular story :   A molecular story is a very short story; a very very short one, with all the impacts and effects of a real one with all the intrinsic structural peculiarities. I want to shout out loud. And my friend asks me why? I reply-- the same reason why you talk to me: being human.

There is a story that is prevalent in the country sides of Muzhappilangad; a story in which there is a fisherman who meets mermaids in the sea when he goes for fishing. He used to tell them stories. The mermaids loved his stories very much that they became his friends. He had taken a huge mortgage on his only boat to feed his family full of children. One day the money lender came and asked for the returns. But the fisherman was in a poor state. He did not get enough fishes every day even to meet the daily requirements of his family. Not finding enough money the money lender became furious and took his boat. The story ends by saying that the mermaids helped the old man discover a hidden treasure in the sea and get his boat back.   I knew this story from one of my friends who belongs to this region. It was in my first visit to Muzhappilangad, I still remember, that he told me this story with a great pride for his local tradition and contempt for the advancements of the modern wor...

Soon   the globe will shrink into one white ball. The race of life will follow a twenty feet long pitch. Enthusiasm will flow into a stadium to merge with the human sea. The cricket god will come out and embark on his journey to bless and calm the sea, with the charismatic gestures of his bat. Spells may be broken, but some might work. Life will then be known by another name: Cricket. India will be transformed into a ritual of magic and passion, of cricket. There is nothing that can repel the magic; that can dispel the forces of this sportive madness. Indians love cricket, for it is one of their basic needs of any one born in this country, verged by sea on three sides, and the Himalayas , as the crown. Let the sweat spill. Let the profane passion be unbridled. The time has shown itself on the gate of the fortress. Let us be prepared to cheer our warriors, for the battle is on its way. Let us remind ourselves that every Indian has one blood, like every game is played...