THE INDIAN COMMENTATOR

You are the one magic fiddle I had. All the time, which by its own played. I knew you were not a dead instrument, but you lived with me, like a musical tenet. Still I neglected your life and being. You were used by tautening your strings, Every day and every lonely nights, whenever I wanted peace. You were the property, I kept through my days. Your voice became my companion. I knew you are a magical fiddle,clarion. You had danced for me, Whenever I lacked glee. You walked on the moon, and moved in robotic style, I still recollect, how invincible you were that while! You screamed in joy, musically, You made the days rock excitedly. But at last, you have stopped the magic tone... Once and for all you ended your song, filling unknown endless void everywhere. In my dictionary, the word for loss seemed rare. For utterance, I felt gathering each possible way, Your silence is more deeper than a 'loss'... that is,to say. (A Tribute to Michael Jackson...

When the light goes out, a void is created, which nothing else can fill except darkness... "The King of Pop" Michael Jackson , passed away. Let the world mourn as it lost the voice, which had taught it to 'scream' with joy, in music. The Indian Commentator mourns in the death of the legendary singer. May god bless his soul rest in peace... You can read the news here...http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2009/jun/25/michael-jackson-dead The Indian Commentator 's Homage.

'The child is the father of the man', but the man always forgets, how he had felt when he was a child. The only way that leaves, is to study about his past, living in his present. In this endeavour, certain things are purposefully avoided and certain other things are included, 'as if' to co nstruct and convey the apt performance of the endeavour that he has undertaken. The children's help lines and child welfare organisations like the UNICEF are only a few examples of this endeavour. Even though, children are being 'watched', from reaching in wrong hands, we still need a day like the one observed on the 12th of June, The world Day Against Child labour, proving the futility of our 'watch'. Child sexual abuses, child trafficking, child labour, and even child marriages are forming topics for serious discussions. And many children are rescued from wrong hands, by the help lines and police and other governmental and non governmental organisations. B...

India is on the victims' side, in racism. In anti-racial movements, it is on the protesters' side. But both these identities seem absurd when, the extent to which this country is doomed, in its blindness to human equality, is out. It neither rejects caste ism nor closes its eyes on skin colour. Now, a question arises, how did these practices of caste ism and colour consciousness emerge? In order to get an answer, we must ask this question to our grant fore-fathers, which is not possible now, for as a matter of fact, those grant paternal 'culture creators' are long gone into sod. The only possible way is to make our own assumptions as we always do, if we expect to get an answer to the above question. Thus, even though practitioners died, practices exist. These practices unveil themselves in the advertisements of fairness creams in our television channels and the beautiful "fair" looking heroins of the Indian cinema. As an instance, if the advertisements ...

Civilization is a word, deep in meaning and vast in its implications. It is an aspect that humanity holistically acquired through the process of evolution. Everywhere around the world, humanity established civilizations, though the Western sardonic perception never identified the existence of such civilizations in the East. This is what caused them to bear the 'white man's burden' only to make themselves a butt of ridicule. The peopl e in the East were identified more civilized and intelligent than the West, scientifically. The only reason, why they accepted the aspects of western life, was they needed a change. The Western part of the globe and the white possessors of it, always regarded East as uncivilized. Even after having so many proofs for this hypothesis to be discarded, the West was adamant with their foolishness. Some of them regard the colour of the skin as a criterion for superiority, unlike the East who recognizes the intellectual ability, and physical perseve...

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...

The bride was leaving her family with her groom after the marriage, as was the custom. “Don’t forget your tradition, daughter”-- The mother said to the bride-- “It is tradition that makes a beautiful girl adorable, a home-maker respectable, and a mother lovable. It is tradition that will tell you that peace is not resulted from the absence of conflicts but a resonance with conflicts, and that no conflict ever ends. It only becomes a source for another. Daughter, it is tradition that will tell you that a good wife can never be a good mother, and a good mother can never be a good wife; and that you only need to be a good home-maker, for only a good home maker can only be a good wife and a good mother. Remember. Remember the tradition. It will help you to be a ruler while being a subject and instruct you that your inclinations will perform magic. Do not forget this, my dear--The mother stopped and looked at her daughter. The bride raised her head and said--“Mother…”And with a pause, she ...

When the sun and its rays rise in all of its grace, Whom shall I wait for starting the race? I’m like the lightning, that fast is my pace. Why should I late myself by waiting for a mate? It’s time, for the seaways has been shown by the waves, The cry of the sea gull makes the best of omens, The darkest of the night is showing brightest of the stars, And they will lead the way in this sailor’s days. Some one called me volcano that still is un-slept. “Don’t screw me up, you pest!” that was then my retort. I don’t need his words and his bluffing, ever mate, To prove myself the number one in this fight! Life is a fight fought only thrice One as child, two as young, three as old, And the rest is told…