THE INDIAN COMMENTATOR

The  series of i-poems titled “Destiny” is completing its course with this seventh poem. Still the question, what destiny is, remains unanswered. And by the way, none of our intentions were even closer to finding an answer. It might be the inherent naivety in human kind that makes me think of an 'answer' at this moment. Of course, this moment too is part of my destiny, which is inevitably ‘our’ destiny after the journey through these poems together. At this moment, I would like to share with you one of my personal experiences which shattered many of my conceptions about destiny. The other day, I was waiting for one of my old friends in one of the crowded cafeteria in Kannur city. He rang me up at the time when he had promised me to be there and told me that he would be late by ten minutes and that he had met a friend, a girl from his college life and couldn't afford losing her. When he was in the college, he had felt his heart warming for her, but could not make himself...

"The wise are wise only because they love. and the foolish are foolish only because they think they can understand love." -- Paulo Coelho.  You reminded me of a river, Static yet full of motion. I saw the horizon, In the red of your eyes. The river became you, The horizon became your eyes. I lived in you, following my destiny, Rising and setting.

“Love has nothing much to do with memory. But often we forget and fall in love with memories.” – Anu.   From   what I knew, The world without you was a desert. But when I reached there, Even the grains of sand, And the moisture on the morning rocks, Reflected you. I lost myself, And found you everywhere. 

"The sun reflects you every other moment, but you only see a shadow."--Anu  My body is heat. My eyes, windows opened in search of breeze. I am the sun and it’s my destiny, To live my death, Married to eternal loneliness.

"Evening is the destiny of stars, which pulls them out from behind the blinding clarity of daylight." - Anu   I borrowed your shadow To meet with mine And to reach the end of the world Before the evening comes. 

Some say destiny is that point in life when the control that one is believed to posess over life becomes useless. They even blame God for being so cruel as to burden them with those inadequate destinies. Indeed, destiny is a point of awareness, but not because God is cruel. On the contrary destiny is a point of awareness and learning and God interferes into your life and becomes the best teacher ever. But as we all know, good teachers are not always flattering or pampering. They become rough when it is needed for better learning. Here is a new series of i-poems titled “Destiny”. My humble attempt here is to learn what destiny is, through a close observation of how my soul identifies it and reacts. Here is the second poem in the series as the first one has preceded before a couple of posts, under the title " Destiny " Destiny—2 The destiny of everything deep Is to reflect and everything wide is to absorb. But in your eyes, I neither found myself, Nor lost the sense of w...

This night, like sadness, Hides every eye Behind its veil. Though, stars are born Out of much darkness, Look close, In my hopeless world they are, But tears, reflected.

The moment brain was installed in human body; the weird chance of not using it too was born. We define it by the word, stupidity; a moment of absence of all those intellectual capabilities that we believe we possess. In the Molecular Story below is one form of stupidity called diffidence. The absence of confidence and trust on oneself is the worst of stupidities anyone can commit. Do you know why? Because like me, you too are the best of your kind.  Lovers “There is much to say. But words may ruin what I really want to convey.” The lover said. “Then just kiss me. And I will understand.” The man hesitated, and then turned away like the clouds near a mountain. He walked away from the girl. In the evening breeze the girl’s tears scattered down and wet her cheeks.  Months later, the man’s friend asked him why he had not kissed the girl at the time of departure, when he loved her so much. The lover said: “That was exactly why I did not kiss her. I did not want her to know th...

(A hugely successful poem in Facebook.)  I let the breeze in, To cool my heated cubbyhole. It made me complacent. Then, without an omen, It became a storm, And destroyed my only home. I had forgotten to close my doors.

Once , a Hindu saint was traveling to the southernmost part of India . He was not alone. Samant, a student of his, accompanied him. Samant was not from a high family like the other disciples of the saint. Unlike his usual practices the saint had started off for his journey alone. He wanted to see India , from north to south and east to west. On his way to the land of Pandya Kings , he met a poor young farmer and asked for some water. The young farmer not only gave him water but also provided him with shelter and the best clothes he had in his house. His name was Samant. Though Samant was a Christian, the saint thought great of him. Just imagine who would give so much of service to a stranger, even if that stranger is God himself. And from that moment the saint took Samant as his Student. Infuriated by the saints decision, some local Hindus along with the priest of the nearby church protested, by saying: “This youth is from another religion and you are a Hindu. How could you take hi...

Don’t complain about the horse Running wild in the desert. It is the cause for me; I; dust in the pale air. I am a creature. But you see me as a shadow. The blindness of your eyes is The world I live in. I am the horse, the desert and The world beyond your eyes.  

Schooling in India requires a minimum age of five years for the admission in the first standard. But at the age of two I had started taking interest in books. Reading was out of question because words were untamable for me at that age. I do remember myself working through the pages, constructing my own imaginary stories from the pictures inscribed upon them, and after some time tearing those pages off in frustration or desperation. Then my father found a way to keep me from frustration. He started reading stories to me. And then my mother from her busy kitchen world encouraged me to keep this practice going by requesting the visitors and guests to help me out by reading me stories. And my reading life started off with a pair of external eyes sucking the nourishment of words for my craving soul. Before long, I learned how to read and write at school. One day in class the teacher asked what our hobbies were. Stamp collection, matchbox collection, reading, and gardening were the tren...

I am out of my senses. My logic is insane. Irrationality rules my heart beats. The night is long. Twelve hours or more. But they get short, When I see you Ballerina. Why else! I am out of my senses.   

M. F Hussain,  the painting prodigy passed away today living in exile. There was obviously nothing more to expect, no return to mother country or a transnational relation with the nation. The exile was an infinitely powerful prison where, unlike Czech novelist   Milan Kundera, who celebrates his exile, Hussain suffered his homesickness, and the desire to return to the beauty of his artistic roots. It is hardly deniable that Hussain was a victim of the Indian cultural totalitarianism, due to portraying the Hindu deities in nude. News reports say that “ he was admitted only two days ago for fluid retention in his lungs, and but had otherwise been “in fairly good health".” (Yahoo.com:9/6/2011) He was 95 and according to his friends, he was too eager to make a return trip to India . Hussain’s exile was a result of his paintings released in February 2006, which were nude portraits of Hindu gods and goddesses. In stripping its mask off the democratic promises of freedom of express...