Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Need for Change

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. As we all have heard, changes happen everywhere, even in space, for we attribute it with a life and carefully analyse its growth and changes.

Image Courtesy: Google
Recently, it is Barak Obama, who used the word 'change' and brought it again to its revolutionized usage.

My life, at present is going through such a change. I want you to read it ambiguously. That is, changes occurred in my life, and I am going through a vista of changes around me. In other words, there are changes around me and these changes around me that is, the changes in nature, are in full power to bring changes in my life.

Celebrating the end of summer, the rain has started. It is monsoon now onwards.
Being a writer, it is the most inspiring period for me.

Rain brings everything.
It brings chill,
it brings new life,
it brings darkness,
it brings light,
it brings spring,
it brings winter,
it brings summer,
it brings the hope,
of it coming down again,
and giving everything,
that mind once had longed for.
The smile it brings,
would be wet,
in the tears of the memoirs,
of those beloved, lost.
But its smile is pleasant that is, one in a thousand,
where it lulls the emotions of hearts,
unlike any other of the seasons.
In itself, it is a nourishment,
for the dried, cracked tenants.
But it decays, the summer's reminiscences.
In every drop, it is an amazement.

Thus the rain and its amazement brings something also to my mind-- the thought of making a change. The sub title of the Indian Commentator, which is "about anything everything and all" seems to me conveying the real character of my blog in words,far from economy. So I would like to introduce a new subtitle- "An Observer".

The reason that I selected this subtitle, is that it serves its purpose in the minimum number of words. And it justifies the purpose, which my blog functions for. From the social criticisms to the 'verses of love' -series, which I have begun just after the land mark celebration of "51st post celebrations", you can perceive a tireless observation of different aspects of life. Every write up is an observation, of life and its different aspects. Some poems might seem tawdry, as they are meant for, but they also have links and roots in the ever nourishing soil of life. The least is unjustified thus in adopting, this subtitle, I suppose.

Every change is followed by the best of the opportunities. So readers can expect more opportunities of good reading in "THE INDIAN COMMENTATOR" as I have allotted more and regular time each day for writing, after a constriction for time, in the last couple of weeks.


Friday, May 22, 2009

Verses of Love-2

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.

Sky Freedom.

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.

Thursday, May 21, 2009

When It's Hot...

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 don't know how to avoid such situations when such dilemmas come into play even though my awareness about the notion, that culture is nothing but a constructed pattern of practices, is in full.

During summers I usually wear no shirt at home. I wear the common Kerala "lungi" and an underwear inside it. Lungi itself is a highly air permitting fabric, which is wrapped around the waist. But still, undressing means something really special. It is a special feeling to be naked and to loiter like that. There was no air conditioner and the ceiling fan was reeling above. I laid there on the tilled floor. The floor also was hot like the air.

'It is only March. What will happen if the weather is going on like this. There are two more months to pass, for the rain clouds to 'dress up' the sky'- I thought.

I took a little nap. I saw a dream. I screamed and opened my eyes. 'What was that!'- I tried to remember. I saw that I was in my classroom. Suddenly the heat arose. It increased and increased and everyone started stripping themselves off.I too did it in the same way.

By seeing girls naked, my classmates that they were, I found it too difficult to look at them like that. So I closed my eyes. When, after my friend's call, I opened my eyes, I found every one dressed as perfectly as they had been. I only was found nude. Shocked, embarrassed, dead, I screamed.

That was the dream. My whole body was chilled. I stood up. 'That was just a dream'- I tried to console myself. I was really nervous and the sweat cooled my flesh.

I started thinking. I wanted to think something to drag the memories of that dream out of my psyche. I started thinking about the weather, which I think has some link with what I had dreamt.

Global warming is a highly disputed topic in the contemporary world. Discussions and arguments are being celebrated everywhere. Talks are being conducted. Bills are being passed out in Parliaments. But after all, nothing is happening. It is only when nature affects our complacent way of living that we think about it. Or otherwise, when it simply stops supplying our basic needs, we think of it. It is our culture that reminds us of the nature, then for the sake of that culture itself can't we provide it a peaceful co-existence? 'Atleast for our own sake...'. After such a pause, always a question arises. 'How?'. I also was unaware of the answer as many others, the way in which we can protect our nature. I put on my clothing.

Along with a spade, I walked out. Outside the courtyard, I cracked the soil one foot deep. I uprooted a small plant from the home garden, and planted it there and watered it. I found it pleasing and consoling. I found it. That was the way.

Friday, May 15, 2009

God is Playing

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.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Verses of Love-1

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.

Monday, May 11, 2009


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. Instead, I felt I was gaining. Love, nearness, satisfaction.

There is no specific time or place for celebrations. No, I am wrong. It is in the human mind where every celebration should hold its foot to enchant the surroundings outside.

Celebrations won't find occasions, but we find occasions to celebrate. The only criteria for a celebration to occur is to find a reason.

Now I would tell you the reason, for you are in a celebration. In a wonderful celebration. Yes you have already become part of that celebration. A celebration where the celebration itself is the reason for it.

The reason for the celebration is -this is the fifty first post that I am making in my Blog.

What I write is part of my individuality, part of my culture, part of my tradition, and part of my soul. As a reader, you interact with that part of my being and thus became part of my life. Thus, we are related. It is this relationship that I am celebrating as the 51 st post celebrations in "The Indian Commentator". Thank you for being with me, and for all the supports that you have been bestowing upon me.


Yours lovingly,


The Indian Commentator.