The Well

This part of My Life is called Running

Ah my friends, i am told life begins by a cry, but nevertheless i too understand its after a series of squeaks ands moans and then a race. Race in the sense, a desperate marathon sprinting of those 'x' and 'y's , those worm like microscopic tweaks with a funny tail, who goes on to decide which part of the gender equity plan one belongs.
Well those of you wondering what the hell i am i trying to say, let me explain. They say, serve the nation and be a man and get yourself a NEW LIFE and well, you guessed it right, its the Army and i recently got a call letter to attend SSB in Bhopal, Madya Pradesh(thats a form of terrible psychotic interview that is modelled on the Nazi way of selecting the right officers for our forces). Hmm, so you all are gona see how i almost F****D it up..
So, i was planning for my NEW LIFE and then i decided i must get the well wishes of my grand mother before i leave and so i was bending my body so that i can reach her legs for auspicious beginnings in the 11th hour and then... i heard her cry... and cry and cry well those of you guys probing on the emotional brooding, damn you, i am getting late. It was half past 10 and my train leaves by 11 15.. and heck she is still crying.. knowing fully well that her recent emotional outfall with her body has lead to a stroke, i was not prepared to give her good old nervous system a reason to 'strike' by blurting out the fact that i was almost running out of time to catch my race vehicle. So i was trying my wits out not to be timid but in the most poignant way i managed to give her a graceful kiss and off i was in our no sense omni car, who made it a point to squeak everytime the horn was pressed and flutter when the breaks were on. So my all too no nonsense father was on the cockpit of our no sense car, preparing itself to moan and squeak as we were in the marathon sprint to our final destination(at least now) inside the ovum of the Trivandrum railway station.
Life they say is found in crisis and well i was really in one and a really bad one as i saw the digital timer matching its dots to form 11.15 am.. well hoping for the best(well at best i hoped for a 2012) i rushed on with my suitcase and packed lunch, dinner and breakfast( well courtesy my very very funny mom). And then i could see it, my life my NEW LIFE moving away in numbers as i counted the bogies one by one bursting to life deserting me to my vista of regeneration and possibly presenting me a nice little excuse to feel the thud of a moving train(which i didnt entertain, as i still have to wrote this blog, funny me)..
Well i must say i made it at the end through a endless labyrinth of railway network that almost made me travel double the distance, which i hope to share it with you guys soon..
But for now, all of you guys, take a cue from my most funny and almost tragic situation and make it a point to catch the feet of your most lovely grandmoms at 11th hour so that you can really help to develop this blog(if only you dont feel like having a taste of a really fast train)..

SPEED THRILLS BUT KILLS....

Hey my dear friends...at last I also happened to be here..Actually that incident dragged me here..This incident happened just two days before. It was a very rainy day..I was just sitting in my bedroom watching those drops which quenched the thirst of my plants. As usual, the enjoyment of the beauty of the rain called me to sleep. So I decided to take a nap. After an hour, I could hear my mother’s voice very close to me calling my name Litty......with some ‘sweet additions’..Sorry I could not include those additions here as it was so SWEET..I got up suddenly with a 70 watt smile. Her motive was to send me to the stationery shop. I was happy that I could have a small trip now and for sure I would get some money too. I started my scooty and we both reached in front of the shop..I parked my scooty by the side of the road. Then I bought all the items as prescribed by amma not less or more: D ..I came back to my scooter and as all my friends know about by weakness with ‘dogs’..Oops ‘sweeties’ I caught by sight of a sweetie..To my surprise I saw that he was sitting at the middle of the road in an unusual position..Any guess??o.k..Just urinating..I actually smiled at him and he was also staring at me..May be I disturbed him. I don’t know from where it came,...a mini lorry just rushed over my sweetie..I could very well see that he was safe under the lorry. So I didn’t expect anything bad. But fate was against my sweetie..I saw the back wheels of the lorry just crushed my sweetie..I heard a big CRY from him and blood spilt from his mouth..That lorry driver drove the lorry as fast as possible and escaped from there..I was just standing beside the scene and could not do anything..I just closed my ears with my hands and I didn’t look at the spot. I saw a rally of vehicles anxiously waiting for the dead body to be removed..I started my scooter and drove very fast..For God’s sake First time in my life I could not drive smoothly because of my wet eyes!!!! When I visited the spot in the evening, the dead body of my sweetie was not there..I am thanking that man who removed sweetie from there in time..

Next Literary Club Session

Theme: ON THE ROAD

Poems, reviews on lesser known and/or translated books, interesting newspaper articles, essays, audio and video clippings pertaining to the theme, are all welcome.

Language no barrier...

Co- ordinators for the week: Pramod L. S. [II M.A]

Sulfia S. Santhosh [II M. A]

Reading Plath...

I look at her pale face..

Her birth on a scorpion star like mine..

each time she was born and died herself..

she madly loved a beast Hughes

telling every poet

not to love an another poet..

I'm not an Electra

and my daddy not a narcissist..

a gas chamber in her rotten apartment

and that holocaust of words

undone and left like her orphans

in a room deep asleep..

I'm no Plath..

am I?

By

SOYA V.N.

Hey!

This is more of a notice and less of a post. So without much ado let me come to the point straight. Dudes and dudettes at the Institute, some of us (II MA students) have been pondering about bringing out an inhouse magazine...not the handwritten manuscripts tied together kind, a proper magazine. The boys (Aravind and Pramod to be specific) have already got something up their sleeves. So all you others out there pitch in with your innovative ideas and creative products...Waiting for your response to move ahead.

And another thing that needs to be discussed is regarding the activities of the Literary Club. It's quite unfortunate that we have not been able to hold another session after screening The Pursuit of Happyness to a huge audience. So this week we need to conduct one at any cost. So as an innovation some of us were thinking of basing each session on a particular theme or idea and then reading out poems and other literary works, written by the students themselves or little known works which we think to be special or interesting. Awaiting your responses...

Cheerio!:)

Debts and Daughters

Ramanujan may talk about the "debt and daughters". But has anybody thought about the daughters who are left with a pile of papers which has debts only and a big family to support?

Reading the poem "Obituary" one would certainly feel sympathetic toward the son who has nothing left by the father other than burdens. But there is one part of the life, where those daughters who are considered nothing but the burden of the "son" actually play the role of the SON.

A long row of uncles who would find only faults in her, a mother who may love her , but would never be happy with her conduct, a brother who will love her for the pocket money that she gives, a granny who would call her a spoiled brat; nothing other than this which probably she could ever imagine of.

There could be a happy childhood that she lost, an adolescence,which probably she never remember at all, a romantic youth when she dint have the time to love the one she liked. an adulthood, when she is busy meeting the two ends and finally a middle age, when she remains a spinster who becomes the burden of the new generation.

Has anyone cared to think about her suggestions before bursting at her courage to speak to the elders? Has anyone gave a soothing smile when she goes mad about the budget of the family? Has anyone thought of the range of questions she has to go through before she actually opens her mouth? Is there anything called happiness that she ever experiences?

I wonder, does she actually exists?

‘Cri De Cur’ of a Desperate Spirit

The other day I was standing before the entrance of a big hotel at Kovalam, which has got enough stars in its credit to be called a constellation. Twilight was slowly disappearing and my friend found her way into a bus amid that hubbub and I was left alone to contemplate nonchalantly over those universal concerns like isolation, existence and future ( What! My language smells like Hillaire Bellock? – Oh! my friends I won’t deny). But soon the grandiose entrance of that star hotel ushered in me the thoughts of my ‘recent’ ambition that has started overwhelming me ever since I decided to take it as my new ambition. But before I blurt out that noun let me take a digression to vindicate myself in picking such an ambition in my life[at least for these few months, for you know my desires, my moods, my tastes, my ambitions all these things get revised quite frequently. Now don’t expect me to trot out Emerson and his Self- Reliance].
One month is not a big bridge to cross. Particularly these days, for the time with its great pace seem to be fuelled by NO2. Hardly do we notice the ticking of clocks gather together to form days and weeks and months. And coming December we ( I mean those who ‘dared’ to take the great risk of becoming Masters of Arts) are supposed to encounter a great vexation in our life. I mean the National Eligibility Test- commonly known as NET. Being III semester students we do have the eligibility to appear for this “Eligibility Test”. People are nowadays so much obsessed with this exam that their hearts switched the rhythmic beat from lub- dub to NET- NET. But the fact remains that despite these incessant heart beats very few has really started a serious preparation. I don’t think its necessary for me to mention that I am not ‘a’ one among this “very few”, and nowadays I am so busy with my laziness that I don’t even get time to prepare a preparation. But, to be honest, my friend Joby and I had planned to plan our studies for this great exam right at the dawn of our first semester- a time when we didn’t know each other properly. He thought I would be systematic as I thought he would be. I even baptized our studies as “NET practice” ( I always have this habit of assigning proper nouns to all those things that I encounter albeit I know that to define is to limit). But then that story has no further chapter, it all ended with that baptizing. I am quite sure my friends, that each of you would certainly have a story similar to this to tell, because you know there is this thing called collective unconscious common to a race or group or community and this “beginning syndrome” is something commonly shared by all the members of the student community irrespective of age, course or intelligence (am I digressing too much friends? Sorry I’ll come back to my ambition).
So now this great exam has ceased overwhelming me much and my heart switched back to its usual rhythm. But then the question remains that what else will I do? To answer that let me list out the very very nuances of my existence.
NAME: Pramod L. S. (It has got no significance in this particular context for nobody will give you a job just for your name).
AGE: 22 (that will let you watch the adult movies publicly and put your signature on the marriage register).
SEX: MALE (since that has got something to do with my ambition lets put it in reserve)
QUALIFICATION: I’ve got many figures in my certificates that would certainly allow me to bubble certain columns in job applications. But that won’t work further for the simple reason that newspaper is something that I see only in our canteen as bits in the hands of our ‘canteen chettan’ (Hot bajjis, samosa!!! Oopz- saliva- Pavlov- Patti Pavlov)
Extracurricular: Egad! So many. I was a Jack of all trades and master of none.
THEN WHAT ELSE WOULD I DO?
And the answer for the question is my newly constructed ambition. Remember that particular detail that I left untouched in my CV? Yes that three letter word SEX (Again let me remind you that this is not a mucky attempt to be a controversial writer or a “compulsive confessioner” stuff, rather it is the “cri de cur of a desperate spirit who finds himself resourceless). I know you may be wondering what a basic instinct has got to do with one’s ambition. It’s high time you deconstruct your very notions of ambition. By ambition you always mean a mental aspiration or a passion. Sex is something very physical or biological (I hope you won’t say clinical). Let me come to the point. Friends I am talking about that age old profession of PROSTITUTION. Yup! I mean that- that’s my newly constructed ambition- to be a prostitute and since I belong to the male category I need to use the other terms- rent boy or Gigolo. I can see those immature old eyes receiving a ‘cultural shock’ (Sorry guys, I can’t help that) Why, you can’t credit this as a profession? What’s wrong with this profession- you pay money you get the service as simple and as ‘straight’ as a hotel business (ref. back to my poem “Solitary Sufferer”) Then why hang around all these morality stuff with this pure profession and tan it with contempt.
So hence, friends, I do dare to aspire for this wondrous profession, no matter how you take it and please don’t get wonderstruck or ‘cultural shock’, if chanced to meet me in that above mentioned Star Hotel in that above mentioned profession. And yes, as friends (for girls only) you can always hope for a tremendous discount.