The Gift of the flying reindeer

Once again Sissel looked into her sister's phone startingly. It was only a day before that she bought a new phone and took a new connection. Ever since she started using mobile phones, whenever she bought a new phone, she always made the first call to her parents or her sister. This time, it was her sister that she called first. She wanted to let her know her new number also. Her sister was busy when she had called her but still Sissel couldn't quite understand why Suzan, her sister, hadn't saved her number in her phone. She looked at her sister dejectedly, who was driving their car and they were going to a relatives place to celebrate Christmas eve!


A cool breeze gently tapped her cheeks and Sissel stared outside. She saw the street dressed in Christmas outfits. There were stars twinkling in various colors, and shivering like Aspen leaves in the wind. She felt elated. She always loved Christmas season. She knew that Suzan also loved it. As kids, they never missed any chance to celebrate the festival at their house. They would make sure to come to their house during Christmas, help their dad in decorating the tree and hanging stars, cut the Christmas cake with family, and savour the sumptious meals that their mother used to cook. As a kid, she heard about the story of Santa Claus who had a list of all children in the world, gave candies and toys to good kids and coal to naughty chidren. She wondered whether the flying reindeer who pulled his sleigh will deliver the gift to her without losing it's way. Those were ineradicable moments and indelible memories.


Sissel looked into the rear view mirror with painstaking attention to details. She felt she looked beautiful in her white top. Angels wear white, thought she, with a naughty grin. She furtively looked at her sister. Suzan was lost in her own world though driving the car. Suzan looked extremely beautiful in her purple shirt. Sissel fondly recollected her sister's penchant for purple right from a very young age. She knew very well that her elder sister was more beautiful than her, but she only felt proud of that. After all they were of the same flesh and blood.


                    Sissel observed Suzan's hair swirling merrily in the wind. Suzan rarely tied her hair. Often her black tresses tumbled about her face. Those long locks that fell shimmering like cascades complemented Suzan very well and Sissel always admired them. Sissel couldn't help traipse down the memory lane. As a kid, while playing or fighting she used to pull her sister's hair. She vividly recollected her sister's face, wincing with pain. Those were the days when Suzan often carried baby Sissel in her arms. Many a time, Sissel bit her sister, often in her shoulder. Sissel was really naughty but still she always got candy from Santa Claus. Sissel looked at her sister nostalgically. Instantly she was swamped by an alienated feeling, something that harrowed her tranquility completely.


                                The chime of Church bells from a distance took her again to her childhod. She could clearly hear the carol songs sung at choir and she could also recall the days she and her sister stay awake on bed waiting for the Santa Claus to come. She could also remember the unexpected gifts she got from the Santa claus in her house courtyard, right under the sparkling star that her father had hung and the night drowning in the tune of "Jingle Bells". She aways treasured her Christmas gifts. There was nothing more beautiful than receiving unexpected gifts from loved one's during Christmas. She also adored those Christmas cards she used to get. She felt the E-cards lacked life compared to those cards, a sentiment very much echoed by Suzan also. She could see everything in her bleary eyes, with the sluggish precision of images from a slow motion film.


                                  Suzan observed the melancholic nature of Sissel. She could perceive the silent sadness that emanated from her sister's eyes. "Sissel", called Suzan and bestowed on her the most warmest, caring and affectionate smile that she ever offer her. Sissel closed her eyes to avert her sisters gaze. Suzan was surprised to see tiny tear drops on the eye lashes, like pearls strung on a priceless necklace. Almost immediately Suzan pulled over and placed her hand on Sissel's shoulder. Sissel pushed her sister's hand violently and flung these words across to her. "You didn't even save my new number in your phone. So I mean only that much to you. What if you want to call me urgently? You can't even do that!" Suzan was totaly shocked Sissel gazed outside. She knew very well that she acted immature. There was a part of her that refused to grow up, and that part perennially remained a juvenile in her sister's presence. Sissel was surpised by the lack of response from her sister. Each and every time she behaved silly, her sister used to come up with words of wisdom. The ringing of her phone, with the tone that she had set for her sister, brought her back from her thoughts. She stared at her sister with disbelief. Suzan looked phlegmatic and with a brittle smile she added, " I thought I store it here", keeping her hand on her heart.


                       Once again Sissel looked into her phone poignantly. It was only moments ago that she thought her sister didn't have her number. Now it has dawned onto her that her sister memorized her number, which she couldn't herself do it yet! She leaned to her sisters shoulder like a child, listening to the rhythmic cadence of her sister's breathing. They didn't speak anything, their hearts were bursting with love and they were basking in the glory of those splendid moments. Sissel no longer wondered whether the flying reindeer delivered the gifts to her without losing it's way. Still the seasonal visitor from North Pole had bestowed on her one of the best moments of her life.A naughty wind pulled her hair rudely as if jealous of Sissel enjoying the true gift of love. Sissel looked radiantly beautiful. As she took her phone to take a photo with her sister, she knew very well that this time she could rival the beauty of her sister.

A late night flick and few scattered thoughts...

I came back home on Feb 26th tired. All I wanted was to sleep well. I talked to Brijesh for some time. He was watching budget analysis. Then I hit bed fast. It was one of those nights in which I was damn tired, wanted to sleep well and yet sleep didn't come to me. It was not thoughts about my lost love that deprived me of sleep. For a change, there was no reason for my insomnia.

After a couple of hours, I just got up from the bed. I looked at Brijesh with envy when I saw him asleep in the next room. I switched on TV. As I was flicking through channels, I saw that Surya TV was airing Manjil Virinjha Pookkal. "Mizhiyoram nanajholukum " is one of my all time favorite songs. It reminds me of my childhood, my dad and all those wonderful memories. I thought I would watch the film till the song. And I ended up watching the entire film.

I do like the film though I feel that the film has many drawbacks. It was a super hit in 1980. The sensational debut of Mohanlal, one of the greatest actors of Malayalam cine industry. Poornima Jayaram looks very pretty in the film. I once had a huge crush on her. In the film she portrays a depressed woman. And that damsel in distress aura suits her perfectly. Everyone likes a smiling woman's face but I prefer this. She looks awesome when there is half a tear ready to roll in her eyes.

The film kinda made me sad. Not that I am happy otherwise. But it just made my situation more precarious. Sleep then became an extinct species. I lay in bed traipsing the memory lane. The days I used to listen to the songs from this film, the moments that I spent with my dad, the evergreen childhood, the days when I was in love with a girl, the moments that I spent with her and everything flashed in front of my eyes with the leisurely defined precision of images from a slow motion film.

The train of thoughts were continuous. Each one linked to another. And I always had an uncanny ability to spend time lost in thoughts. I took solace in this line of thought that it's the quality of an artistic mind. I kept on checking my cell phone for time. I don't know when I slept but the last time when I checked time in my phone, it was 4:17 AM...

Where memories reincarnate as Harish Babu...

A migratory bird always love to visit it's nest once in a while. And so do I. From the concrete jungles of Bangalore, I flew to my native place, to the jungles of imagination and memories.. The trip was memorable and I really got some moments that I won't forget ever in my life. The second month of the second decade of the century has started pretty well.

I boarded a bus to Coimbatore on Saturday, 30th January, night and reached there at 6:20 AM, the next day. From Coimbatore, I entrained a Passenger Train to Palakkad and from there I boarded a bus to Mannarkkad. I reached home at 9:20 AM. My brother opened the door and it was such a wonderful moment. The last time I saw him was on April 25th 2008; I met him after a gap of 646 days. We have never spent this much time in our lives without meeting each other. Ragesh and Harish, chips of the same old block and birds of the same feather !

Amma soon greeted me in her trademark style, with kisses on my cheeks. Ever since I started my solitary life way back in 1989, it was how she greeted me whenever we met after a gap of few days. Soon I was back to where I belong. Or should I say where I belonged? I don't know. The existential crisis has made me confused about so many things. * s i g h *

I always loved to be in Mannarkkad during winter. Each dawn waking up to the restless onslaughts of winds reciting those nostalgic hymns again and again. Thoughts fly back to the winter of 1986. We celebrated Christmas majestically with dad. Those were heavenly moments. And before the season has withdrawn itself behind the curtains of time, I lost my dad. The bitter sweet memories were rekindled by weather in a poignant form. The hymns recited by the winds in this winter morning in 2010 was no way different from the ones it sang in 1986. The best and worst moments always happened to me during winter. The seasoned thespian called winter played different roles for me in different years.

As the saying goes, all good things have to come to an end. My dream vacation ended on Feb 7th when we three left there. Now when I sit here in my prison in Bangalore, I recall those moments sadly. I know that when I am at Mannarkkad, during Winter, I am not Harish Babu but the incarnation of something else. And Mannarkkad is a mystic place that can bring out this ethereal change. Oh the tireless wheels of time, please take me back to my native place once again, the place that can make me content to an extend and the place where memories reincarnate as Harish Babu...

Padmarajan - The celestial auteur

" The vineyards of imagination will not effloresce again. But whenever it blossomed, it yielded a sweet wine of art. For all the connoisseurs, who live today and who haven't even born today, to savor enough ... "

Today is the nineteenth death anniversary of one of the greatest artists to ever grace the Indian Silver Screen. P. Padmarajan, the celestial auteur who shall never be forgotten by the film loving people, the master story teller who narrated to us stories that were firmly rooted in the soil and the artist whose imagination had no boundaries. Each and every film of Padmarajan was different from the previous one. Novelty of themes was his hallmark. The innovative treatment added spice to his films. His strength lay in his literary background, he was one of the youngest writers to win the Kerala Sahitya Academy Award. The voids left behind by his untimely demise have never been filled and he was an artist who was truly unique. The lovers of serious cinema offer their profound obeisance to the master craftsman with a heavy heart and bleary eyes.

I was 10 or 11 years old when I saw Pappettan's film for the first time. Koodevide, the film that introduced me to the world of a man about whom I have read a lot, made me an instant fan of the heavenly director. It was soon followed by Namukku Parkkan Munthirithoppukal, an evergreen classic about the depth of love and soon he became the man who I admire the most in my life. Pappettan's characters were never larger than life, the star was always the story and the protagonists were just instruments to portray the tale. Pappettan's films never had predictable ending. Quite often those denouements flashed in my mind with the leisurely defined precision of images from a slow motion film. His films refused to leave my mind, more often than not they made me hopelessly sad. Padmarajan never lowered himself to a standardized level so as to conform to the accessibility and understanding of a greater audience, which unfortunately many filmmakers of his generation did. As an artist, he never compromised on the integrity of his artistry. That way he never contributed to the decline of film as a form of art and perennially flattered the thinking abilities of the audience through his works.

Padmarajan established himself as a writer. But he earned more fame through films. His writing skills helped him a lot to excel as a script writer. His characters spoke without guile and they were all distinct from each other. The depth he gave to relatively unimportant characters professes his extraordinary skills. Just as the film crazy followers of his were looking for more miracles from him, he left us in a cold January night in 1991. Like the hero of his last film, Njhan Gandharvan, he too left us forever in the night.

I really long to watch a new film by Padmarajan, to wait eagerly for the release of the film, to bask in the glory of anticipatory delight which would often rival the pleasure viewing the film would have brought me and finally to crown myself with the euphoria of aesthetic pleasure after watching it. I know very well that it is a dream that shall always remain a fantasy. But then what is art without the beauty of melancholic unattainable fantasies ? I close my bleary eyes, thank him for the eternal joy that he had offered me through his works, pray for his soul to rest in peace and whisper silently, "Pappetta, we miss you so much..."

The Worthless Pearl

This poem was the residuum of the romantic interludes of a sensitive heart eager to toddle in the vagaries of selfless love. The pain manifested in these lines stems mainly from the inadequacies and tribulations that contravened the cognition of genuine devoted love.

Crept into the oyster, a grain of sand,
And images of her into his barren mind.
Oyster was what she in this birth
For him life then became a quest for mirth.
She found it hard to remove the grain,
Couldn't he remove her memories in the drain.
Piercing pain was what they both felt
And not a heart did ever melt.
Nurtured she the grain with advance of time
Nurtured he, her memories without caring about time.
And time gifted them both with a pearl, ethereal
In him it was called love, that made unreal real.
Pearl was a drop of love with eternal elegance
Love was also a pearl with seraphic silence.
The pearl was priceless if or not acceptable
But love never had any value when unacceptable.
To get the pearl, natures admirers made her killed
And he slashed his mind which was really skilled
With time more precious became the real pearl
But just a prank of time was the worthless pearl.

January 2002

Immortal flames

I wrote this poem, as a dedication to three of my friends who drowned in the river Bhadra, Mangalore. May their souls rest in peace !

The winds of time blew out those mortal flames
But only after lighting few other immortal flames.
The winds of time will touch those immortal flames never
And those immortal flames of memory will glow on forever.

Your smile will never delight our minds and eyes
Nor will it stop deceiving our bleary eyes.
You are gone, but not our ethereal love
As stars bestow it on us forever from above.

In our hearts, forever you will be very near
The buds of love you have sown there, bloomed to a drop of tear.
Thankful we are, for partaking our joys and fears
In return for your selfless love, offer we nothing, but drops of tears.

July 2000

January 21

It's a new year and already 20 days have gone past. Time literally flies but memories don't. I get up to a very cold morning, here in Bangalore, and for a moment contemplate about the relevance of this day in my life and how I had spent this day in the previous years. Sounds crazy but then when were I ever normal ?

On a sudden bout of inspiration, I decided to pen down my thoughts in this place. To leave digital footprints of my random thoughts for posterity! I am totally out of mood and despondent but those who know me wouldn't be surprised as that's the outfit of my mind for the past few months. The trials and tribulations of Harish Babu has only started. There is no mattress for the mind and I don't expect myself to be sane either.

I always loved the sanity of my insane thoughts. I reveled in them, and often they were juxtaposed with a melancholic trip down the memory lane. I wanted to add something creatively but my grey cells have gone on a strike. I think I need to take a break from this futile attempt. I have the satisfaction that I have finally started to blog. I always wanted to do this but laziness always got the better of me. With a feeling that a start is always better than anticipation of a good start, I log off.