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Wake Up

Work life habits are like rock. I would wake up at 5.30 am. Listen to the soothing sound from my phone. The wake up call with a Native American touch to it, resembling the flute of Carlos Nakai. In the background the birds chirp and the wake up call for a hunter, ready to pick up the gears and go on a mission. The “Bird’s signature” ends with subtle rise in tempo, the hunter in the mind wake up and starts walking to the wild, on a mission and he can hear his footsteps making slight splashes on the stream that he has to cross, to his mission, to hunt. I wake up. Pull myself out the bed, not sure if I wanted to.

My eyes get adjusted to the ambient light. The creepy shades of tree branches vanish from the side walls. I start staring at the window blankly. Silhouette of trees start to differentiate with the overall darkness. It starts to color itself. The habit has been built,  the hue of dark violet imbue the sky while the uncertainty of the day fills me. And into the colorful life I turn my consciousness.

What does this day promise. An empty uncertainty ? A wish for more hangs in the air. Like a jacket ready to be worn, to head out onto the snowy day,  to be held together so the winds may not snatch. To keep it close to me, is it the jacket which holds me together, or is it me? Nevertheless, we make an inseparable pair. One is lifeless , other full of life, covered by the dead. The dead cells that protect the life inside. The past is not haunting, through the dead it shields the live, the alive, which gradually join the dead, making the future covered with the past. Some of the past , like the nails I clip them, file them to make them look good. Some of the dead cells are rubbed off, pulled away, far from life and washed down the drain with the shower. And some more which still clings to the new and young, sometime, very rarely fail to protect as an accidental gash splits the live and dead and the upcoming. Then some future cells are lost in bleeding, a lost future, and a hurried action by the dead to cover up what is alive, somehow resembling a shame that is to be hidden from the public, though not perfect, leaving a scar, as a mark of history, a point to remember.

With wakeful times, dreams become day-dream. Day which is repellent for dreary eyed ghosts of memory with dream that keep us alive and awake. Ready to take on challenges, come what may. Warmth of blood activating the muscles, thoughts of actions being pumped into them in preparation. There is no time for the drag, the unwanted pull of the past, a burden on the go  I wash them all away with the morning shower with a feeling, of timelessness creating a veil enclosing me, in tiny drops of water.

 

-Sense of Time series-

  • Sense of Time - I would wake up everyday. Just like any other day. This was yet another day. Exciting as usual. A running clock adds to the excitement of awaiting adventure. And I start upon a new one. This time it is about time. And it is time. Time changes and now it was forcibly changed. The circadian […]
  • Vanishing point - An average timeline of  a human can be drawn starting from birth to school, progressing to university and job and marriage and help repeat all the same for the kids. This canned solutions in life is a proven time tested sequence. The authority of which is questioned only by a few. So far, the biggest […]
  • Wake Up - Work life habits are like rock. I would wake up at 5.30 am. Listen to the soothing sound from my phone. The wake up call with a Native American touch to it, resembling the flute of Carlos Nakai. In the background the birds chirp and the wake up call for a hunter, ready to pick […]
  • Blizzard - Nature is by far the best cure for passing time. Problem in passing time is a common boredom oriented disease. I have met extrovert complain about boredom. Even Issac Asimov said this. I do not have to believe it. It is belief that add weight to visions. It is this belief that converts the unreal […]
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Posted by on December 7, 2017 in creativity

 

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Yellow hibiscus

Gopi had these beautiful birds collected in a wired cage. A few trees and flowery bushes, especially the red hibiscus in the background play with the eyes making one forget about the green coloured metal that made the cage. Birds of all colours were visible due to this spectacular arrangement. And this was a definite treat for the eyes whenever I visited Gopi’s place. My belief in freedom for all, won’t let me be to happy at seeing the caged bird, though!

We had this kid of the neighbour’s – Syamili who used to admire these birds. And she used to draw the birds on paper with her pencil colours. And to my fascination, the birds would sit still just so that she could complete her picture. She was very considerate about the birds too, where her drawing would not last for more than 10 minutes at a stretch. And a definite treat awaits the bird which agreed to stand still for this child artist. She would often have some piece of broken fallen fruit, sometimes mango or on other times guava that she picked up on her way from the street.

While me and Gopi would engage in the musings of the teen world viz. Cricket and science, this kid used to enjoy her company with the caged birds. Once, she used to have long conversations with the yellow bird, which was her favourite. She did the talking and to her spoken words apparently the bird was nodding or tweeting. Or was it the kid’s wild imagination! I had to check this out personally. And one day I could do that sacrificing the valuable time normally devoted to perpetual thoughts of the spellbinding universe also known as “nerd” talk.

Syamili was asking her friend, the yellow bird she had named as ‘Appu’. ” Appu, how are you today ?” . To my bewilderment a sober single twirp could be heard in reply.

She continued “Why , are you sad today ?”

Appu : ( no reply)

And I was about to rejoice on the my belief, my thought, that the twirp heard before was faux tympanic simulation

Syamili kept her colour pencils and writing pad on the ground. Some red ants which was searching for its way continued its pursuit from the damp soil onto the writing pad, only to move fast out the pad and back to the damp soil.

She said ” I believe that if I was closed in a cage like you, I would have been happy for a while. Because, I will feel safe and I would be taken care of by Gopi. I would have food and water. And I do not have to worry about finding my food. Or I would not be scared by any cats or bigger birds that may attack me , if I were a bird.”

Appu was nonchalant and seemed to look at a distance in deep thought.

” But , then after a while I would get bored, for I cannot meet any new birds like me. And I would be bored, I guess”

And there was a definite sharp tweet from Appu. Oh boy! It was as if the sound penetrated my bones.

“So I guess, now you are bored, unhappy and sad at the thought that you have no freedom to really fly”

Appu nodded ‘yes’.

“I heard Gopi is going on a tour for a week. I guess this would be a good chance for you to fly around and make new friends. May be you can return from your tour when brother Gopi also returns.”

Appu had turned its head at an angle as if in thought.

” OK ! I will ask Gopi, but I am not sure if he will let you out. You know he loves all the birds here, that is why he takes care of you very well. I am pretty sure that he would like to see you safe here all the time.”

saying this Syamili turned . At the same time Gopi was there with food for the birds, some grains and milk. The eager child wanted to feed the grains to the birds, and Gopi allowed her. Her tiny little hand would be as big as the birds themselves. And Gopi was concerned if the birds beaks would hurt her hand. The birds were delicate and enjoyed their dinner thoroughly, they all made some sound which was like a chorus music.

Syamili requested Gopi to let the birds go away for one week and come back when he returns from his trip. Gopi patted on the child’s head saying ” I am sure they won’t come back even if they try to . This is because Freedom is heavenly pleasure. And no creature would trade freedom for anything else. I feed them and take care of them . These have no meaning compared to them enjoying their own freedom. I appreciate your concern Syamili but I will not let them out. ”

“But then, have can you go on a trip and enjoy your freedom and not let them go ?”

For which Gopi replied ” I like them so much that I don’t want them to leave”.

Meanwhile, some friends had just brought in the news of a new finding of rose apple tree. And a child’s mind is so dynamic Syamili said a quick ‘bye’ to Appu and ran with the folks for her share of rose apples.

 

Next week, I was sitting at home like a caged bird, with nowhere to go. It was raining very heavily. I had not joined Gopi on his trip because it was his family’s tour. And then I had 2-3  days passing between the 3 teas that I had everyday in the morning , the brunch and the evening. Clouds parted and it was sunny for rest of the holidays. I joined the local group of Cricket gang and went to hangout with them. And the 10 -day school break just got over and I thought I should visit Gopi just before we were busy again.

There was this pleasant smell of from the red hibiscus flowers from Gopi’s garden when I took the turn to the entrance of his house. I could hear Syamili’s giggle as I entered the gate. Gopi was there playing with a puppy dog which was licking Syamili all over. And more giggles followed as the puppy played with her.

After a few exchange of pleasantries regarding the days of raining and his trip and my Cricket and his new puppy, I felt that something was missing in the background. The smell of hibiscus was somewhat stronger inside the plot. I checked to see how big the plant has become and there were undoubtedly lot of flowers ready to join the many others which have fell on the ground. And in the foreground to my surprise the bird’s cage was empty. I could not help wonder and asked Gopi what had happened? I asked if he had let the bird’s embrace their freedom. And then Gopi replied ” The birds were all dead when I returned from the trip.”  I was shocked and asked ” how and why ?”

He explained   ” There was this strip of coconut leaf hanging from a dwarf coconut tree that just about touched the bird’s cage. The ants had initially apparently come for the grains and later consumed the bird’s too. And when I returned the cage had only dead birds. And I cleaned the cage and threw all the remnants at the base of the hibiscus plant.”

I said “that is very sad, If only you had let them out . Atleast the guilt of causing their death, by capturing their freedom could have been avoided”.

With nothing more to say. I hung around with the new puppy. And left in sometime taking with me some of the hibiscus’ smell and the little girl’s innocent giggle. And at the gate when I turned to wave ‘bye’ to Gopi and Syamili , my eyes may have deceived me but I definitely saw a yellow hibiscus flower among the red.

 

PS: Adapted from True Story by Aneesh

 
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Posted by on March 15, 2016 in creativity

 

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AC Gayatri

Srikaalahasti is a really very very old temple of Worship. It is so old that the temple tower had collapsed some time back.  The temple is visited by people all over the world. It is situated in a very hot place for people who are not used to Andhra Pradesh.  Therefore, someone had very generously provided Air conditioning units in the sanctum . It is so positioned that we feel that the A/C also gets a feel of being side-deity-idol, as is common in many temples. Definitely the units there would feel so auspicious themselves by having Hundi in front of them. And therefore it is of utmost importance for a devotee not only to pray to God but also pay obeisance to these divine entities. A prayer to go with that in the metric of Gayatri is given here.

 

|| ॐ उष्णनाशकाय विद्महे

शीतकारकाय विद्महे

तन्नो ए\सी प्रचोदयात् ||

> In Romanaagari

||Om Ushnanasakaaya vidmahe

sheetakaarakaaya dheemahi

tanno A/C prachodayat ||

 

 

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If you are using this for any commercial / advertisement purpose you should get the permission from the author

 

 
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Posted by on January 23, 2016 in creativity

 

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Snow

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The boy once asked for a land full of sugar

The God asked “fine or coarse grain, dear ?”

The boy said “finest fine is fine for me”.

And it was granted in cold white fine dust.

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The boy was mesmerized by chilly bus rides

Through the clouds on road which winded up the ghats

He asked for days of travel through the clouds

On the land, and there was cloud on the roads.

Inner Clock Tower Commons UB

The girl would shout with childish clamour

Excited when the container of rice flour

Fell on the floor, for she could walk and slide,

As if on snow; the roads were spread with white.

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The baby elephant who once tasted salt,in infant fantasy,

Wanted a world covered in the white powder,so tasty,

All over the surface, where it could roll, happily

Have a little or all whenever, it was the snow.

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The child in the grown-up wanted to fall

And never break a bone whatever the fall

And the coincidence happened near the fall

Niagara and the lake effect made it fall.

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The teen who got a sniff was addicted to the drug

And wanted the dreams through the stuff come true

In a sense of a joyous life full still on the brew

And sleep and walk on the white dust of the crew.

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Taking upon the task to complete the task all at once

How much was needed was beyond the measurement in tons

So, it was made simple, to let the cloud pass over the road

Make it feel chilly, cold, dusty and out of the world.

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The snow was made, not without much thought.

Based on the wishes as dreamy colourless white,

Shapeless, flaky, powdery, featureless sight,

Restless, slippery, forgery, seamless light.

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PS: Walk on the snow, Courtesy – Lake effect Advisory at Buffalo.

 
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Posted by on January 12, 2016 in creativity, poem

 

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Mental block

 

A wanderer by soul would wonder

To act, to go on to achieve what

To have the dream enact

Made possible without a bar

 

As I said I had to act I ran

To catch the bus if I can

Which was powerful yet busy

I thought I could catch it in few strides

 

So I ran, my legs moved so slow

I felt I moved, I was heavy,

But even after a fair “run” I did,

Made me nothing closer to destiny

 

Finding myself breathing heavily

It was not so much fun as a try,

Not even an exercise had made

To my schedule in a long time

 

The weighing machine doesn’t lie

Comments on my posted photos

Say the same that I have grown

And fatter than I thought I was

 

It was fall and trees had shed

Leaves that decorated the branches

Now lay coloring the ground

In hues other than green henceforth

 

Somehow the bus had waited

For the less privileged who could not

Make it on time, for it was usual

Among students who over slept and what-not

 

I meant business on the way out of bus

Of the bus that carried so similar dreams

All burst out onto the ground but

Kept moving without wind that blew the leaves

 

I barged into the class and I was

The presenter of a topic yet unknown

With guts of steel I approached the audience

Only to find me breathless with a struggled inhale

 

I blabbered on and on till they could take

No more; that was the idea to get

The applause that was uninvited

And a way to react and break away

 

The wind was cold and air was heavy

As lighthearted and peaceful I tried to be

But why I could not, I did not know, till I made

The discovery in a couple of steps to go on the way

 

I had the stimulant from the solace of

Tea that almost always had that punch

As I walked I came to face

The childish face that I admired

 

This kid had light lit on her face

And I had told her that at once

She took it for something else

Emotions of life that I had not explored

 

I was struggling to breathe, air I lose

Couldn’t Guess what she read on my face

It would have had evoked a joke in case

Lest I was stuck with something in my nose

 

Then it struck on me as I went my way ahead

The transparent look on the child left behind

What stuck on was just the mucus I had

To blow, to let off the blockage and all was set

 

 

PS:

Thanks to Dr.M

 

 
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Posted by on November 24, 2015 in creativity, poem

 

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A bit of mind

I need a bit of sky so mead;
a view that my eyes pleade,
to have when it is possible,
to look at and feel so small,
that makes me to do what all !
The infinite world before me,
through this bit so glee and  warm,
make me do what is good for me,
and keep up my mind shrewd or calm.

A bit of sky is all that was,
For hopes of a man who was,
In bed, hospitalised in dose,
Only the window to blue hues.
Made his state out of blues.
Amused! what a bit of sky does.

Once I searched for a house around,
the town to settle and be lightly bound,
I would look at what might surround,
Was there a tiny bit of sky to count,
that was all that I felt to be sound,
And once when it came to be found ,
I could decide ,watch and be around.

The umpteen thousand channels on air,
on TV, radio and mobiles that go on flare,
All needed a bit of that sky so bare;
Not for the beauty, not to care,
A channel of air had tonnes to bear.
Naked to the eye it is an invisible lair,
Of wildness that teases and dare.

All need a bit of land to gain,
to grow, to plough, to grow again,
the seeds that sustain, rely and regain,
to live, to use, to die and be still lain,
to see that all the travail went  in vain.
Once a lion with an awesome mane
Would lay dead in its own lonesome bane.

A bit of mind, of yours, to share is what I ask,
to understand and unveil that which is in mask.
To know, to acknowledge the value of the husk,
That which is valuable is thrown away by the dusk.
Through lust, ignorance and careless we bask,
In the glory of the deeds that were full in the flask,
That preserves for the time the heat for the rusk.

 
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Posted by on December 30, 2014 in creativity, poem

 

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Have I got anywhere<

When exams are near,

And you’ve ‘nt got far;you fear.

The books play hide,

And you hunt ’em all side.

The pleasure of seeking,

hunting,studying and readying,

All ceases the moment you see the smally,

which is the core, the syllabi , how lovely.

Stranger still the way you go jolly,

Until the D-day which comes slowly.

At the end you’ll feel the hell is on you

And you’ll wanna yell and say “tableau”.

Hurricanes in mind never make you seat

When hell is on,you never sense the heat

You’ll wanna run and make all fun

And you’ll tell yourself; “let’s finish this one”.

When the heat resides

And you wonder what’s besides

Only thing you wanna answer

Is , have I got anywhere ?

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PS:This is the result of writing Process Control Instrumentation 7th semester Applied Electronics and Instrumentation , University of Calicut.

I would like backgroung jazz and guitar for this poem, if it can be called so.

 
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Posted by on February 7, 2010 in creativity, poem, Uncategorized

 

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A retrospective of my poems ( a poem)

A retrospective of my poems ( a poem)

Incoherence is what some call,
Tolerance is that way tall.
Same applies to my work all,
The thought reddened my eyeball.

I wrote that just for fun,
Serious batter there was none,
Put it in me silly blog,
And invited all who said they jog.

They made me think,
Some bade me wink,
Others asked me the link,
Most called it a junk.

The poem in the blog lacks rhyme,
The ones in Kindergarten got good rhyme,
The poem kindles the dart of aim,
The incoherence and rhyme is all the same.

What I think isn’t what I type,
What I type isn’t what I see,
What i see isn’t what I meant,
What I meant isn’t what I get.

So much for a poem,
On the infinite web-podium,
Move,march for a diadem,
To hope for the best is my aim.

 
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Posted by on July 30, 2008 in creativity, poem, Uncategorized

 

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Nanotechnology (a poem)

Nanotechnology (a poem)

Nano is the tiny word we use
Ten power minus nine we deduce
Why do we need another word?
For good?bad?or the pity mad?

When it’s raining
And afraid of draining
Get under the nano
Rain is no problemo.

When you want a car,
And your purse is on the tar,
Think of buying nano,
Car is no problemo.

This is how they sell,
Just ring them a bell.
To the place you dwell,
They bring it very well.

All these misnomers,
Attract all customers.
The company turns prosperous,
Since the world is delirious.

What is there in a name,
For the life is just a game,
Don’t be dumb and lame,
Or have fun watching the mime.

Nano is in technology,
Take Chemistry or Biology,
All follow the very pedagogy,
Call it never a bad bogey.

Come on all,for its your day,
March your way,Come what may,
In the the path of knowledge,
And burn the common effigy.

originally posted on Jul 3/2008

 
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Posted by on July 30, 2008 in creativity, poem, Uncategorized

 

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The Blog! (A poem on blog)

The Blog! (A poem on blog)

I wonder why people blog,
With not much of mental clog,
With so much of backlog,
Who would clutch the big log?

Staring at the TFT,
Thinking of a cute beauty,
Mind goes wild and hands go cold,
In the end the blog was build.

Scratching my head,
Making a thud,
It shook the board,
And I felt very bored.

Why type online,
When we can write offline,
With no apparent fear,
And no one to interfere.

Over the night I surfed,
Why the blogs were stuffed?,
I found only then.
And retreated to my den.

In the daylight,
I saw the fight,
On the net’s might,
Man pondered his plight.

None can try to stop this,
None can even dismiss this,
For its the public’s fire,
To trounce it: is to dare.

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NB:
Those who know me please do not mistake,for it is just poetic and I have no cute beauty to think about.

originally posted on Jun21/2008

 
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Posted by on July 30, 2008 in creativity, poem, Uncategorized

 

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