AYANIV
MY PERSONAL SPACE...IT IS MY WORLD...MY LEARNING...MY THOUGHTS.....WHAT I LEARNED FROM THE NET..SOME NICE ARTICLES FROM OTHERS...I do not write for others..if you want to read..it is fine but this blog is not meant for any discussions...
Sunday 27 June 2021
Sunday 9 December 2018
Wednesday 5 December 2018
Saturday 16 August 2014
STRAY THOUGHTS
Sans rain, today morning was all dedicated
to crows. Have lot of winged friends who visit my home during the day. Thanks
to the large number of fruit trees that my parents planted, home is always
buzzing with activity. Mornings are always musical. My neighbour’s rooster,
crows, parrots, pheasants and lot of unidentifiable birds croon and rock as if
they are playing in a concert. Intrigued by the behaviour of crows, here are
some lines on what I saw...
STRAY THOUGHTS
As the dawn breaks,
And a new day begins,
I hear and see
An orchaestra,
Being performed
A flock of crows
Perched on my trees
-Jackfruit, Mahogany, Areca and Coconut
While some sit on the clothes line in my veranda,
And start singing incessantly,
Kaw Kaw Kaw Kaw
Perched on my trees
-Jackfruit, Mahogany, Areca and Coconut
While some sit on the clothes line in my veranda,
And start singing incessantly,
Kaw Kaw Kaw Kaw
I pause and wonder,
At Master’s creation
At Master’s creation
I consider,
You the most intelligent,
Among the avian species
Your pitch-black plumage,
With shades of gray,
Around your neck
Makes you attractive
You the most intelligent,
Among the avian species
Your pitch-black plumage,
With shades of gray,
Around your neck
Makes you attractive
Some say you are ugly
But I consider,
Ugliness as a blessing in disguise
Some times being ugly helps
As it saves you
From being preyed
By selfish humans
But I consider,
Ugliness as a blessing in disguise
Some times being ugly helps
As it saves you
From being preyed
By selfish humans
Each time,
I see you cawing
With your beak,
Moving rhythmically
Up and down
I feel,
You are lucky and blessed
To always have a song!
I see you cawing
With your beak,
Moving rhythmically
Up and down
I feel,
You are lucky and blessed
To always have a song!
Some say you are a nuisance
But I think,
It is a mean world out there
And in order to survive,
In this race of life
You need to be bloody clever
‘Clever as a crow’
But I think,
It is a mean world out there
And in order to survive,
In this race of life
You need to be bloody clever
‘Clever as a crow’
How else could you explain?
‘Survival of the fittest’,
As Spencer coined,
And Darwin mentioned,
In his ‘Origin of Species’
‘Survival of the fittest’,
As Spencer coined,
And Darwin mentioned,
In his ‘Origin of Species’
And finally,
When dusk sets in
And I see the moon rise,
I see you preparing your wings
Getting ready to fly,
To touch the horizon
When dusk sets in
And I see the moon rise,
I see you preparing your wings
Getting ready to fly,
To touch the horizon
I pause and wonder,
Yet again,
At Master’s creation
Yet again,
At Master’s creation
Monday 11 August 2014
MASTER STROKES
This is how I spent my Monday. Writing! Nature always
inspires me to write. The more I observe it, the more I am amazed at the way it
functions. Here are a few lines to the creator, who I feel is the best artist…
This morning, I lay down
In the open,
On my terrace
Silently appreciating
An artist at work
Above me,
Miles away,
Lay his cosmic canvas,
To begin with,
He decorated it with soft blue
I saw him,
The Master,
With his enormous palette,
Dip his brush in gold,
And seconds later,
I had a burning bright,
Ball of light,
Winking at me,
Through the blues
I could feel,
The sun
The warmth of its kiss,
On my forehead,
I closed my eyes,
And went to sleep
At noon, the gentle wind
And light rain
Broke my nap,
I woke up,
To see the Master
Still at work…
All the galleries
In the world,
All the artists put together,
Cannot match
Up to his brush’s stroke
Be it Vinci’s Last Supper or Mona Lisa,
Or Michelangelo’s Adam on Sistine Chapel,
Or Gogh’s Starry Night
Or Picasso’s Guernica
I could see
The cotton-like clouds,
The silhouette of birds flying,
And slowly his blue canvas,
Had turned dark grey
And his creation came alive
In the evening,
With the heavy rain,
Beating the mushy soil,
Linking the earth to the sky
In a stream of water
I rushed inside
To my bed
Late at night,
I still found,
The Master at work
And I wondered,
Does he ever sleep?
Dawn to dusk,
He was at work…
I saw him sprinkle his dark canvas,
With silver...
And the sky twinkled in joy,
With zillions of little diamonds,
And we were blessed,
With a starry night
For The Master was still at work…
Thursday 7 August 2014
SAR'DINE' (A FISHY AFFAIR)
With vegetable prices touching the sky and state declaring
the end of 47-day trawling ban and the local fishermen here in Vaduthala having
a good catch...It is fish, fish and more of fish at home…Having been brought up
in the north and north east, I am not a fish person per se like my parents but
I am fond of sardines. So a few lines dedicated to sardines as I saw mother
cooking it today…
SAR'DINE’ (A FISHY AFFAIR)
I see mumma,
Inside her wooden kitchen,
Cleaning fish,
Being born close,
To the seas and the sands,
I trust her hands,
She knows the knack of doing it,
And I sit next to her,
On the blue stool,
In the kitchen,
Admiring her skills
With a knife,
She deftly goes about removing,
The lateral fins, tails and gills
Taking out the intestine
And dirt from the stomach,
All the phytoplankton,
That the little fishy had gobbled up,
Throws it out neatly,
Thereafter descaling
With a swiftness
That I could admire
And aspire to inherit
One day, may be…
I see my fishy lie there bare,
My lovely sardine,
With her sad little round eyes,
Fresh from the sea,
Devoid of her silver sheen,
Washed and cleaned,
Under the running tap water
Waiting for her turn
Ready to be tossed in fire
May be in the pan,
May be in mumma’s mud urn…
Some say pearl spots are the best,
I feel they are ‘pricey’ and a ‘mess’,
Sardines top my list,
For, undoubtedly, you are the best,
Low-priced and rich in Omega-3 fatty acid
Nothing can beat you,
None can compete with you,
A plate of rice,
Would perfectly
Compliment you
Some days
Mumma fries you,
With a pinch of salt, chili and turmeric,
While some days
She steams you
With chili and garlic
While some days
She adds tomatoes
While some days
She simmers you in coconut milk,
What amazes me,
Is the way you ooze out oil,
Anyways you are mine,
And always a delight
Easy-to-cook
Easy-to-munch
Don’t have to worry
About the bones,
As they are fine to eat,
You are definitely a treat,
Hard to resist and beat!
Wednesday 6 August 2014
MY ‘BALD’ NEW AVATAR Or RATHER RAPE OF THE LOCK
I shaved my locks off on Aug 6, 2014. Nearly 34 years after
I was born. Some say a woman’s curls add to her beauty. And these days when
everybody is behind becoming attractive and looking hot, here I was, removing
this decorative piece from my body. Strangely, I felt more confident and
beautiful than I have ever felt all these years. I sat on the veranda chatting with barber Jayan,
who effortlessly removed my pride, and my chat with him revealed the struggle
that he went through in his life. When I heard him, I felt relaxed that the
internal fight that I was going through was nothing. God has given bigger tasks
and challenges to other people. My struggle is/was miniscule. People have bigger worries in life than I did.
Here was this barber guy, tall and good-looking with Bhasmam smeared on his forehead, who
took care of his two sisters and mother after his father’s death. He looked my
age. So I was wondering what to call him. I ended up calling him ‘cheta’. He
had studied only till Class Eighth and had to discontinue his studies after his
father remarried and the onus of taking care of his family fell on his young
shoulders. I asked him the question that is often asked to me, “How many
children?” He said he is single. And I said to myself, “Ha, Just like me.” He
told me to wet my hair before he starts removing it. All he had with him was a
blade and he effortlessly went about doing his business. Within flat five
minutes, years of growth had given way to a clean and clear head, both
figuratively and in reality. Felt a new sense of freedom and could not stop
admiring myself in the mirror until mother scolded me for going overboard. At
that point of time, I also remembered the poem written by Alexander Pope titled
‘The rape of the lock’ and was sure to pen down a few words on it…APPEARANCES
MATTER? (Unlike Belinda’s baron it was a smooth ride for Jayan as I was game
for change)
No sighs and sobs!
All highs and hugs…
Love Vinu
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Writing after long on my blog...Glad to hear about Oommen Chandy. Perplexed...