Thursday, December 25, 2008

Sounds Good

Today it was a feeble Christmas song on the FM that woke me up. A day before it was an Ayyappa song. The local fm stations have been airing some beautiful devotionals these eventful days. And father was all up early in the morning to play them on the fm.

The fm stations these days have sprouted like mushrooms. Even television channels started to produce their own fm stations. And everywhere I go, whether its a supermarket, grocery store, hotel, salon, trains, railway reservation counters, I can hear a fm playing. Even people are listening it on their mobile phones. My sister a couple of years ago bought her new mobile phone (a Nokia 6030). When I asked why she opted for it, she simply said it can play fm.

A few years ago during my school days when there were hardly any fm stations in India, I frequently tuned the fm to find if anything was playing there. But all I could hear was an empty cooing sound. But today its a different scene alltogether.
Now its also the time of Internet Radio's And here too there are lots of free radio stations. But Martini in the Morning is the thing I hear now.

Cool Med Radio - another good internet radio.
Radio Tower - for more internet radio stations.

Sunday, December 14, 2008

Wednesday, December 03, 2008


Scenes that were haunting me for the last few days. The scenes of ill-fated hotels, gunshots, commandos, army, policemen, reporters, terrorists, and overall our slip of the tongue politicians.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

Harbour View

Rise, brothers, rise, the wakening skies pray
to the morning light,
The wind lies asleep in the arms of the dawn
like a child that has cried all night.
Come, let us gather our nets from the shore,
and set our catamarans free,
To capture the leaping wealth of the tide, for
we are the sons of the sea.

No longer delay, let us hasten away in the
track of the sea-gull's call,
The sea is our mother, the cloud is our brother,
the waves are our comrades all.
What though we toss at the fall of the sun
where the hand of the sea-god drives?
He who holds the storm by the hair, will hide
in his breast our lives.

Sweet is the shade of the cocoanut glade, and
the scent of the mango grove,
And sweet are the sands at the full o' the
moon with the sound of the voices we love.
But sweeter, O brothers, the kiss of the spray
and the dance of the wild foam's glee:
Row, brothers, row to the blue of the verge,
where the low sky mates with the sea.

- Coromandel Fishers by Sarojini Naidu

Monday, November 10, 2008

Step-Out, Step-In

It has been a rather dull monsoon for me this year. Just a few heavy rains now and then. The weatherman's prediction of good rainfall has completely gone wrong and failed to drench me as I have dreamt.

Anyway its time to say 'goodbye' to the monsoon and is also the time to say 'hello' to winter. The new season as I could feel is slowly stepping in. Its time to catchup with warm rugs, long sleeps, and hot coffees.

Saturday, November 01, 2008


I went down to the river,
I set down on the bank.
I tried to think but couldn't,
So I jumped in and sank.

I came up once and hollered!
I came up twice and cried!
If that water hadn't a-been so cold
I might've sunk and died.

- Langston Hughes, Life Is Fine

Sunday, October 19, 2008

Sunlight Art

Since last night I was voraciously reading Dan Brown's 'The Da Vinci Code'. All over the book, the author was so praising the artist that I thought 'is Da Vinci so great a painter?'.
Our very own Raja Ravi Varma is a great painter too. I loved his paintings so much. 'Shakuntala' was an exceptional piece from his brush.
There are the less-famous Isle T.Hable, and Priya with their beautiful creations.

But which one is the greatest I thought walking into the garden. There I saw the plants beautifully backlit by sunlight, exposing their brilliant shades of green. And as the sunlight fell on tender green grass it bloomed happily to its natural hues. There I got my answer.

Sunday, October 05, 2008

Puppy Days

Ok. Now how long should I pose like this?

Following you always.

Sunday, September 28, 2008

Monday, September 22, 2008


There are things of which I may not speak;
There are dreams that cannot die;
There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,
And bring a pallor into the cheek,
And a mist before the eye.
And the words of that fatal song
Come over me like a chill:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, My Lost Youth

Friday, September 12, 2008


The only sounds I could hear for the last few days are the showers of the Rain Gods on trees, plants, and roof tops. Everything was drenched in rain.

Sitting in a cane chair in the veranda and sipping hot coffee, I felt the marble floor so freezing that I dragged my legs onto the chair and snuggled myself.
I watched the rainwater slide from the roof tiles onto the ground and hastily flow towards the drain. There little Minu was sending paper boats. In the fields at a distance, Velu was busy grazing his cattle. Rain or shine, the man never crosses his time-table I thought. At the other end of the veranda, grandfather was sitting in a chair spreading his thin bare legs on the floor. Clad just in a simple white lungi and nothing else, I wondered how he beats the chill at this age.

Getting up from the chair, after finishing the coffee, I wore my chappals and took an umbrella into the rain. Walking towards the fields I found the flowers, buds, and leaves dropped to ground unable to bear the weight of rainwater. Coconuts fell down losing their mighty grip. Banana plants bent aside unable to stand in loose soil.
And walking on the loose, wet, clayey soil, Ouch!... I slipped a bit loosing my grip.

Thursday, August 28, 2008


Oh! pleasant, pleasant were the days,
The time, when, in our childish plays,
My sister Emmeline and I
Together chased the butterfly!

- William Wordsworth, To A Butterfly

Wednesday, August 20, 2008

Monday, August 11, 2008

The Perfect Shot

It was a pleasant sunday afternoon. Sleeping lazily after a nice heavy meal, I was awaken by shouts of children playing cricket in the street. Waking up, I walked to the window and looked out. As he saw me at the window, the batsman exchanged smiles with me and continued on his game.

Sunday afternoons are the best time to watch 'gully cricket' in streets, where boys gather with a bat and a tennis ball to play the game of cricket.

Relaxing myself in a chair near the window, and resting my weary legs on the window frame I watched the batsman take position to face the next ball. As the ball paced towards him, the batsman cleared it square to a clean perfect shot.

Tuesday, August 05, 2008

The Black Umbrella

Madhavan ‘master’ is a local school teacher for the last three decades. Being one of the first literate of the sleepy backward village, he was looked upon with great respect.

A man with simple life, people recognised him with a clean white cotton shirt, and an equally white lungi. With a black handbag in his left hand and a long black umberalla (during monsoons) in the right, the man was a graceful sight to watch.

Every morning master would walk to his nearby school through fields, plantations, and muddy roads swinging his umbrella now and then. He has been using it ever since he became a teacher. In fact he was the first proud owner of an umbrella in the village.

The villagers at that time used to carry the traditional woven palm-leafed umbrella with a long wooden handle. Others simply used a broad banana leaf over their head. And some wrapped their heads with plastic covers. But master was the only one with a modern umbrella. People watched him with awe when he entered the street with the long, black wonder.

But today, the times changed. The sleepy village is now a bustling town, and every child in the school has his own umbrella. Some black, some colourful. Some attached with articles like whistles and torch lights. Even the size of the umbrella decreased drastically from walking stick size to pocket size.

But still master walked with his long black umbrella, … with hardly any watchers.

Sunday, July 27, 2008

Friday, July 25, 2008

Come away with me ...

As the bus paced on its way out of the city, the dusty roads gave way to cleaner ones. And the concrete jungle slowly transformed to eye-pleasing green vegetation.

The traffic was light with an occasional tourist car or a bus passing by. The area too was less populated with very few people visible on the road. With rare sights of houses and shops, the either sides of the road are covered with thick tall blankets of rubber estates and coconut plantations. The cool air smelt fresh and soothed my mind.

Sunday, July 20, 2008


Tolerance is a secret and sacred way to enrich our human life.
-Sri Chinmoy

Tuesday, July 15, 2008

The Road Less-Travelled

Now I have come to the cross-roads in my life. I always knew what the right path was. Without exception, I knew, but I never took it. You know why? It was too damn hard. Now here's Charlie. He's come to the cross-roads. He has chosen a path. It's the right path. It's a path made of principle that leads to character. Let him continue on his journey.
-Scent of a Woman (1992)
complete dialogue here

Wednesday, July 09, 2008

Money Plant

It seems to me that we all look at nature too much, and live with her too little.
-Oscar Wilde
During my childhood days, the money plant always fascinated me with its brilliant shades of green. A friend of mine has the plant in his backyard planted in a long-necked bottle with water.

Once while coming back from school, I found it growing wild by the road side. I picked up a small one and brought it home carefully. And planted it just as my friend did. I was happy seeing it grow for the next few days. But alas it stopped growing after that. The nice shades of green slowly turned pale yellow.

I was jealous seeing my friends plant that grew lush and happily climbed the kitchen grills. And as to my plant, it died a slow death, the reason I don't know why.

Today we have a few money plants that grew wild and happy in a silent corner of our compound wall.
Wikipedia - Epipremnum aureum
The Hindu - Get rich with money plant

Sunday, June 29, 2008

Monsoon Showers

So there I was, standing one day in the dazzling sunlight of the courtyard, combing my beard. A passing summer shower suddenly tattooed the dusty lawn. The air was filled with the fragrance of the heady mixture of earth, rain and sunlight. I stood happily in the courtyard, breathing in the smells waiting, like my herbs and jungles, for the grand arrival of the rains, thinking of nothing, my mind flying free like a floating leaf. There was a sudden gust of wind. Behind it came a luminous drizzle from the rainclouds that rushed across the sunny sky. I wanted to leap into the joyous wind, the rain and the fleeing clouds. ‘Here I come!’ I jumped, my arms lifted, to touch the clouds. ‘Aha! Aha!’ I screamed. ‘Take me too!’
-Paul Zacharia, The Garden of the Antlions.

Photos contributed by : Sateesh

Sunday, June 22, 2008

Mango Mania

Mangoes here, mangoes there,
the king of fruits is everywhere.
Some are sweet, some are sour,
but eating mango is never a bore.
Some go into jams, some into pickle,
either way the tastebuds tickle.
Some into jellies, some into juices,
or simply be eaten with salt on slices.
A tribute to all those grandmothers, and mothers who pass on the wonderful tradition, and art of mango-pickling.
Mango, delicious mango - A beautiful article by V.Gangadhar

V.Gangadhar is better known for his hillarious weekly coloumn Slice of Life in the sunday magazines of The Hindu.

Friday, June 13, 2008

Blooming Buds

O Youth! with song and laughter,
Go not so lightly by.
Have pity, and remember,
How soon thy roses die.
-A. W. Peach

Friday, June 06, 2008

Clouds of Plagiarism

"The man who gets angry at the right things and with the right people, and in the right way and at the right time and for the right length of time, is commended."

The Malayalam blogosphere in recent times has been over-shadowed by protests against the gloomy clouds of plagiarism.
When the culprits could not respect the valuable sentiments of the original copyright owners, me too am moved to support the right people for the right things, and in the right way.
For more on this topic of plagiarism, visit the articles at:

Friday, May 30, 2008

When the Rain Gods Arrived

In the evening I opened the window and was struck by cool breeze on my face. Instantly an uncontrollable slender smile burst upon my face. The sky was adorned with dark, gloomy clouds ready to burst out anytime. So it was the arrival of yet another eagerly awaited monsoon.

I dressed up and went to the tea stall in the street. The stall has more visitors than usual. I took my favorite seat near the large window and ordered a tea. The breeze got cooler and the sky roared with gentle thunders. And there they arrived, my tea and the rain. I ran out with the tea cup in my hand to watch those magic moments of the arrival of monsoon. Black umbrellas opened up in the street and the showers played drums upon them. Ah, that beautiful divine music. A few people in the street without umbrellas ran into the tea stall to take shelter. The stall was filled with exciting conversations on the monsoon. I paid my bill and remained there watching the street and the rainfall.

A few minutes later, I slowly walked out of the stall into the rain. The feel of rain on my body was so heavenly; I was filled with immense joy. I walked back to my room happily drenched. My house-owner an elderly, respectable man sitting in his veranda questioned ‘Didn’t take umbrella?’. ‘It wasn’t needed’ I answered smiling. Opening my door, I again looked back at the rain and thanked God for bringing back the Monsoon Days.

Saturday, May 24, 2008

Resting Souls

Be patient, weary body, soon the night
Will wrap thee gently in her sable sheet,
And with a leaden sigh thou wilt invite
To rest thy tired hands and aching feet.
The wretched day was theirs, the night is mine;
Come tender sleep, and fold me to thy breast.
But what steals out the gray clouds like red wine?
O dawn! O dreaded dawn! O let me rest.
The Tired Worker - poem by Claude McKay

Thursday, May 15, 2008

Stolen Moment

I ne'er was struck before that hour
With love so sudden and so sweet.
Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower
And stole my heart away complete.

First Love - poem by John Clare

Saturday, April 26, 2008

Fresh Jasmine's

"And as soon as I smelled the air, I knew I was home. It was rich, almost sweet, like the scent of jasmine and roses around our old courtyard. I walked the streets, savoring that long lost perfume."
-Interview with the Vampire: The Vampire Chronicles (1994)
The First Jasmines - poem by Rabindranath Tagore

Sunday, April 13, 2008

Parallel Lines

As a child, looking through the train window I always watched the railway tracks follow me. And wondered "where do they meet?". These glittering parallel lines of steel.
Then my teacher told that parallel lines meet at infinity.
So I started in search of 'Infinity'.

Sunday, April 06, 2008

Ordinary Post

"People would crowd in front of the Post Office when the mail arrived, hoping for letters or money orders from children and relatives. Abraham would open the postbag and sort out and arrange the letters. He would then hand over a locked, sealed leather bag to the Post Master. By the time the Post Master verified the number of money orders and the cash to be paid out, Abraham would have the letters stamped and read. He would then take the money orders from the Post Master, stamp them and call out the names one after another."
-V.K. Madhavan Kutty, The village before time.

Monday, March 31, 2008


"I do not know what I may appear to the world, but to myself I seem to have been only like a boy playing on the sea-shore, and diverting myself in now and then finding a smoother pebble or a prettier shell than ordinary, whilst the great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before me."
-Issac Newton

Friday, March 28, 2008

On The Top

Escaped the gardeners scissors today. But don't know what's in store for me tomorrow. So in the mean time let me take a glimpse of the world around me.

Thursday, March 06, 2008

God - The Greatest Painter

"Flowers are the sweetest things God ever made, and forgot to put a soul into."
-Henry Ward Beecher

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