Painful Teaching

Pain does it well

pure pain

manifesting as dull ache

growing into a throbbing,pinching,needling nag

tearing you up into bits and pieces

not yet ‘a patient etherized’ upon the evening table

not yet numb to the depravities of pain

but prone to convulsions

involuntary smirks and quirks

sudden outpourings of old philosophies

rehashed wisdom

bits of pop songs

doomsday predictions

listless looking


wearing ‘ you don’t know it until you have it’

stamp on your creased forehead.

Its something peculiar to pain in aging

as opposed to pain in childhood

when you simply dusted your back

and walked off limping

smile intact.

Pain while aging

is different, stronger, more lasting

in teaching you who you are

in helping you cast away a few illusions

in showing you your true friends, if any

in brutal honesty

in singular lack of sympathy

in self loathing apathy

in the hard hitting realization of

get up and get going

or you are for god’s sake

never going to get up!

Pain omniscient, omnipotent

its the greatest of all levelers

and much more.



ജീവിത യാത്ര

മെല്ലെ മെല്ലെ വേണം ഓരോ ജീവിതവും
എങ്കിലേ ജീവാഗ്നി മുഴുവനായും

അത് വരെ
സതോഷവും സമാധാനവും
ഒരു ചടങ്ങു മാത്രമാണ്
ഒരു ഞെട്ടലും
ഒരു നീർപ്പോടും

തപിക്കുന്ന ജീവൻ ആണത്രേ
സുഖിക്കുന്ന ആത്മാവ്
പുഞ്ചിരികൾ കോടി പോകുന്നത്

സഞ്ചരിക്കാൻ എത്ര വഴികൾ
എന്നിട്ടും എന്തിന്നു യാത്രികർ
സ്വയം ക്രുശിക്കപ്പെടാൻ തുനിയുന്നു
എന്തിനു കിട്ടാക്കനി തേടുന്നു

മുനയില്ലാ ചോദ്യമെന്നു കരുതരുത്
മുന കൊണ്ട് മുറിഞ്ഞ ഹൃദയമാണെന്നു അറിഞ്ഞാൽ മതി

The Tiffin Box

Round shiny

rather heavy

the tiffin box sisters

a small earthquake in my school bag

at the lunch hour

in the aroma-ridden classroom

I reach out ‘ships sailing in my mouth’

(mom’s only  pet

I always get the best)

aloo parathas -2  and a half

achar – a little

miss little tiffin has a katori full of curd

and there is a surprise packet of a besan laddoo

that’s my reward for yesterday’s test

25/25 in mathematics

mom never understands that nor appreciates

mathematics that is

but she loves it when I do good

it’s her revenge against her dad

who thought her dumb

and did not send her to school after 10

I spread the neat turkey towel on the desk

look at her a little shyly

she never looks back that girl with pony tail.

I dig into my paranthas happily

and bite into my laddoo noiselessly

I have to give Raju a pinch from my laddoo

breaking my heart into many halves.

Fully loaded and a little sleepy

I wait till it is home time again

for pakodas and more of those laddoos

at least one more I hope

I walk home  to the music of the tiffin sisters

jingling in my bag

they are a happy lot these two!

after all they don’t have home work!


In-debt-ed @ Personal Loan

invisible but all pervasive

insistent and pretty consistent

they who love the most

make themselves available

on the telephone

after intentions pure and mercenary

their benign gentle hearts

outpouring with endearments

press upon me poor soul

gift after gift of ‘loaded’ presents

reminiscing days I rather not recollect

wish me on my b’day and worse on my anniversary

detailing how I had sleep walked into her dream

and how the vision compelled her to

reach out to me – dancing in distress

ah!lady, but I never asked for a Personal Loan!



If I could I would

hold every air

and breathe it for you

if I could I would

walk every mile

to reach you now, right now

if I could I would

feel each your whimper

and make it mine

if I could I would

clasp a joy

and seal it with a smile

if I could i would

stay young and fine

in the glasshouse of hope.

Mostly though

I would simply thrash you across your face

leave a mark for at least a week

to redeem my points of grievances

and let go.let go.let go.

PS: redemption, her way






a wounded heart

is a chiaroscuro of pain:

a dull vapid smile

does its best to cover

what was better left

for time to heal.

Reliving a memory

scratches the surface

tears flow

time stood still

aching to embrace

the one in pain

she said

‘this too shall pass

look beyond

look within

move on


your affection

is reserved for greater purposes’

and then there was a sheepish salty grin.

Sometimes shut up

‘Sometimes just shut up and LISTEN

train your ears to music, my music

cut out the rest

coz every other sound is a distraction

the din of confusion, the rising notions

the theorizing and the logical-ization

(if there is such a thing)

is all meant to nip it young

your growing passion

for love, for fame, for making a name

tell me

who would you turn to, the breeze or the scorning wind?

who can calm you, the twilight or the scorching sun?

who can win you over, the blazing fire or the warm hearth?

would you love the oceans if they thrashed your ground?!

if not, then LISTEN

keep quiet and key in

to my mantra”….”

the wicked universe whispered

and she nodded.