Showing posts from September, 2008
It was an interesting day, as I visited some of the most farthest places in my knowledge today. Sitting here in Thiruvananthapuram today, I can only recall the tiresome journey to Radhapuram Taluk in Tirunelveli District, the birthplace of the saint-poet Thiruvalluvar, for some work. How beautiful can a country get? This is a question that often creeps in my mind, as each time I visit a new place, I am left speechless by the sheer magnificence of this nation's dazzle and colours, and it is really an amazing experience to discover the country, its people and places in the land that I proudly call India. Anyways, I shall talk more later about some other issues, when I get back to Hyderabad. Right now, with people sitting on my head, can't say much now, can I???

Murder and Death

And again, it happened. Shrieks filled the air, as the knife went past her body, and blood spurted out of the veins, and splattered all over the walls and the bed and any place that it could find to leave its impact on. The glass curtain that silence often tends to draw over the darkness of night was shattered to an infinite number of pieces, most of which could not even be counted, let alone repair; it had been permanently destroyed, at least for tonight. I was standing outside the house, and had witnessed the knife go through her tender body, and which had started a fountain of blood that had even stained the table lamp that stood by her bed, and had quietly witnessed the gruesome crime being committed. Her shriek sounded as if a spirit was being tortured in hell; maybe it’s the sign of the Angel of Hell stealing your soul, seeking revenge for someone in exchange for their soul. But it was frightening, was the shriek, and the night was witness to all that it had surrounded, but conve

Hyderabad/Secunderabad Diaries

Monsoon time is a strange time for our nation as such. People wait for the rains, and then they also wait for it to go away, due to the widespread problems that it creates evey year. It is highly depressing to see the widespread destruction that the rains have been bringing about in this beautiful nation. And it is still rythmic in nature, having a strange attraction towards it, that has inspired so many of us to write in its honour, to compose songs in praise of it, to sing ballads that remind us of its composure, its fury, its many moods, since time immemorial. Perhaps its due to the fact that the monsoons are like us humans, and has several aspects to its personality like us. And this will go on forever, till either the rains cease to occur on this planet, or till the human beings themselves cease to exist on this planet.  For me, I love this season, and have fallen for it even more after having come to Hyderabad, for the beautiful chill that it has brought about is incomparable. Li

Vande Mataram

“Please sign here, thank you,” said the jailor, visibly amused to see Ram signing the entry register in his jail. “By the way, what have you really come for? To plot another Naxalite strategy?” he remarked caustically, which was replied to by an iron stare by Ram, shutting his mouth and wiping his smile off effectively. The havildar took the register out of hi hand, as another led the way for Ram, who had come to ___bad Jail for the first time. The prisons of this country are a legacy of the Raj that we had suffered under, which they ruefully demonstrate. The walls are dark and desolate, and they emanated a variety of odours which may incite an ordinary frail human being to throw up at its mere recall. There is no natural lighting in these jails, and for a garden or “green space”, they usually have a square meter sized patch that has some wild grass growing on it. But that’s another story unto itself, and of no concern to us. Ram walked behind the havildar, who led him towards the

The Storm

It was raining heavily that night, as if all hell had broken loose, and was heading towards the earth to soak it in its pain, misery, suffering and torment. And it was a bad night, was this one, for reasons one can only feel, but cannot express to himself, herself or anyone else, even to the person who is really close to the person in question. But it was a bad night, and would get only worse. He was standing under the ledge of the window that otherwise allows people from within to look outside, but usually allows everyone to look in normal times: nature, people, animals, everyone and everything that can be conceived of. There was a strange expression on his face, as he was feeling the raindrops fall on his outstretched hand. Why would he do that, one would ask, and what is so special about him doing that? So many people do it, and so frequently that we could ignore it totally. But this guy was different, you see. He could not see at all, so he tried to make up for his lack of the