First Vote

This blogger is very excited as tomorrow he is going to cast his first vote and be a responsible citizen. He is all set to climb the 18 steps to the ultimate pilgrimage of democracy, the ‘Shabarimala’ of liberty, equality, justice and freedom. It’s been a long wait. It’s been a long wait, from the day he learned about the basis of government formation in the country.

At first he was surprised to hear that it was the common man who determined the powerful offices that governed the country. It shocked him at first because he had only heard the stories of Kings, Emperors and fables of his ancestors who were land lords. It’s been 10 years since his favourite Civics teacher changed all his ideas on how the administration took place in his country. He also learned that all men were equal and that everybody had the same rights and responsibilities and it was a much better feeling. Nobody had to suffer from tyranny.

He is thankful to the millions of brave freedom fighters who had sacrificed their lives for the liberation of their country from the 100 years of foreign exploitation and also salutations to Mahatma Gandhi, the messiah who lead them all to their ultimate goal. one should not let these builders of democracy down by not choosing to vote.
He is not sure if Kerala is going to colour itself' 'Red' this time. But is our responsibility to colour ourselves with patriotism. It is after all good to be equal among equals. Evolution is a gradual process, we are still evolving..... a class less society will come to existence. All we have to do is wait.

Perhaps the voter who waits in long queue every 5 years is like the cat" TOM" in TOMnJERRY..... wait ever happens to him, he never gives up. Whenever he fails he thinks of new plans to trap JERRY..... Like the old man Santiago.....
Let the remedies like the lok pal bill come to existence. Let equality and transparency spread everywhere.

Writers Block

I am like a seriously ill patient who is unlikely of recovery
I am the story teller who has run out of stories
I am like a cigarette Burned to the stub
Suck me deeply and I am sure-
I cannot heat your nerves any more
I remember the days, when I carried you
To places that you had never seen
Places that you wished to remain forever
Together we jumped over the moon
We rescued caged love, we killed the angry beast
And we lived happily ever after
My stories made you drown in deep sorrow
So did it take you to hills of joy
I made you dream of lions of Africa
And of the beautiful vampires
I am a sick plagiarist, a liar
Telling you the stories of others
And the nonsense I made up myself
Just to grab your attention
Now I am like the lonely tree
Atop the dry mountain, Leafless and fruitless
My roots run into depths I cannot fathom
I cannot move but weep on the dead spring

Dreams for Sale……….

Somebody once said that man has nothing to lose except chains. They are the chains that tightly bind the long and dark hooded overcoat of social norms on his true self. Of course there are a few who are able to break these chains; we know them as great men and women. The others find their acts insane. They feel naked when they try to come out of the social overcoat that they wear. They simply look at the achievers and admire their social nudity but they themselves do not have the guts. The social stigma associated with breaking the chains, that are casted out of the molten iron of social norms are so high. Perhaps this stigma is due to the fear of responsibility. To break the chains one needs freedom and freedom is a great force and one must excavate it from the darkest corners of one’s own mind. In the process of finding this freedom, the mind naturally becomes strong. The mental strength combined with the sense of individual freedom is a very great power and with it comes great responsibilities. It is this responsibility that people refuse to accept or rather fear. It is a disaster when the powers are used irresponsibly and makes the mighty perish in their might.

Man has one more thing that he can call his own, something that was bestowed upon him even when he was cursed with the chains of social norms. That divine blessing is nothing but the ability to dream. It is a gift that everybody has. It can be used in any way one wishes to. It is a support for man in his difficult journey of life. It is a retreat from the harsh realities and moreover dream is the twin brother of hope which urges man to go further and further. It is also an intoxicant that can captivate people for long hours, day and night. People trapped in their own dream worlds either go into a comma or go insane.

This story happens during a time when the world suddenly forgot how to dream. At first people took it as some kind of sleeping disorder and kept this problem to themselves. Then suddenly the problem became a topic of discussion. Some people started undergoing psychiatrist therapies .the problem was without any solution as the therapists themselves suffered from dreamlessness. The problem of dreamlessness became so intense that people found it awkward to go to sleep anymore. People could simply get any satisfaction out of sleep. The world lost its creativity, no more stories were written, no more movies were made, no more painting, no inventions no ideas no progress, no planning, economic slowdown, no productivity. Hunger and famine suffocated human race. Governments fell from power as they could no longer campaign about the “American” or “Indian” dream. The world was suddenly filled with insanity. Crime rates began a steep increase as people failed to hide their evil fantasies in their own dream worlds. More murders, tortures and sexual harassment. The babies stopped sucking their thumbs and staring at the ceiling more and more lady Macbeths walked the sleepless nights. Hopelessness lead to suicides.

Suddenly our hero who led an insignificant life till now came into the picture. His life was so meaningless till now that he did not even have a name, so let’s call him Sid. One fine morning Sid found out that he could still dream and also he could create dreams for others. Sid was not stupid, so he started to sell the dreams that he made. And so Sid the ‘dream seller’ became the centre of the world over night. Sid smiled as cover page for magazines, Corporate and governments made him their leader. People were ready to pay him any amount of money to fill their sleep with dreams. He had dreams for everybody, for the old and young, rich and poor and boys and girls. Famous writers, political and corporate leaders, aspiring actors all of them became his main clients. He made dreams that were sweet, dreams that had new ideas, dreams of sexual fantasies, dreams of peace and prosperity, nightmares and the most violent dreams.


Sid soon floated a private company called ‘Dreams incorporated’ which went sky high in stock markets. His daily talk-show ‘dreams for sale’ became the highest rated and his book ‘dream your way to successes became the international best seller. Sid declared himself the ruler of the world. He started living his life as if it was a dream. He turned all the wild fantasizes that he had into reality. He went mad with power.
One day Sid found that his life was really becoming a dream and that his happiness is not lasting more than a few minutes. He lost breath and even began waking up to find out that he is the old insignificant Sid ones again, even though he was able to come back to his senses. He totally went out of his mind and began making dreams, billions of them without rest and finally he turned himself into a dream. From that day onwards dreams were ones again free. Everybody had dreams of living the life of Sid the dream seller.

The painting

Happened to see a beautiful painting
I lost in thought as if I was dreaming
I wish I was a colour in making
That blissfully beautiful painting

At first I looked from far away
And then I came little closer
Stunned by the marvellous beauty
Carved out of mere paint and paper

Its theme, the joy of hungry sheep
Feasting the meadows of hilly slop
And glowing ball of crimson red
Going down the rocky thread

Away stands a lonely tree
Not so lonely as u can see
Houses a pair of cherping birds
Feeding newborn beaks with fruits

Between the tree and flocks of sheep
Flows a stream that run so steep
To the end of that rocky curve
And seems to make a foamy cloud


I wish I could be a gust of wind
That blows over this sweetest scene
Or just a drop of mixed paint
And dissolve into this rosewood frame.

ASCOM, My friends and the spirit of Onam

Every year King Mahabali comes to see how his people are doing and this time we are planning something big to welcome him, by putting in a lot of hard work, rather than spending away our time in the pubs and loosing our minds. Who said our youth is degrading?? This time we decided to use our creativity and put up a good show. Hey it’s not hard to use all the little penny that we have saved from our pocket money to create a small fund to buy the materials to create banners and flowers to create the flower carpet and more than everything we all.....and by this I mean everybody even stopped doing our assignments (ah that was not very hard) to do the painting and decide about the various events to be put up the next day, which includes group songs and a quiz on Onam and Malayali culture. By the time we designed the floor for the flower carpet it was 11:30pm. Then we got busy arranging the flowers and chopping them very neatly.my hostel room is a mess but this time it is all for a good cause.
Sleep… we are betraying you this time being awake for the whole night…hope you can make it up to you next time we have a boring lecture. My dear Mr Sleep you always get away with it during times like that. Please leave us alone this time to do our work which we are doing with so much enthusiasm.
We are doing this during the times of Gokulashtami, the cultural and creative extravaganza of the collage. I was already tired after organizing the ‘chakravyuha’, the quiz program, so my friends granted me a break from chopping flowers and painting for Onam which is tomorrow. And so I found time to blog about our hard work. I will have to get back to work when I am caught writing happily without helping friend with the work. Oops! They are already frowning at me. Guys please let me finish this. This time I am not writing about Marx… I am writing about you….
Staying awake and working after 2 00 pm is so unusual. Unless there is some serious exam the next day….cant guess how good tomorrow is going to be but I better get back to work, with Eminem blasting in my ears. This Onam is going to be unique in every way and will be engraved in my mind till my last breath.

Stories of War........

When I was small I frequently pestered my Grand Father for more stories. Being a language teacher, a master of Sanskrit and Malayalam he never ran out of stories. Now he does not narrate stories but insists that I read more books, and not waste my time in front of the T.V and computer. The most striking feature of the stories that my Grand Father told me was ‘War’ as all of them were from the epics or other Hindu mythologies, and after each story we discuss its political aspect. Now I see my heroes Ravanan, Karnan and Parashuraman not just as mythical characters but as leaders who represented and led their people in the war against the other group.


Every day the media sells the stories of war, the war between countries, races, political groups, religions and casts and even the intellectual and publicity wars between writers, celebrities and business firms . All these did not start just like that in the 19th or 20th century. The war that started during the Vedas between Aryans and the Dravidians reached its peak in the epic Ramayana. Ram an Aryan prince was not just fighting the abductor of his love; it was really the war between the races. If it was not so it would have been the best for Sita to live with the handsome and powerful Ravan than go with Ram (only to be divorced and sent in exile) who was only interested in the welfare of his people. I think he being an Aryan went on war with the Dravidian king, just to keep his people happy.

In Mahabharata it was war between Aryans themselves. Only that this time Pandavas had the support of the Dravidians through Bheem’s matrimony with Hidumbi. The cast system was so intense that the Kauravas failed to use their most powerful weapon ‘Karnan’. This aspect about Karnan is beautifully explained in the book ‘Mritvinjayam’ by Janpeeth winning writer Shivaji Savant.

In the book ‘Purana nigandu’ K. Kunhanandan Nair (my Grand Father) says that the story of the 5th incarnation of Vishnu, Parashuramn is about the war between haheyyas and Bhargavas i.e. the Brahmins and the Kshatriyas. The Haheyyas being the teachers took away all the wealth from the Bhargavas who were the ruling clan in the form of guru dakshina. This made the bhargavas hunt the Haheyyas down and forcefully take away their pocessions. The teaching class had no other options but to retreat to the forests. Raman was a Brahman who made war his way of life. He used a ‘parashu’ or an axe to chop off the heads of evil Kings and so the name Parashuraman. It’s said that he destroyed the Kshatriyas 21 times and created a lake of royal blood to avenge the death of his father. In Ramayan there is a part where the two Rams meet each other. The bhramin Raman was then convinced that the Kshatriya Raman was also an incarnation of Vishnu. They then parted as brothers.

I think it is necessary that people read these stories. Then we will realize that how stupid and unnecessary the violence that is going on in the society is. As it is stated in Devi bhagavatham, all these stories are untrue but they are written as morals to enlighten the world about a better life.

Drizzling..........

I always feel lazy when rain is falling like cats and dogs. But my imagination is never idle even when there is nothing better to do than sip a hot cup of tea and simply watch the wrath of the clouds pour down and spoil all your plans to go out and have fun. I think about all the stories that I have heard about rain, and as we all know there are countless stories people have made up about rain in different cultures in different parts of the world.


At times I feel that rain is some sort of prank played by the nature, because in Hindu mythology rain is associated with Indran who is always up to some mischief. But it is this control on rain that really makes him the king of Gods. In the early Vedas we do not find the trimoorthis very important. It is Indran who is the eldest among devas, all this shows that our ancestors found the rain and the rain god very important. There are stories of indran blessing and cursing people with rainfall. One such story is the story of ‘Ghandeevam’, the famous bow used by Arjun, the third Pandava prince. Agni the fire god who fell sick after the consumption of a lot ghee and sugar during yagas fell sick had to eat the Ghandava forest as a remedy. The forest was protected by the rain god who never allowed a forest fire to happen in ghandava. Agni had to seek the help of Arjun , and for this task he was given the bow Ghavdeevam and a special arrow holder which will never run out of arrows. Agni then burned down the forest in the shade of Arjun’s arrows, this time the rain god was defeated.


Even though I am happy that rain is defeated in the story I don’t actually hate rain, in fact I love rain as a natural phenomenon. It’s fun to go for a stroll when it is drizzling and take in the warm smell of the soil. It was so much fun walking back home from school keeping the umbrella neatly folded in the bag and being very happy getting wet until we reach home taking shelter in the local shops when the rain is too heavy and enjoying roasted groundnuts. Rain is beautiful to look at sitting in the veranda of my ancestral home munching fresh rice flakes mixed with sugar, coconut and banana. Rainy afternoons are also the best time to play chess, caroms and cards.