Wednesday, March 12, 2014

Clutter

On the cluttered desk
Few letters of your signature
Spill into my pages
I smile at unspoken words

Friday, January 24, 2014

Fingers

Typing on keypad
Remembering your long fingers
Syllables dance to new poetry

Serendipity

In the cold office cabin
Warm air from the broken window
Your far away smile

Mustard

In the hot vessel
Lone mustard bursts
You speak about lost feelings

Coffee

In the chatty coffee shop
Mild aroma of coffee
Lingering for your attention

Wednesday, January 8, 2014

Marghazhi

Marghazhi is a beautiful month in Madras. It walks in with assured gaiety, almost mocking at the glaring sun and settles down quietly like curtains drawn down after a play. There she remains, the mist, grey beauty, when mami's and girls step outside for morning kollam and comeback smiling, enna pani, jillunu irruku. For people of Madras, who experience the wrath of sun for almost entire year, this enna panni statement remains as a refreshing memory during summers.

Now, I shall play favorites here and shift base to Mylapore during Marghazhi. The partial me always associates any beautiful and cultural to Mylapore side, while my better half says because of my parochial view, I would never experience the good side of other parts of Chennai. Oh, can we leave that for some other time.

Getting back to Mylapore, I remember being inculcated to the early morning getting up culture during the beautiful Marghazhi season. Though, my mother had some inclination to Carnatic music and finer tastes, the imbecile me stuck to no music or filmi music. In the street right across lived my grandaunt and family. Grandaunt liked and played Veena and granduncle liked and didnt listen to her Veena. Entire year he would wait for Marghazhi. That was the time, he required no prodding to go for morning walks. Early morning, around four thirty (if I remember it was midnight time for me), he would join a group of people, who walked around Mylapore roads singing bhajans. The group will have additions while they walked and one person would have the added baggage of harmonium. I dont know whether granduncle sang well, but he enjoyed this walking, because he wasnt forced to brisk walk and he had some entertainment in an otherwise dull road. After the singing the group would settle for coffee in some place and this was an added plus for him, considering the innumerable restrictions at home. When the crowd dispersed, it was the time when others in my house woke up. Granduncle would come home, wake us up and talk to the kids about how brain functioned well during morning and we should read something in mornings. For a person not so interested in studies, morning or evening made no difference. But once or twice I did attempt the brain active theory and found myself in deep slumber after five minutes. I would hear asadu, enna pana poralo in the slumber or may be I was dreaming.

Now, that Iam far off from Mylapore and miss the early morning bhajans and the rare days I woke up to watch my granduncle saunter in the crowd of singing people, I go to music sabhas, not to listen to the music, but just hog the tiffen and say, Madras is a city of culture.