Will catch up on missed posts soon. Peace.
For an interview with the author, click here.
Wednesday, 31 December 2008
As 2008 enters history books, we prepare to herald the dawn of 2009, MMIX in Roman, the year of the Chinese Ox. Pray and wish the new times usher in success, much needed peace, pinkest of health, happiness and affluence to all and sundry.
Gauisus Novus Annus, amicitia... Yes, I'll spare you the translation trouble - Happy New Year, friends. Here's an English haiku (of course written by moi! :) ) for ye all.
New⋅er days ush⋅ered
Our jour⋅ney shalt con⋅tin⋅ue
Mind grav⋅id with hope
I lost my grandfather a couple of days back (the 29th). This one is for you, ol' man. I could never bring myself to show you what all I have written. Beats me as I search for reasons why...
You never failed to inspire me. I am blessed to have been your grandson. A vestige of Life endures past Death.
A shroud of e⋅ter⋅nal peace
Death can⋅not take all
Will catch up on missed posts soon. Peace.
Will catch up on missed posts soon. Peace.
Wednesday, 24 December 2008
Cold winds shrieked as they hit against the window pane. It was nearly two hours since the shop had closed. After all, it was Christmas tomorrow; and who would want to be late for home on Christmas-eve? The residential area was not near by. Not a soul stirred in the desolate road... None but one. A waif. Whose gasped breathing seemed to be a desperate attempt at keeping his young lungs warm in the biting cold.
Little Ronny stood under the light of a lamp-post which was right outside the glass window... Stood. He stood so that the exposed parts of his already under-nourished body could try and absorb some of the warmth that seemed to emanate from the nebuluous light. Ronny could not sit. The pavement was too cold for his raw bottoms. He tried to balance himself by standing on his toes. He needed all of the faint warmth that his near four-foot frame could grope for.
It would be Christmas soon... Ronny continued to throw hungry glances at the window. Hungry because his stomach ached. Hungry, also, because his will ached. He remembered promising his little sibling "that pretty-pretty pink doll which shhmiled shooo cutely"... That doll lay right behind the glass barrier. Ronny wished he had the strength of Samson - to break the glass. Ah! The lamp-post! But suddenly he wished he hadn't. How could he steal? His dead parents would not like it. But how could he refuse his sister... He knew the pain of an unfulfilled wish. His parents could not afford him an action figure. His sister was all innocence then. She knew no material pain. But now, she had grown into his treasured possession. His little Ree. He winced at the thought of a Christmas tainted by her tears...
There was a brick lying nearby... It was too big for his little hands. Nonetheless, he decided to give it a go. A faint rustle stopped him in his tracks. He looked around. Was there someone waiting to pounce on him? Kidnap him? Or worse; arrest him and throw him in a dark gaol cell? Any plain-clothesman on duty? Ronny's little mind raced... He spotted someone... Was it the beggar? Yeah..! It was "the beggar with the red eyes"... He was towering and gaunt. Ronny feared he was up to no good. But then again... How could anyone be up to no good on Christmas? It just didn't seem right!
All of a sudden, it started raining... The rain came down hard. A storm during Christmas was pretty much unheard of. Ronny ran across the road and hid under a shade. He began to sob... Heavy sobs. He was already drenched. Little feet do not have a long stride... The soaked countenance camouflaged his tears. The sobs became a wail, which was in turn drowned amidst thunder and the fulminating clouds. Then lightning struck and the gale howled. Party-poopers gate crashing a silent Christmas.
*** *** *** *** ***
Ronny woke when the faintest of sunlight blessed the Earth. He seemed all warm... "I must be having a terrible fever. Poor nanny will have even more trouble because of me." His thoughts were interrupted by an ancient voice. "Aww, Sonny boy's awayke awre yew dearie... Slept well?" It was the beggar. Ronny trembled at the sight of those bloodshot eyes. Warmth gave way to a tingling chill... The man, but smiled. "Aye, me lad... Wan' me ol' bag o' bones to tayke yew 'ome? No? Naaw there yew gow... Merry Christmas!" He thrust a bundle under Ronny's arm. Ronny took a look at himself with his bleary eyes. A few more layers of clothing, however ragged, adorned him. The beggar reclined against the wall and watched the numb, bewildered boy silently take leave.
Day broke. News of the strong winds, the sudden rains and the devilish lightning taking out a bent lamp-post began to spread. However, there was no news made of the limp cadaver. For, a stone's throw away from the lamp-post was a bare, gaunt body lying lifeless on the cold Earth. The eyes were red. But there was a tranquil serenity about the face, which also bore a pacific smile. Upon finally being discovered, there were talks that he resembled some Saint Nicholas. Humankind is not new to gossip.
Ree would have her Christmas after all...
*** *** ***
"He wishes for the cloths of heaven" (William Butler Yeats) came to my mind as I wrote that story. It is one of my favourites...
Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
*** *** ***
Here's wishing you and all your family a very Merry Christmas. May the Holy Spirit usher in times of affluence and well-being. Let us try and bring a smile on someone's face.
Peace on Earth, goodwill to men. (I love that hymn!)
Thursday, 18 December 2008
Everyone has an inner self. They may or may not reveal/listen to it. I am no different. I possess an inner self; one that in some ways is my polar opposite. If I am the ice, he is the fire. Together, we form the searing ice and the congealing flame...
Deep with⋅in sub⋅con⋅scious⋅ness I dwell,
My el⋅e⋅ment leaves you blind⋅ed.
I make your ver⋅y pride swell,
And you re⋅main hat⋅ed.
Un⋅leash me! Be⋅hold...
Greetings populi... Been a hectic week. First, a faulty internet connection that marred my catching up with your blogs. And then, an all important certification. Got done with it today... Which effectively means I am a Sun Certified Java Programmer. *gosh! And to think how much I loathe programming... I am an electronics graduate!*
And oh yes, this nonnet should have been published long back! Catch up with you all soon.
Tuesday, 16 December 2008
As the name suggests, the Proximity Award is given to a blog that invests and believes in PROXIMITY - nearness in space, time and relationships. These blogs are exceedingly charming. These bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in prizes or self-aggrandizement. We hope that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, our friendship blooms to no end.
- Anila Thampy - The ever ebullient Ani never leaves me disappointed!
- Lena Toporikova - I must say Russian women are charming. I am a *huge* fan of Maria Sharapova. Hey Lena! Set me up on a date with that siren, will you!? :)
- Mehreen Asghar Qureshi - Pink and brown all the way... ;)
- Richa Singhal - When she said she was a fan of my works, I was deeply touched. Quite frankly, I never expected it! I hope to not disappoint her fan-ship. Thanks buddy...
- Sameera Ansari - Words cannot describe her alluring haven.
- Stephen Anthony - Behold him, single in this sphere! Yon solitary writer 'ere... (I am sure Wordsworth will forgive me for that!)
Tuesday, 9 December 2008
Gratias again, Stephen. Much obliged.
Bloggers follow a simple premise. If you cannot be creative, you cannot blog. Without further ado, I felicitate the following bloggers with the Kreativ Blogger Award;
- Akshat - When others were publishing nonnets, he came out with the first-ever wonnet. I am sure he will go a long way...
- Archana - If she had her way, she would definitely make a removable apparatus out of the human digestive system! Loved that post buddy. It had me in splits!
- Karthik - My namesake. DSP may not be his forte; but a stop at his space guarantees amusement.
- Mona - Another one among the budding poets scattered across blogsville...
- Tara - Essays, Photography, Poetry... You name it, she does it!
Gratias Stephen. Much obliged.
Versatility - thou art a blogger par excellence.
A writer is gauged by his writings. That is where versatility comes to the fore. The hallmark of a good writer is his ability to tread untested waters. He can write on almost anything under the sun. His writings are fresh and what's more... He won't stop there. For he has miles to go before he sleeps. It pleases me to no end in passing the Versatile Blogger Award to;
- Aayushi - Her writings are as refulgent as her alias, Crystal.
- Arnav Chatterjee - One of the sanest individuals I have come across. Pity he doesn't post often.
- Matangi Mawley - The lady herself... There is more to her writings than what meets the eye.
- Shruti | Shane - She does it her way... Her own inimitable way.
- Mrs. Usha Pisharody - I have always had extra respect for English teachers. Which probably resulted from my love for the subject.
Sunday, 7 December 2008
Thanks to their innate faculty, some bloggers out here are known to inspire their brethren. Needless to say, they make a significant contribution to the blogging fraternity. That said, I confer the Arte-y-Pico Award upon the following bloggers/writers :
- Divya, M - A style of writing so lucid that is bound to inspire anyone.
- Lena Toporikova - She writes with a charm that can never go unnoticed.
- Praveen, SR - The (un)caped crusader is known to not mince words.
- Ranjani Ravi - Lady rampantheart prefers to let her writing do the talking. Period.
- Sameera Ansari - Her haven is a refreshing stop for the literature-thirsty traveler.
- Sushant Jaipuria - It is high time his works get noticed. Of course, he has to be more regular at posting!
Saturday, 6 December 2008
Pillows besmirched in sanguinary brown,
His countenance - pallid and writh’d.
At the ceiling, he cast that morbid frown;
A sight that beheld fright…
He had starved, there was no work,
and Women were a part no longer.
Not a man without the odd quirk,
His macabrous will had grown stronger…
Answers, he searched low and high,
‘Til his eyes met the blade.
The grim future was but nigh;
A steely resolve had been made.
Laced, was he, in sorrow and shame,
The infernal angst! He sobbed;
Cursing his Fate and its game…
“Damn! You had me robbed!”
The manic rage, within him grew…
As he smoked his last hash.
In a fit, the blade, he drew…
And slash’d his neck in a flash!
Those pillows besmirched in sanguinary brown,
That countenance – bloodless and pale.
At the ceiling, was cast a wraith-like frown.
… I lived to narrate that gory tale…---
You have but one life… Live each day to the fullest. As it is, every passing day takes you closer to your grave. Suicide is the cowards’ way out.
¡Viva la raza!