I confess

I confess:
I always try to escape,
I do lie.

I confess:
I am never guilty,
I never regret.

Or

I confess:
I always try to escape,
I am never guilty.

I confess:
I do lie,
I never regret.

I know I can never be professional.

Leave me alone

When you say you want to be lonely,
I know you want to be with me.

Only way

When every attempt of being close to her heart fails.
Forever!
The last thing you want to be is the locket on her chain.

For you on my birthday

Birthdays were never special until I met her. I wonder as I write this, doesn’t everyone have a birthday story. Would my story be a boring repeat? Never mind! What else on a day like today? I know it’s going to be hard for you to read. All I can do is make it as short as possible.

I was a simple, serious, boring, workaholic, humble, family loving, and no-dreams kind of person. You get the idea, don’t you? So it was in the summer of 2005 that I first saw her. I fell in love. Not with her, but with her hair, long, black, lustrous, beautiful hair. I was a guy who had no girl friends, no close friends and no love affairs. A lonely guy, I must say. The only girl I knew was the girl I was engaged to, that too for a period of two months. It was an engagement that was never meant to be and so didn’t stay long. Coming back to the longhaired beauty. She had something in her that made my heart beat faster every time I saw her. She had beautiful eyes that did almost always hide her shyness. I fell for her all the more. For the first time ever in my life, I experienced love.

I was quite an unromantic guy and I am sure she would have guessed it well in advance. She suggested we have a formal proposal day. And we did. A disaster! Forget!

Most of the time, we would be busy at work. You won’t believe, but that was the time we exchanged smiles and love glimpses. Her smile! Her lovely eyes! No words can describe it even today.

Love was in the air and we started celebrating all unimportant occasions in our lives. That, most importantly included my birthday. Until then, I had never celebrated my birthdays and had no plans to make it a special day. Why then that year, I had asked her. She made up an angry face, I remember, which immediately made me smile and agree. We left office early on my birthday. She had bought me a cake and I cut it; a little excited and a little puzzled. I hoped it was the right way to cut and the right way to celebrate one’s birthday.

To add to my excitement she had a gift too. An unwrapped one. A gift that I had, then, never thought of; a gift that in return took my soul with her; a gift that I wish I could forget today. And if not today at least for a moment.

Coming Soon-Photoblog

Why I think I should move into photography?
Because I know the significance of colors.
In pictures.
And in life!

And I ask....

When you are silent, I can hear a hundred voices in my head repeating 'Hold him tighter or you might just lose him once again'.

And I ask, absentmindedly, with a heart beating faster than before 'How much more?'

Rain, a memory

I do not remember when or how I became so obsessed with rain. May be some summer vacation trip to Kerala. Yes, I had summer vacations here when its monsoon rain in Kerala.

I am just trying to re collect those moments when I have secretly enjoyed rain. Now why I call it ‘secret’ is because small girls always play with other children and don’t sit alone on the steps and watch rain for long hours.

My ancestral home is a small one. An old one. Really old I must say when everybody else has modified his or her ancestral home my dad never did it. The roof would leak when it rained and I would keep shifting my bed from one place to another in middle of the night. That was when for the first time in my life I saw a choriyan puzhu. A worm, which was black in color and was said, will give an itching sensation if it crawls on your skin. I still don’t know the English name of this cute worm. Not cute by nature, it just looked cute to me.

The mornings would be as beautiful as it could be. The smell was the best I can think of. A mixture of smells; of the dry leaves burning under the coconut trees; of the tired wet earth; of the damp bed sheet clothe; of the first smoke of the day from the traditional stove and of the few jasmines and roses in the front garden. I would lazily walk towards the kitchen and sit on the verandah to brush my teeth. I would go to the pond for a shower after that but would end up sitting on the huge stone fixed on the bank of it, which mema (aunt) uses for washing the clothes. And how could I forget the smell of the freshly extracted, thick coconut oil. Ah! The smell of our culture, I could say proudly. I would carelessly rub them into my hair.

Then the rain follows. I would comb my wet hair in hurry, pat some ponds powder on my face, put a round black color pottu, strike a small line of sandalwood paste above it and rush to the front sitting area of the house. The raindrops falling from the red clay roof tiles by then had made a dotted line on the mud. Birds could be seen sheltering on trees under leaves and quivering away to keep themselves warm and dry. These also include crows that stopped crying when it rained. Everything then remains still in memories. Only the rain and my secrets joys lived.

Maybe it was one of these like days that I first fell in love with rain. Since then I have never been to Kerala during the rainy season, but this year I will be. Hopefully the coming month. I know it has already started pouring there. I can wait no longer. Not any longer.