Meenas PoemsIt is easy to say no,
Many do not do so,
No is not another go,
It is always a rude blow.
It is easy to say no,
Most refuse to say so,
No is not too low,
It is always a restricted flow.
It is easy to say no,
Most do not want to say so,
No is not a glow,
It is always a restrained throw.
It is easy to say no,
Most dislike to say so,
No is not to allow,
It is always a deficit slow.
It is easy to say no,
Most loathe to say so,
No is not always negative,
At times it sounds positive.
| Article first published as Raising Three Boys: A Strain, a Drain, But Not in Vain on Blogcritics. |
The strain of bringing up children, especially boys, has taken half my life. Yes, I am in my late 50s. I became a mother at 21, and from then on it was a struggle. I have three sons. When the eldest was eight the youngest was born and the middle one was three years old. Imagine my plight.
The eldest was always up to pranks, as eight-year-olds often are. He would be under a table, the next minute upon it, in a few minutes perched upon a tree making faces at me. While I went out to bring him down, the second one pinched the newborn, pulling the little one’s hair and running out in fear when the baby started crying. I had to lift the baby from the cot to console him, had to bring my second one to my fold lest he would feel unwanted, and had to pull the first one forcefully down from the tree and make him do his homework. It was a yoga.
While they were growing I had to undergo a different kind of exercise. I had to conduct coaching at home. I had to teach algebra to one, addition to the second, and counting to the youngest. I helped in writing essays, taught spelling, and identified the alphabets. Preparing food, supervising the laundry, and keeping the house clean were the other chores I had to attend to. I did all these with splendid vigour. Turning back, I see my efforts were amazing. How did I do all these things? Now I take hours to cook the meals. I grumble. I begrudge. I curse. My legs ache, my fingers get numb. I throw tantrums. Why do I feel so?
In the past I did so because I was young, because I had a lot of affection, because I wanted to meet the demands. Now I do so because of age, because of loneliness, because of saturation. My hands were full then. Now I am without work, with no pressing schedule anymore.
My children have migrated to different lands. We spend our days in two countries now. Part of the year we live in the country of our birth, but the major part in the country where our business is located. Recalling my erstwhile duties I feel exalted. My past was a stressful pleasure.
I discussed my experience with my children a little while ago. They enjoyed the narration and in between came out with the incidents which I had forgotten. They grinned and chuckled. Suddenly, to my despair, they broke into tumultuous laughter. I had never seen them in such high moods. I kept silent like a little girl ordered to keep quiet: “Put your finger on your lips.”
The three of them looked at my posture. They came close to me, sat around me, held my hands, looked at my eyes, and said slowly, “Mama, we are going through the same phase now. We lose our patience now and then, but never once did we see you furious.”
I brushed aside my tears and dragged the boys to my bosom. However old they might be they are still my sweet little boys, with velvety hair, big eyes, sharp noses, and broad mischievous grins.
Read more: http://blogcritics.org/culture/article/raising-three-boys-a-strain-a/page-2/#ixzz1cz30ewA3
Insignificant I want to be,
Unknown I like to be,
My lineage matters not,
My way of life is a sort,
Educated to meet my requirements,
Though had a spectacular ranking averment,
I grew up to be a silent spectator,
As my share was gobbled by an impersonator,
I prefer to be away from all,
Always in time for a call,
I like to remain calm,
Though still in form,
I do not talk about others ,
But get antagonized if talked by others,
I am dubbed as being proud,
As I never once bowed,
I am very strong in mind,
Equally sound in kind,
Want to know who am I?
Nay not ,
I maintain anonymity.
The wrong side of fifties is taking its toll,
Once a gentle walk is now a tottering fall
Once a strong determination is now a frailty,
Once a powerful memory is now a forgetful folly,
Once a force to reckon is now a powerless weakling,
Once a reservoir of ideas is now an empty lurking,
Once a cynosure of all eyes is now an eyesore,
Once an affable synergy is now a tough bore,
Years role out in spectacular speed,
Stealing the lovely charm indeed !
The air around gets choked,
The voice of most becomes hoarse,
Many cough violently.
A metallic sound emanates –boo,boo.
Fumes rise up from far,
The eyes turn blood-red,
Tears flow down in a dizzy.
A sobbing sound gets in – hiss,hiss,
Vehicles produce carbon emissions,
Choking man and nature together,
Implicating a catastrophe deliberately.
A chaotic commotion wakes up – ugh , ugh
Cigar smoking emit carcinogenic tobacco
The lungs become weak,
Short of breath triggers fatality.
A silence is remarkably felt.
Who makes all these?
The powerful man makes them all,
To aid him in his ventures plausibly,
A voiceless, cheerless , breathless, dead 
man emerges.
| Article first published as Crime Wave in Malaysia on Blogcritics. |
Malaysia is in the grip of fear. Fear emanates not from external bodies, not from invasions, not from economic constraints, not from internal troubles, but from petty thieves. It sounds ridiculous and silly, but it is very much the case.
Burglary has become a part of Malaysian life. Newspapers report episodes of daylight robbery and incidents of housebreaking as headlines.
These miscreants indulge in snatching chains, rings, pocketing money, stealing credit cards and mobile phones. If anyone resists, the thieves turn violent. They slit open the throat or cut the fingers with sharp penknives and bolt away.
They decamp with cash and jewels from townhouses and private residences. As most Malaysian buildings have tiled roofs, the thieves easily remove the tiles and get into the main living area. They warn the inmates of dire consequences they will have to face if they report the robbery to the police.
Temples also get looted by these burglars, who enrich themselves by grabbing expensive ornaments made of gold and studded with valuable diamonds. On their way out they lift the lockers filled with devotees’ contributions.
There is still another way of stealing: small-timers rummage through plantations and harvest fresh fruit and bunches of oil palm and sell it for immediate cash.
The police patrol the vulnerable areas on motorcycles and in cars, flashing a bright light and honking frequently. They do only that much. It is a stylish way of going about the town with authority and power, but it does not catch criminals or mete out any punishment.
This otherwise beautiful country with tropical rain forests and a long coastal belt, with a stable government, with a sound economy, with three races living in harmony, would compete for the safest place to live in if not for this glaring discrepancy
Read more: http://blogcritics.org/culture/article/crime-wave-in-malaysia/#ixzz1cKmF9N1Z
Read more: http://blogcritics.org/culture/article/crime-wave-in-malaysia/#ixzz1cKm4b7bb
Enriching oneself all along ,
Has been the way so long,
Now tables have turned ,
Attitudes have changed,
Releasing an uncomfortable strong.
Acquiring richness was a pride,
Involving a comprehensive ride,
That include all the qualities best,
Power, Money, Grace and Poise to a test,
Signifying a glow and a bliss along side
Connotations differ in recent times,
With wealth in the form of dime,
Allows those in authority to track resource,
In the guise of licences and insider trading recourse,
Gaining in enormous resultant income for the rest of times.
So far so good as the excitement lasts,
The luxury and fame have been cast,
Suddenly eyebrows get raised,
Suspicion looms large in manner phased,
Leading to an investigation fast.
So much so the suspension laps up,
Fingers point to the man at the top,
The less powerful go to the prison quick,
The most powerful dodge the judge to blink,
Delaying their entry by negotiating a tie up.
One by one they go in a disciplined row,
The minister, the secretary, the executive all toe,
The jail overflows with billionaires illegal
Hitherto it hosted only criminals legal,
Streams of greed, impudence, and cheat converge in a flow.
Woke up in the morning with panic,
Chaos in the neighbour’s attic,
Everything was strewn around,
As nothing valuable was found.
Each one was analysing the possible way
Every body was giving out a solution in a sway,
The neighbour stood gripped in fear,
Looking at the door in the rear.
It is easy to remove the tiles above
Stealthily get down in an easy go,
It was skilfully planned and undertaken,
Finally got muddled and overtaken.
A wrong foot on the metal tin ,
Provoked a deafening din,
Enough to alert the inmates,
Awakening them to a checkmate.
The entrants made haste,
Collecting the available in a crate,
Their act released a fear,
Destabilising all to the barest bear.
Day in and day out,
Incidents occur without doubt,
Sending signals of apprehension,
Placing everyone in a traumatic suspension.
The patrolling is very weak,
None are caught during the peak,
The Police let go the culprits free,
Inciting the citizens to keep a vigilant spree.
Theft and burglary have become common,
The local administration finds nothing uncommon,
Concentrating on charging the drivers for speeding,
The Police wantonly ignore the robbers of looting.
Governance is lacking in district and state administration,
Right from the Clerk to the President have their own disposition,
Taxing the people heavily for least dispensation,
Refuting to arrange for a simple protection.
Ignoring the thieves
Life is to live well,
With cheer and peace,
Driving hatred in a fleece,
Interacting with an ease,
Oh ! Do we have more to tell?
Life is to earn ,
With hard work and perseverance,
Amass wealth never at other’s grievance,
Make money with due diligence,
Oh! Is it the only yearn?
Life is to be happy,
Cherish every minute with a proper outfit,
Enjoy each experience in a true befit,
Chase melancholy as it is a culprit,
Oh! Is it not a little crappy?
Life is to save,
Preserve health with care
Never seek wealth with a glare,
Hold on to the present bare,
Oh! Is there anything more to rave?
Life is for the present,
It is not for the future,
Live well today in rapture,
Live dignified now with nomenclature,
Oh! Can’t you see yonder light flourescent?
Life is for only once,
A mad rush for money is indecent,
A struggle for largess is least complacent,
Losing health in the milieu becomes permanent,
Oh! tell me, is it not a bad bounce?
Leaves bloom in a lovely green hue,
Thick and dense in a clasping cue,
Spreading a canopy of shade ,
Providing a glittering like jade,
Only to fall in days few.
The rain fed rivers flow gently,
Through the pebbles and moss gracefully,
Carrying with them alluvial soil across
Enriching the fields as they cross,
Only to get into the ocean mildly.
Man lives with pomp and merry,
Arrogant and towering over all in glory,
Dictating terms to everyone with serpentine authority,
Destroying one and all with diabolical impetuosity
Only to get interred in dust shortly
It is as explicit as ever,
That which is born cannot live forever,
That which takes place will fade
Be it beautiful or ugly,good or bad,
All would drop down in 
a wither.
Meenas Poems 