Category: thoughts

Missing out has been a way of my life.
Could I be alone being so?
I deliberate.

As a kid, I lagged behind my friends.
I came last in running races.
I was slow.

In my school, I came not to the forefront
I jumbled the tenses.
I was unclear.

At home, my siblings overtook me
I was denied the rightful.
I was deceived.

In business, I competed in vain.
I tumbled unceremoniously.
I failed.

Neither I became a runner
nor an achiever academically.

Either way, I am average
reached not a status.

However, I am a human. Unbeatable,
full of kindliness and understanding.

I have earned a lot.
Monetarily not much.
Too much in the abstract sense.

My life has been a worthy pursuit.
Great! I claim.

Having lived a life of content
while missing out many an opportunity.

The cocks of mine play truant.
Asleep in my bedroom one afternoon,
heard some peculiar sound.
Cared not, as I was exhausted.

A while later could feel the movements
someone running round and round my bed.
Woke up. Found the two cocks beside me.
Shooed them off. Not an easy task altogether.

I smelt something foul.
Got up again to find their poop all around.
Exasperated, cleaned the bedroom.
That was the end of my sleep.

I thought cocks were easy to rear.
Not anymore I think so.

Boiling of rice with jaggery and milk,
cashew, raisins and cardamom
a way to celebrate the festival–Pongal.

A thanksgiving to Surya (Sun God).
An abundant harvest with good returns
mark the onset of January.

All that grows and flourishes,
all those who enjoy and revel.
Owe their gratitude to Surya.

It is an offering to the energy.
that made everything possible.
A grand ceremony that turns into a festival.
Pongal or Makara Sankaranthi as it is called.

The month of January turns cold.
See no frost or snow but being cool.

My town is hot throughout the year.
The sun pouring and piercing through.

The sky is overcast in January. Washed clothes remain wet for long.
On other months they get scorched in less than an hour.

My starched saris were left on the lawn to dry.
I forgot my tow cocks.They were circling the garden.

An hour later I came out on some errand.
“Oh! no”, I cried in dismay. The cocks were trodding on my saris.
Made a mess of the neatly stretched ones.

Ran to shoo them away. They flew low and sat on the swing.
They would barge soon after I leave.

I had to be on watch the whole day to keep them out.
At that moment the expression friends turn foes crossed my mind.

The Cocks I have
loiter from dawn to dusk
pecking the worms
frightening the squirrels.

Those who come home feel
I rear them for my consumption.
it is but a natural phenomenon.
I do not blame them.

I want to clear my stand.
I am a born vegetarian.
a vegan to an extent.
I have not eaten even an egg.

Bought a four of the chickens
half a year ago. My little granddaughter
had a nice time when she was with me.
Two of them died early.

These two have grown.
They entertain me with their play.
Never do they break the quietness
except cawing occasionally.

Amazing they are .
My staff have an eye on them
They pester me to give them off
Could turn into a sumptuous lunch for them.

I am keeping them at bay.
Know not what will happen,
when I move out of my home,
even for a few days. I am Obsessed.

My two cocks
being my recent possessions
whom I thought to be harmless
turned violent in the morning.

The boisterous one
loitering in my lawn
caught hold of a squirrel.

Holding it in its paw
picked it with its beak
ripped open the skin.

The squirrel squeaked
finally, let out a cry.
I rushed to the spot.

Before I could reach
the squirrel had died.

The tranquillity, I experienced
the day before has turned into a turmoil.
I am disturbed.

The cocks in my garden
cheerful and active
call out
cock a doodle doo.

Not so musical as such,
but vibrant in its own
expressing life
in their own terms.

The snow white cocks
with a well angled red crown
amble through my hedges
a delight to watch.

Harmless they wander
picking every worm on their path
in a way keep my garden
free of pests.

How many rounds do they go?
I lose count every day
a pastime for me
during my twilight years.

My eyes follow them
the feathery snow white quilt
renders a beauty untold.
I am at peace all the while.

My mother presiding over dinner.
I recall those days
when the six of us were in school

The eight seater table,
mother and father
at farther ends,
three of us on one side
the remaining three on the other.

Dinner was bereft of chatter and laughter.
Could hear only mama’s voice.

Mother, strict as ever,
saw to the quantity we all ate,
instructed the cook to keep vegetables liberally.
No way we could escape her.
She saw to it
we left nothing on the plate
She allowed us to leave only curry leaves.

Father used to watch all of us
with a mischievous grin.
Knew not why he smiled
at that time.

All of us gulped the food
whether we liked it or not.
One of us would regurgitate
“Nothing doing” she would shout.
Dinners were not pleasant
as they had to be.

To our surprise, she never ate with us.
We dared not ask her, Why?

She had her own time.

Once I was a little late,
I had to join her for dinner.

She was choosy.
The cook served her with attention.
Kept the barest minimum. Said the
curries were insipid and needed salt

She took just a mouth full.
Left the rest on the banana leaf.
(Till her last, she never partook from the plate.)
Chided the cook for cooking so bad.
Folded the leaf- easy to conceal the leftovers.

I sat looking at her, how long
I do not know?

I was able to relate to father’s grin.

That day I ate as I wished.

A clash of egos of two sections
the influential and the rich being a handful
versus
the rest who are  almost in millions
has turned into a controversy.

The century-old festival is at crossroads,
literally and metaphorically.

Penang’s Thai Pusam is being endangered by the tussle.
The two factions of the Tamil community abuse,
accuse one another.

An unpleasant contest ahead.
Silver against gold
Antique against new.
Tested against untested.

The silver chariot’s  competitor is its costly cousin.
The opponent is a golden one shimmering in the Penang hot sun.
Both processions would take the same route.

Man is promoting a fight.
Lord Muruga confronts Himself.
How is it going to be?

The devotees are bewildered.
Whom to follow? Which one to worship?
The silver or gold.

A play on the piety of the people.
A manoeuvre of deceit.
Critical it looks.

The devouts, please leave it to Muruga.
He will lead you.

Om Shanthi.

The sun has set
It is curtains.
A year -2016
has gone to sleep.

Closed are the happy events
along with the sad ones.
They will fade from memory
It is a routine.A monotony.

Another year dawns.
Would hold both mirth and sorrow.
Host celebrations and disaster.
Will then sink into oblivion.

Cries of joy reach the sky.
Crackers explode. An illumination
endears. Hope resumes.
That be with you. Happy 2017