MEMORY OF AN ANGEL

 

 

 

 

 

 

Are angels real or so I wonder

Do they exist or is it just blunder?

I  seek them faraway and in my mind

Always the query will I  ever find?

What angels do is calm and soothe

Me enlightened upon an universal truth,

Passion and energy, love unconditional 

Thinking of my angel makes me emotional. 

All these years I searched for my angel

right by side she was , making me able;

Comforting me through pain and tears

Guiding me along ,allaying my fears.

Age of innocence and troubled teens

Bunking classes, college not very keen;

Letters from afar, love and advice galore

Breaks my heart, won't get them anymore. 

My mother was my angel, the one I sought

Whom I loved and sometimes fought,

Memories come , heart's painfully wrought 

Feels like life has come to a complete nought. 

With my angel gone

I'm in a state of flux;

Will I ever get out 

Of this spiralling vortex?

My minds in turmoil

Answers I do seek,

Why does Death come

Silent and meek?

Don't know if we'll meet again on that beautiful shore,

But promise will shower my love on you more,

All my love , transparent and hiding

Will come to fore, time was biding

Carried me lovingly in her womb

Cared for me always unto the tomb

If I'm born again, I want to be your son

My prayers for that have already begun

Man of many words!

The first time I saw him was a couple of years ago. He was dancing ! It was during one of those Mallu stage shows in Glasgow. Jayaram's to be precise. I thought to myself  'Here is a man who has decided to enjoy the moment'. I too joined in the fun later.

That first impression held on to me.

A few months later I had decided to start playing badminton again after a long gap  with a renewed vigour to keep obesity at bay and add flexibility to my large ageing frame. And there I met him again. He came across as a very friendly individual. Any apprehensions you would have with regard to his age as to how he would converse were completely blown away when he started speaking. I was pleasantly surprised. Within ten minutes, I felt as if I had known him for all my life! Such was the magnetic personality of the man. He had an easy going , चलता हैं यार  attitude. After play, most of the days we would gather around a tree outside the sports center and have a chat. He would regale us with anecdotes and stories about his travels and happenings during his volleyball days of glory. The man, I understand ,used to be a State level volleyball player and travelled extensively across India during his heydays. He was always the center of attraction in a group. Along with his sense of humour, he displayed a great deal of compassion and understanding too. A rare quality if you ask me. You felt like you could discuss anything with him. He always lend an understanding ear and would give his views on how to go about it. Very soon, you tend to have this feeling that he was someone in your family.

As a badminton player, he was at par with the best in our group. Personally I rated him the best. I have never seen a 55 plus old man jumping high into the air and smashing the shuttlecock with great power and precision. He was fit as a fiddle and played with great agility. I did notice a few of us, I did definitely, copied his tricks on the court. He played with great  passion and always wanted to win. He never compromised on any points and fought till the last serve.The competitive spirit was never missing in his case. A few of his co players were reprimanded in the 'choicest' of words when a point which could be scored was not! All in jest and good humour, of course. And he always had a thing or two to say about my paunch too!

He was not exactly one of my bosom friends. Our families did not meet every weekend nor was there that routine everyday phone call amongst close friends. I would have loved to but circumstances and certain factors prevented that. What I remember about him is the talks we had in his car whilst he used to pick me from home and drop me back during a time when our badminton play was a routine affair. I found him a genuine person in this world of fakes. A sane person in this insane world. A level headed man in this rash unlevelled world.

We both shared a nostalgic love for Bombay.  I was born there, did a few years of schooling too. He was settled there for years with a wonderful job and enjoyed all the perks that came along with it. He knew Bombay like the back of his hand and had contacts everywhere. He did tell me once if I ever faced a problem there, all I had to do was dial him. I think he regretted leaving the place.

Yesterday, I saw his almost lifeless body in a coma, lying on a bed with tubes and wires all over. He looked so different from the vibrant man I knew. They say he wont live and there's no use keeping the ventilator on . How I wish he had fought this last fight as he did on the badminton courts.

Goodbye Rajan chetta, I know I would not be getting that odd phone call ever again " എടോ , ഇന്ന് കളിക്കാന്‍ ആരൊക്കെ ഉണ്ട് ?"




There are some dead who are more alive than the living. 

ROMAIN ROLLAND, Jean-Christophe

I agree with Sean Paul Kelley on his views about India, though a tad bit exaggerated .This is what India is like at the moment but are other countries any better?! Mexico, Pakistan , most of the African continent, Bangladesh and countless other nations …are in  ‘deep shit’ if I borrow what he implies !I can quote hundreds of examples of  other nations who are worse than India in every sense, be it cultural, political, human rights violations etc! Mr Kelly seems to be one of those agents of ‘Western imperialism’ (courtesy: Mr Kelly) who really want to portray India in a bad light. Poor chap seems to have missed his daily quota of nocturnal drinks during one of his sojourns in the railways! You know how frustrating it can be! I take his ramblings that of a Westerner who can’t digest India becoming noticed given the recent happenings after Uncle Sam visited India. For a person who keeps on changing from one profession to the other, we can imagine how fickle poor Mr Kelly’s mind can be!

THE BOATMAN'S DILEMMA

I am Charon, the old boatman
who ferries you all towards the light,
Whoever crosses over to the underworld
I ferry them in the night.

Death has brought me yet again
a body embalmed not bare;
But this time I do not see my coin
have they forgotten or just unaware?

Oaring across this great River Styx
the coins have kept me going;
I always demand my fare and dues
if not then I would not be rowing.

Should I make an exception risky and
take this poor old soul aboard?
Will the great King Hades understand my stance
or throw this wretched old man overboard?

'Brave' Hercules threateningly had gotten across,
Another who had sung his way to fame;
Had I been weak and lenient with a few?
Or should I have beaten them at their own game.
 
 Hence I have decided to take aboard the old timer
 and ferry him to the Land of the Dead
 For I know tomorrow when this ferryman dies
 some good soul would definitely ferry me ahead!

'Lords' of the Riverside!

The bickering lords had started the discussion many moons ago.They sat around and discussed.They drank around and discussed.Various ideas had sifted thru their minds.

They held commoners in contempt and dismissed their ideas. With bloated egos, they ran down everyone who came in their way. Living in their own warped world, they seemed to have lost track of their roots, or so The Person thought...Only time would tell...

The rift between the lords and the commoners happened with the arrival of The Godman. Of all people, the Godman! The Godman served the lords and maybe THE LORD too.He came across as a rather ' चालु 'person, eager to please the powers that be....(to be contd)

Sozzled philosophers of the Midlands!

Both reeked of achohol when they sat down on the sofa. It was a Saturday morning a few years ago. They had come to 'lecture' about life and its intricacies,especially here in the United Kingdom. A fine Saturday morning. So many things to be done. So many plans to be executed. But no, the visitors had other plans. Some sort of agenda played on their faces and minds.

The Rat Faced ignoramus was an yes man. Yesman to the core. Lacking sophistication and culture. Blabbing away throughout with his funny anecdotes and trying to impress with his little nuggets of wisdom. Ratface's narration and  attitude would make everyone want to puke.

The Hep Guy was more randy than a gigolo. A wave of his undergarment near a fertile hip was all that was needed for a nine-month countdown, or so the folklore goes.. His reputation preceded him.  He did everything to make others think he was hep. He always had a coterie around him. He and his band of merry men always did everything to make their life merry. But beneath that happy-go-lucky facade lay a sinister,plotting mind.

"Dirty mind"! Gulshan Grover would say.

Heppy started the lecture fuelled by Dutch courage“ Life is an adjustment” he announced! All of a sudden I could see him morphing into Baba Ramdev, with the long black beard and a halo around his head!... Or so it seemed! Lo behold! someone has spoken a great truth that none were aware of!! LIFE IS AN ADJUSTMENT! He went on lecturing and Ratface went on nodding. In between, Ratface did add in a few of his observations which were overflowing with heavenly wisdom.

I was enlightened! I felt like The Buddha under the Bodhi tree!(TO BE CONTD....)

the Boorish Whore, the Fat Manipulator and the Ugly One..!

.........................................................
During one of his umpteen journeys , the Person came across the triad .


It all began when the Person came to the Talkers. All the talkers knew and did , as was expected of them was talk , talk and talk. Never to blame! All they were required to do was talk on a subject they were supposed to know..Still many of them
slipped on the subject , some had a great fall like Humpty Dumpty at times..In course of time, they started talking about other subjects ! things they didnt know or werent aware of..Subjects and materials they could never fathom..

the triumvirate thought they controlled...THOUGHT...

the whore was dumb, ugly one was ugly as expected and SHREWD , and the Fat Lady sang!!

She "sang" thru out the day,tried to make the others sing too..

Subtle at first, the crescendo rose to a pitch the Talkers couldnt bear...
(to be contd..)