Silent Whispers....

If you can't understand my silence, you will never understand my words........

I am in my silent mode now. I don’t feel like switching over to the talking mode. I say it best when I say nothing at all. Earlier, I was perfectly comfortable with my silence. But when you find a person who reaches out and takes out your heart, caress it softly and keeps it back, silence is difficult. I listen in confusion the fusion in my heart. I don’t dare to disturb it. I don’t know if I am avoiding my world or solely enjoying my solitude. I enjoy my silence. I marvel in it. I revel in it more when I communicate silently with someone special. Someone whom I can whisper sweet nothings, someone who can fill my silence, someone whom I can love silently....

No.. I am not lonely. It is just that I want to be alone with my thoughts for the time being. Shutting off the sounds, moving away from the chaos, it is just me and my dreams in a silent world.. till I come out again... refreshed, recharged, regenerated.....

Parting Whispers...

Today is the last day of my holidays. My suitcases are all crammed, ready to board. It is past midnight.. Sleep is nowhere in the nigh. I have to get up early tomorrow and push off… to the dry dreary desert. Outside, it is raining heavily. My windows are open to welcome him.. his sweet kiss on my parched lips. I beg for a kiss, and he becomes a skinflint.

I had been over-filled with dreams when I landed at the airport. But now I realise.. they were just dreams. There were no rains to splash water. My sweetheart wasn’t waiting for me with outstretched arms. My love went unanswered. My heart was crushed.. damaged beyond repair. I was helpless. The dreams I had been weaving right from my childhood days crumbled. I recoiled back inside my cocoon.

I was longing to meet him. But all I could have was a short glimpse. That too with the whole world around me. Why did he turn blind to my overflowing heart? Why did he turn deaf to my amorous heartbeats? Was I not worthy enough to love… and to be loved? The pangs of unreturned love is hard to bear. There are times when I wish I was silent about my inner passion. I cant stop loving him without stopping my heartbeats. It is 2.00am, and still I am wide awake… dreaming, desiring… I dream of him, near me, caressing, cuddling, caring… and then they scatter and shatter… I wont be able to get even a wink tonight. Thoughts of him crowd around. It is as if I’m with him, my head on his lap, feeling his warmth, his passion, his love…

No.. it has to stop. Not my love for him, but the expression of my feelings. It is time for me to take my emotions back, pack it airtight in my suitcase, and keep it deep under. I shouldn’t let it get away. Eventhough I love him deeply, eventhough I pine for him,I should never let it out again. Let me live in my own silence… Goodbye, my sweetheart… goodbye…

Lazy Whispers....

Laziness and me are siamese twins. It trails me unfailingly wherever I go. I dream a lot, but my laziness stops me from realizing that dream. I make endless list of to-do-things every day. But at the end of the day, the list remains as the list.. nothing done.

Now just 4 more days for me to go home. I have to be busy now.. with cleaning, clearing, packing, unpacking, shopping, shoving… And my gymming too. My maid has disappeared suddenly during this critical time, and now it is me and myself with tons of unfinished work. I don’t have a minute to spare. But here I am, sitting with my laptop, dreaming high, and doing nothing. I am dreaming of my rainy days at my home. My love’d be waiting for me with outstretched arms.. How I long to snuggle in those huge arms.. How I love to get drenched in his tiny kisses.. washing away all the hurt and pains…cooling softly the hot fire of my soul. He’d sneak in through my windows when the whole world is in slumber, and would softly kiss my eagerly awaiting face.. He’d whisper sweetly in my ears, and would trickle down… melting against my skin…. Sometimes he’d come with such fury and hunger, and would carry me away with him in a single sweep. I was committed to him from a very young age, and had always welcomed him with a deep yearning. I would close my eyes and relish him... as he strips me… feels me… deflowers me… And then, the distant rumblings! I dare not open my eyes, or else the dream might shatter… that I was alone with my memories.

My house is in a mess now. Hubby and kids are competing with me as to who’d make the biggest mess in the house now that the shopping has started. Carrybags from different supermarkets are scattered all over the house. I had planned to use my maid to the maximum in this last week, and I think she’d read my mind, and ran away without looking back even once. And my kitchen is waiting for its annual clearance. How easy it’s just to look aroud and tick off the things to be done… But.. to get on my toes, and start doing it… Maybe l’d start after some time.. after finishing this blog, and after reading some other blogs, and after checking mails, and after making dinner, and after having it, and after…. and after…. and after……………………..

Tyring Whispers......

It is only a couple of weeks for my vacation.. I am elated.. and started my preparations a couple of months ago.. No, its not shopping and clearing the kitchen.. but shedding a few pounds.. as usual. Every year, before I go home, I join some or other gym and try to trim down a few kilos. Same happened this time too.

I dusted my sneakers, put on my tights (it has really become tight now), took out my t-shirt, and went to my old gym. Now there is a Karate School in its place. The gym had been closed down for well over ten months, the receptionist told me with a Didn’t-you-know-it-still look. I came out with a disheartened heart, and went in search of nearby gyms. There is an exclusively-for-ladies in the corner. “Try that”, hubby said.

Happily, I went inside. Wow.. too many pretty ladies. All slim and trim. Now what are they doing here, I wondered.. All were busy running, jogging, walking, dancing with the dumb bells… (Dumb belles with dumb bells, I said aloud in my mind, and felt at peace). Everyday measurement and strict diet, the manager informed me. I gave her my sweetest smile, and walked out. What a bore with those femme fatales! Not my cup of tea. All they will have to talk will be about reduced shapes and sizes… I need the company of some male figures, I decided.

Actually I love my handles and tyres. If it wasn’t for those nosy pokies who will ask my mom if her daughter is expecting her third, I wouldn’t ever step inside a gym. But now I have to. In the end, fed up with my mutterings, hubby dear took me to the gym in his office towers. Ohhh… I got short of breath when I saw the instructor. Indeed a handsome fellow.. with a six pack. (That info has been whispered to me by my younger son, who is crazy about those packs). Yes, I will join here, I reported to my husband. He looked at me slyly. I could read his mind reading mine clearly. I just winked and smiled. I can make you lose your tyres, Ma’am, he said confidently. Ahh.. I just loved that.. You will have to walk, he said. No problem… You will have to use dumb bells.. Well, there is nothing wrong in that, right? Especially when such a sincere trainer tells me.. And diet is a must. Of course, of course.. I am game…

And thus.. the trial began… I walked, I ran, I panted... I crunched, I crept, I crawled… I stood, I sat, I fell down… And I limped back home hungrily. But when I think of the comments I’ll have to face when I went home, I quietly move back. How easy it is to put on a few pounds… But to lose it… ahhhhhhh…..

My Aamy.....

It’s a huge shock.. My Aamy is no more. She has left this world forever.

I had started to hear more about her when I was doing my graduation. I had been an Anglo kid till then. I never used to read any Malayalam Literature. It was always English. I used to read English, write in English, laugh in English, think in English and even dream in English. But Amy changed it. No, not Aamy. She was Kamala Das for me then. I happened to see some of her English poems, and flat I fell in love with her words… I became an instant admirer. During my post graduation, I was on cloud nine when I had to learn “My Story” as a detailed text (which was not taught in a detailed manner in a conservative convent college). I read and read and embossed each word in my mind. It was my own feelings and frustrations that I saw in her works. I found many answers in her sentences.

My library began to fill with her books. My quest took me to Madhavikutty, and thus to her Malayalam works. I bought two English copies of “My Story”, and a Malayalam copy too. My friends used to laugh at my madness. The fragrance of her ancestral home with the trees and flowers and the pond intoxicated me. The conflicts of hidden emotions and her confession gave me confidence. There was a time when I had tried to see myself in her. She was an Arien, so am I... Shouldn’t we be alike? Her longing for love and her frustrations against the restrictions touched my heart. The musings of a lonely heart triggered my imagination.

I wanted to meet her in person. She had become someone very close to my heart. I started referring her as Aamy, just as her nears and dears did. She was no more a stranger to me. She was my guiding light, my unseen source of confidence. The courage she showed when she had converted herself, and her beloved Krishna to Islam thrilled me. I knew it was for love she did that.

The longing to meet her had intensified. But so was the fear… the fear of disappointment. What if she was a complete different person in real life? So the delay came. And now, when I was all ready to meet her, she left to Pune. One of my friends who is a close friend of her had promised me that once she comes back, he will introduce her to me. I was waiting for that. I was dreaming of making her write a foreword for a book which I will be writing before I disappear from this world.


But now, Aamy is gone.. she left this world without giving me a chance to meet her. I love you Aamy.. You will always remain fresh in my heart.. You will always be my invisible inspiration. You will always be…………..

WHISPERING TIMES…

The last couple of months were really hectic… busy by doing nothing. I have stopped working, and that made me busy in some other ways. I had made a list of things to do after I quit. But I realised that I had more time to read and write when I was working. Sitting at home all day means you are at the beck and call of everyone. I had planned to do more freelancing. I had a long list of to-do-things-at-home, longer than the supermarket bill. I had wanted MY time...

Do I regret quitting my job? No, I don’t think so. I had loved my job. I had a flexible job with an understanding boss close to my home. I had variety in my work. And I had enough money to buy those telephone cards which I need desperately. And I really had time for myself. But… sitting at home… I was doing NOTHING. Somebody gave a little kick on my back and asked me to start again. But still, I was lazing around. The excuse? I have no time. So where did those 24 hours disappear from my life? This lame excuse stopped me from discovering more opportunities.

My laptop was in the garage. I had made it an excuse for not writing. I have a desktop, but I wasn’t able to pen down even a sentence there. Something was tugging me back. Now that I got it back, still I am trying to find some excuse.

Today I have had enough of it. I am tired of being lazy. I am sick of playing solitude in the computer. And the kick I got today was a little harder. I jumped with a start, got on my toes, and started to move. The first step was to call back my muse who had been hiding among a pile of clusters. I cleaned the debris, and out came she with a smile. So now, I am back… Back to my old self… Back to my laptop.. Back with that long list in my hand…..

Cooking Whispers....

“How am I going to cook”, I asked him. My head was exploding with that migraine I get once in a month, as regularly as my chums. “Just put the pain out from your mind”, he said. I almost strangled him.

The thought of cooking always takes me to that edge where I want to throttle the people around me. I like to eat out. I like someone cook delicious food for me. Why strain yourself when you get the same food with much more taste outside? Why waste so much time and effort to make something when all you have to do is go down and buy it? To make our Indian food, to make it exactly like the way his mother makes… it takes a lot of my time. More than that time is spent on deciding what to cook. Two hours of deciding, two hours of shopping, two hours of cooking.. only to be polished off in 10 minutes… and then again an hour of cleaning. I hate peeling, I hate chopping, I hate stirring, I hate grinding, I hate cleaning the mess I make from all these, I hate doing the dishes, I hate cleaning the stove… all I like is the eating part. I have heard many who proclaim that they love to cook. I can’t imagine how they love it! What is there to love? You feel hot, your kitchen will become a mess, and by the time you finish making food and clear the mess you had created, you won’t feel like eating it at all. It is a real pain. When I was young, I used to think how romantic and wonderful it would feel to eat a wholesome home cooked meal prepared with love, and that watching my husband happily chowing down and thanking me in everyway was worth all the work.... but now I know that is just a foolish dream of a silly girl. Whoever had said that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach was the biggest liar ever lived.

I am not at all a bad cook. I can cook really well. I can cook delicious varieties. Still, I go for easy recipes. And I cook more than enough so that I will have plenty of left overs for the next night too. I have too many secret shortcuts that will help me to spend as little time in the kitchen as possible. If the outcome is tasty, the process doesn’t make a difference. Visiting friends is something I like… not because I can meet them and talk, but because I can close my kitchen that day. Inviting friends is another luxury. Then I have to make only one dish. The rest, arrives from the restaurant…. There are times when I really do feel guilty to my husband. But then the thought of entering the kitchen shoves away all the guilt. I have a kitchen in my house just because it comes with the house.

Cooking, once in a while, is ok. But not every day. I am fine with eating the same dish for a couple of days if it helps me not to enter the kitchen. But these men… they love home made food, but the women like to eat out. I can see the readers in two sides now, one waiting to punch me, and the other, nodding their head, smiling……

Meandering Whispers....

I woke up in the morning, no.. was woken up on that beautiful lazy Friday morning, by a nudge on my ribs from my darling husband, asking for tea. “Why don’t you make it today, for a change? Let me see how your tea tastes”, I grumbled, with two-tonned eyes. Whining about his fate to make a cup of tea, he went… and I rolled back to my slumber. I had always found that lying down with closed eyes after you wake up in the morning is more recharging. It is very difficult to come out from the warm bed… from the warmth of the blanket. It is at that time that memories come and chitchat with me. They swoosh, they swirl, they curl, they drool and make me spin in their web. And some cling.

I am thinking about my dad now. Yesterday was his death anniversary. It has been 23 long years. No, I am not being sentimental. I am past that stage. There was a time when I used to dream of treading untrodden paths holding his hands. But then one day I woke up to realise that those hands will never be there for me. And I survived without him. Wouldn’t say life was easy. To go somewhere, to decide some things… I had been denied many things in life because he was not there. If dad was alive, you could have… but now, NO… was the sentence that was often repeated.

I was a shy child. Sort of standoffish, aloof... I preferred listening to talking. It had always taken me time and energy to find my place in a group. I never talked. While my intellectual brain ripened, my outdoor life got crushed. I wanted to change. I wanted to be accepted in a crowd. I wanted to catch up what I had missed. And I tried to start talking with great difficulty. I tried to gain some energy from outside. But then I realised that talking will gain you more enemies than your silence. Was I trying to impress people with my words? The more I talked, the less control I had over myself. I started to reveal too much of myself. I was slowly becoming a prisoner of my secrets. My silence was a comfort to many. Somewhere along the way I felt that people were getting uncomfortable with my words.

When I overcame my shyness, I became more assertive. I am straightforward. And people found me bold. I have a mentor... a wise, patient, wonderful person who tells me that I am simply beautiful (which I know sounds creepy, still I believe him). He points out my best side which makes me very much proud of myself. The tint of depression which was peeking out in my life has completely disappeared. My world has its own taste, its own fragrance, its own light. The happiness I enjoy now is a song in itself. And I am not going to stop feeling this till my road ends.. or till there is nowhere else to go…………………….

Spying Whispers.........

Devakiamma knew it all! Her eyes and ears were always open. She is the perfect reporter I had ever seen. And she will make even Mata Hari droop her head in shame with her excellent spy work.

“Your daughter was on the phone for one and a half hours, that too a single call”, she would broadcast the moment my mom opened the gate after her shopping. Oh My!! I would be in my room, upstairs, with doors tightly closed. She’d never come up. I would be speaking in my lowest voice my sound box can produce. And she doesn’t know how to tell the time. But those one and a half hours will be accurate. I would be doing just that.

“Her friend came and they were inside the room for a long time”, she would announce on another occasion. Everyone could feel the suspicion dangling out from her voice, and slowly spreading to my mom’s face. For God’s sake, we are not lesbians!! Even though many had doubted us seeing how thick we were, and the hours we would spend inside closed rooms, and on phone… Some had asked us directly too.

“Your husband came and took a piece of old cloth”, would be her another proclamation, this time to me. He might have taken it to clean something, poor fellow! “He was calling someone and making plans to go out”, she said. Now, that was something I liked. I can still remember vividly the look of disbelief on his face when I countered him with this info.

“Your daughter’s bed looks like an elephant had trampled on it”, I heard her telling my mother one day. (As if she was sleeping with someone was left unsaid). Her eyes were full of suspicion. She could hear nothing, and she didn’t see anyone going up. Then how come the bed sheet crumpled so much was her unasked question. I couldn’t help but give her a mysterious smile, which would have surely left her sleepless for at least two or three nights.

No one knew where Devakiamma would be. No one will see her anywhere near. No one could feel her presence. But she sees the whole lot. She hears everything. Who came and when, with what, and talked what, everything she would know. She would know how many calls you made, to whom, and what you were talking about, even if you would be talking in encrypts. My educated cousins would never be able to make heads and tails out of those conversations. But the uneducated illiterate Devakiamma could unlock all the secret codes. And she would keep my mom updated about everyone and everything. No one could take even a stone from my house. Not even a stray dog could enter without her permission. And she is controlling those who are, though 30 plus, unable to utter a word in front of her…