What you're to me

Last night. 
Today early morning.
She dreamed me, she said.
A single-room cottage. 
Drizzle outside. 

Under the corner French window, we:
Kiss like there's no tomorrow. 
Kiss like it's an antidote to our poison.

Sharper nails dig in.
Multiple moans. 
Few sighs.
Deep breaths. 
Deeper eyes. 
Longer strokes. 
Delayed orgasms. 

And then, she asks me, 
What are you to me?
I answer, what you're to me.

Then, it rained again. 
Cats (less) and dogs (more).

Ek khwahish aisi...

Aapki khatir, 
Aapke liye,
Hum likhte hain
Ek khwahish aisi 
Joh poora ho jaaye
Toh phir koi khwahishein hii na rahe!

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If you pierce my eyes, I shall still kiss you. 
If you cut my tongue, I shall still smile.
If you trample my heart, I shall still pray.
If you hurt my soul, I shall still love from my grave.
If you dig up my grave, I shall be still...

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You're not the kind of woman on whom paeans will be written. The kind of woman who'll start a war between kingdoms or nations. The kind of woman who creates history. The kind of woman who changes the course of a nation.

You're definitely not that kind. 

You're the kind of woman who a man will want to come back home to. The kind of woman who'll smile and make your worries vanish. The kind of woman you wish you'd met earlier. The kind of woman you want to make love to and never stop! The kind of woman who'll make you laugh and smile through rough days. The kind of woman who can deliver.

You're the kind of woman who's great grandchildren will tell stories about her. The kind of woman who will make you want a simple life and love a dog more. The kind of woman who makes you believe in destiny. The kind of woman who'll make you fight with the gods... 

And make you win yourself against yourself.

Then it rains...

You: Scorched earth. 

I: Grey skies. 

Parched lips. 

Whiskey on the rocks.

Sweaty forehead. 

Ray-Ban sunglasses and a hat! 

Thumbs up. 

Free ride.

All talks.

All ears. 

Why?

Why not?

Can't.

Can.

No.

Yes.

Mars.

Shiva.

Tatwamasi.

Aham Brahmasmi... And then it rains.

Ras Leela

The drama of human life is living. Being alive. That's the ras of the ras leela.
Feeling everything and being all that you can be yet knowing that all these are roles. Krishna did it best. And I am on that path too...

Love the human story though... The misery, the agony, the ecstasy, the insignificant significance of it all. 

Feeling bad and feeling sad and getting hurt and getting out and letting go. 

I seek all of this as much as I seek the permanent bliss as much as I know that everything is impermanent including our ideas and identities and roles and belief systems and sciences and histories and geographies and bodies. 

Everything is in a constant flux, which also varies!

And amidst all this, a flower called love blooms for a night to wither away at dawn's first light. I know it all but I don't know it all too because I have not experienced it all yet. 

I love to start from doubt and end in doubt for what do I know for sure as truths? How many eyes do I have? How much can my ears hear?

And till then, oh world, I will live and die every moment and I will cross the rivers of love. I will break my heart and paint every color on me. I will live for an impossible dream. I live this blessing called human life. 

I will be alive.

Tere mere beech mein...

You: "You be the mouth and let me be the eyes of our strange relationship!"

Me: "Yes, I'll be happy to be the mouth. But why stop there? I'll be the ears and heart and mind while you be the soul. I'll also be the hands and feet while you be the skin. For i want to touch you always while I feel you through my multiple senses."

What made me, me!

My blog

My best friends

My break ups

My divorce

My traumas and scars

My schooling

My reading

My work

My Virupaksha

My Alandi neem tree

My Mookambika

My travels

My pilgrimages

My parents

My Kukumaster

My observations

My failures 

My decisions

My books

My muses

Brother John Anthony Keane

And last, but not the least... The loves of my life.

And because of all this, you love me and not just another guy!

You can cry

I have told you, haven't I? 

When your fingers tremble and electricity passes through your veins and nerves... When your toes curve inwards and you're breathless... 
You can cry. 

When it twitches ever so elusively... When you whisper my name with every heartbeat...
You can cry.

When one of my name's utterances find its way up to your lips...When I'll peck it from there and put my name on every inch of your pulsating body...
You can cry.

Self-discovery

Eerie hour. A cool breeze flows through the lone open window in that train's compartment. Her untied hair caresses her worried face. 

The single guy at the far end of the coach notices that she's single and alone. She's looks away from his prying eyes into the dark oblivion outside as the train chugs into the city railway station.

It's 4am and she's appears unsure as she steps her right foot outside the train door on to the platform. As if this is her big step. And she's unsure. She's never ventured out this far alone though she had traveled to Rameshwaram twice before.

The guy at the far side of the coach tries to help her with her luggage. She just ignores him. 

She takes a cab to his address. She's never met him before. She's fallen in love with the old, romantic writer in him through his blog. 

She reaches the address that he had shared in their chat long while ago. She reaches his doorstep and rings the bell.

She itches her eyebrows and shifts her weight from one leg to the other. A long pause and except her heartbeat, nothing gets louder till a truck blows its horn far across the highway near his house.

He opens the door sleepily. He yawns and his heart skips a beat as his brain registers that it's her. 

Finally, they meet. Finally, they hug. They just melt into each other's arms. She looks up at him with her questioning eyes. His drowsy eyes answer her pertinent eyes. She smiles. They don't talk. Not needed.

As he makes coffee and breakfast for her while she rests on his bed, he whistles her favorite tune for he had no clue that she was on her journey of self-discovery towards him. Just like he was. 

Now, finally, they've arrived at their common destination to start a new journey.

Blue ticks

Varsha is travelling to Coimbatore by train with her father and cousin. Her father needs medical tests and check-ups. She leans towards the window from her seat and clicks few photos along the way: a beautiful sunrise and a view of Palakkad. 

She WhatsApps the snaps to him. Meanwhile, he waits for her message. He checks his phone. And she sees blue ticks on her phone. 

Blue ticks have become a way of life now between them. A reason to smile, laugh, and hope. An 18-year-old girl has fallen in love with a romantic, old writer, who she has never met. 

It doesn't get better than this, does it?

He writes one more blog post on her and on her request to write one everyday. 

Meanwhile, the plot thickens.

Bawra mann... Aur kuch aur baatein...

Off late, I have been enraptured by this simple song with simple lyrics and music... It had become an anthem of sorts. And today, it became much more than all that.

Bawra mann dekhne chala ek sapna... 

Why is it that music consoles, cleanses, and becomes a confidante to our souls? Why does it make you feel good? Why does it keep the fire burning all through the dark nights even with heavy winds blowing? Why does it become the fuel for the eternal love that consumes itself? Why is it a vehicle between shama and parwana? 

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Your birthday is one such day. It's one of the few truths you can cling to in this samsara. Tread your feet carefully for every step takes you closer to your next truth: Death.

But make sure that your journey is as truthful and transformational as these two truths.


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He trekked up the hill and shouted to the valley a thousand I love yous.
He waits for an echo.

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You're that kind of woman who makes worship worthy of the deity. Who makes living worthy of dying.
You're just that kind of woman.

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Unke...

Tukde tukde pe pyaar
Tukde tukde pe intezaar
Tukde tukde se pyaar
Tukde tukde pe har baar
Tukde tukde mein guzaregi...

Yeh zindagii.

Kal, aaj, aur kal

Ajnabee the tum,
Tab humare hone lage.

Anjaan the tum,
Ab humare apne hone lage.

Jaane kyun tum,
Kab humare jaan hone lage...

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Then, sleepless listening to my favorite songs. 
Now, sleepless listening to your favorite songs.

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In the world of the very small and the world of the very big, there are few low probability-high risk events. Asteroids, solar flares, mass extinctions, life, and so on. In my brief lifetime itself, twice an asteroid missed the blue planet by a whisker in space miles.

Meeting twin souls is such a low probability-high risk event too. Mostly, will miss by a whisker in earth miles.

We're all waiting for the apocalypse. A bang or a whimper... But till then, this is all that we've got. This is where we make it.

Where we try. Where we achieve insignificant stuff. Where stardust gets life. Where dreams blossom. Where we cry. Where we long for. Where deities live in garbhagrihas. Where life wins and love survives...

On such a threshold

• Twilight: That time between dawn and dusk
• Vibration: That space between matter and energy
• Oscillation: That time between two extremes
• Adoration: That space between love and devotion
• Silence: That time between two heartbeats when the heart is relaxed
• Seeking: That space between understanding and knowing
• Rudraksh: That time between unmanifest and manifest
• Tune: That space between hearing and listening to music

Me: On such a threshold; always.
 

Oru Thanata January Maasathil...

Do dil jab jhudte hain,
Tab kahin naa kahin
Ek dil tuthta hain,
Aise log kehte hain.

Humne toh hamesha do dilo ko jhoda hain,
Joh tute hue dil kii baat log karte hain,
Woh sirf hamara ho...

Par hum jaante hain,
Kambhakt yeh dil tut tha hii nahin.
Chahe lakh koshish kare,
Chalta hii rehta hain,
 
Unki yaad mein...
Meri fariyaad mein.

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A long, brisk walk. The heart aches now. It needs to learn, unlearn, and relearn the drill all over again.

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An emotional storm brews at the high seas. The rats have long fled the ship. The captain, true to his oath, remains to drown with it and in it. 

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Have you been to ancient temples in the south? You'll be awestruck at most of the main deities inside their garbhagrihas. But please do spare a passing thought for the few abandoned deities you see outside along the perimeter walls in some corner...

They too are intricately carved, hold great mudras and can be affected by mantras... but alas they've been abandoned by the very gods who made them...

Some lives are like that. Devanganangal kaii ozhinyaa taarakammm...

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A spectacular love story

They had an afternoon of romantic, passionate foreplay. Sex was not necessary. It was better than sex. They looked into each other's eyes and drank nectar. They made love; no, they resonated each other. The afternoon was spectacular like a shooting star. Brief, but spectacular.

"We'll meet again later," she said. And she went back to her man. The love of her life.

A small crackle is heard. As if a violin was stretched and its strings broke. The tinkling noise fades away in the cool winter breeze. Not a bang but a whimper.
He is dead and awaits her in his next birth for that's what happens to star-crossed love: They meet again and again till they are able to love, live and die together.

As Rumi had said once upon a time, "There's a place beyond right and wrong. I'll meet you there."

Inshallah.

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I will cover the earth with kisses wherever your feet tread.

Yes, I know that that's been said before by lovers in real and on reel.

So I shall do it.

Before you step on a rock, I would've kissed it. Before you light a lamp, I would've lit it. Before you make a wish, I would've granted it. Before you go to sleep, I would've made your bed. Before you wake up, I would've made your breakfast. Before you think of me, I would've appeared in your dreams.

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In similar vein as one of my all-time favorite poems Him, in my sleep, here goes:

• Where does the essence that the word carries lie? 
• Does the wind whisper it to the rustling leaves?
• Does the lonely lamp's flame's tongue flicker it?
• Does it reach the deity's mudra and through it to the yantra below it?
• Does it reach the intended heart 500 miles away
  Through the IT superhighway?

The poet inside him pondered while
The lover inside didn't care.

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You look like a thousand lotus buds waiting to bloom. And when you smile, the first rays of the sun kiss their dewdrops and they open up.

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A poet is born from his muse. She's the source of his words, which are again his offerings to her. And the cycle is complete. And the cycle continues.

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As another night closes in... and a long-distance train chugs on and whistles nearby, i rest with peace. For tomorrow's just another day. And love is always around the corner. Revitalized and renewed. Understood and undersigned by the two soul's hearts beating far away from each other but in unison.

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Same words from two different people express different silences.

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The rest of whatever I feel and I want to say I shall swallow. Words, like forbidden love, have no space in our human ecosystem.

The voyage

Every once in a while, you set out on a journey. Then again, every once in a while, you set out on a pilgrimage. But ever so rarely, you set out on a voyage that is much more than a journey and much deeper than a pilgrimage. 

The last week of December 2015 will always be remembered for the greatest voyage of my life. The stormy seas and high waves collided both inside and outside. I had a wonderful time at Thrikaripuram, about 45 km from Kannur. This small town/village is an undiscovered tropical paradise. Virgin beaches and backwaters beckon you from every direction... They seek your mindspace and make you wish you had never landed there in the first place because you really don't want to leave from here ever! 

Picture this: A full blue moon night with the moon high on the sky... A million stars come out from wherever they were hiding... You're on a bridge across a river and you hear a temple song echoing in the backwaters... Just when you feel that this is as picturesque as it can get, you hear chenda vadiyams in rhythm that makes the atmosphere sacred and esoteric at the same time...Time stands still for a long time till a water snake makes its way across the full moon's reflection in the river... The ripples continue their journey till they disturb the reflections of few coconut trees along the river's banks! A lone boatman ferries across the horizon where the temple song emanates from.

At that very moment, I told one of the people who were on the bridge with me: "If you ever fall in love and you know that she's the love of your life, get her here. On such a magical night, she'll never say no!"

I stayed at a beloved friend's place and his family welcomed me like I was their own prodigal son. They made me feel at home and I felt at home. Loved meeting and interacting with all his people and especially, his elder sister. Some connections happen just like that; without any rhyme or reason.

The first theyyam experience of my life: At a powerful Devi temple, in full moonlit night, I saw a temple lit with oil lamps... And then, I saw a man, adorned with heavy brass attire, who among the crowd, looked me in the eye. That moment was otherworldly. Eerie, silent, dark, and brooding. 

He shook the sword with his right hand and with the left, flung an arrow... The sound of his anklets still ring in my ears. He danced and walked just like how the gods would've walked the Earth.

Words are never enough

But as a poor poet, words are all he has. 

They're his brahmastras! He knows that these very words he sends towards his beloved are not real. For they only carry the essence of his reality, his feelings, and his emotions. 

In a world full of absolutes, we have made words for variables and variable constants. In a world of union, we have words like dwaita and adwaita. What a poet he must have been to coin the word: adwaita... I can make love to it all day long... For the closest translation possible is 'One without a second, without another'. What a thought... What an emotion... What bliss he would have felt to come up with an eureka moment when he coined adwaita!

The poet doesn't know what is forbidden love. Just like the five elements and their gods, he doesn't discriminate.

But alas, in a war of love, the poet loses the battle always. Because few words fade away, few words scatter, most of their meanings are lost, their essence is exhausted. His target may move ahead or dodge him. He then resorts to songs. The songs plead with the wind... But the winds of change are too busy. They take their own sweet time. Meanwhile, the songs sweat. They bleed. They dry up along with chapped lips from where they began their journey. 

He yearns to win the war though. And that's why he writes. Trying hard to polish every word in his arsenal, he takes a final look into his quiver. There is an aching heart and a few mantras and tantras scattered around. Words, primordial sounds, and their geometric forms collide together inside his heart and he releases his biggest weapon: himself - naked, nude, and true.

His heavy heart sighs and a salty tear or two escapes his red eyes above. He can barely type with shivering fingertips but that's what he is doing. For he can only love and write. He has not known or learned anything else. He does not know the ways of the world. He does not know how not to love his beloved.

And when a candle shines throughout the dark night, he hopes that finally a dawn will break when his words will eventually reach his beloved goddess. When the goddess will awake and beyond the field of right and wrong, they'll meet. 

Inshallah.