Write here, write now

  Thottam House At five, ante meridiem, the train screeches to a halt, Squawky hawkers and porters wake the passengers up with a jolt. Bleary eyed and ruffled hair, we detrain at Palakkad Junction, The morning Sun, chirping birds and a gushing Bharathapuzha, welcome us in unison. We walk into Thottam House, that is no younger than a hundred and fifty years, Through time and tide, it has housed our ancestors. What is so special about it, you may ask, Chithi concocting a kaapi that you want to store for eternity, in a thermos flask. The Sun’s rays penetrating the ottuparai and the adukkulai ventilator, My childhood doesn’t know of joys greater. As I walk around the house like a curious cat, I stumble upon old photos, baubles and this and that. As I go deep into the house, there is a door that opens into the kollai, I glide into the thicket, like a dancer would in a ballet. “Don’t go too far dee,” I hear my brother cry, For fear that I may step on a slithering fella, oh so shy! I walk...

  Sainikpuri’s calls Have you been to Sainikpuri? I grew up in Sainikpuri’s tree-lined avenues, Nature’s bounty and seasonal vicissitudes.  The name makes one reckon tanks and cannons, And orderlies diligently carrying out orders; Sainikpuri is all of that and a haven for birders. The morning blue skies are dotted with flying specks, What might they be, you may wonder.  The usual suspects; Flying hither and yonder; On a faraway tree sits a black bird,  Wafting and flapping its wings,  Emulating perfectly, the crow.  Do not be fooled by the charade,  For this one is not convivial.  It all is just a façade!  Nestling comfortably in the crow’s abode without hem and haw,  It does not even caw.  On a nearby branch, sits a purple neck,  It chirps and whoops, with a beak shaped like half hoops.  It might well be Miss Muffet’s mate,  For it makes spiders abate.  Then there is the fortune teller’s favourite,  That pi...

  Another Me On a sunny morning, Mr.Frogward spruced himself up; As he was leaving ,he heard his son, Polliwog cry; Have a nice day Pa!  Before you leave,  don’t forget to button up. He brandished  his hat and kissed Mrs. Frogward goodbye. He hopped over the rain-kissed hyacinth, Skipped over the river pebble; He croaked a little and went ribbit, ribbit, Oh what a Merry day this, not a niggle. He went deeper Into the forest, Looking hither and thither; Taking care not to rest, For he had to dodge Mr.Hiss’ shine and slither. He heard the Master Cricketer chirping, He saw Ms. Spideress spinning a fancy web, Mr.Frogward heard his stomach rumbling, In anticipation of the feast in the making. But he got a little greedy, And went further in search of  a new epicurean delight; His feet were tired and tardy,  Rest he will not ‘cause he was working up an appetite. So doing, he reached the brink of the forest, When he looked up to see whereabouts he was; Lo and beh...

  The year was 1989. We had  gone to Palakkad to attend a cousin’s wedding at Kalpathi. Kalpathi housed our Athimberthatha and Athaipaati (maternal). It was a typical Agraharam ottuparai house with two elephant-statues adorning the entrance. It was spacious and one could get lost in its labyrinthine rooms. In those days, catering wedding feasts was not outsourced. The backyard of the house adjoining the kitchen was installed with a kitchenette called the  rendaankattu. This was primarily used during festivals or weddings to prepare feasts of gargantuan proportions. Delectable jangiris, laddoos, kaimurukkus, adirasams and the like were belted out of this mini-kitchen that had all but a kerosene stove, a varaghu aduppu and if one’s means allowed it, a gas stove and a cylinder. The cooking days running up to the wedding day or the festival day would last a week. The house came alive with guests pouring in and children running hither and thither. This particular year is etche...

  The question mark conundrum What is the conundrum, you may ask; To explain it is something I have taken up as a task. What are where, what, who, when, why, how, there for; Have you wondered ever before. Did you mark; That I have been dodging thee, oh question mark. For words such as what and who set a precedent; Make you all but redundant. At the end of a sentence you appear; For no rhyme nor for  a reason I fear. You were created for purposes other than posing a question; Your earliest  ancestor was a lightning flash to indicate rising intonation. How cleverly have you penetrated every language there is; In Gaelic, French, English, Hebrew, why, even gibberish. While you have been priding yourself on your  faux dignity; I can’t help but ponder the absurdity. You appear twice in a question in  Spanish as if once wasn’t enough; Causing us so much huff and puff. How do you come to justify such  glory; When even the Gods have to answer your every query. Oh! D...