scattered visions - ചിതറിയ കാഴ്ച്ചകള്‍

അവസാനത്തെ അമ്പ്

2009-05-19T03:50:00.000-07:00

മഹായുദ്ധഭൂമിയില്

‍ഞാണൊലികള്‍

കിന്നരനാദമായി മാറുമ്പോള്‍,

സൈന്യവേഗങ്ങള്

‍ചന്തമാര്‍ന്ന നൃത്തരൂപമെടുക്കുമ്പോള്

‍എന്നെ തേടിവവരുന്ന

അവസാനത്തെയീയമ്പിന്‍റെ കവിത

ഹാ! എത്ര മനോഹരം.

എന്റെ ഭുവനം

2009-05-14T20:12:00.000-07:00

രണ്ടുനിമിഷങ്ങൾക്കിടയിലെ

അനന്തകാലം;

അശ്വവേഗങ്ങളുടെ പെരുവെള്ളം;

താഴ്‌വാരമാകെ തുളുമ്പി നിൽക്കുന്നു

സിംഹാരവം പോലെയീ മൗനം.

അർദ്ധത്തിൽ നിന്നും

അർദ്ധാദ്ധാർതയിലേയ്ക്ക്‌,

അർത്ഥം മറയുന്ന സൂക്ഷ്മത്തിലേയ്ക്ക്‌

സെക്കന്റ്‌ സൂചിയുടെ ഹൃദയത്തിലേയ്ക്ക്‌.

ധവളപൂരിതം

ഉജ്ജ്വലമോഹനം

സ്ഥൂലകാലങ്ങൾക്കിടയിൽ

ഒളിഞ്ഞിരിക്കുന്നയെന്റെ ഭുവന്‍

മണ്ണിരകള്‍

2009-05-14T20:09:00.000-07:00

എന്റെ വേരുകളിൽ

നനവിന്റെ സംഗീതമൊരുക്കി

ദൈവത്തിന്റെ മാത്രം ലിപികളിൽ

അവർ എഴുതിയിരുന്ന വരികൾ;

അവയെ ഞാൻ എത്ര മാത്രം സ്നേഹിച്ചിരുന്നു!

അവരില്ലാത്ത

ഈ മണ്ണിന്റെ ഏകാന്തത

എത്ര ഭീതിദമായ ദുസ്സ്വപ്നം

രണ്ടു ചെറുചോദ്യങ്ങള്‍

2009-05-14T20:05:00.000-07:00

എങ്ങനെ?

ചില നേരങ്ങളില്‍ ഞാന്‍ അങ്ങനെയാണ്

ചില നേരങ്ങളില്‍ ഇങ്ങനെയും

അങ്ങനെയുമിങ്ങനെയുമല്ലാതെ

പിന്നെ ഞാനെങ്ങെനെയാകണം?

ആര്‍ക്കുവേണ്ടി?

ഒരിക്കല്‍ എനിക്കുവേണ്ടിയെഴുതി

ഞാനഴുകിയില്ലാതായി;

പിന്നെ നിനക്കുവേണ്ടി,

നീ അലിഞ്ഞില്ലാതായി.

ദൈവമേ,

ഇനി ഞാനാര്‍ക്കുവേണ്ടിയെഴുതും

ദിനചര്യ

2009-05-14T20:04:00.001-07:00

എന്നും

കൃത്യം ബ്രഹ്മമുഹൂർത്തത്തിൽ

അവനെണ്ണീക്കും;

കുളിച്ചു വൃത്തിയായി വന്ന്

കവിത ചുരത്തും.

അളവിലോ തൂക്കത്തിലോ കുറവില്ലാതെ നിത്യവും.

ഒരു തുള്ളി പോലും കളയാതെ

കറവ മെഷിൻ

അവയെല്ലാം ഊറ്റിയെടുക്കും;

കവറുകളിലാക്കി

ബ്ലോഗിലെ ഫ്രീസറിൽ വെയ്ക്കും

കരച്ചില്‍

2009-05-14T20:02:00.000-07:00

ഒരു ബുദ്ധനായാണവൻ പിറന്നത്‌

കരച്ചിലോ ബഹളമോ കൂടാതെ!

ഓടിക്കൂടിയ ഭിഷഗ്വരവൃന്ദം;

അലമുറയിട്ട ബന്ധുജനം;

മരുന്നും പ്രാർത്ഥനകളുമായി

അവനെ ആദ്യമായി കരയിച്ചു.

അങ്ങനെ, കണ്ണീരില്ലാതെ കരയുന്ന

വെറും മനുഷ്യനായി

ആകാശത്തിൽ നിന്നുമവൻ പൊഴിഞ്ഞു വീണു.

പിന്നെയവന്റെ ഏങ്ങലടികളും

വിലാപവും നിവർത്തുവാൻ

ശതാബ്ദങ്ങളോളം

ഒരു പിപ്പലമരം കാത്തിരുന്നു.

passport

വിചാരണ

2009-05-13T22:05:00.000-07:00

സ്വസ്ഥമായിക്കിടന്നുറങ്ങിയ കവിയെ

പ്രേതരാത്രിയുടെ രണ്ടാംയാമത്തിൽ

അലറിക്കൂടിയ ആസ്വാദകർ

വിചാരണ ചെയ്യുന്നു.

നിന്റെ തിളച്ചവരികൾ

ഈ രാത്രിയിൽപോലും

ഞങ്ങളുടെ കുഞ്ഞുങ്ങളുടെ

സ്വസ്ഥതയറക്കുന്നു.

നിന്റെ വാക്കുകളിലെ കറുപ്പു

ഞങ്ങളുടെ ഗ്രന്ഥ്പ്പുരകളെ

പ്രണയങ്ങളോടൊപ്പം

എരിയിച്ചു കളയുന്നു.

കൊടും രാവിന്റെ ശൈത്യം

ഇറ്റിറ്റുവീഴുന്നക്രൂരകാലങ്ങളിൽ

ഊഷ്മാവരുളിയകമ്പിളികൾ

നീ വെട്ടിനിറുക്കുന്നു.

പ്രതീക്ഷകളുടെ ജീവാരുവിയിൽ

വിഷ്ച്ചാറ്‌ പകർന്ന നിൻ കവിതകൾ;

വാകുകൾ ഭക്ഷിച്ച ഞങ്ങളുടെ

ഉദരങ്ങളിലർബുദം പിറക്കുന്നു.

സ്വന്തം കവിതയുടെ കൊലക്കയര്

‍മുറുകിയ്യാഴങളിലെറിയപ്പെട്ട കവി

പട്ടുമ്മെത്തയില്‍ നിന്നും

പിടഞ്ഞെണീക്കുന്നു

Another season starts- Its autumn for sure

2009-05-08T21:14:00.000-07:00

May is the cruellest month

when hopes perish out in my parched fields!

that was the end of all imaginations. Now back to square one but one level up. just repeating what it said initially .

This set of poems just took birth out of me during another episode of intense love - as usual passionate still lonely. Kept all the poems in a word file imagining always about presenting it along with my proposal. I may be destined to be the prisoner of unrequitted loves.

This time too, it was nipped before it bloomed. No grand stages of love seeking occured; it happened such silently and complicatedly. Obviously I didnt have any chnace of handing over my poems too. I dont want to set those poems on fire. I am presnting it to the open world, at least the poems should see the breath and warmth of an open world.

But quite differently from the last time, I am emerging out of it, although painfully but with a mission. I will keep on singing about the hope till my death.

The poems are arranged as it occured chronolgically starting with a love letter(2 months back), and ending with the ഭരതവാക്യം(just one week old and the top).

ഭരതവാക്യം - (പ്രണയകാണ്ഡം- soliloquies in love)

2009-05-08T21:02:00.000-07:00

നിന്നിലേയ്ക്ക്‌

നൂൽപാലങ്ങളും

കുറുക്കുവഴികളും വിട്ട്‌,

പൊള്ളുന്നയുരുളൻ ക്കല്ലുകളുടെ

ആത്മാക്കളലറിവിളിക്കുന്ന

താഴ്‌വാരങ്ങളിലൂടെ;

ദൈവമേ,

നിന്നിലേയ്ക്ക്‌

രാജവീഥികളില്ലല്ലോ?

ദൈവത്തിലേക്കുള്ള നൂല്പ്പാലമാണു നീ എന്നു എഴുതി തീര്‍ത്തിരുന്നു. എല്ലാ കുറുക്കുവഴികളും വിട്ട് അവനിലേക്കു ഞാന്‍ നടക്കേണ്ടിയിരിക്കുന്നു. പൊള്ളുന്നതെങ്കിലും സഫലമായ യാത്ര.

വീട് - (പ്രണയകാണ്ഡം- soliloquies in love)

2009-05-08T20:59:00.000-07:00

ഇനിയൊരു വീടു പണിയുമെങ്കില്‍
എനിക്കു വേണം
കരയുവാനൊരു മുറി
സ്വപ്നം കാണുവാന്‍ മറ്റൊന്ന്‌
രണ്ടിനെയുമിണക്കി തീര്‍ക്കുവാന്‍
ഒരു വാതില്‍

തിരിച്ചറിവു പോലെ ശിശിരം കടന്നു വന്നു. ഇനി ഇല പൊഴിയും കാലം. പ്രാര്‍ത്ഥനയുടെയും.. കണ്ണീരും കിനാവും പരസ്പരം കുശലം പറയട്ടെ.

അലച്ചില്‍ - (പ്രണയകാണ്ഡം- soliloquies in love)

2009-05-08T20:57:00.000-07:00

ഓരോ നിമിഷവും

നിരഞ്ജനാതീരത്തെ

പിപ്പലത്തണലുകൾ;

കാലം നിശ്ചലമാകുന്ന

നദീഘട്ടങ്ങൾ.

എന്നിട്ടും നാമിന്നുമലയുന്നു

വെട്ടികളഞ്ഞ ബോധീമരം തേടി.-

totally inspired or even picked directly from Ayyappapanikkar’s kurukshethram

"ബോധീവൃക്ഷത്തണല്‍ പറ്റിനില്‍ക്കണ്ട

ബോധമുള്ളിലുദിച്ചീടുവെങ്കില്‍"

ഋതുഭേദങ്ങള്‍- ഇതു പ്രണയകാലം - (പ്രണയകാണ്ഡം- soliloquies in love)

2009-05-08T20:51:00.000-07:00

ഓരോ പ്രണയവും

കടന്നുവരുന്നത്

കവിതകളുടെ തളിരിലകൾ

പൊടിച്ചുക്കൊണ്ട്.

ഏകാന്തവൃക്ഷത്തിന്‍റെ

നിറഭേദം;

ആഹ്ലാദത്തിന്‍റെ ചിലപ്പ്.

ആകാശത്തിന്‍റെയീത്തുണ്ട്

എന്നേക്കുമൊതുക്കുവാൻ

കാലപ്രവാഹത്തിനെ

ധ്യാനിക്കുന്ന നിശ്ശബ്ദവൃക്ഷം.

എങ്കിലും സംവത്സരങ്ങൾ

സമ്മാനിക്കുന്ന മോതിരങ്ങൾ

ഏറ്റുവാങ്ങിയവൻ

ശിശിരത്തെ മുഖാമുഖം കാണുന്നു.

********************************************************

“When you touch a tree, you become a tree” – a dialogue from 8^th Day.

“അവർ ഇടയനില്ലാത്ത ആടുകളെ പോലെ പരിഭ്രാന്തരും നിസ്സഹായരുമായിരുന്നു"

Autumn?? -( പ്രണയകാണ്ഡം- soliloquies in love )

2009-05-08T20:46:00.000-07:00

കാരണമറിയാത്ത ദുഃഖഭാരവുമായി അവള്‍ വീട്ടിലേക്കു. പ്രാര്‍ത്ഥനയോടെ ഞാനും...

Never did I imagine

The autumn would come such soon,

And furious freezy winds

Will challenge my budding hopes.

Towards the horizon

My branches yearned to console you.

But, I should respect your space.

My roots shouldn’t hassle

Your streams of life.

I can do only this-

Raise my naked branches to eternity

And pray for you.

Each moment

Throbbing sighs, Rosary prayers

Till my love see her spring.

സമാധാനം – ചുള്ളിക്കാട് (പ്രണയകാണ്ഡം- soliloquies in love)

2009-05-08T20:45:00.000-07:00

” നമ്മുടെ സമാധാനം

രണ്ടു കതിനകളെ കൂട്ടിയിണക്കുന്ന

വഴിമരുന്നിന്‍റെ ഇടവേളയാണ്‌,

അതു തീ കാത്തിരിക്കുന്നു! “ സമാധാനം – ചുള്ളിക്കാട്

Prophet on love- Gibran -(പ്രണയകാണ്ഡം- soliloquies in love)

2009-05-08T20:42:00.000-07:00

“When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams
as the north wind lays waste the garden. “

Only later I realized - love can be sometimes too painful to follow

നൃത്തം- (പ്രണയകാണ്ഡം- soliloquies in love)

2009-05-08T20:39:00.000-07:00

എനിക്കു വിശ്വസിക്കാൻ പറ്റുന്നില്ല

എന്റെ കൈവിരലുകളിൽ നിന്നും

വാക്കുകളൊഴുകുന്നു.

പ്രപഞ്ചത്തിന്റെ ശൂന്യഗർത്തങ്ങളിൽ

അവ നൃത്തമൊരുക്കുന്നു.

ഓരോ കോശങ്ങളിലും

നിന്നുമൊരായിരം കാഹളധ്വനി മുഴങ്ങുന്നു

എല്ലാ കെട്ടുപാടുകളും സ്വയമഴിയുന്നു.

ദൈവത്തിനും എനിക്കുമിടയിലെ

നൂല്പാലമാവുകയാണു നീ.

ഞാൻ അഴിഞ്ഞില്ലാതവുന്നീ നിമിഷം.

ഒരു ധ്യാനഗീതം പോലെ

വീശിയടിക്കുന്ന ഹേമന്ദമാരുതൻ.

കൊഴിഞ്ഞലിഞ്ഞു തീർന്ന

അഹംബോധങ്ങൾ.

പച്ചിലകളെ സ്വപ്നംകാണുന്ന

കെട്ടഴിഞ്ഞ ശാഖി.

ഈ നിമിഷത്തിന്റെ പൂർണതയാവട്ടെ നീ.

*********************************************

Chronicle of my love - (പ്രണയകാണ്ഡം- soliloquies in love)

2009-05-08T20:27:00.000-07:00

These poems happened during Easter holidays Day 1 day 2 Day 3. First time, the spirit of a lonely tree possessed me. Some more tree poems are to follow. My love I am sure it was unconditional, as I always believed it should be.

Day 1 back home

Why do I wait for messages,

As if from the heaven above

A sign for each moment;

On my bluish mobile screen

Each beep, I hope in you.

One more night has passed

What do I still wait for?

For hope is eternal,

The wait for love, such long!

How do I know whether you are

A Realist or a romantic

A believer or a rationalist;

But I love this moment

And I become this moment

Peeling me away into

the nakedness of this moment.

****************************************************************

Day 2

How shall I love you?

Like an old tree yearning for the love

Of the sky seeking bird?

It will extend the arms for it

Will let the burns in the heart as the comforting nests,

Ask for nothing

But a silent plea to return

And fill the vacuum.

My love should be a soaring kite

Unattached by the string;

Still enjoying you in the expanse of sky

Hoping you will feel my shivering hands

And a heart that prays to the heaven.

Love should be set free, unfettered by conditions.

*************************************************************

Day 3

This morning,

I saw the foot prints of a poet

In my courtyard,

In the bluish bit of morning sky,

Imprinted by the migratory birds of love!

**************************************

I don’t know

Whether these words will ever reach your hands;

Whether you will kiss my drenched words;

The warmth in a numbing frost;

A dew drop in my deserted wastelands!

***************************************

footline: Such a doomsday prediction, my words never reached her :-(

നിനക്കും ദൈവത്തിനും (പ്രണയകാണ്ഡം- soliloquies in love)

2009-05-08T20:26:00.000-07:00

നിറഞ്ഞു നിൽക്കുന്ന ശൂന്യത

പ്രകമ്പനം കൊള്ളുന്ന മൗനം

ഞാനും നീയും തമ്മിൽ

രഹസ്യങ്ങൾ കൈമാറുന്നു.

മുന്തിരിപ്പടർപ്പുകൾക്കിടയിൽ,

ഈടയസംഘത്തിന്റെ മേച്ചിൽപ്രദേശത്ത്‌,

കത്തുന്ന സൂര്യന്റെ മരുഭൂവിൽ

നമ്മൾ പരസ്പരം മന്ത്രിക്കുന്നു.

ഞനെന്നും നീയെന്നുമില്ലാതെ

മഞ്ഞേന്നോ വെയിലെന്നോ തിരിക്കാതെ

നിന്റെ ജീവജലത്തിന്റെ ഒഴുക്ക്‌

എന്റെ വരണ്ടതടങ്ങളെ ഊർവ്വ്വരയാക്കുന്നു.

വിലാപങ്ങളുടെ പെരുമഴതോർന്നു

മഹമാരിവീശിയടിച്ചു തകർന്ന പട്ടണം

നിന്റെ സ്നേഹത്തിൽ പുതുക്കി പണിയുന്നു

നിന്റെ ഹൃദയാഗ്നിയിൽ ചുട്ടവാക്കുകളാൽ

പ്രേമലേഖനം (പ്രണയകാണ്ഡം- soliloquies in love)

2009-05-08T20:22:00.000-07:00

ഞാൻ നിന്നെ സ്നേഹിക്കുന്നു

നദിയിലേയ്ക്കാര്‍ത്തനായി പായുന്ന

കൈത്തോടു പോലെ;

ഭൂമിയെ ചുംബിക്കാൻ കുതറി വീഴുന്ന

ഒരു മഴത്തുള്ളി പോലെ;

കൊടുംകോലാഹലത്തിന്‍റെ നഗരത്തിൽ

തന്‍റെ അന്ധഗായകനെ

തിരയുന്ന ബാംസുരി പോലെ

നിന്‍റെ ശിഖരങ്ങളിൽ

പച്ചിലച്ചാർത്തുകളിൽ

സുരക്ഷിതമായ കിളിക്കൂടു തേടുന്നു

എന്‍റെ നഷ്ടകാമനകാലത്തിൻ

അപൂര്‍ണസ്വപ്നങ്ങളുടെ നിറവിനായി.

ഇതന്‍റെ പ്രേമലേഖനം.

കൊടുങ്കാറ്റിന്‍റെ ആരവങ്ങള്‍ക്കിടയിൽ

ഒരു മെഴുതിരിവെട്ടത്തിന്‍റെ ജ്വലനം.

നിത്യാന്ധകാരത്തിന്‍റെ കല്ലിച്ചസന്ധ്യയിൽ

എന്നിലുണര്‍ന്നിരിക്കുന്ന അകക്കണ്ണ്.

സ്വപ്നങ്ങളുടെ വ്യാഖ്യാനം

ദുര്‍ഗ്രഹമായി ചിതറിതെറിക്കുന്ന

ബിംബകരാളതകള്‍ക്കിടയിൽ

അപ്രാപ്യമായ സംഗീതപ്രവാഹം.

ചിതറിയവര്‍ണ്ണങ്ങൾ

നിന്‍റെ ചിത്രത്തിൽ

പൂര്‍ണ്ണത കണ്ടെത്തെട്ടെ.

പ്രണയകാണ്ഡം- soliloquies in love

2009-05-08T20:03:00.000-07:00

But quite differently from the last time, I am emerging out of it, although painfully but with a mission. I will keep on singing about the hope till my death.

The poems are arranged as it occured chronolgically starting with a love letter(2 months back), and ending with the bharathvaakyam(just one week old). so from next post onwards.

Gulabi Talkies—The lament and hope of an island

2009-04-16T17:14:00.000-07:00

(a pre script- Please read the synopsis of the film in Wikipedia(recorded faithfully by my friend Subin)

Girish Kasaravalli, the Kannada one man new wave movement, for many reasons has been overlooked amidst the swarming colossuses who dominated the Indian film world. Many times, limelight was hogged by likes of Adoor and Bengali film makers, for various reasons. Yet no one could ignore this man, Kasaravalli who made his niche mark into the art of film despite the constrictions including finance and latest technologies. What else could one say, when he managed to shoot his latest film- a magnum opus in all terms- in a rather to be extinct 16 mm film. When latest film technologies are easily accessible to any novice who is willing to compromise, he had to stick on to the old medium. That’s a survival story based only on passion for films and fascination for society, where each shot fulfills grand role of completing ones own existence.

I was given a go ahead gignal by my friend who happened to see the film in Osian film festival, where it won the best film accolade. I was rather anxiously waiting for its screening at International Film Festival of Kerala (IFFK) 2009. No exaggeration, I was blown off by its mesmerizing charm. A charm, beneath which lies the microcosm of community ripped through by changes around it. The sense of belonging and existing, challenged by the centrifugal forces of strives and impalpable conflicts. And, no wonder, I was bewitched by it to attend the second screening too, the call of the sea was irresistible, so too was desperate quest of Gulabi’s chirping laughter.

A film exploring the inner conflicts of a woman - as all embracing as earth, as all igniting as divine fire, charcoal swept aside by the broom, but with a passion to flare up and weld the universe into one. How else should one describe the optimism of Boobamma( Local term for a Muslim woman) – Gulabi? Her effervescent laughter, her quirky passion for moving pictures, her resolute reply while forced to leave the village for ever?

“Boobamme how will you manage to live outside?”

“As long as woman gives birth, Gulabi will manage to live”

Rather than expressing her profession as a midwife, when this declaration comes as the last dialogue from a film, it accrues the aura of unending passion for life, the ever pervading hope about life, that the future generations will heal our wounds.

This is a marvelous film, ranging from the camera to the music, from sound mixing to the exceptional thespian performance, a film that attaches to my heart, the only film I wanted to watch again and again in the last IFFK. Now I am feeling a strange parallel between Almodovar( my icon as a contemporary director). The way they center the cinematic explorations around the intricacies of female characters, the way they sympathize with the unexplored passions of life, does this give me an answer to my question – almodovar of India? His films -Dweepa, Nayi neerali, Thayi Saheba, Hasina- all centered on the exploration of women mind. Exceptional was his cinematic take on this territory. Still then, this soft speaking director had been ignored by the film critics and serious film watchers. Kasarvalli can even be termed as the antipode to the male centric perspective of Adoor films. Starting from Gatashradha, this line of approach is visible in Kasarvalli’s films. During a conversation or any forums, he will be the mildest voice there, not forcing his way through, a simple man who is approachable by any one. I was telling my Friend Subin, the same thing; it is as if he is using all those unspent forces to speak through his films.

More pertinent is the social milieu of the film and its period setting. The film is set in a coastal Karnataka region, probably southern areas during the 90s. The communal polarization triggered by the Hindutva elements started in the 90s, wide spread communal tensions that further saw the consolidation of rightist elements, the frenzy of patriotism unleashed by a war cutting a deep schism into the already fragile society and the emergence and cementing of ‘we’-‘they’ binaries- all happened in 90s especially in the coastal areas of Karnataka. When the Mangalore was further in news for its violence on minorities and the Rama Senas! , the film is a historical investigation, not into the objective reasons but as a painful chronicle of this ‘divide’. It throws up questions into the public domain.

The dimensions handled by this film are plenty- I wonder how one can deal with such varied themes in single film. The oppression of women, the quest for freedom by women, struggle for livelihood, mechanization, loss of work’s meaning, ‘we’-‘they’ divides, resolute and brave life of Gulabi, as if challenging her husband who has deserted her for another woman, the love still flaming up for him, selfish passions, globalization and encroaching international fleets, the invasion of satellite TVs, war jingoism! – the themes still count on and on! The exemplary feature aiding the success is their subtle handling. Many threads are laid before you, no clear cut answers, only complicated intertwined scenario, demanding you to answer. Nothing is thrusted down your throat. It’s a palette, a social milieu which is not an isolated island. A social reality which is well embedded into the national politics and economy, mired with the patriarchal norms and oppression, the beliefs and hierarchies- an artist’s creation cant be a microscopic portrayal of a single dimensional theme, as proclaimed by some individualist masters!(or mastur____! ).

Politics of the film is provoking, each shot is political, it launches grenades into the oppressive male dominated structures, ramming into the black-white portrayals of patriotism. In the end when Gulabi is chased away from her village by the goons, she is resisting and clinging back into her home. She is forcefully evacuated from her home with her sitting in a yogic posture amassing the aura of a Devi- and quite a more than coincidental similarity with Durga Devi immersions when they take her in the same posture to the lake only to be thrown into the boat. What does it connote, that she will be back as Devi? One more scene comes into my mind, when Gulabi hears horn of a Ship encroaching their fishing area, she kept on searching for it, only the waves reveal before her, but the horn is for real for it denotes the impending trumpet which will strike down all their survivalist fortifications. The shore was let open to the foreign fishing boats as shown during the credit. Surely the horn is haunting us; it is such real yet made ambiguous by the richness and mesmeric colors of satellite TVs.

How the identities start demarcating their boundaries is a serious line of query by the film. Initially Gulabi, a muslim woman and although ,thus ostracized by others-not amounting to any physical harms, doesn’t feel at all to be part of a single identity – Muslim. She feels part of the island village. When all her community members start packing off from the village she is holding her feet there steadfastedly. –Her logic is simple “all are our people – what harm can they do”. It’s the arrival of outside elements to restore the pride of Hindu woman which triggers the crystallization of this divide. It’s the broadcasting beams from across the islands about the War, which is driving the wedge deep into their collectivity. In the end – Goon who drives her away calls her “Gulam Nabi”- her real name- she is wondering how he has come to know it as she herself has forgotten that religious name. It’s the artificial construction and vilification of identities, which is explored by the camera.

Music set by Issac Thomas Kottukapally is one of the rarest case I have seen in Indian films, where the music merges into the cinema and not as a foregrounding. Two themes repeated by him, of a melancholy loneliness( a flute composition) of Gulabi as well as the antennae theme(an alien electronic music) is well blended into the film. Equally provoking is the cinematography which uses the 16 mm film to work wonders. (I remember K Bina giving an anecdote of seeing a moviola editing device in a museum in Paris and she didn’t divulge the fact- she was using it still then!). Story of Vaidehi- a feminist writer in Kannada is reworked on many aspects, adding on to it, layers and layers of subtexts presents a diligent approach in screen writing. At the same, none of the original intentions of Vaidehi is compromised too. And finally and most importantly the performance exacted from the thespians! Wonderful and unbelievable – its my reflex. Umashankari has delivered a mind blowing acting experience, I really believe her to grab the National awards this time. Splendid performance from Pallavi as the Girl who runs away, equally great is the acting from all the non professional actors who were picked from the village itself.

Why is it, the Prophet not recognized in his own land? The film was released in just one multiplex, Bangalore. This film is not for the film goers of a haute couture world. This film is for those people who made it. But I felt comforted by the plan of Kasarvalli as spelt out in IFFK about taking the DVD rights and screening it at all the coastal villages of Karnataka. Only then, this film will attain its fuller meaning. Towards the end of the film I sat on my seat with inexplicable emotional turmoil, haunted as well as cajoled by the charm of the seas and her senseless laughter and the eventual hope

“As long as woman gives birth, Gulabi will manage to live”

Post Script: The review happened in two phases- first just after the Film festival, but hampered by frequent power outages in my village addaing to the absence of a UPS! and later this Easter time.

ചുവന്ന ഇരട്ടവാലന്‍

2009-04-10T00:21:00.000-07:00

സമുദ്രങ്ങളെ സ്വപ്നം കാണുന്നവന്‍

പ്രചണ്‍ഡസന്ധ്യകളെ ധ്യാനിക്കുന്നവന്‍

വീറുറ്റ ചെഞ്ചോരയില്‍ വിടരും പൂക്കള്‍

എങ്കിലുമൊരാങ്കലാപ്പിപ്പൊഴീ കടല്‍തീരത്ത്.

അകവും പുറവും തമ്മിലുരസിച്ചിതറുന്ന

അഗ്നിനാളങ്ങളില്‍ പൂത്തിരിപോലെ

കത്തിക്കരിയുന്ന വെടിമരുന്നുകള്‍ ഞങ്ങള്‍

ആകാശങ്ങളെ ശോഭാമയമാക്കാത്തവര്‍.

മേശപ്പുറത്തെവിപ്ലവക്കടലാസ്സില്‍

തുരന്നുനുരഞ്ഞിറങ്ങുന്ന ഇരട്ടവാലന്മാര്‍

എല്ലാ വസ്തുതയും ദഹിപ്പിച്ചിറങ്ങുമ്പോള്‍

എല്ലാപ്രതീക്ഷകളെയും വിസര്‍ജ്ജിപ്പിക്കുന്നു.

ഒരു പ്രാര്‍ത്ഥന

2009-04-10T00:09:00.000-07:00

ദൈവമേ

തരിക നീയെനിക്കെന്‍റെ നാവില്‍

എല്ലാ സ്വാര്‍ത്ഥതയും

എരിയിച്ചു കളയുന്ന അഗ്നിജലം.

എന്‍റെ കണ്ണുകളില്‍

നിഷ്കളങ്കതയുടെ മഞ്ഞുത്തുള്ളി.

നിന്‍റെ സംഗീതമൊരുക്കുവാന്‍

അദൃശ്യവീണകളായി കരങ്ങളും.

തിരികെ ചേര്‍ക്കുക നീയെന്നെ

അഹം പൊരുളറിയാത്ത,

തിരയാത്ത ശൈശവത്തില്‍.

ഓരോ അറിവിന്‍റെയും കെട്ടുകളഴിക്കുക.

ഇക്കാലത്തെ ഞങ്ങള്‍

2009-04-07T20:04:00.000-07:00

ഞങ്ങള്‍ പിറന്നപ്പോള്‍

ബാംസുരികള്‍ക്കു സുഷിരങ്ങള്‍

നഷ്ടപ്പെട്ടുക്കഴിഞ്ഞിരുന്നു.

ശ്വാസത്തിന്‍റെ താളമല്ലാതൊരു ക്രമവും

ദിനരാത്രങ്ങളല്ലാതൊരു ലയവും

ഞങ്ങള്‍ക്കുള്‍ക്കൊള്ളാനാവുന്നില്ല.

മലവീഥികളില്‍ കിഴക്കന്‍ കാറ്റ്

ഭ്രാന്തുപിടിപ്പിക്കുന്ന ജിപ്സികള്‍ മാത്രം

പ്രാചീനകാലത്തിന്‍റെ രാഗങ്ങള്‍ കേട്ടു.

മഹാസംഗീതത്തിന്‍റെ അഭൗമഗരിമ.

ഭ്രാന്താലയത്തിലെ പരേതന്മാര്‍ മാത്രം

കവിതകള്‍ ശ്രുതിമധുരമാക്കിയ പ്രവാഹങ്ങള്‍ കണ്ടു.

ഡീസല്‍മണത്തിന്‍റെ രൂക്ഷതയും

ജെറ്റുവിമാനങ്ങളുടെ മുരള്‍ച്ചയും മാത്രം

ഞങ്ങളുടെ കുഞ്ഞുങ്ങള്‍ അനുഭവിക്കുന്നു;

ഒപ്പം ഞങ്ങളുടെ കവിതകളുടെ

താളമില്ലാത്ത അര്‍ത്ഥശൂന്യതയും!

Again darwish from "Identity Card"

2009-04-05T06:36:00.000-07:00

Therefore!

Record on the top of the first page:

I do not hate man

Nor do I encroach

But if I become hungry

The usurper's flesh will be my food

Beware-beware- of my hunger

and my anger!!

last lines from Darwishs's Passport

2009-04-05T06:33:00.000-07:00

Oh, gentlemen, Prophets,

Don't ask the trees for their names

Don't ask the valleys who their mother is

From my forehead bursts the sword of light

And from my hand springs the water of the river

All the hearts of the people are my identity

So take away my passport!

Last lines from Neruda's - I am explaining a few things

2009-04-03T23:44:00.000-07:00

And you'll ask: why doesn't his poetry
speak of dreams and leaves
and the great volcanoes of his native land?

Come and see the blood in the streets.
Come and see
The blood in the streets.
Come and see the blood
In the streets!

blast from the past- കറുപ്പ്‌

2009-04-03T21:26:00.000-07:00

ഉള്ളിലെ പറയന്‍ തുടിക്കൊട്ടുന്നു വന്യം

എന്‍റെ പറയത്തിയുടെ വയറ്റിലൊരുവംശം

കാറ്റേല്‍ക്കാത്ത പടുക്കോട്ടച്ചുറ്റും

നിലമുഴുതും കന്നിനെപ്പൂട്ടിയും

ചാട്ടവാറുകള്‍ക്കു കന്നായിനിന്നും

വേദനയില്‍ നിന്നു കോലമാടിയും

പങ്കിലമീമേനിയിലമ്പുകളേറ്റു

വേദനയില്‍ ജന്മദോഷങ്ങള്‍ തീര്‍ക്കുവാന്‍ നിത്യം.

പാടുകയാണു ഞാനെന്‍ വംശമഹിമകള്‍

പങ്കജങ്ങള്‍ അര്‍പ്പിച്ചു നേദിച്ചുക്കൊണ്ട്‌.

ഏന്‍റെ ദൈവങ്ങള്‍ കറുപ്പിനെ പുല്‍കിയവര്‍,

അവര്‍ക്കിന്നു കള്ളും നൈവേദ്യവും നഷ്ടമാകുന്നു,

എന്‍റെ ഭാഷയും വായ്ത്താരിയുമറ്റു പോയി;

നീര്‍ച്ചാലുകള്‍ വരണ്ടു നദികളുണ്ടാവുന്നു

വെട്ടിപ്പിടിക്കുന്നു നദികളെന്‍ തീരത്തെ

എന്‍റെ ഉറവകളും ജപ്തിചെയ്യപ്പെട്ടു!

എല്ലാമൊന്നാകുമെന്നും പുതിയപ്രഭാത-

മുദിക്കുമെന്നുമവരോതി നിത്യം ഗീതയായി.

'ഹതോവ: പ്രാപ്സ്യസി സ്വര്‍ഗ'

ഞങ്ങള്‍ ശത്രുദേവതകള്‍ക്കായി വിളപ്പാടത്തു

കൊയ്തുമെതിച്ചു നേദിചു ശിരസ്സുകള്‍!

അമ്മതന്‍ വയര്‍കീറി വംശച്ഛേദമൊരുക്കുന്നു

ഒടുവില്‍ ഞങ്ങള്‍ ബാക്കിയായി

ദൈവങ്ങളും വാക്കുകളും നഷ്ടപ്പെട്ട്

വീണ്ടും പഞ്ചമനായി

നിലമുഴുതു, ഓടകളൊരുക്കി.

Again a poem from around 5 years back. Inspired by the fate of tribals who were instigated into the genocide in Guarath- the post Godra riots but left as scapegoats languishing in jails while the echelons of maasacre command remained scotfree. The fate of tribals who had always been outside the Savarna defined Hindu system and effectively used as pawn to settle their scores is a historic reality unfolded before our eyes. News about earlier tribals facing discrimination as usual was the trigger for the poem.

Blast from the past- - നിന്‍റെ കണ്ണുകള്‍

2009-03-19T00:31:00.000-07:00

നിന്‍റെ പേരെനിക്കറിവീല

ഹിന്ദുക്കുഷിന്‍റെ താഴ്വാരങ്ങളില്‍

നീയെന്നെ തുറിച്ചു നോക്കുന്നു

നിന്‍റെ വരണ്ട കണ്ണില്‍

ചോദ്യങള്‍ തിളച്ചു മറിയുന്നു.

എന്‍റെ നിറഞ്ഞതാലത്തില്‍

സുഖത്തിന്‍ മരന്ദം കനയ്ക്കുവാനായുന്നു,

എന്‍റെ രമ്യഹര്‍മങ്ങള്‍,

പളുങ്കുസ്നേഹത്തിന്‍ മാര്‍ബിള്‍മേടകള്‍

നിന്‍റെ ചോദ്യത്തില്‍ വിറച്ചുവീഴുന്നു.

ഒരിറക്കുജലമില്ലാതെ

ജീവന്‍ വെടിഞ്ഞനിന്‍ കുഞ്ഞിന്‍റെ

ഓര്‍മകള്‍ തല്ലിക്കെടുത്തി

'മിനറല്‍ വാട്ടറില്‍' മഴനൃത്തം ചവിട്ടിഞാന്‍.

നിന്‍റെ ജന്മപരമ്പരകള്‍

മരച്ചമണ്ണിലായിരം നുകം താഴ്ത്തിവശംക്കെട്ടു

പിന്നോട്ടു മറിഞ്ഞുവീഴുന്നു,

വിയര്‍പ്പിന്‍റെയംശവും ഛേദിക്കപ്പെട്ടു

നിരാലംബജീവികള്‍ അപ്പത്തിനായി കേഴുന്നു.

'കറുത്തുപിടച്ചയീജീവികളേതെന്ന' ചോദ്യം

ഞങ്ങളുടെ ഗവേഷകര്‍ക്കത്ഭുതമായിരുന്നു!

ഇന്നവരുടെ കണ്ണുകള്‍ മാര്‍ജാരമിഴികളായി

ഞങ്ങളുടെ രാത്രികളെ നിദ്രാവിഹീനങ്ങളാക്കുന്നു.

ചോദ്യങ്ങള്‍ ഛേദിച്ചെറിയുന്നു

പൊള്ളസംസ്കൃതിയുടെ നിശ്ശബ്ദതകെളെ!

പണ്ടെന്‍റെ പിതാമഹന്‍

നിന്‍റെ കണ്ണിലേക്ക്‌ അമ്മ്ലംചൊരിഞ്ഞു

ചെയ്ത പരീഷണങ്ങള്‍.

ചോദ്യം ചെയ്ത കണ്ണുകള്‍ ചൂഴ്ന്നെടുത്തു

നഗരകവാടം നിറച്ചെന്‍റെ പൂര്‍‌വികന്‍;

ഞങ്ങള്‍ നിനക്കു ആശിര്‍‌വദിച്ചു നല്‍കുന്നു

ആണവയുച്ഛിഷ്ടങ്ങള്‍;

നിന്‍റെ തലമുറയ്ക്കു കറുത്തീയത്തിന്‍

മലിനജലം വാഴ്ത്തിത്തരുന്നു.

സ്വാതന്ത്ര്യത്തിന്‍ കരുത്തനാം ദൈവം

നിന്‍റെ പിഴച്ചക്കണ്ണുകളെ ശുദ്ധീകരിക്കട്ടെ!

പീതവര്‍ണ്ണത്തിന്‍ സംഹാരമുനകളും

അപ്പക്കഷ്ണങ്ങളും

ഞങ്ങളുടെ ഉരുക്കുപ്പറവകള്‍ വര്‍ഷിച്ചില്ലേ.

ഇന്നു നിന്‍‌ക്കണ്ണുകള്‍

പട്ടുടയാടകള്‍ക്കു തീ കൊളുത്തുന്നു,

എന്‍റെ വീഞ്ഞില്‍

വിഷപ്പകര്‍‌ച്ചകള്‍ നടനമാടുന്നു.

നഗരക്കവാടത്തിലെ കണ്ണുകളായിരം

നിന്‍റെ പിറകിലായി അണിനിരക്കുന്നു;

എന്‍റെ നഗരം ചുട്ടുപഴുക്കുന്നു;

നിന്‍റെ കണ്ണൂകളാകാശത്തേയ്ക്കുയര്‍‌ന്നു

ഗന്ധകവും തീമഴകളും തീര്‍ക്കുന്നു.

I wrote the poem 6 years back I guess! It must be sometime around Afghan Invasion. The eyes of Sarbath Gula had always haunted me. Although her pic was used as a propagnda against Soviet invasion, I had in my mind her as an image reminding us of all the refugees and all impending tragedies.

A snippet from Octavio Paaz's Poem 'nomore chiches"

2009-03-06T02:39:00.000-08:00

This poem is to you women,
That like a Shahrazade wake up
Everyday with a new story to tell,
A story that sings for change
That hopes for battles:
Battles for the love of the united flesh
Battles for passions aroused by a new day
Battle for the neglected rights
Or just battles to survive one more night.

Yes, to you women in a world of pain
To you, bright star in this ever-spending universe
To you, fighter of a thousand-and-one fights
To you, friend of my heart.

From now on, my head won't look down to a magazine
Rather, it will contemplate the night
And its bright stars,
And so, no more clichés.

ഞാന്‍

2009-03-02T20:55:00.000-08:00

ഞാന്‍

ഒരു വെള്ളിയാഴ്ച്ചകൊടുങ്കാറ്റില്‍

പാറി വന്ന രണ്ടക്ഷരം.

ആകാശം കീറിമുറിച്ചുകടന്ന

ജിപ്സിക്കൂട്ടം വലിച്ചെറിഞ്ഞ അഹം.

കാലമേറെക്കഴിഞ്ഞിട്ടും

വളരുവാന്‍ കൂട്ടാക്കാഞ്ഞ ഞാന്‍.

വളര്‍ന്നപ്പോള്‍ നെടുങ്കനെ

പാതളത്തോളം വേരുകള്‍ താഴ്ത്തി,

തണലുകളൊരുക്കാന്‍ ചില്ലകള്‍ തീര്‍ക്കാതെ.

ചോരയില്‍ സ്വത്വാര്‍‌ബുദം

വലിയ വലിയ 'ഞാനു'കള്‍

തീതുപ്പുന്ന പീരങ്കികളായി.

എത്ര വളര്‍ന്നിട്ടും

എന്നിലേക്കു ചുരുങ്ങുന്ന ഞാന്‍.

ഇടയ്ക്കൊക്കെ

കുത്തിക്കുറിക്കുന്ന വരികളില്‍

ജാഗ്രതയോടെ ഉണര്‍ന്നിരിക്കുന്ന ഞാന്‍!

താഴ്വാരങ്ങളിലെ കവിത

2009-02-27T23:31:00.001-08:00

മാമ്പഴത്തോപ്പുകളിലും ഒലിവുക്കൂട്ടങ്ങളിലും

കവിത വിരിയുന്നതു കാറ്റുക്കൊള്ളാനല്ല;

കത്തുന്ന ചൂടില്‍ നിന്നോടിയൊളിക്കാനല്ല.

മണ്ണിന്‍ നിറഭേദങ്ങള്‍ ഗന്ധം വമിച്ചു

പൂത്തുലയുന്നതു

ആദ്യമഴയുടെ സുരതാവേശത്താലുമല്ല

ബാരക്കുകള്‍ ചോരപ്പുഴയൊഴുക്കുമ്പോള്‍

ഒരു കൈക്കുടന്ന സ്വാതന്ത്ര്യം

വാരിയെടുക്കുവാന്‍, കുമ്പിളുക്കുത്തുവാന്‍

ടാങ്കുകള്‍ ചതച്ചരയ്ക്കാത്ത കൈകളില്‍

ഒരു റോസാപുഷ്പം നീട്ടുവാന്‍.

വാക്കുകളൊഴുകുന്ന തെരുവുകള്‍

കാപ്പിക്കടയില്‍ ശ്രംഗാരഗീതം പാടിയവരെ തുരത്തുന്നു!

വാക്കുകള്‍

2009-02-27T23:10:00.000-08:00

പിടിച്ചു നിര്‍ത്താനാവാത്ത

മൂത്രശങ്കയിലുതിര്‍ന്ന സ്ഖലിതങ്ങളാണ്‌

എന്‍റെ വാക്കുകള്‍

താളം പിഴച്ച നിരയില്ലായ്മയില്‍

ചപ്പിലകളില്‍ കുറുകുറുപ്പുണ്ടാക്കി

വേലിവക്കിലെ ഏകാന്തതയില്‍

അവ പരന്നൊഴുകും

ചാലുകള്‍ തീര്‍ത്തൊരു കൊച്ചുമഹാനദി

മഹാരംഗശില്പിയുടെ കവാടങ്ങളിലേയ്ക്ക്

ഉല്‍ക്കടവേദനയൊഴിഞ്ഞ സമാധാനത്തില്‍

ഞാന്‍ തിരികെ സംസാരപ്പുഴുക്കൂടിലേക്കും

Jamaat E Islami :A misfit into the secular fabric of India; Hidden Agendas

2009-02-13T02:45:00.000-08:00

Jamaat E Islami(JI) founded by Maulana Maududi touts itself as the reformist face of Islam or the sole Islamic renaissance movement. After Maududi chose to live in Pakistan, Jamaat-I-Islami Hind, continued to be in the community applying some cosmetic alterations to their basic framework. It kept on its usual track of shunning all the political process in India, which it condemns as unIslamic, exhorting the community members to detach themselves from Govt services, abstain from voting and Indian Judicial systems etc. However, Jamaat underwent a serious U Turn in the last two decades, acting seriously into the electoral politics and demanding furiously for Muslim reservation in Govt Services. This U Turn is quite curious, for it hasn’t altered any ideological foundations which they still feed onto its members through the massive ideological incubatory systems. At least among the intellectuals of Kerala, their publications like Madhyamam are emerging as even the platform for the secular debates on Hindu Fascism by the extreme left. What makes this schema nefarious is, the teachings and ideological moorings of Maududi which they still consider inviolable and infallible, are in their totality, a damning threat to the modernist and secular fabrics of a pluralist society like India.

This article wants to cover the synoptic view of Maulana Maududi, aiming to lay bare the ideological foundations of JI. In principle, they are an anti-thesis of the very fundamentals, our nation is based on. Maududi should be primarily considered as a politician rather than any religious scholar. Fundamentally, he treats Islam not as a religion but as a political party aiming to establish the reign of Allah over the earth. It uses contemporary terms and procedures to smuggle into the public discourse, the medieval structures and archaic systems. It was the treatise by Maududi on Jihad which gave the philosophical foundations to all the political Islamists who clearly stress the aim of Islam to be the regime change and how it is impossible for a Muslim to live disciplined in a nation like India.

In his view “ Islam is neither a community nor a religion. Instead, it is a revolutionary concept of toppling the global social structure and building up Islamic state on lines of its theory and ideologies. Muslim will be the trans national revolutionary brigade gathered together to implement its revolutionary plans and targets. Jihad is the continuous struggle and the revolutionary zeal to accomplish these aims” - Later he identifies Islam as political party whose existence is challenged if it doesn’t embark on its project for toppling the regimes and establishing the Islamic state. It eschews tolerance to other people as it shouldn’t matter to a Muslim, because his existence finds it’s meaning only in an Islamic state or in the struggle for it.

These strict definitions and ultimatum for a Muslim clearly is an open challenge to the secular and pluralist foundations of our state. Maududi himself was nonchalant about the ramifications it could have on the Indian Muslims, which can feed oil onto the fiery flames of Hindu Nationalist extremities. After the anti-Ahmadiya movement which was spearheaded by JI Pakistan and the alleged attempt for a civil war under him, before the Justice Munir Commission, he presented his testimony which tells it all.

Commission: If we have such a theocratic Islamist government, would you allow India also to have a regime based on Hindu religion?

Answer: Defintely. I have no qualms, even if they treat Indian Muslims worse than untouchables and Sudras. I have no issues even if they have no participation in their government and have all their civil rights annulled. In fact such a condition already exists there.

Commission: If there starts a war between Indian and Pakistan, whats the duty of Indian Muslims?

Answer: Their duty is all very unambiguous. Join us. Do not fight along side India.

How can Jamaat I Islami Hind who still hasn’t steered off any bit from Maududi’s directives be trusted at least to have a legal existence. Its foundations as well as its dangerous adherence to Pan Islamist Jihadist strategy are inimical to our very survival and the indigenous Muslim Community. Now it looks very strange, how could a sane person still use their platform to lecture on secularism and polemics against cultural Fascism?

Fascist Essentials of JI

Maududi’s stance on Secularism, Democracy and Nationalism are even more disastrous for any one in India. Take it directly from Maududi

“ The modern culture which disastrously guide the contemporary intellectual, moral, civilizational, political and economic systems is based on three essential priciples 1) Secularism 2) Nationalism 3) Democracy” “ From our view, these three principles are erroneous beliefs. Not only just erroneous, but we firmly believe them to be responsible for all the adversities to which humanity has been enslaved. In fact, our hatred is against the very same principles. We will have to struggle against it, pulling up all our strength.”

He is detailing why they are dangerous- Nationalism inhibits the trans-National Islamic systems. Democracy as it conceptualizes the sovereignty of people, doesn’t provide space for the Divine authority( all laws are to be framed only by God! Man has no role in it), Secularism secludes religion into the private realms of individual.

Foundations of our nation is challenged by these Maududi dictates. For Maududi, only possible administration would be a theo democracy chaired by the council of Clerics. It amounts to totalitarianism in its worst form, where the power to interpret the divine laws rests only with them and no one can challenge its authority.

Although the aim of JI “Hukumatai Ilahi” has been cosmetically altered by India branch as “ Mukhummutdeen” effectively menaing the same thing- establishment of Divine regime. Or in other words “ Mulla” regime.

The nature of that regime is more clarified by Maududi himself, detailing the punishment for an apostate. Any renegade from Islam, later he equates it with JI, is to be punished with death. Thus Maududi effectively builds up an anti-thesis to modernity, aiming nothing less than a medieval Islamic system. He is ruling out any reformation reflecting the changing interpretations as demanded by the time. His intolerance for any other sects not valid under his own definitions is also elucidated by the campaign of hatred and violence he spearheaded against Ahmadiya sect. His campaign smacked clear parallels with the Italian Fascists and Aryan Nazism which thrived on the emotional and religious fervors of a country.

Credentials of Maududi!

Maududi wanted a political reading of Quran, devoid of any concern for its ethics and morals. He treated all other dimensions in the totality of politics of Islamism. A perplexing fact is, a man who was not so proficient in Arabic went on to interpret the nuances of Quran! He was well versed in Urdu, but couldn’t read and write Arabic with confidence. There are numerous instance and anecdotes by other distinguished names to testify this. With his half baked Arabic he went on to derive completely revised (perverted) meaning for the important concepts of Quran. About “four technical terms in Quran”, he boasts himself to unravel the meaning of those terms so far inscrutable to the Arabic scholars and Quran interpreters. Thus, the four terms “ Ilah, Rabb, Ibadath, Deen” which traditionally understood as “God, Guardian ,Worship, Religion” were deconstructed along his political lines associating connotations about reign, ruler and nation. Thus the basic terms were tweaked out of the milieu of faith and superimposed over his political convictions. The same way, he assigned threatening meanings to the basic rituals of Muslim life. Salah (prayer), Sawm(Fasting), Zakat(Alms giving) and Hajj thus were treated by him as military trainings imparted by Islam to its members to establish its domination and struggle. Thus, JI stands for political ambitions of Maududi rather than the Islamic Politics as some want to project.

Trans National Experiences

JI and Maududi inspired a spate of political Islamists harking back to the 14 th century and condemning all kinds of modern evolutions. Muslim Brotherhood Ideologue, Syed Qutb was one among the staunch admirers of Maududi. Muslim brotherhood was effectively machinated by the imperialist forces to destabilize the progressive Nassar regime in Egypt as well as to stymie the Pan Arabic Nationalist spirit. The numerous fundamentalist organizations which imbibed from the ideological grounding of JI later went on to serve the interests of Imperialism in Afghanistan, Bosnia, Chechniya and countless bloody battles. JI in Bangladesh was the most reactionary collaborators with Pak in Bangladesh. They were instrumental in massacring thousands of secular nationalists and freedom fighters. Their Razakars are still remembered in Bangladesh with utter anger and contempt. Pakistan is the glaring example for the misadventures in the outing of JI umbrella. Practically, it catapulted Pak back into the dark ages by its virulent campaign against films and modern institutions. In Kashmir it sprouted the secessionist campaigns resulting in Hurkatul Mujahudeen. SIMI in India had been the offspring out of the JI umbrella who went a step beyond their parents, literally following the dictates of Maududi.

Kerala Scene- Façade of People Movement!

In Kerala they were hibernating for 4 decades finding it tough to raise its hood as its principal tenets inhibited them from any association into the public domain of an unIslamic nation. But later, in the last 2 decades it is trying to sneak back into the mainstream under the veneer of identity politics and populist issues. The curious case of JI is its non denial of any of the contra-modern tenets espoused by Maudidi, and the simultaneous self projections as the protectors of Secularism and freedom of expression. It was Madhyamam Editor O Abdurahman who had written in support of death to the apostate (Islam and rationalism). The same editor bemoans the shackles on the creativity in India by Hindu Fascists. These contradictions are the thematic feature of any JI articles. They will be hooting to rout the free woman of Taslima Nasrin , but at the same time bleeding their heart at the injustice on freedom of MF Hussain. If we analyze the Madhyamam weekly, it delves on all the exploitations and injustices, under the vast sky, but wont dare to touch any issues brooding in their own community. Their agenda is very clear- destabilizing the political institutions taking the aid of disillusioned left extremists who are all ready to malign the concept of state itself. They want to portray the mainstream society as havens of Upper class hegemony and terror and want to portray the minority as perpetual victims whom no mainstream institution can guarantee any succor. Only JI can lead them! To an extent, JI is leading the grunting discontented members who are cajoled into the Pan Islamist networks to take up arms by preparing them through the ideological training imparted by Maududi preaching.

The irony is still multiplied when JI Kerala cant afford to translate all the books by its founder Maududi which will back fire in a politically and socially more conscious society like kerala. Even if they do, they cant do it with full justice to the original text, seeking ameliorated translations. Many volumes of Maududi dealing with Purddah, Punishment for Apostates and Jihad were thus left not translated by an otherwise active Islamic Publishing House. Whatever it tried, it wasn’t successful in its mission for the suzerainty over the Muslim population of Kerala. So, nowadays JI is out with their own Youth Movements Solidarity pretending to be actively involving in all the basic issues and putting on the mask of Leftism. JI is also venturing to build its own political party in the recent future. Ask any of these Solidarity Social Justice champions about secularist thoughts of Maududi or women liberation, they will quickly change the subjects and shirk away from you. Historically, it would be the ironical twist to the political disattachment practiced by them since the Independence; also, a portent signal to the much dangerous identity based Pan Islamist Politics. And we cant expect in their eventual contribution, anything radically different from their brotherhood in Pakistan and Bangladesh. Its the duty of a politically and socially conscious civil society and political establishments to exercise a check over JI's political overtures and machinations. The monster of Pan Islmaist Maududism must be confined to its archaic texts alone!

2008- Looking back in revelation

2009-01-28T10:02:00.000-08:00

The year 2008 was a real watershed in the history of financial markets and governing paradigm as a whole. The virtual suzerainty and infallibility held by neo liberal laissez-faire which had been doctored on the globe unchallenged for three decades suddenly lost into vapor. Its proponents publicly confessed of their ignorance. The virtual icon of deregulation era, Alan Greenspan had to admit what they believed was wrong. The market is fallible and its self regulation is an unfounded myth and an oxymoron. How else should we judge the dramatic meltdown happening right in front of us? Financial giants melted down leading to a virtual evacuation of Wall streets. Firms like Lehman Brothers which had withstood the storms of two World wars withered down with a whimper. One after another, starting from Bear Stearns, financial giants especially the most espoused Investment Bankers crumbled down struck by the Frankenstein they had been raising. For the time being Keynes has come back trouncing the monetarism of Milton Friedman and likes. The neo liberal regime which was unblemished since the Reagan era has established itself as a failed ideology.

Keynes had rightly pointed out the deficiency of capitalist system- its innate incapacity to distinguish between “speculations” and “enterprises”. As rightly predicated by him , “when enterprise becomes bubbles in whirlpool of speculation”, economy which is slated to be the by product of “ activities of a casino” will be visited by the violent turns of crisis. Whirlpool of speculation was such unleashed in the last decade comparable only to the scene of pre-1930s with the financial capital and markets, hegemonized all aspects of industrial capital and main street activities. Its whims and caprice were celebrated and keenly followed by global media which in turn acted as trumpet holders of the new order.

For a better clarity its inevitable to reflect on the financial market structure designed after the 1970s. Banking sector itself underwent a drastic paradigm shift in this era. Till then, US was considered a well regulated and stable banking sector. Soon, the deregulation fundamentalists dismantled even the last vestiges of existing frameworks. The sound monitoring network framed after 1930 depression underwent an overhaul with new catchy “self regulation”. “Lend and Hold” principles of core banking were forced to be jettisoned to suit the new order of financial “innovations”. It was believed “deregulation breeds innovation”. A new set of glamorous cavaliers appeared in the form of Financial Engineers. However as Joseph Stiglitz had pointd out recently “ the innovators were too intelligently designing new products to circumvent even the last resorts of regulatory frameworks”. They were such successful in their mission and the world collapsed! Regulatory frameworks were circumvented by the liaison of Financial and Banking services. One stop financial servicing centers captured the limelight, when processing fees and securitization commanded the sway over the outdated margins between lending and borrowing. ”Originate and Sell” thus becomes the underlining mantra for successful bankng model. Assets of security are no more held by the banks but pooled packaged and sold to the investors charging a processing fee along with it. Thus the risk was distributed all around the market among various stake holders, thus designing multi layered complex environment impossible to decipher. Associated frameworks of regulations of each layers were found inadequate to obtain the complete picture and the end result was the catastrophe we are seeing around us. Every one is at a panic stage not knowing when the risk pops up and running around the corners wailing for bail outs. The loss of confidence in the altars of financial capital was soon reflected onto the industrial sectors with the already weak real income generation.

Self regulation and much touted “new states of equilibrium” was breached once the loss of confidence resulted. The mutual insurance between the financial players not only spread the instability, but also brought the whole sector into a stand still once a domino was let to fall. Hypocrisy was soon let open by the fervent appeals from apparatchiks of laisseze faire denouncing all forms of regulations, but begging for Federal bailouts. Credit Rating agencies who are to be paid by the security generating bankers, kept on giving the much wanted AAA ratings till the last week of havoc and when their credibility itself was dragged to ignominy. Once the sub prime mortgages started failing, all the hidden risks started rising up in tandem, bubbles of assets got small pricks and the whole system was in turmoil.

Government action also saw a wild swing with al sorts of monetary measures running out of options with Federal rates plummeting to the lowest ever possible. Fiscal measures and active government intervention regained the space with vengeance. Demand for radical make over of International monetary frameworks ascended. The monetary readymade crisis solutions advised by IMF to developing countries so far was thrown into dustbin by now beleaguered Rich nations exposing the hypocrite and ideological fallacies promoted by these institutions. Now one wonder, how extensive was the damage posed on the South American and East Asian countries by advices of the IMF and international policy makers during the crisis of 1990s.

Thus 2008 showed itself to be a recrystallizing episode with its strategic lessons. The role of the state is to be ascertained more by the tragic episodes which was caused the recklessness of market. Glamour of financial engineers and mesmerizing products revealed the whirlpools we were subjecting ourselves. Greater call for regulations and controls with vigilant activism of state is demanded as well as for violent shake up of global medias who missed the crucial junctures rejoicing themselves in false prides of bubbles. It must be an eye opener to all financial media who couldn’t see any wrong with the massive hundred billion Ponzy schemes of Madoff! More over, at least as a rhetoric, Real street is capturing the limelight from Wall streets demanding the active Govt spending in basic infrastructures. In short for financial sector 2008 proved itself a painful lesson and a paradigm shift.

A Pointlist Coverpage for Khazak from Mahabalipuram

2008-10-24T00:04:00.000-07:00

Global Food Crisis- A neo liberal Frankestein

2008-09-17T08:24:00.000-07:00

For many reasons, the year 2008 etched a watershed in terms of the financial volatility and unprecedented meltdown. The fears of recession still not cleared from the skies where giant investment firms, turn after turn, lookup to Federal Reserve for respite. The cyclical process after a long undisrupted illogical boom has started taking its toll shattering the capital markets one by one. However, when financial markets affect only the upper sections who has the potential resources for speculation, another crisis has been looming over, threatening to throw billions back into the damning vortex of hunger. This year stands apart itself in an unprecedented ferocity in terms of steep rise in the staple food prices.

The food price had remained quite stable for the last three decades, explained by multifarious reasons. The agricultural revolution as triggered by the new scientific practices and integrated Government approach had almost ensured that the Globe has got enough to feed its teeming population. Since the start of 2006, the average world price for rice has risen by 217%, wheat by 136%, maize by 125% and soyabeans by 107%. The price rise reached monstrous level to trigger food riots across the globe, from Philippines to Africa, from Bangladesh to Latin America. The rise is discriminatory in itself as it impacts the poorest among the poor disproportionately draining off their meager capacity to satisfy basic necessities. Global food reserves have plummeted into worst levels forewarning a deeper malaise. In all respect the situation has reached the nadir of hope as recapitulated by World Bank authorities – the present crisis in food prices is erasing off 60% of our achievement in poverty eradication for the last 3 decades, dragging a billion back into the abject poverty.

The root cause analysis will be a challenging task as it is interlinked in a complex outline with the labyrinth of enormous global network of capital and policy neglects, prompting any partisan to tweak the facts suiting their line of argument. As already touted by US President and German Chancellor, high priests of altar of Global finance are seeing a just corrective pattern attributed to the changing diet pattern of the developing world, especially of India and China. The prospering middle class of these countries have moved up the food chain with the consumption tilting to meat and animal products which indirectly effect pressure on the staple food which remains its costly inputs. The spiraling population pressure is also exacerbating the demand side pulls. Thus the crisis is being explained in terms of demand side peaks. But an empirical analysis will disprove this demand side monocausal explanation. Except in Soya consumption, developing nations hasn’t seen any spike in staple food. In a rather ironical findings, even when India and China have been galloping in terms of economic growth since 1990s, the average calorie consumption of its people has seen a gradual decline. This study undertaken by Utsa Patnaik is undermining the myth of growth itself. Although China has shown slight improvement in its indicator since 2005, its well below 1990 level. Adding this into the stable picture of the population dynamics where China has almost reached its targeted stability and India seeing decline in the population growth, the demand side explanation of the crisis smacks of hurried eye washes.

Thus rejecting the demand side myth of convenience, we should foray into explaining the structural constraints and destabilizing forces which acts on the supply side. The crisis in food scenario is concomitant with volatility in hydro carbon price. The steep rise in the oil price has a domino effect on the farmers with the absorption layer provided by Government subsidies being dismantled. This exposes the farmer to the vagaries of illogical international speculations. The fluctuations in the prices manifest itself through the energy intensive mechanization, power consumption for irrigation, fertilizers and transportation costs. Thus multiplier effect of oil price rise complicates the interlinkage and any unregulated commodity speculation in the oil commodity market radically shifts the burden directly on the food price. Combined with the neo-liberal ideology of ‘lesser the Government, the better’ thrusted on the policy decisions, food prices thus become a toy in the hands of never trustable ‘invisible hands’ .

The next factor destabilizing the food supply is the emergence of Bio fuel. Governments across globe from Europe and US has shifted to BioFuels on a priority base intending to delink themselves from Middle East dependence. The active state support through huge subsidy packages has diverted the farming acreages from food to fuel needs. Traditionally US had remained the food bowl of World, with the wheat from US feeding the starving Africa. Although, food channel was prioritized as an instrument of world dominance, it was undeniable- the role of US farming on world food supply. Thus the sharp variance in the diversion of land for energy purpose has toppled the supply situations to a verge of instability. The increase in the redirecting of corn and oil seeds for bio fuel purpose had a telling effect on the world food price. As a byproduct of this new engagement the wide scale deforestation in Amazon lands contributes in negative terms to the overall greenhouse phenomena debilitating the agriculture further. The drastic change in the climate has also contributed to the disruption in the agricultural seasons. Harsh droughts which ravaged Canada and Australia accompanied by the torrential rainfall in parts of US had an overall dampening impact on the global food production.

The consistent neglect of world and national authorities towards agricultural sector has been a steady phenomenon, worldwide since 1960s. The lacunae after green revolutions and the over enthusiastic focus on secondary and tertiary sector persisted since then. The neglect was severe in third world countries where consequences were sharp owing to the population inertia on the agriculture. The excess labour couldn’t be absorbed into more productive areas due to various policy malfunctions and at the same time, land productivity couldn’t be enhanced adding to the depletion in the natural productivity owing to the aftereffects of inputs oriented Green Revolution. The agricultural productivity saw a virtual stagnation in an emerging power like India with no further land being utilized for agriculture. On the other side, a dangerous trend of conversion of rich agriculture land for industrial purpose is also gathering momentum, suiting the new liberal equations of Growth ideology. The synergy seen in 1960s between scientific community, farmer and the government seems lost for ever.

The structural conditions hampering easy flow of food production can be traced to the changing global finance and capital structure. Invasion of profit seeking hot funds into the commodity market has vitiated the already delicate conditions further. The neo-liberal agenda of deregulation amounting to market fundamentalism give birth to rampant short term speculators who have no concern other than short term profits. Volatility is the key word where speculators relish themselves. The rocketing scales of investments from hedge funds into commodity market have reached astronomic proportions compared to 2 years back. The volatility drives speculators and they drive volatility. Market fundamentalists have conveniently forgotten this basic premise in their hurry for opening up new avenues of profit. When investments graze over equity market, the speculation can be allowed, but over essential commodities it has harsh brunt over the starving populations who wont count in the myopic race for profits. As Jayati Gosh has pointed out the concomitant volatility in food price and oil has associational nature and the fundamental nature of speculators is driving this volatility.

The integration of world markets through the financial globalizations has thrown open the public into the throes of often illogical dynamics which rule the global financial sectors. Any volatility is thus penetrated into the local markets contradicting the essential feature of just demand and supply equations at local level. This feature is compounded by the manipulated phasing out of Public Distribution Systems. The oft quoted reason behind the PDS dismantling – distortions in market- becomes an irony in the phase of global distortions. This is better exemplified by the Indian market where the price remained high even after a record procurement. The irony is further deepened by the sheer pledge of speculation as not distortion but the essential gods with Invisible hands! Manytimes it is argued that agricultural produce is often deflated and its high time the farmer get his due. But the already deep rooted agro giants like Cargil foods usurp the surplus value and dominates the global trade disproportionately. The euphemistic chant of ‘ farmers time has come’ is a disguised eulogy for these corporate giants which make a kill while the world starves around.

The neo-liberal agendas have succeeded in twisting the concept of food security itself. In the 1980s itself many third world countries including India started reciting the mantra learnt from International masters ‘ Food security is not what you store but what you can buy’. At the first sight this looks innocuous, however a deeper analysis brings out hidden pattern of linking the market into the food supply and allowing profit seeking sharks to swamp the market meant for basic subsistence of world population. The dislike for PDS and food reserves thus has an ideological base formulated in the policy makers of developing world in 80s itself.

Thus an analysis of root cause scenario has provided us base enough for repudiating the Demand hypothesis as advocated by the Financial world. Economists world wide have shredded this theory into pieces already, citing the empirical findings itself. On the supply side the structural conditions and constraints have ramifications on a scale never thought before. And as we have seen already, this crisis has its root in the policy and implantations- which can be controlled. The food supply is such integral not to be thrown into the whims of financial markets. Deep rooted national policies are required to fight off this crisis. As exemplified by the experience of

Venezuela

and other Latin American countries who could be more susceptible, determined state actions are instrumental in the fight for human existence. More investment in the agriculture research is the need of the hour as well as the realization of tactical importance of food security

Red

2008-02-16T06:30:00.000-08:00

In a land where Love killed itself
A color of red comes back haunted
The streets where red dotted the pavements
Gushing out of the wounded heads
Blood tells a story of love.
Roses were nipped out to have a 14th
The blood in our streets never drained away.

Reflections on me, Nandigram and some others!

2007-11-30T20:29:00.000-08:00

Nandigram SEZ conceptions and the police firing which occurred later seemed to be a turning point of my political life (I believe all human beings are political , whether you accept that fact or not. Even being apolitical is also a means of political statement) as it could be in life of any other leftist sympathizer . But the whole episode which spanned across 10 months from March taught me many lessons. The emptiness of hearing to the heart without looking for facts. This turbulent period let me realize the most important necessity - studying a subject devoid of any annihilating emotions and then building your subjective mind on the topic with reason and passion.

I was furious and fuming out hearing the news of police firing and the loss of 14 lives, at the behest of an SEZ meant for Salim Group. Those days, I had been reading the book by Tariq Ali -Clash of Fundamentalisms - which had devoted three chapters into detailing the massacre of the communist movement in Indonesia by the Islamists with the connivance of Suharto regime. PKI was the largest communist party outside the socialist world. Millions of comrades were massacred in a bloody orgy let out by the Puritan islamists who shrieked out in paranoia brandishing their fearsome swords, with the assistance of death Commandos from Army.. And later in the ‘stable and prosperous’ administration of Suharto’s Indonesia where MNC s swooped down to reap the gains, Salim Group was also a huge beneficiary and many Suharto regime members had interests in this group. So my uncomfortable feeling had been emboldening day by day. And finally as the last straw, the Police firing happened. Emotionally I was at the verge of an explosion, which I tried to pen down as a poem- Smiling Buddha which apparently was my first poem to be written in Bangalore and appeared as my first post on my blog.

I called my friend Subin doing his masters in JNU- an unapologetic SFI activist! – and just yelled out. I was angry at the whole world, angry at myself being sympathetic to a leftist movement who massacred its own people. He had always been a adamant debater who would silence you with the splash of vociferous words intimidating you. But I regard it as a quality of him to excel in a debate which demands to assert you over the blood thirsty faction. But that day I didn’t let him speak, I was going mad at the verge of a nervous breakdown letting out all my desperation at him and cut the phone once I cleared my mind of all the impending unrest.

But when I think back I can realize that the bloody mistake I had committed in interpreting and analyzing the incident emotionally rather than intellectually. I was taken in by the media and lack of time with me to explore the subject. I didn’t look for any ground level facts and truths. Nandigram was like a black hole those days without letting any facts out to the world. It was becoming the darling of all media- print and visual- to be showcased as the anti-thesis to the Left Front. Atrocities of CPM were aired and penned by the ‘free’ media filtering out what it was really happening at Nandigram. Definitely no one would leave out any opportunity to bash Leftists, that too with a stick that was the core of communist movement- the peasants and their land struggles. The same free media had sided with the government on all issues related with SEZs starting from the conception and land acquirement. Had any media reported with a flaming passion on people resistance to POSCO deal, or against land acquirement in Maharastra? Did any free media objected to unjust deal the farmers were receiving for SEZ lands? When I did a small study, I could see it was the WB government who chalked out the best compensation package for land acquirement. No one aired this fact. When SEZ act was panned out at Parliament and all the states setting out for a maddening rat race for attracting investment by creating SEZ s and similar concepts, how could WB be left behind? They were trying to gain back the confidence of investors and would have suicidal for them if they had not treaded in the same path.

But definitely I do believe that there were some flaws with the Government machinery to educate the people when they initiated the plans, failure to communicate to the people about the details. In Nandigram everything was spread as rumors and apocalyptic visions! An effective administration should have dispelled these concerns and apprehensions at the ground level contesting the claims of opposition parties who were smelling the opportunity of making it a death knell for Left. Even the declaration by CM Buddhadeb about abandoning the project from Nandigram didn’t permeate through the black hole event horizon which had already descended to Nandigram. CM had made it very clear that no land acquisition would happen at Nandigram way back in Feb. He repeated the statement in early March. Either the Government machinery failed to deliver this important decision to people of Nandigram or the unscrupulous elements who were running over Nnadigram, hell bent on creating a confrontation point didn’t let people know it.

Already by late Feb, well machinated measures had been taken out in guise of BUPC and thousands of CPM supporters were driven out of villagers. 3500 men and women were already in relief camps outside Nandigram. There comes the important question – What was the purpose of continuing with the struggle by BUPC when Government had already declared the dumping of project. It was well clear that no land would be acquired. On what basis was Nandigram again on boil by BUPC and all the connections with outside world still cut off? It has only one reason- the resistance against land acquisition by BUPC was just a ploy by vested interests, real intention was political domination by purging out CPM cadres and destroying Left bases. Till March around 20 CPM supporters were already murdered by BUPC mobs, all CPM offices torched. Manhandling the CPI MLA of Nandigram. So real motives are laid bare – capturing the political fields of Nandigram by physically destroying the Left base. Similar tactics was employed by TMC in Keshpur 8 years ago, which they were exercising once again in Nandigram.
Being trapped into the wary scenes well devised by the free media, it took long for me to use my reasoning and analytic mind. I guess what prompted many left leaning intellectuals to turn hostile to Leftist mainstream can be this emotional breakdown. I do believe if they really sit down and ponder over the facts rather than letting the rumors overpower them, they can also be convinced with. May be by this time many minds of dissent have already sunk into extreme pessimisms and ossified not to let any reasons enter their mind.
I am wrapping up my post here. But many will be rolled out on the same subject analyzing
1) The role of TMC in fermenting the troubles- attrocities by BUPC and their incredible lies!
2) The partisan role of Media
3) Absolute non sense of comparing Buddhadeb with Modi- a view first aired Sumit Sarkar without any serious analysis.

Reconciliation

2007-10-24T22:39:00.000-07:00

Its just like that!

You get used to the shrouding vacuum opposite to you

while you sip an orange juice

while you sketch a dream in words

Once your melancholus narration of the unseen hope

crumbled down to the vacant seat against you.

The songs which you wished for yourself

kept on avoiding you.

You were left desolate -stranger on the 'messenger' with the wildly angst

Around the candle light, the emptiness opposite to me

Transpired into my other self.
I was holding my own hands

Reading the nuances of wayward palm lines

I was feeling my own breath against my face

Against the mirror I found my mate

cloaked in the rag of my desperation.
Now, wrapped in the hug of my own fingers

I linger for eternity

Long walks in the boulevard, beside my restless mind

I join my hands with my own self,

the other side of my own hollowness

scattered visions

2007-10-11T22:36:00.000-07:00

In the frozen wasteland of dreary time
You lit a flame of kinness
The colours which inebbriate in the rain
The moments which pierce into our conscience
All fades into the horizon
When your light kisses the strings of infinity

Ants creep against my eyelids
They share with me their thousand eyes,
A world which crumbles down to million colours and scents
A dream which scattered into splash of joys
Pricks of honey combs at the tips of grass

On the silent portrait of your unending passion
We lit the saintly candles
We pray to you, the relief from the other worlds
When death couldnt silence you
The wax melts and falls on our eyelids
We emerge out of the frosty evenings!!

While writing

2007-10-11T22:31:00.000-07:00

When I try scribbling down
Beware of me
Unknown fears grip me
Putrid demons possess me
Till the last drop from the stylus
I should erect a signboard – beware of a beast in pain

Memories which maul me apart,
Silent crimes chill out my ear
All those stale dark scents
Appear on my nib.

Scent of her which turns to
The stench of decayed ruins of imagination
I pray for the life of a moth
To live full for just two days

Weep!

2007-08-11T04:47:00.000-07:00

Weep, my friend
Till you attain the calmness of this river
Till you become this river
Daughter of river faded away behind the sombrous woods
She erected a labyrinth around herself
Impermeable,
A stranger is there only to lose his way!

Weep, my friend
For the golden fields and mango groves,
The song which she still owes to you

The stormy oceans are still there beckoning you
to become one among the salty drops.
I must unlearn myself,
The tragic art of hearing music from emptiness
The murky world of never happening loves

Oh my friend
Start liberating the world and words
From your whims,
Your imaginations strangulate the space and time
Let them go on its flow
Never warp the delicate strings
Leave them to its peace of unsung hymns

Free your eyes from the shackling words of non sense
Breathe an air of reality
Half brittle, half bitter
Become one among the ocean drops
Never stand apart
You won’t hold the mighty oceans or the silent river

----------------------------------------------------------------

Mango groves and golden fields kept on lingering on my mind for such long. Now its time for the reality check . If you can see any common strings between last three posts, then there you are. The recurrence of golden images! the futility of imagined world and puzzling minds.
Last 2 weeks were such a period of turbulence that I couldnt resist writing them down,if not I couldnt survive anymore. All my teardrops ossified into crystals forming shapes that mocked at me. People around me were a little bit afraid of my sudden short temper. Although later I explained to all, attributing all blames on ICICI!
The illusion of being special always misled me into imagined world from which it is always hard to escape.
I dont want to explain anything more, thats it !

There is an evident change thats prominently marking the tone ofwords. Its the pain of earning for distinctness. The abyss of mediocrity is attracting me. I cant hold this existential angst. I am going to settle down in this mediocre world. I don't want to know any more I don't want to stand apart.

I remember a poem of mine in malayalam long way back, declaring my independence from all established notions. The poem which wanted to be a water drop left separate from all oceans, a bud which earned to be out of all forests.

Now its time for checking the pulse!

I am going back to the same ocean of common worlds and words.

Scattering wind

2007-08-11T04:41:00.000-07:00

How shall we survive those grueling past of all-shriveling storms
The strings of our words are torn apart
Never will this ocean let out any curse from its bedrock.
I wonder whether the lost souls of my childhood will come back
The exorcist has sent them to nether worlds

The grinding music waned away,
The music which stirred the silent souls;
we buried them long ago

We wait for the cold winds over the dry lands
Carrying the frozen seeds of those rhythms,
Laments across the ridges
Scratched away from wombs,
Mourning of eyes which never take forms
which never see sunlight!

Nameless

2007-08-08T02:52:00.000-07:00

Everyone left our spaces;
Guarded by great walls
We turn strangers to ourselves
One day suddenly
All those paths forgot my name
Wiped out my foot prints on their chest
We turned strangers such easy
But
The scent of yours which drove me crazy
Never happened kisses
Are still in this air
Still none of them will embrace the stranger
Only the distant mirage calls him to deceive

But I can still see the golden rays of her land
The mango groves which shed the pristine dew
The river which meanders across her abode
The scars which indigo made into the dusty soil!

Who erased all the rosy scenes
As if a wicked spell that changed us upside,
The beast of two years which prowled around
Separating our births
Or the world of words which obliterated all our feelings
I remember cursing all the letters to their doom!

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Yes, I am back to my diary after a long period of lull. To say the truth, early I was free most of the time , escaping the attention of Managers pretending to work! But this time they have got hold of me and assigned me hectic application resposibility. But that doesnt mean I was going without turbulence. But work was gaping at me all the time. This time again at a break down I wrote something down to get relieved. And here it is.

2007-05-21T10:09:00.000-07:00

‘Love is so short , but forgetting is so long’ -
Neruda

Stranger

2007-05-02T01:48:00.000-07:00

In your sacred dome, I am only a stranger
In the city where your holy blood drained,
I, the half naked, rush ahead
Carrying the wild seeds of incest.
In the census of memories
Let the trumpet of stranger reverberate.
The parched dry wombs,
Justice which lost the shining head,
I am burning up an olive to declare all aimless wars

In the grimace of deserted amphitheatres
You may not see my face

Among the generations which loose strands after
Your last supper,
I am only a red bearded
Who pawns the thirty silvers at the brothel.

Let this rendezvous
Fill in our memories dark flames of oblivion.

With in me lies the scorching Naplam who burnt and stripped her,
Also the annihilation of cluster bombs;
The hemlock which drops onto the eternal springs.
I deepened my fangs on her
Who complained like a mother
about the lost brightness in my eyes.

I am seeking the citadel of sins and also
Blossoms of blood
I sing the psalms of sins in the dry memoirs
And prepare the sacrificial dinner of sin on her who
sleeps hearing bedtime stories .
I am the one who
Nipped a thousand buds before the holy birth;
The neo thalidomide of this century.

Still then you are not recollecting me
Am I such stranger to you!

During dark nights
I groan along with the howling wolves

Let me go
To raze down all the burning lights of this city
Then to find my place
In this city of never ending frenzy.

This poem was a chance discovery while I were in home. I had decided to compile together all my earlier writings. It was not at all an easy task. Spread across unhinged pieces of flings of paper , my earlier words had already declared independence and gone hiding. I had written only in Malayalam those days, and my plan was to translate them to English and post in blog to carry on for further days during the draught of words. Certainly the main source of inspiration has deserted me or rather I want to move away from the source.

A random thought: When you bid bye to your home and travel ahead , don’t you feel it is your home which deserts you(although the truth is vice versa)

I wanted to keep with me a nice reserve of poems to update my blog, though it violated the purpose of keeping my Blog as a diary. We must be flexible enough to change definitions and move ahead unhindered, not tethered by any ideological shackles!!!
But my words were intelligent than me , they kept on struggling in hiding , never came to my sight and only one poem born 5 years back surrendered before me , and that was this above stranger.
I believe I wrote this for my Hostel literary competition. Those days I was too much under the influence of Chullikkaad( seriously it was an addiction!) and naturally many overtones of my words stroke a semblance with that perspective.

And then it started, my endeavor of translation. Firstly I wanted to recapture the mood while writing it. I pondered over the lines again and identify it. Usual haunting of mine- the picture of Kim Phuk the Vietnam girl running naked out of a napalm bombing. Entangled with it was my nihilist attitude of those days intermingled with the mood of guilty feeling.One thing I noted was the reference to biblical themes juxtaposed with the modern world.

As it is told sometimes ‘ Poem is what it lost in translation’

To give an effect in Malayalam I had provided a structure suited to recite , but while translating it to English I found it hard to maintain that tempo.
And what resulted was this poem in English. I am posting it anyway. It looks disfigured and amputated to me, still!!!

Return

2007-04-23T08:59:00.000-07:00

Accept me, home;
After the virulent roads of rusty rhythms
From the darkened streets of empty graves
I am returning.
Exorcise from me, the infected breath of white deaths!
And fill in me again
The sparkling air of your villages,

I have heard and seen the prodigal sons returning
as refugees to the bosoms of squandered pasts.
From their rabid cities of hollow frenzy they could sense,
The meteors have disappeared from their skies and
Village fields have blossomed again

Ghosts from the present keep telling about
The stolen kisses that never happen;
Hands which I am destined to miss;
The pain at waiting for never returning messages;
Now I hope awaiting arms of embrace
So gentle but passionate, in my home of forgotten pasts!

Purify my tears about lost love
And lost half baked words
Send me back, the rains of reasonless joys
The moments of childish smiles

On despair song!!

2007-04-03T08:36:00.000-07:00

Last poem of mine (look I still sneer at myself to call that a poem!) was supposed to be a poem of despair . Well pre decided about the intention, however(use of but is not assertive!!) I hoped and prayed to the unknown source to let the words come through me.
Nothing happened. It was done in phase of two days. It didn’t carry any meaning either, just a reflection on my changing moods. Besiline , friend of mine had asked me to include his sign on the words of despair as he also wanted to tell some thing. But well I couldn’t do any justice to him nor my intentions. The mood of despair changed to a feel of comic, meaningless and wobbly. Then I realized one basic thing in my life , all I need is simple things in my life. A word of gentleness , a simple bye for assuring I was there with them, a tender look to acknowledge you don’t hate me!
Well here ends my soliloquy, to end with, let me say one thing. My last poem may be a bad work of slackness. But because your children are crippled or blind, will they feel less important to you? ( Words of A Ayyappan , my icon as a poet in initial days. Now no more I read him). I am jotting them down , word by word, sense or senseless, each imprints of my life onto the cyber strings to remind me further down the lane who I was .

A Song of despair

2007-04-03T08:34:00.000-07:00

Heavens know my truth;
My actions before every word;
Never mind those capricious hunks of lies;
I want to write this song of despair.

Dreams are worth these dead ends;
Indeed
After the praise of flanking beauty,
And the endless sugary hymns
A wail at the walls is what it expected.

Still, words are there in air
Waiting for me to pluck them.
The inebriated words, it can seem;
But I promise you, they are still from my heart.

But tell me, the unknown omnipotent
Source of all my words
What am I going to write down?
I feel only the dark numbness.
My keyboard pulsing each moment
Waiting for my nod of finger
To go on at an ease of slash.

I wail at me without knowing what to cry for.
I dance at the never stopping rhythms
A lament carved out of meaningless steps.
Don’t say they are out of my boozed shaky legs.

But with a single bid of bye ( although careless)
You oozed out of me
the last tempt to do the words of despair.
Now, the even the infinite source is chuckling.

After all who wants to hear a song of despair
If not for others whom I am going to sing!!

I still have your handwritten signs
I can wrap myself around your twirling letters
I can imagine you words on laptop to be the words of love
In this cyber world ,icons do carry many things!!

Further on my change!

2007-04-01T23:20:00.000-07:00

Once I wrote only about my nightmares
Why did I forget to mention all the sweet dreams?
My words filled with the anguish
Of a crippled leper, who denied all the alms
And shouted all at the empty streets.

In those days
Fragmented statements and bad prose
Invited the editors to revise them.
My words slept eternally in the ignominy of bins.

My friend opened the basket of guavas,
He searched for the scent of lost lusts.

‘Love conquers everything’
I found that scent back on the time warped web.

Unfinished

2007-03-30T15:34:00.000-07:00

The last poem is not a complete one. Disrupted by the awareness that I was turning up a little late on reaching office and amidst the traffic our Cab had been always on the junctions at wrong time.
But I couldn't resist loading it to blog, as this had become my diary actually. Whether one reads it or not , it s my personal notebook.
I am not sure about whether I will be able to complete those lines.
But it was towards the end of the travel that it came over to me about how even my style has changed.

yesterday I tried to scribble on my note book some lines in Malayalam. But I couldn't proceed after three lines. A kind of block has occurred to my natural style ( language as well as tone).

but surely I do want to get back at my mother tongue very seriously as it can determine my fortunes with in 3 years if everything is going as planned.

Any way I am diverging my focal point about the transformation. As I had talked with Shabin that day there is going to be some love poems on my blog. I could foresee my style of writing. Even in the 'after the dry run' the style has clearly denoted this change, I believe.

From a poet who fumed and repented at everything, wanted to burn away the last vestige of vanity I am turning into something else.

Does it matter or not ? Who cares about the rumbles of an unknown confused guy anyway!!!

On My Change!

2007-03-30T15:14:00.000-07:00

When you laugh, the dreams are unleashed in me
We liberate words from the chained sentences,
Letters from the words
And syllables from each letters;
And only the voice will freely graze over the vast plains of love.

Your words ,although of the other world
Fill in me, crystals of fine snow.
A desert mist comes down on the parched cracks.
I am turning into a balladeer of love
From the fiery rebellious man of fury.

And I become the sculptor who hide in the carvings, his love,
A ghazal singer who frame the words of beauty.

I really wonder
Where is the fist of fury I once settled into;
Moments of meaningless despair;
The words which I imagined to burn the universe.

Growth for growth's sake is the ideology of cancer cell- Edward Abbey

2007-03-28T16:35:00.000-07:00

Nazir Qabbani

2007-03-28T16:28:00.000-07:00

I came to know of this Arab poet only recently. A Syrian Poet who strived his wholelife for the cause of Arab unity and liberation. His words were too harsh it didnt please never its leaders nor its sultans.

I came across two of his poems recently ; just posting two lines from them

"Our enemies did not cross our borders
They crept through our weakness like ants "

Following lines shattered my consciousness even.

" My grieved country,
In a flash
You changed me from a poet who wrote love poems
To a poet who writes with a knife."

Do expect some more posts from me intertwined by couplets of him .

After the dry run

2007-03-27T10:18:00.000-07:00

When a poem starts winding down your aged heart
When you receive it from the unknown air
After the lean seasons of words which hide in strange valleys
When a silence condense down to drops of poem.

Then you remember the sweat at her nape
The wonder she sets the swirling hair
And how she canonizes the long dead images
And their cemeteries in draught hit time.

When words starts dripping through your pen
And paper turns its zestful curve to finest tone,
I can forget the groaning words and dreams
And sing a lullaby to the new born kid.

I can feel your throb of vain
And write it down the rhythm of heart
And as you walk along with me
Hand in hand as I wished it all time
Chirping voice sings my words
Foggy morning paints my images.

Share this spring of thousand dreams
As this theatre warms it soon
Touch my words and do a kiss .

When a poem is being born,
Stars add to its lust
A thousand glitter of twinkling words.

When words flow through the dried up patches
And kiss up the dreary banks with fervent bubbles
I forget it all and deeply lost in kiss of love
And relish myself in eternal truths of world.

Final Visions

2007-03-20T18:21:00.000-07:00

That gun starts pointing at me again
The curse from the Babel has struck its blow
I stay here on the cold ground waiting for the last trumpet

The trail of the final trumpet is approaching!
We celebrate the Doomsday here
Wish my baby a diabolic smile
To do a gentle trick of the beheaded lizard

The dreams are worth the frightening end
The screams are squashing me to end
Spare no time!!
Spare no words!!
Keep on growling on the ground
Keep on feeling the cold world

Dream wilter has come already
Submit to him our final challenges
Let him preside over our silly qualms!
Let him decide what rolls first
Our heads or our hands!

I scribbled the lines on to the mobile . That time I was about to explode. The stifling emotions wanted a valve to escape. My words were not reaching anywhere. Language was becoming a barrier infront of me. I thought human emotions could permeate through all the linguistic superficialities. But my convictions failed me. I couldn’t break through the protective layer of language and words.

Resigning to my own shell I could feel the burning heat of furnace. Back to lyrics of Jim Morrision my alter ego I felt like crying. I wanted to sing ‘Spanish Caravan’ to instill in me the peculiar stage of hope. I couldn’t , all I listen was the nightmarish visions about the end.The image of a revolver pointing at me was recurring all the time. I wanted to write a rock lyrics for Jim if he could sing in the other world. And this poem resulted.

I wont call this one a poem either , ‘poetry.com’ kept it for one week and purged it afterwards and still I could see many trivial and useless web of poetry hanging still there. Chronogically this poem must have come first on the blog, but it happened otherwise.

An Ode to Nandigram

2007-03-18T22:08:00.000-07:00

The above poem came to my mind after hearing Budhadeb s new industrialization plans bull dozed over the lives of hapless residents in Nandigram.
Being a leftist I felt ashamed of him , who sided with the Salim Group of Indonesia ( I cant ever forget the extermination of PKI in Suhartos Indonesia .PKI was the largest communist party outside the socialist world. And with in an year Fundamentalists in collusion with Suharto s Military massacred millions of Comrades and hung their genitals as public display!!).

So far I could proclaim myself being a sympathizer of a movement which had taken side with the oppressed on every issues and fought against the establishments which always favored the Oppressor. Now I despise you Buddha ( I admired him for being a poet among the communist and an avid film lover) , But now I hate to write like him and watch film like him!!

Smiling Budha

2007-03-18T22:04:00.000-07:00

When Buddha smiles again I am trembling
I always imagined
My mind as calm and peaceful as a meditating Buddha
But now when Buddha meditates I look for covers
Vultures start swooping down
Villages let out a groaning song,
which gets stuck under their spastic throat
The thunder of heaven flashes the world
Specialties sweep the ground
The land of our dead,
Now lit with neon lamps
is no more ours.

Take your shelter, my wounded human creature
Buddha is meditating once again.
Buddha speaks from the enlightenment
‘Colors do not exist’
‘History didn’t live’
Comrades from the past over an archipelago were all some hallucinations
Their bloodbath was only a sanctifier
for a colorless world.

[ This land is dead, colorless rotten with hollowness
Here exists no grave of our fathers
They are empty as our dream
The seeds are swollen with those empty wishes
Haunting winds just walk across the stunted soil.
]

Thus spake ,meditating Buddha
I wonder what films you adore
I wonder what poetry you appreciated!