If you are frank, get slapped… If you are brave, get stabbed…

A strict sunny day finally, thank God! I am sick and tired of this rain.

Now don’t get confused with the title, it is nothing like it sounded. In light of recent events in my class I have wrote that, you know blowing someone’s face indirectly.

Our department staffroom need an urgent Garbage Collection routine to be run. More precisely speaking, an insufferable pretend-to-be-know-it-all should be shift deleted. I am sure that I sound anything but sane and that is what I wanted or am I not. If any person on the Earth is unfortunate enough to read till now would swear What The f***? under their breaths, and I am doing a mental dance here (DILs are not allowed to dance in their sasurals, except in their minds), too much for my diplomacy…

Enough with the time pass, now I do have a serious question to ask, What do you mean by a ‘FEEDBACK’? According to Wikipedia, (since it turned to be the fact file these days) Feedback is a process in which information about the past or the present influences the same phenomenon in the present or future. As part of a chain of cause-and-effect that forms a circuit or loop, the event is said to “feed back” into itself. This is exactly what happened in our class recently. There is an old saying in Malayalam and it goes like this “sangaran pinneyum thengil thanne” and all. Whatever it is the sangaran here turned out to be a grumbling growling rumbling tutting huffing puffing gnarling and so and so sangaran. And with the entire feedback thing, I myself granted all of them a ‘Good’, even though many are anything but good, coz I have been knowing this sangaran genera for a while so couldn’t risk my neck to tell a truth.


The Carved Orphan In Me

It has been a long time since I came here, thanks to my life. It is quite funny to say this, with a perfectly normal life I am anything but perfect. I know… I know… majority of human beings are hardly perfect and I am definitely in the ‘normal’ league. One may think what’s with this blabbering, indeed this is the only place where I could blabber without being questioned about my morale. This is a preface, a pause to divert your eyes before you catch the real vision. My long term goal is to write a book and anything I write is not necessarily a figment of my imagination. There are things like this… unbearable truths!! which I couldn’t write so openly since certain truths are not meant to be said. I am not cynic but bold… bold enough to masquerade and then there is a somebody going to catch me red handed, (you cannot mock all your life) then the thing I am confident is that he is going to be the last person on earth in action.

I was an infant, not even a toddler… when they gave away their souls…

Nobody asked me my wish… my thoughts… I was their least worry.

There were things that matters them more, like a gold chain…

Or their daughter’s life. Their claims(their innocence)… I mind them.

I will always as their daughter matters me more…

All these years, I thought I was a joke, or rather a lie.

Amidst a family that never belonged to me… away from

One that seldom acknowledged my existence…

I was alone… tired… desperate…

I was not an orphan by birth, fate made me one.

Galling faces, sympathetic looks, I’m least bothered.

Then he came and claimed me,

I was more than happy to make myself

Secure in his arms – I found my haven, my ultimate destiny.

Now, the puzzle is solving, picture is more clear,

I don’t mind forming new relations. Good large band

Oh God! Do I really had this much relatives?

I am happy. He is Happy. They are too.

Still I am devoid of her, my mother, never seen her once

And that makes my heart ache like nothing matters.

Makes me loathe every other mirth granted.

This poem is a dedication to a girl, whom I knew now and whom I wish to have known before. She lost her mother when she was a few months old(her mother is still alive) and lost her father when she became old enough to take a decision in her life(her father is alive too). The irony is that she is an orphan literally with both parents alive and sound. I don’t think I should make her life a post. My poetry isĀ  her pain and I apologize for this.