I am jinxed, I used to lament. Then she came and sat near me, moving her hand through my hair she said, ‘You are my doll,’ in the sweetest sound I had ever heard. Thus a memory happened, so close to my heart, a memory of being a jinxed doll. I smiled to myself knowing her selfless love never cease to give me jitters.

I am lucky, I used to boast. Then he came and stood behind me, gritting his teeth at my impuissance he said, ‘You are my headache,’ in the most possessive sound I had ever heard. Thus a memory happened, so close to my heart, a memory of being a lucky headache. I smiled to myself knowing his selfish love never cease to give me jitters.

‘I care,’ I pleaded only to be ignored. ‘I don’t care,’ I yelled only to be ignored again. ‘Did I matter or didn’t I,’ I wondered aloud only to earn some eyebrow raisings. ‘I love you,’ I never said and they waited. ‘I love you,’ I wanted to say but couldn’t and they smiled at me as if they knew my secret. This is so weird.

‘Ummachi…,’ as my voice reverberated through the walls and ceiling, I knew I sounded nothing but an anxious 5 year old. I couldn’t help it. ‘Papa…,’ my voice has a note of acknowledgement of the responsibility that bestows on me every time I took that word. ‘Vavachi…,’ cuteness quotient magnified and I am too aware of that for my own good. ‘Ashiq…,’ and lo am I proud? I should make sure that he is the last one to know. ‘Vellumma…,’ the calmness was not your imagination or mine, it was there brimming inside me and a pair of eyes, grey with white lashes of age, flashed. ‘Vellyappa…,’ I breathed in anguish and no one can hear a breath. I hope he hears me.

A selfless smile, a caring hand, a cute nose, a handful of mischief, and an aura of serenity- these built my family. And they prompt me to smile, to weep, to scream, to soothe, to romp, to forget, to ponder, to ignore, to tease, to love and to do everything I do. My family is my trigger. Period.

Sasuraal Genda Phool

Memoir: My life was all normal and happy that I was hopping around my house with lithe steps (jumping at times), songs in loops, dancing moves, hands held books and my fill of fangirling, with a messy self and mushy gait I hardly cared anything on the earth, and then it happened. Out of the blue I was married off and placed in a new house full of strangers, abnormal, I mean, no running or chasing, no songs, no dance, what’s-there-in-a-novel looks and fangirling is a big don’t, now teach me some etiquette and how to start a I-do-care spree, albeit I won’t argue on the happy part which stayed intact. Yes, happily married.

My saas, I mean, mother-in-law never gave me a ghari (scolding) and I had no such hopes of her. I am lucky that she is the odd one out in the MIL genre. My father-in-law is a typical FIL of Kerala. My devarji sa (brother-in-law) and chotu devarji sa (bother-in-law, pun intended) are saiyaan’s only siblings (both are polls apart). If one is samjane waali then the other is the obvious replacement for ghari dene waali. Did I say I was lucky for something? Then this is the part where I am going to edit it. I am lucky, sort of. And then comes to the ched ne waali (the one who teases), mhare saiyaanji (my husband). Husband is synonym for missing and skyping. I miss you. So let me skype you. He went to pardes (foreign land) leaving me alone, but as I am a less of a complaining saathiya and more of an understanding saathiya, we live in peace separated by seas. Let me quote Roger de Bussy, “Absence is to love is what wind is to fire, it extinguishes the small, it inflames the great.” And our love sets afire by the distance.


Rhapsody of Rain

It is raining outside, the thunderstorm roaring to life, and summer rain is gaining momentum. Everyone loves rain, or at least someone like me. Albeit rain (the prolonged one) brings all sorts of troubles, miseries, the inconveniences, I seldom have qualms and worries; I love rain no matter the demerits. And I love poems, despite lack of solid poetry in me. For the polishing of my poesy soul I write an ode to the rain, Rhapsody of Rain.

Wafted into the corridors, petrichor cradled my senses, mild and generous.

First of the season – rain of hope, sprouted greens and awaken bugs, greeted.

This is the call of life and I’m favored.

Trembled in fierce thunders, drenched, cobwebby attic walls failed to scare me.

Faraway beckons, curiosity pushes, my eyes wander beyond the wooden bars.

This is called passion and I acknowledge.

Hitting my upturned face, they swept down and stolen a kiss from my lips.

Tickling and teasing, raindrops washed my body and made love with my soul.

This should be desire, or I define so.

When they rampage, I hesitate for a moment and then step out – guts tucked.

Shedding all the sane but stubborn thoughts, I drown my eyes in the floods.

This is hope, they wash away my tears.

Clouds gather, spread macabre shadows on land, and pour down over hilltops.

I stood at the valley to be slain, the streams taking momentum and memories.

This is revenge; I vouch to live up to.

The unveiling, sort of.

Again, another long break. *sigh* It looks like I am becoming more lazy as the days pass. Now as I find some time and mind to write, let me write about me, the earnest and unadulterated way. It is not like I am an unknown or my posts had no hints, they had enough and more for a ten year old to interpret, but I want to speak out all from my heart in the truest language. So basically this post is turning out to be something superfluous. *sighing again*

I am Muhsina, an unsophisticated village girl. Doing my PG in Computer Science and Engineering I am anything but that. Before describing myself let me warn you, I am too dark for my own good. I am stubborn, confused but an accommodating one. I am like a coin with sides as sadist and masochist. You can call me The Extremist. Inferring or interpreting me seems a complex task and can take you an entire life time but in reality I am as readable as an open book, provided readers’ discretion. I have a sharp tongue, but only in my close circle, my family. For outsiders I wear a facade of calmness, innocence and forbearance. Ain’t I too generous? I never flaunt and hate flaunty lot. What is the opposite of dandy? It’s me Muhsina, one with low-toned fashion quotient. I don’t lie would be a lie, I have my share. *wink* My mouth has this uncanny tendency to blabber things I never meant, or may be the exact opposite of what I meant. Either way often put me in trouble that I would regret later. But I am too stubborn or too coward, whatever it is, to apologize and redeem. I’m eccentric to the hilt; every person who knows me inside out would approve that. I like honest people with friendly frankness and lots of healthy humor sense. I enjoy humor, constructive, to the fullest. I hate parasites and those fake double standard ones, the hypocrites. I am peace with anyone who is peace with themselves *tongue-in-cheek* and fete woman empowerment. *evil-grin* Don’t misread me as a feminist by that as I’m trying to being offbeat lately. I am a freethinker all the way. I am a true believer of the one God, Allah-u-ahad, Adam and Eve and successors of Adam, Muhammed-the Prophet for the entire mankind, the Holy Qur’an, the heaven and the hell.