Works of RK

It was a Disney kind of life. There was this old Diesel Engine chugging through the green valleys of peace. Its black soot smelt of gasoline, and that was wonderful! Life was younger, more vibrant. Our dreams a lot more vivid and believable. A kiss was a kiss, not just that rubber grinding the loins and it retained the kind of naivete purity, in its adolescent entirety. I am not sure when we grew up. Not sure when our minutes became shorter, life faster and duller. I am not sure when our memory machines stopped making new memories, not sure when when God walked into our Eden. Not sure when we turned sinners... and sinned. Rajesh This one if for all the young ones. Here is wishing you beautiful memories from your growing up days .

Courtesy www.aolcdn.com Life is a grinder. It slowly grinds the best of us unto fine powder. All our jarring edges and rough ends get ground into micron size fine dust. Its an endless process. In goes our dreams of flying planes as a kid, in goes the first love and with it, those thoughts about that beautiful teacher falling in love with me or that neighbor girl looking my way. In goes my dreams of riding a Harley with the hair of my loved one catching the winds. Its a painstakingly slow process. The mills work silently, in long meandering vortexes of time. Everything that is our tomorrow, slowly becomes our today, gets ground, becomes one with the rest of our past. Fine Dust. Each day that I wake up, I look at life right up front. I know that this day will also be consumed. I know that the memories that I create from today will someday be painted the same dull blue from my yesterdays. I know that my today will finally meet my yesterdays. There is no escape. There is no other way. But ...

Every time I take this road, my sense of direction fails me. It annoys her no end. You see, there is a turn by the local temple, that leads me to her place; and then there is this another turn right before the milk booth, it leads me to a house with tiled roofs and a Tamarind tree. It is a dead end. That lane ends before this house. Why do you have to take the wrong turn all the time, she screams. Her voice can be shrill when she is agitated. There is something here that confounds her. Why, why would I drive into this lane instead of the next one? We have lived many lives my dear. Who knows why this house draws me to itself? What if long before your lane became central to my life, I had other lanes to call my own? How would you know? How would I know?

Have you heard a cat cry. It sounds so much like humans. I remember the cry of a mother cat who had lost one of her kittens. She cried for three straight nights. Moaning, shuddering, cursing, but mostly, talking to herself about her loss. Until that night, I had not known that cats have feelings too. I was too young then. Her loss worried me no end. Each night when the moans started, I and my sister would hug each other and go to sleep. It has been many years since I lost my grandmother. The heart is forever in mourning. Life finds a way to live but the wailing never stops. Some losses are inexplicably difficult to come to terms with.

In the heart of darkness rests An unquenching desire for light. In silences that stretch Beyond unreasonable memory A cry of a shout sheltered remain Deep within the angst of time. Wake me up When this life is done Let the forever time begin In another lifetime.

When I was a kid, I used to frequent Tauseef's house. I am very poor with memories. There is some sort of auto flush that wipes them away. I neither retain the good ones nor the bad ones. I have a past that is forever under construction. Its an open canvas, I paint it at will. But I remember the Gauraiyyas (Indian Sparrows). Tauseef's house was always full of them. Little chirpy birds that kept pecking on the dining table or sitting right next to aunty and waiting for her to drop them some grains. They would flit about all over the place. I don't remember any of those big celling fans ever being switched on in Tauseef's place. The gauraiyyas were always safe in his place. When I started working on plantations some 16 years ago, I always kept fowl at the managerial bungalow. There was this ill tempered gander, two insufferable flying ducks, dozens on hens...but no sparrows. There were no sparrows in Kerala and you could not buy a sparrow, a sparrow can never be owned. Th...

Come away from the realm of sanity There is no reason why you and I Should live this profanity! Let's fly away To the land where fairies live And in the clouds of candies Let's be 18 again. I can hear the bells ringing I can even hear late Sr Anne Sitting by the choir singing. There is a hint of red In the forever horizon again Soon it will be that time of the year When you will find it easier To believe!