Monday, March 20, 2017


Tuesday, February 28, 2017


When I was a little boy, my father took me and my sister to Vakathanam every year during our school holidays. This is the town in Kerala where my mother's home is located. Being a person following very staunch principles, he would always prefer to visit the place and leave on the same day. My mother also was very particular that he did so in order to keep up his dignity. I could not understand how anyone could leave such a beautiful and rustic country in less than a day. It took real time for me to decipher the nuances of this dignity concept.

At this very spot where you see me sitting in this snap, my Dad would stand and point to the farmers who would be busy with their work in the fields and several rafts of ducks slowly making their way in the water. We would watch the fishes, the frogs and the tadpoles. It was such a beautiful sight with the air so fresh all around. He would ask me whether I would be able to paint this landscape. I would stay silent without giving a response. After the few minutes of silence between us, he would point to the trees in the distance and tell me "That place so faraway may seem far and unreachable. But you can reach there if you will try and walk towards it. So try to paint this scenery. You will be able to do it".

Today, the place still remains green and pristine. The seat where I am seated is probably the only new thing that has come up over several years. The greenery is still young but Dad is no more. But his memories still remain so fresh always.

Sunday, February 26, 2017


I feel sad that we lost a lot of greenery with the last cyclone that went by in 2016. The church also took a huge brunt during the 2015 floods in Chennai.

But still, the grace remains.

Monday, February 6, 2017


I remember that day,
When I rushed into the hospital ward,
With joy in my heart,
To see my new born child.
I still recall that feel,
When I took her into my arms,
The very first time.
She was so soft,
And so feeble,
And I enjoyed and loved,
That feebleness in her.

When senility,
Finally catches up with us,
We again become,
Like these tiny ones.

Today my sick father
Is so feeble in my arms,
That his body blends
With every turn I make.
So malleable and weak,
He is now.
And seeing him suffer,
Fills me with pain.

All of us make a feeble start,
And then head for a feeble finish.
We hardly realize this,
When we are at the peaks,
In life's journey.

Life is still beautiful!!!

Monday, January 30, 2017


I have often been fascinated by the crowns worn by Kings who ruled India, be it the Hindu kings or those from the Mughal dynasty. More than the embellishments that the Kings had on their crowns, it was their ability to retain the crown for long that fascinated me. Anyone having a crown, knows how difficult it is to retain it. We don't need to have a real crown like that of a king to feel this situation. Even I went through this at school for many years with the first rank crown. Only later did I realize that in the huge kingdom of life, the first rank crown meant nothing.

Here's one random crown I designed using the Microsoft Paint package. May be a few more plumes and some gems studded on the borders would have made it even more superb :)) Shall post more.

Thursday, January 26, 2017


My first five years at school had so much English and an Anglo flavour to it. If it was something else, I believe I would have genuinely felt the loss of having really missed something precious. My teachers, right through those five years were Anglo Indians. My music teacher too was an Anglo Indian and for the first two of these five years, our Headmistress was an Anglo Indian too. This had a bearing on almost everything that happened in a day at school, be it the way the classes were conducted, the disciplinary aspects, the way the interactions with the teachers happened, the exposure to the language that we gained through the Anglo Indian syllabus taught by these teachers, the music sessions and then the Christmas celebrations and the stage plays during the annual day meets every year. This to me, is the biggest gift I got during my school years.

The neighbourhood surrounding the school, also had a British tinge in it. The road where the Railway Mixed Higher Secondary School was located in Perambur, was studded with so many Anglo Indian families. Besides this bunch, there were those on the Foxen Street too that lay next to this road. Our Lady of Lourdes Shrine that stands on the Paper Mills Road was where many of us students went either during our lunch breaks or after school and we always got to see a large Anglo Indian population flock there. There are two other churches adjacent to our school and one of them is just beside the playground. This is where we went when we had a free period, either to play or to sit and chat. Some teachers even took classes under the tree shades, close to this church.

Christmas parties were special and it happened just before the school closed for the Christmas holidays. Each student brought cakes, pasteries and decorations. We had Christmas trees decorated in our classes. I can still feel the hard pinch on my nose, given by one Santa Clause, while he went around distributing gifts. I am still not sure who it was. Annual day every year came with it's own colour and grandeur. We had lots of stage plays and singing and each of these had so many rehearsals at the Railway auditorium that stood opposite to our school. I still recall the feeling of having lip stick smudged all over my lips and cheeks, just before stepping on to the stage for the different plays. Quite a number of them set the tracks on fire and came out in flying colours in the field events too, during the annual sports competitions.

Many of my Anglo Indian classmates had their homes very close to the school and I had the opportunity to visit some of their homes. My immediate neighbour at the Railway Quarters where I spent my childhood, was an Anglo Indian. Kevin Geer, the eldest of the three sons in that family, was my playmate during those years. I got to hear a lot of English music from his home. Hid dad was a saxophonist. I am in touch with many of these friends even now. My dad had an Anglo Indian friend Duncan who gave him so many English music cassettes. He even screened Biblical movies for our prayer group's annual gatherings. If it was not for Duncan Uncle, I would never have had a tryst with so much English music at that age.

A life without this flavour would certainly have been bland. I really cherish those days when I lived in the middle of an Anglo Indian world.


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