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!!!


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