Poovan's

Confessions of a Teetotaller

2007-11-01T23:19:00.000-07:00

Yet another misty morning. As usual, sun takes the trouble to wake me up, through my half shut window. Yesterday's topic of discussion was whether the window is half shut or half open. Manu, who argued to the core that the window is half open, still has not opened his eyes. I wonder, how two of us having entirely different ideologies could sleep on the same bed so peacefully!

Yesterday's party time has provoked my thoughts a lot. What could I gain being a teetotaller all these years? Peace of mind, sleep, happiness, food, water..... anything? Undoubtedly, all my friends booze. They have peace of mind, they are happy, they sleep, eat good food, drink water and alcohol.... And I, just like an idiot, abstain from all these time killing activities, cursing my fate of sharing the same house with all these guys.

I'm afraid to wake Manu up. I don't know how it feels while getting up after a late night party. For that reason, I never wake him up. And he scolds me everyday asking, 'Why didn't you?'

There is still some alcohol left in the bottle. Oh, no, they call it honey, whisky, brandy... Sometimes Subash calls it 'sweetheart' also. They say, the name alcohol would portray its features worst. I don't know.

Hmm... And the 'kick' that they speak about. The feel of heaven!! What's that hell!! Yeah, one day Shylesh explained me that. He made me drink soda (I have tasted it before.) and asked me, 'what do you feel?' I felt nothing but I'm having soda.

'No man, on your tongue?'

'Oh! Fizz!' I said.

'That's it.' He explained. 'When you are drunk, you get the same feeling all over the body. You become physically weak, mentally strong.' What a dirty feeling is that! I don't know.

I hate alcohol's odour. Hope Manu doesn't hear me. He had hit me once for calling it 'odour'. He says it's the fragrance! I was astonished when he explained the best methods to smell alcohol. In his words...

"... Smell it before you consume, you feel proud. Smell it before you take the second peg, fragrance of joy flower (what flower is that?) spreads. Smell when you sip the third peg, you feel it's your wife's breath. After the fourth peg, wife goes and girlfriend enters. Wow...!!! But, after the fifth..."

He stopped. I asked him, "What?"

"I don't know. Further I don't see, smell or hear anything!

"Ha ha ha... There are things which they also don't know. Yes, that makes me happy.

I always controlled my instincts. Many have taught me not to. Instincts are god's call, they said. Even the alcohol, oh sorry, honey bottle gently calls me by name!

Let me just smell it! Hmmm.... I feel proud. Good. Let me have a sip. Oh! It burns as it goes in! But I have to smell the second peg. I need to know how joy flower smells like, how fizz spreads over body, why I should not call it alcohol... I need to know everything.... everything...

Oh, it has become evening. I slept for a long time I guess. Aaahh... Shit! Who banged my head???

Monsoon

2007-11-01T09:08:00.000-07:00

“Rip-roaring, trembling, spine tingling… Words would seem inadequate when you have to describe the south Indian monsoon! A gentle breeze undergoes a subtle change and chills you in the form of a storm. Clouds dance as their triumph goes on, lightening illuminates and the thunder plays the drum of season... Off late, after such a mind blowing performance, you discover reverence for the power of nature.

This is the old story! But today......”

Sindhu dropped her pen and leaned on to the bed. The pale green bed sheet was misplaced by her flimsy movement. She arranged it to perfection holding the papers on the other hand. The pillow on which her hand rested lay on the edge of the bed, resembling a new born baby fast asleep. She gently pulled it closer to her and gave it a warm soft touch. Taking a long breath, she glanced at the papers.

Nothing came into her mind to write about the present monsoon. She wanted to write that the whole country was waiting for a drop of water to fall from the sky. She could see no melancholy tears upon their languid faces. From her filtered view through the flat window, she could infer only some grumbles about the air conditioner price lists. The zero watt bulb laughed at her thoughts showing its yellow teeth. Chewing the tip of her pen in great depression, she sat against the paper and kept reading the few lines she had written.

Rip-roaring, trembling, spine tingling…

“Sindhu....” Sathyan’s voice was heard on the ground floor. Sindhu threw the pen on to the table, gathered the papers, and put them under the bed as she stood. She arranged her red flowery saree and ran toward the voice, but she lost control of her footing near the door. Irksome banging sound of the door took Sathyan’s attention to the first floor.

“What the hell are you doing there?”, he screamed.

“Make my coffee”, he asked her. “Already the rain has annoyed me enough. You need not add anything more.”

Like any obedient wife, she walked towards the kitchen, holding one edge of the saree and wiping the little sweat on her forehead.

Sindhu had no complaints, and believed she was happy. Beyond the seventeen windows of their house, she had no scope of defining happiness; but on the slum street behind the bungalow, she had found a few happy drunkards. It was the alcohol that made them happy. However, she was happy without it.

Sindhu loved cooking. And in all the romantic chat which he rarely had with her, Sathyan praised her for that. She loved receiving his appreciations, though he did it rarely. For that, she always made the food of his choice. She knew what he liked, and always sat beside him when he eats, to see him savoring what she cooked.

The day turned dark and Sathyan was set to make the routine love. She never blamed him. Considering his busy schedule, she felt he was compensating for the other days by loving her once in a week. She took him to be caring and thanked him for his love at nights. She loved those occasions, as he speaks a lot then.

Sathyan held her fingers across his. She found the rain acquiring more strength. To that matter, though he was nowhere in the picture, she liked to believe that he made it all for her. In each touch of his, she felt the shiny saturated raindrops on her. She lived in the rain for that moment, and he, in her. The rain gained more and more strength making an ethereal flood around the bungalow. And finally, with a rattling thunder, it all stopped. Sathyan turned towards the other side, and Sindhu, towards the window.

“Every emotion is directly related to the monsoon – love, hatred, pain... driblet by driblet, it falls on us to remind us that we lean on different emotions. And endlessly, we blame the state.”

Sindhu uttered few more words to add to her write-up on monsoon. Through the window, around the street light on the road, she found end number of flies making a new life.

“It makes life, and.... and... it takes as well.”

Gazing through her window, she kept whispering something. The rain had by then taken the image of a hero in her mind. She loved the rain and passionately moaned to get closer to it. Each drop fell tingling her fantasies.

“I have no kids... If I had one, he would have been your best friend, rain!”

Her whispers turned vivid. The bungalow walls resounded each word with an emotional disturbance that grew with the rain. Sindhu kept her hands between her knees. Veins on her face got tight. The seven feet blanket could no longer cover her insights. She turned to the window with a vague look in her eyes. The rain could no longer control; a wild wind smashed her window glass into broken pieces. Sathyan rubbed his nose and turned back to sleep.

Sindhu pulled the papers kept under the bed making little noise. She read it all again in the darkness, and walked towards the door that opens to the balcony. Standing on the balcony, she stretched her arms towards the rain. For the first time in life, Sindhu felt as if doing something that she ever wanted. Each drop pierced her fingertip and crept through the nerves with immense joy. She found a new life calling her by name...

“Sindhu... Sindhu...”

Sindhu smiled. On one corner of her smile, she hid her hostility for the entire world. On the other, she expressly revealed her love for the rain. She threw the papers one after the other on to the ground. In the rain, the papers flew freely and kissed the mud!

Next morning. Sathyan could not believe his fate. People gathered around house and rescue alarm sizzled all over. Standing in the rain, he bowed and picked a paper from the mud. Pinkish blood still courses on to its edges.

“It makes life, and.... and... it takes as well.”

He read it all, but couldn’t infer anything from it. Sathyan's fingers shivered as the wind turned wild and snaffled the papers from his hand. Staring at the balcony, he uttered, “There is something wrong here, I can feel it.”

The Politics of Hartal

2007-11-01T06:24:00.000-07:00

It has been very long since I decided to blog regularly. And I regularly ignored my instincts to write. May be, this time I feel it very important to respond to my social sorroundings. Today, on a 'Keralappiravi' day, the Bharathiya Janatha Party and its supporters have curtailed the freedom given to me by the Constitution of India. I'm hurt, I'm insulted and at any (affordable) cost, I feel it important to respond. As per natural justice, I deserve the right to an inevitable revenge.

Many a times my friends have adviced me saying, "you must join politics". Undoubtedly, they all 'work' for different political parties. I simply do not understand the meaning of this statement. Why should I join politics when i'm already in it? Is it necessary that I should hold a political party ticket given by these so called leaders? By politics, I mean the right and duty to respond to political/social issues. As a responsible citizen, I do it, and I enjoy it as well.

I'm proud that Malayalees over the globe have good political sense and are sensitive to any social issue. It is a good symptom. Most of us, atleast morally, support one political party. We look into details, we analyse and conclude. We have a unique and confident opinion on any social issue. Yes, we are great. But how many of us seriously think of the impact of a state of being over political?

As an individual, as different from a political party, i have my own concerns. I believe that I'm a free human being. In last couple of weeks, Keralam witnessed 4 Hartals. Each one called on by different parties, on different issuues. One of them was called on by the ruling party. Is it right on the part of these parties to deny my freedom? For each Hartal, how many offices/institutes/business concerns compromise. How many manpowers are being wasted. By holding a bundh, we force ourselves to back off a day in terms of progress. Is it called revolution, or is it that progressive steps that our parties claim to have been taking?

For the political values that we, the people of Kerala hold, it is important to have a mass movment against this issue irrespective of the flag colour. We, the unprofessional politicians should boldly say NO to the parties who call for Hartals. What is being infringed is our right. What is curtailed is our freedom. There are no parties or groups on this earth to tell us "You shouldn't do this". We should develop a spirit to say, "I will". Let's hope and work for a better situation.