Thursday, 15 February 2024

Chennai to Kodai in 9 days

The scene through my minibus window changed from a madisar mami riding a bike on a school drop trip to another 9 yards sari clad mami bending over to draw a kolam with nonchalantly steady lines. From the bustling capital city of Chennai, with its incongruous yet charming medley of tradition and modernity, to smaller towns like Kumbakonam, Thanjavur and Karaikudi , proudly revealing vestiges of yore; the ever-changing view from my window kept me enthralled. People enjoying their siesta under benevolent, old trees, busy birds building their nests, cattle shaking heads in unison to the trill of bells hung on their necks, the verdant expanse of fields watched over by palm trees and the shy smiles on the villagers’ faces when they spot a face peeking at them from the bus window – all captivating monographs of Tamil Nadu.


Over the 9 days we spent on the road trip, we never felt insecure or threatened. Not when a few friendly drunk men boisterously applauded our attempts to polish off the deliciously spicy Chettinadu style lunch and not even when our bus broke down late at night somewhere between Pondicherry and Kumbakonam and the only company we had were some workers from the nearby fish farm. They even offered us their last bottle of drinking water! Our trip was filled with instances of the Tamilians’ genuine compassion, their willingness to help and abiding curiosity. A fellow traveler from America was quizzed about her dreadlocks by more than one passerby with the query, “Your ‘original’ hair?!” She was in turn fascinated by the locals’ use of the adjective ‘normal’ for water that was room temperature as opposed to cold water. We assured her that the usage was an Indianism and was not restricted to Tamil Nadu!


Chennai – Mahabalipuram



Our trip kicked off from a heaving bylane of Triplicane and we made our way through Anna Salai (used to be known as Mount Road when I was in college) which was a drive down nostalgia lane for me. I lived the first 25 years of my life in Chennai. The old haunts flashed past – Rangis (Chinese food joint), McRennet Bakery (their jam biscuits have a piece of my heart always), Higginbothams (huge book shop, that’s still standing), Spencer’s mall (it was a shopping center earlier too but a fire destroyed the old colonial style building and a squat mall was built in its place), LIC building (used to be the tallest multistoried building on Mount road; not anymore) and of course the Marina beach. First stop was DakshinaChitra heritage museum, a delight for people who are interested in South Indian culture, architecture, arts and crafts. 18 traditional homes from Tamil Nadu, Kerala, Andhra Pradesh, Telangana and Karnataka have been dismantled and reinstalled at Dakshina chitra to provide a glimpse of the cultural heritage of the South. Artisans demonstrate their art and folk artistes perform to recreate the authentic ambience. We saw the dance of the Lambanis, a nomadic community known for their mirror-worked colourful clothes and heavy silver jewellery. We reached Mahabalipuram in time for sunset and watched the golden rays frame the picturesque Shore temple gopuram. The giant rock relief depicting Arjuna’s penance and Krishna’s butter ball were the other places of interest we visited while munching on slivers of raw mangoes dusted with salt and chilli powder and freshly cut watermelon to beat the heat.


Pondicherry - Pichavaram – Auroville 



  

Pondicherry was frenzied and bursting at the seams as we got there on Republic day (26th January) and it was a long weekend. When we could look beyond the hordes trying to get into eating and drinking joints, the colonnaded majestic buildings in the French quarter took centrestage. We were lucky to spot a quiet and charming eatery called The Spot by Villa Shanti, just off the promenade and bask in the Pondicherry night air on a full moon night. We visited Auroville, lured by the possibility of finding some peace, but tourists got there before us! We found some quaint stuff in the shops but had no luck with meditating or visiting the golden orb shaped Matrimandir. An early morning trip to Pichavaram lake and the serene mangroves, mostly natural with some recent human intervention preventing erosion with their network of roots, was a great sight. Our itinerary also included the Auroville bamboo centre and we spent a day learning to work with the hardy material and building a Yurt. When the yurt was up and standing, a strong sense of creative exultation coursed through the team! We celebrated the team effort with some impromptu music on the imaginatively created bamboo instruments at the centre.

Tiruvannamalai – Kumbakonam 



A story set in the future describes the ethos of our day spent at Thannal, an Indian natural building methods awareness group at Tiruvannamalai, founded by Biju Bhaskar and his team. The story unfolds many years from today, when Man has achieved great heights and even found God. Characteristically and egoistically, Man tells God to take rest from Creation. God indulgently allows Man to exhibit the enthusiasm of new-found prowess in creation. Myriad creations and advancements later, Man realises that God is not all that impressed. When questioned, God smiles and says, first create Soil; the basis of all creation and what you return to in the end. Thannal fosters the concept that every built creation is a living, breathing entity. Indian natural building methods use locally available resources and Lime, the strong mortar that has kept ancient edifices strong and standing even today. Thannal aims to rejuvenate traditional building methods to counter the irreversible damage caused by use of unsustainable materials and polite architecture! We spent a tactile experiential day learning to work with soil, activated Lime, the making of mortar and getting our hands and nails full of silky earth making Adobe bricks. We even did a sort of grape crushing stomping session on the mud mixed for the bricks!

Bidding adieu to the Thannal team, we headed towards Kumbakonam, fatigued after a day of uncommon physical activity. And as luck would have it, our bus broke down and we were stranded on a highway somewhere between Pondicherry and Kumbakonam. Since the replacement bus would take a couple of hours to reach we tried to flag down buses and taxis who could get us to our hotel in Kumbakonam. After a few unsuccessful attempts with buses who wouldn’t stop long enough to allow 15 of us to board, two private taxis obliged and ferried us to our destination. We slept like babies with the unfamiliar, yet familiar feel of mud on our fingers.


Kumbakonam – Thanjavur



The fame of Kumbakonam degree kaapi preceded the need to sleep in late and I was amply rewarded by the steaming hot kaapi served in tumbler and davara. The tone of the morning was set and we headed to the Airavatheeswar temple to feast our eyes on the magnificent sculptures and musical steps housed in the temple complex. The intricately carved stone structures and the grand temple gopuram are protected by a citadel wall that could have been a requisite to combat the persistent invasions of those times. Next stop was Thanjavur, the city famous for Brihadeeswara temple, Gangaikondacholapuram, Thanjavur painting and the Thanjavur dancing dolls. The Maratha rulers of the Bhonsle dynasty were patrons of arts and learning and that is evident in the monuments and historical artefacts on display at the Thanjavur palace. The Brihadeeswara temple or Big temple exhibits Chola, Maratha and European influences. The grand and statuesque monument boasts of the tallest vimana in the world and is included in the UNESCO world heritage sites list. An intriguing sight pointed out by our guide was the sculpture of a seemingly European man and curly haired non-Indian woman on the vimana on the temple which was completed in 1010 AD during the reign of Raja Raja Cholan, while the earliest known presence of Europeans in India can be traced to 1600 AD. There are many plausible surmises about the mysterious figure that warrants yet another blog! The sunset view of the Brihadeeswara temple is what we carried with us enroute to Karaikudi to witness more evidences of grandiose architecture, this time by the Chettiars of Sivaganga district.




Karaikudi 

The Chettiars were a successful trading and entrepreneurial community who earned their fortunes by their exposure to the world and business acumen. Most houses in Chettinad have an open-to-sky center court which traditionally was used to conduct marriages and other ceremonies. The heavy Burmese teak pillars with crystal embellishments that glinted when the sunlight hit them, buoyed up the Chettiars’ penchant for extravagance in their heydays. Today the Chettinad legacy is reduced to uninhabited and unkempt mansions. The interiors of many of the grand residences adorned with crystal chandeliers, Belgian mirrors and Japanese tiles are befitting a palace, but without the owners living there now, the walls of these mansions reflect desolate ennui. The houses have caretakers who let in visitors and tourists to take a peek into the glory of the yesteryears. Some of the houses are rented out for movie shootings. Some have been thoughtfully renovated into homestays. While many mansions have fallen prey to antique hunters and realtors, there are a few standing as vestiges of the opulent lifestyles of the Chettiars.



The forenoon saunter along the bylanes of Kanadukathan town and the vignettes of past glory left us thirsty for Chettinad history and some ice-cold lemon soda! After slaking our thirst at an enterprising mobile store, we visited a weaving training centre for Kandhaangi sarees and a factory making Athangudi tiles. The tiles ordered from abroad when the houses were being built were tough to replace or repair and the entrepreneurial Chettiars encouraged the growth of the cottage industry making the colourful hand-made floor tiles in Chettinad itself. We left Karaikudi with our bellies full with an elaborate lunch from a Chettinad mess which had quail, mutton brain fry and even rabbit meat on their menu. And our hearts were fuller with the sights of Chettinad; the hamlet holding on to departed dreams within its walls.

Rameshwaram – Dhanushkodi - Madurai
The day dawned in the holy city of Rameshwaram with a quick walk to the Ramanathaswamy temple, where devotees come to perform the after-death rituals of their relatives. The temple is one of the jyotirlingas and is situated at the southernmost part of India. There is also an idol of Sri Rama as Pallikonda Perumal in supine pose, akin to Anantha Padmanabhaswamy. The lore goes that Sri Rama visited Rameshwaram on his way back to Ayodhya after killing Ravana, who was a Shiva devotee and prayed for forgiveness. Today the temple is visited by Hindus from all over India as part of the Chardham yatra. For a quicker darshan, after paying for a ticket at the counters or in cash directly to them(!), temple board employees will take you through less crowded queues and to lines that are closer to the sanctum sanctorum. There is a spot at the seashore where an enterprising person allows devotees to place a floating stone, allegedly used by Sri Rama to build the Ram sethu to cross to Sri Lanka, on their heads for a sum. And yet another businessman sets out his binoculars and beckons customers to take a look at Sri Lanka across the ocean for a price! While revelling in the grandeur of our temples and enjoying the stories passed down the generations, I cannot help but demur at this business heavy model of religion and faith that erodes the serenity and sanctity of our places of worship. A bit dejected, I bought myself a conch shell as a keepsake to remind me that despite all the noise, the waves will never cease. 



Dhanushkodi reaffirmed this thought! A look at Google maps satellite image shows the thin, needle like terrain stretching into the ocean before the tear drop contour of Sri Lanka starts. The long walk on the solitary road with sea waves foaming onto the shore on either side and as you near the tip, on the third side too, was a therapeutic sight. The glint of silver when the fisherfolk heave in the catch of the day, the pageant of Brahminy kites and seagulls waiting to seize the errant fish and the expanse of sky merging into the blue waters created mystique and mind memoirs of the southern Land’s End. Tourists and hawkers broke into this idyllic setting, but even they would not be able to stay, as Dhanushkodi was evacuated following the cyclone of 1964 that destroyed this once bustling seashore town. A dilapidated church on the sands stands witness to the formidable passage of Time.





From the taupe sands to the colourful markets of Madurai, our eyes searched the skyline for the gopuram of Meenakshi Temple. Flower sellers with fragrant mounds of different hues - garlands of pink lotuses, white jasmine sprinkled with red roses, yellow flowers strung with green leaves, lined the path into the awe-inspiring temple, built 2000 years ago enshrining Meenakshi/Parvathi (damsel with fish-shaped eyes) and Shiva as Sundareshwar. The huge temple is a sprawling complex in the middle of Madurai town with shrines, mandapams, a golden lily tank and pillars with life-like carvings. The 1000 pillar mandapam is maintained as a museum and thousands of visitors and devotees throng the magnificent edifice every day. An evening stroll through the busy streets took us to the famous Jigarthanda stall and the traditional drink of Madurai gave us the sugar fix to last till we hit the restaurant for some Madurai biriyani and kari dosa. 


Kodaikanal – Vattakanal 



Both Madurai kaapi and Kumbakonam kaapi get full marks for the right amount of froth and smile that comes with it when they serve it. After a lovely breakfast of Dosa and vada served on banana leaves with some chutney and sambar as I like it (without any hint of sweetness!) we started the climb towards Kodaikanal. The narrow road snaked through deep valleys that converted me, an agnostic, into a believer temporarily. The placid sight of the Kodaikanal lake, devoid of tourists since it was a Thursday, seconded my belief that Heaven is on earth. We reached Vattakanal and savoured the luscious chill breeze after days of being chased by the Sun. The evening walk to Dolphin’s nose was the highlight of the day. The rocks when seen from one angle was shaped like the snout of a dolphin, that jutted out into the yawning valley below us. Bravado made me walk to the end and question my decision immediately after. But the view was worth it. The hike back was through a steep path lined by the wise old trees of the forest, binding the errant eroding earth with a maze of their roots. The hill station has strict rules about single use plastic but the plastic and poison already left behind dot the pathway as garish reminders of human indifference. The daunting effort of the climb was softened by the toothless grin of the old lady at the tea shop who served us sweet coffee and the sweetest passion fruits I have ever tasted. The thought that amazed us was that this at least 70-year-old lady walked to her shop every day on the same path that had us panting like a greyhound after a race.


With the impending end of the trip looming over us, the campfire thawed our limbs and inhibitions. Bongo drumming, singing songs, dancing around the fire and chatting with new found friends warmed our hearts and we slept with smiles on our faces. Our room had a huge window and the host had hinted about the dramatic sunrise that awaited us. The 5.30 am daybreak was splashed with colours that would suit a Bollywood leading lady’s ensemble; deep purple, magenta, crimson and salmon pink. As the minutes languidly ticked past, the oranges and yellows took over. The view of the sunrise was untainted magic framed by our window. Some frames of nature are so grandiose that they can make you feel like you are intruding. But Kodaikanal, the gift of the forest, showered largesse on us and held us close in her welcoming arms. The trip back to the plains and crowds of people was the alarm ringing and ushering us back into the real world! The trip that provided us evidence of man’s labour, ingenuity of thought, and the stateliness capable of by the human mind comes to an end, as do all good things.


Glossary:

 Madisar – The 9 yards sari tied in a characteristic manner by married Tamil brahmin women 

 Mami – The epithet given to older Tamil women, literally means ‘aunty’ 

 Kolam – Designs drawn every morning outside the homes with rice flour, involving a series of dots and lines. An auspicious art welcoming all to the home; especially goddess Lakshmi.

 Chettinadu – The land of Chettiars, in the Sivaganga district renowned for its palatial mansions, athangudi tiles and lipsmacking food.

 Gopuram – The ornamental entrance tower seen in south Indian temple architecture

 Yurt – A circular tent and domed roof made of latticed beams/bamboo

 Thannal – Means ‘Shade’ in Tamil

 Polite architecture – The opposite of vernacular/traditional architecture that is non-local in usage of material and design

 Adobe bricks – Bricks made of earth and organic material

 Kaapi - Coffee

 Tumbler & Davara – The utensils used to serve coffee that allows you to pour and froth it up to the required temperature

 Vimana – The tower over the sanctum sanctorum of a temple

 Chettiars – A tradesmen community known for their business prowess

 Kandhaangi – The cotton sari woven in parts of Sivaganga district in Tamilnadu

 Jyotirlingas – The 12 jyotirlingas are shrines dedicated to Lord Shiva spread across India

 Chardham yatra - A pilgrimage to four of the holiest temples in India

 Sethu – Bridge

 Mandapam – Pillared pavilion detached from the main building

 Jigarthanda – Means ‘cools the liver’; a drink made from milk, sarsaparilla syrup, ice cream

 Kari dosa – Dosa stuffed with spicy meat

 Sambar – Curry made with lentils, vegetables and select spices and tamarind adding the tang, served with south Indian breakfast like idli and dosa.

Tuesday, 22 June 2021

Caught in the Headlight


Limpid. Doe eyed fright;

caught in the headlight.

Brimming. Hope. Spirit.

Light burning deep,

seeps into the fathoms. 

Hurting.

Put up a fight. Succumb to the light.


Loud. Clamour of heartbeat;

encased in jail ribs. Cold feet.

Sweating. Reminder. 

Struggle to breathe,

yet another life prod.

Gasping.

Take a life breath. Smother under the sheet.


Lustre. Shines through clouds;

dark greys lurk. Shrouds.

Stunning. Silver lining.

Omen of life,

Stoic voices.

Spluttering.

Breathe in. Breathe out.


-Anuradha Venkatnarayan

Friday, 23 October 2020

The New Normal

 

The New Normal! I must admit I’m not a huge fan of this newly coined phrase. Primarily because it insinuates that a sense of abnormalcy existed earlier. In my head, the phrase conjures up an image of a errant employee trying to gloss over past mistakes and grovelling to get that promotion. But let’s accept it; we are stuck with it! Corporates are flaying it, enterprising startups are shining through with it and yet some individuals are hiding behind it. However, plainly speaking, the oft used sobriquet does wring out much needed hope-filled sentiments of a better future! So I shall put aside my dislike for the phrase and eat ‘humble pie’, that I learnt to make over the lockdown period...a flaky crust filled with tart humility!


Now getting back to what lies ahead for us.... do you think the ‘new normal’ paints a rose-bush lined path towards a happy future?!


A future, where there will be no masks hiding half our visage and that of our fellow human beings. 

“Is that..? Probably not! I won’t wave back at him. What if he has mistaken me for someone else. Wait, he’s walking towards me. I’ll just give a tiny wave. Bloody hell, that’s my ex! I knew I shouldn’t have waved!!!” 


A time, where we will not suffer a fit when we hear a muffled cough behind us. 

“Quick! Check the distance. Is there a 6 feet gap between me and the cough bandit! Do I have to rush back home to have yet another bath and steam my innards!?” 


A world, where the morning news will not run a perennial bottom scroll with the no. of covid 19 deaths worldwide.

 “Have you see the numbers for New York? Or even Melbourne for that matter. It skyrocketing.” 

Nope, we aren’t discussing the real estate rates. We are talking about the statistics of people succumbing to the China virus, as Trump calls it!


A sitch, where the nondescript uncle-next-door gets famous, because of his lab test reports. 

“Did you hear about Mr. Batra? Oh no. He’s not an underworld don in hiding. The police took him to the isolation ward for quarantine after his trip to Dubai.”


A society, that doesn’t need to panic after shaking hands with acquaintances; that can hug loved ones without second thoughts; kiss it’s sweethearts’ lips and not the cold smooth screens during a video call; hold hands and dance in unison, ushering in festive days and travel with abandon without donning n95 masks, visors, and PPE suits. 

“Darling, I’m so excited we are finally able to go on our honeymoon.”

“Umm, janoo you packed protection right?”

“Of course my dear. We agreed that we are not ready for babies yet.” 

“Janoo, I actually meant the sanitiser, disinfectant spray and mouthwash!!!”


A vocabulary, where ‘being positive’ actually means having optimistic feelings; not living in fear of being mistaken for having contracted the novel coronavirus! The evolving vocabulary displays a surging popularity of the term ‘immunity’, a pet term eagerly adopted by all marketing departments especially in the FMCG sector to help flagging sales. 

“Beta, eat up your papad, even the crumbs. It boosts antibodies and in turn your immunity.”

“Ma, don’t sell immunity papad to me. Next you will be telling me to wash my hair in rasam, for that healthy shine.”


Let’s face it. There’s been nothing normal about 2020. Lethal viruses from overseas, raging forest fires, flash floods, political uprisings, racism backlash, social distancing, home schooling, work from home, overworked NCB and whatnot. I’m sure you’d all agree when I say we are reaching the point where we will happily accept any kind of normal - old or new! 


-Anuradha Venkatnarayan

Tuesday, 22 September 2020

Frozen derrières and writers’ blocks

 I’m not having a go at my ilk. Oh no! I wouldn’t write anything against the writers of the world. On the contrary, this blog is a heartfelt piece about how my writer’s block thawed after a throbbing experience! Who knows, this outpouring might just provide solace to a kindred soul grappling with wordy constipation or even recourse from curiosity as to what the throbbing experience was!

What happens during a writer’s block?! It’s akin to a road block. You don’t get anywhere! Hours crawl past; groaning under the weight of muselessness. Minutes prance past us; tongue in cheek, taunting, “Use your thumbs, twiddle dee, twiddle dum.” Seconds race ahead; glassy eyes smarting from the dust kicked up. Thoughts fade into thin air. Ideas play truant, hiding in the folds of a numb brain. On a hopeful, sunny day, when an idea flutters about on gossamer wings like a dragonfly, a quick thumbs warm up later you look up to see, “Poof, gone.” No sign of rainbow coloured wings or the faint buzz of the idea! Only void. 

I had no idea that ideas could be so unfaithful. I hadn’t written a word for almost half a year. Post writer’s block season, I am acutely conscious that the germ of an idea is unbelievably slippery, like a freshly snagged fish on what could be its last breath. If you foolishly give it some extra time in the mind’s dugout, that’s the last you’ll see of that struggling idea. You’ll see your dinner wagging it’s tail fin and getting away; jeering cruelly at you. I guess I’ve made it crystal clear that an idea is to be latched on to; just as I latched on for dear life on the bike ride from Hyderabad to Bidar! 

Did I mention that the mean machine had a person’s name and didn’t have a restraining backrest?! It’s no wonder they call it a mean machine. That 2-hour (one way, mind you) tooth and nail fight against succumbing to gravity and bouncing off the throbbing bike at every lurch definitely gave me the ‘bite’ to write. Consider this; even before the gluteus maximus has recovered from all that clenching, I’m sitting down to capture the enjoyable moments of the otherwise accident free ride! Funnily enough a frozen derrière has thawed my thoughts!

It was an idyllic day to set out. The clouds shielded the sun from toasting our bare skin. The previous night’s rain had washed away the grime from the roads and foliage. And the intermittent puddles playfully sprayed a charming pattern on the ankles. And of course the cool breeze on the face was a reminder of the adage, ‘All the best things in life are free’! While burning rubber on the tar, the breeze plays music in your ears and the trees lining the road dance along. For well-nigh starved travellers from Hyderabad, Bidar has the right amount of lure for a day trip. But the excitement of the ride tops the charm of the destination. The sense of unfettered abandon that a bike ride endows is second to none; until of course a speeding lorry forces you to stop acting like Leonardo DiCaprio trying to woo Kate Winslet! 

The experience of alternating pleasure and thrill with a ceaseless undercurrent of pain will appear to you as a mirror image of writing on an uninspired day! Try it sometime. I mean both - taking a long bike ride and writing on a museless day. At the end of the day, when you thumb down that last period, it’s pure happiness! And when you step down from the bike exhausted, it’s freedom from derrière distress!!

-Anuradha Venkatnarayan 

Tuesday, 19 November 2019

Jacaranda Muse

Opened the newspaper on a Sunday morning and my eyes swivelled to a tiny pixelated picture of a burst of purple blossoms lining a languorous avenue. It was an article about tourists flocking to South Africa to feast their eyes on the Jacaranda blooms that brighten up the Pretorian springtime. The ethereal purple invasion of Jacaranda reminds me of Scarlet O'Hara and Rhett Butler, a meld of heavenly and rakish feelings. It exudes a kind of royal mystique, like Princess Diana! And to think that I didn't have to travel very far to experience that heady rush makes me happy, in a puerile way!

I spotted my scenes of purple heaven in Ooty. One minute we were swerving on the curvaceous hill roads thinking, "Let the next stretch be straight, please God," and the next, we were blinded by the magnificent purple blooms. A veil of something magical made us oblivious of the fact that we were hurtling down a merciless path that was testing our ability to keep the contents of the stomach down. We were gliding like a leaf caught in a draught of wind...until the next hairpin bend cut into our dream!

Come March-April and the Jacaranda trees dotting the Nilgiri (literally translating into 'Blue mountain') are crowned in purple. You could tweak things a bit, call purple a shade of blue (Nila(m) - Meaning blue in Hindi and Tamil) and marvel at how becoming the whole situation is.  These miniscule exemplars of our answer to the Japanese sakura or the American cherry blossoms, stand out against the expanse of Ootacamund green, like David did in front of Goliath!

Now where am I going with these rambling thoughts? Nowhere!
And that's exactly where we were going when we four friends took off on a girls only mini holiday to Ooty! We got there and what did we want to do? Nothing much. What did we want to see? Nothing really.

So we lazed. We ate and then we walked off what we ate. We walked on with no apparent destination, singing loudly on the quiet bylanes of the town. When the caretaker of the homestay insisted that we must behave like tourists, we obliged and went on a particularly languid sightseeing tour of a tea factory, rose garden and a few other gardens. But we were more excited about finding the Kerala restaurant that served fish fry for lunch! And that's when we found our Jacaranda.

The chilled holiday got a perk of excitement with the sight of the purple milestones plotting our journey. Like the crunch of the cookie in a dollop of cookies and cream. We giggled like schoolgirls at the beautiful sight and the taxi driver added to the excitement by swerving just a wee bit more than necessary at the curves. That is when our purposeless holiday took on a new colour. And that is the purpose of this blog! Jacaranda musings.






Thursday, 6 June 2019

Aerial Beauty


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Sullied rivers, channels of filth
Veins throbbing; running full
Into tolerant, colossal briny bowls 
The blue burgeoning against the green
Promising evanescent life

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Dividing walls, covetous,
Partisan feelings across barriers
Growing bricks of possession
Beaming lights in squares of prosperity
Making headway on the fleeting happiness graph

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Tired, vacant eyes
Smells; of a day’s work
Heads in crowded local trains,
Packed kernels of pomegranate;
Bursting of life’s juice

Image result for infant holding hand 

Chubby fingers, avaricious for attention
Fuzzy ringlets shrouding decisions
An aching piece of our own being
Holding mirror to good times bygone
A slice of the future we create

- Anuradha Venkatnarayan

Thursday, 14 February 2019

Is it...?


Coloured fingertips; the ethereal powder
Escapes my grasp with a brush of elusive lepidoptera wings
Did I just touch magic? 
Or did I feel love?

Bated breath; the brilliant orb, now ochre, now coral
Bids daily farewell; wanes sanguine at the eternal crease like your half closed eyes
Did a miracle just unfold?
Or canvas of love?

Stolen smiles; unspoken words, lines crisscross against blue skies
Taut longing emerges over the crackling static
When nothing makes sense and sense means nothing
Is this love?

Clipped fingernails; orange juice dregs, everyday fragments
The dimples in the bed slowly filling
Warms me even when you’re gone 
Is that ephemeral or a glimpse of the divine?
Isn’t this love. 

Anuradha Venkatnarayan