The Village

The stories of this village have no connection to the Night Shyamalan’s isolated country side. This is a story of a village quarantined by ideas of outspoken people living on the banks of river periyar near Western Ghats just 3-5 km from reserve forest. They are bold and beautiful people. Ready for the ‘poru’ (battle) like the periyar flowing through dense forest with rocks and whirlpools. The gushy water from edamalayar and idduki can be dangerous here….periyar flowing between malayattor in north and paniyeli in south has sparkled all the known beauty ….the stories flow like the river that had made those round rolling…….Boundaries of houses are built by these round stones and I could read between them ‘stories that flow like river’ that shaped it and had flowed away.. Every house has a story… everyone has a tale to tell about….

Death and Life

The story STARTS from end 2013 …..my son had inherited the genetic makeup of his father’s place…he likes raw mangoes with salt and chilli powder. He like to play big red and black ants…he catches ‘parachellu’…he licks his curry bowl of ‘manga curry’…he eats lot of tapioca and jackfruit. He never forgets to seek whereabouts of people around…he is always busy doing little little work and calls it ‘thozhilorrapu’ (Mahatma Gandhi National Rural Employment Guarantee Act). 

The story travels back through the beautiful manmade forest with rubber trees….through the cocoa plantation and through the teak wood. In front of our house is an old church with cemetery facing our courtyard, my husband’s has told me once that his childhood was filled with lots of ghost stories… (my son too believes it, as he saw one recently in his first movie )…….he used to scare every one and listen to the sounds of broken skeleton falling down to the pit…but he has never heard the sound that I was hearing since few months….the sound of bird ….crying in the night …and my left ear gets sharpen to that sound. ….

People here say some has sharp ears to hear the death cries of these devil bird….during last 6 months tragedy had hit this area …there were lot of deaths. Cancer patients ,bed ridden old people, an old women murdered …and the devil bird was busy crying….it also cried near my window ….,I never bothered it as I felt  I was educated working mother of a 2 year old boy and never even had time to think why this bird is crying every night …although both my son and myself were sacred of it…and we were busy throughout the day doing our daily chores and looking after his grandfather who was not taking food due to stomach cancer and was bed ridden since one month…….he passed away before i could infer anything ….last night also I heard the cry when I was washing my hands after supper…down from there ……where there is stagnant water of ‘Paramadda’ where stone queries are there….where our forefathers were buried ……we were getting lot of phone calls the next day from friends and relatives ……One of the tallest elephants of Kerala had killed three woman including my sons uncle’s friend’s aunt…………

I had stopped writing long back as a protest to the happening in my life…never wanted anything thing strange to happen …that leaves me thinking …..That forces me to write…but I had resolved many problems and fought with my emotions by letting it fall on my paper as tears….through my pen….when I underwent a dnc for missed abortion …..I was shattered and felt like abandoned as a orphaned child …pain was unbearable ….i had to see like lot of woman had…. the red thick blood with foetus …..  and had to write down from my office shattered about those violet flowers that blossomed near the old chilled graveyard that I used see every day to office near Indira nagar…. the chill of Bangalore took me to darkness …felt like I would never see sunshine again ……it was always cloudy there……..my close friends cried when they read it and didn’t reply to my mail………

Nature  gave back  everything when we returned to Kerala...it was raining here !We too were unfolding all our happiness in the coming month….I had started to give back everything, even the tiniest sweat drawn from us...In the evening cranes return through the dark clouds across the silver lighting and thunder...I was at my home then….a little bird was finding every day new shelter beneath the thick small green leaf of bougainvillea that was shining in the yellow light of dusk just before the rains…..Thunders  far in the dark sky and small rumblings inside stomach echoed the joy of coming motherhood .For the freshness of a new born …we are waiting for a new season full of rain and happiness …the protest can be only short as we understand scorching sun broke down in tears drenching  everything in its way, falling through the dark long leaves  of old mango tree that had forgotten to flower this year …but tiny bulbs of ‘kanni manga’ had emerged out near us …..colorful blue and yellow  train engines  that are passing by  are looking now more beautiful than before on those old dark rails ...the guava tree that was small earlier now  looks grown  when kids are climbing on it  during this vacation… my stomach too looks better now as the rain started…at night the tiny leaves of ‘pichee poove’ are looking  more homely in the new street light ….. All the birds’ sounds and fighting’s have ended as rain poured down …as we were keeping inside a  little treasure for that new season ,a new happiness was forever unfolding…. I was enthralled when his tiny legs and hand moved inside me….the feeling is inexpressible ………

I decided to quit my job as …had to support a family with ailing cancer patient and to look after my tiny son…..i was compelled by some forces that drives me always…. because I was a human..i had to tell my manger … that "we belong to human race and the human race is filled with passion ...its not about achieving ambitions , it’s not all about fighting for your needs whole day and at the end of the day feel sad ...it’s more about getting up in the morning with a sweat smile like my son does. Degrees Medicine, engineering are oversuits for sustaining life but……..”-I quit my job

 Poetry, beauty, love, kindness these may be we are alive for..I would have been dead by this time in this dead poets society if i could not write....no medication would have brought held breath back to life…..to this existance, to this identity ..If i was not able to write down from my heart........some go beyond there extend to conquer the world.. some fight with all their health to be there....some roar to get their names written...some leave everything to take the lonely path ...some get married ....some get out of their marriages ....... in search of this secret not written nor read by any one ......