I write about the world.
In democracies, local political compulsions drive the policy. Often, there are mechanisms in place to make sure that these compulsions don’t lead to undesirable outcomes. This could be a wrong foreign policy stance against national interest. Or this could also be an unsustainable fiscal policy, which comes out of an unhealthy relationship with an attractive, but harmful foreign player.
[Sagar finding love, as written by Fathima]
What do I like the most, the dusk or the dawn? Both are eerily similar. It is hard to distinguish the dusk from dawn. Especially after a long afternoon nap, fraught with dreams uncalled for. When you wake up from the nap, you are left suspended at a place from where you cannot make out the difference. But still, it was always the dusk that I loved. What followed the dawn was the scorching heat of the day. The sun, ever challenging the inertia of limpid eyelids, will pry open the cocoon grown around you. But moon the clement follows the dusk. Its benign presence only serves to enhance the cool dampness that dusk showers upon you. In dusk, you look forward to the soothing moonlight of hope and happiness. In dawn, you fear the scorching sun that will soon descent upon you. For me, the choice is clear.
Fathima was curious enough. It seemed that she didn’t understand Sagar at all. They have been talking with each other for the past a few days. When Sagar first pinged her, she never expected that they would get along well. In fact, when they started talking, she felt that he is the very kind of guy she should never get involved with. Sagar never asked her out, but she always had a nagging feeling that he will do that sooner or later. He never insinuated it, yet, she decided to cut him out in case he did.
It is a pity that kisses have to disappear. Aren’t they one of the sweetest creations that (wo)mankind can afford? They could be summoned at will and thrown away without much regret. Some of them live in our memories for decades, some are luscious yet contrite and some of them are lost on people who left those memories in a trash can. A trash can which they threw into the ocean, swam three rounds across the globe, and was found at a beach in Santa Barbara. The same beach where they went for a respite from the grinding careers that chose them.
This song, written by Sahir Ludhiyanvi and sung by Mohammed Rafi is an ode to a spirit that is alive since the dawn of civilization. It is the enduring conflict between a rebel poet who finds society unacceptable as the society shorns the poet with no mercy. Now, it is impossible to take a normative stand on this issue. Perhaps, the society is too bigoted to accept the radical poet. Or, the poet is too delusional to try imposing his lofty ideals on a society that is barely surviving.
All opinions about communal riots miss a fundamental point that needs to be stressed. The violence is not about any particular ideology. It is more about the conditions that facilitated the violence.
So these are the thoughts for the day.*
Community transmission is not a dirty word. In epidemiology, it is an eventuality that is to be expected.
Nation states often find themselves in a great dilemma. This dilemma stems from the fact that more often, there is a wide gulf between its origin myths and the real circumstances under which they were born. I am not saying that all nation states indulge in deception to instill a sense of patriotism in its populace. But some of them certainly do - especially the ones insecure about themselves.
മഴ വരുന്നതിനും ഒരുപാട് മുമ്പാണ് ഞങ്ങൾ ആദ്യമായി കണ്ടുമുട്ടിയത്. മെയ് 2 2019. രണ്ടാം നിലയിലുള്ള ഫ്ലാറ്റിൽ നിന്ന് നോക്കിയാൽ അപ്പുറത്തുള്ള പ്ലോട്ടിലെ കാടുകാണാം. കാട് എന്ന് പറയുമ്പോ കമ്മ്യൂണിസ്റ്റ് പച്ച ഇടതൂർന്നു വളരുന്ന, ഒരു കുഞ്ഞിടം. മരിച്ചുകിടക്കുന്ന നഗരത്തിലെ ജീവനുള്ളൊരു ചെറിയ തുരുത്ത്. വർഷങ്ങൾക്കു മുമ്പ് ആരോ പൊളിച്ചു നീക്കിയ ഒരു വീടിനും പുരയിടത്തിനും മുകളിലാണ് എന്റെയീ കാട് വളർന്നു നിൽക്കുന്നത്. എല്ലാവർഷവും വേനലിന്റെ തുടക്കത്തിൽ ആരൊക്കെയോ വന്ന് ഈ കാട് വെട്ടി നീക്കും. എന്നാൽ ഈ വർഷം ഏപ്രിലിൽ നന്നായി മഴ പെയ്തു. വെട്ടിയ കാട്, അതുപോലെ തിരിച്ചുവന്നിരിക്കുന്നു. ഞാൻ ഈ നാട്ടിലേക്ക് വന്നിട്ടുള്ള ആദ്യത്തെ വേനലാണ്. ഇതിനു മുമ്പുള്ള നാലു വർഷങ്ങൾ ഞാൻ കേരളത്തിനു പുറത്തായിരുന്നു. എന്റെ സംസാരഭാഷയിൽ പോലും അത് മുഴച്ചും നിന്നിരുന്നു. കന്നഡയും ഹിന്ദിയും ഇംഗ്ലീഷും ഒക്കെ കലർന്നുള്ളതായിരുന്നു എന്റെ ചിന്ത പോലും. കേരളത്തിലേക്ക് തിരിച്ചു വന്നപ്പോൾ മലയാളവും മെല്ലെ മനസ്സിൽ മുളച്ചു തുടങ്ങി. ഇനി ജീവിതത്തിൽ പുതുതായി ഒന്നും സംഭവിക്കാനില്ല എന്നു കരുതി ആ പകൽ പുറത്തോട്ടും നോക്കി ഇരിക്കുമ്പോഴാണ് അവളുടെ വിളി വരുന്നത്.
സാഗറിന്റെ കത്തുകളിൽ ബാക്കിയായ ഒന്ന്.
For dead babies to walk, they have to die first. Perhaps, that is the most difficult part of this short history. In order to write this, some babies had to die. Now, it was not my wish to have them dead. If you are reading the world these days, you probably know - the real reason behind their deaths doesn’t actually matter. Like any responsible historian, I will just gloss over - what’s the point anyway?
My friend Lilavati, a professor at Hyderabad Central University, passed away last week after a protracted struggle with Alzeimer’s disease. Her life was remarkable and I believe that my words will hardly do any justice to that spectacle.
Perhaps the greatest dilemma a writer faces is on when a story should be written down. Sure, you may come across a great story every now and then. But you don’t know of when you should put it down somewhere. Is it when the story has begun to take shape? Or is it when the story looks a bit more interesting when illuminated under the experiences of the author? Or is it when it has become totally unbearable to hold on to the story?
9th May, 2019.
Tonight is particularly melancholic. Here I am, listening to Farida Khanum slowly making her way through this beautiful Nazm. There is a certain ring to her canorous voice, that keeps me tethered to this pensive mood that has enveloped me. It is drizzling outside, with occasional pauses that brings a soothing night breeze into my room. I look at the huge decal of a phonograph that I have stuck to my bedroom wall. For the first time in a long while, I felt a bit suffocated. I still love this room, for it has seen me like nobody else. It knows more about me than anybody else. If this room was a person, I would have preferred it dead. So I am happy in a sense, living inside this dead room.
Reluctant lovers are the most despicable thing about humanity. It doesn’t matter what they are reluctant about. Whether in indulging with each other or in exploring the more amorous facets of life that exist outside their realm, if they are reluctant, they bring about the worst versions of each other.
I once wrote about myths - of what their purpose is. Why do we have myths?
Litchis are sweet; they kill children.
AES they said.
Encephalopathy - said learned doctors.
An ounce of dextrose in time,
Would have saved them.
Glucose worth half a rupee.
No, not available.
A thousand flowers whitered.
അറബിക്കടലിൽ നിന്ന് ബംഗാൾ ഉൾക്കടലിലേക്ക് ഒരയ വലിച്ചു കെട്ടിയിരിക്കുന്നു. അതിൽ ഒരടിവസ്ത്രം ഉണക്കാനിട്ടിരിക്കുന്നു. അടിവസ്ത്രമെന്നു പറയുമ്പോൾ പുരുഷന്റെ അടിവസ്ത്രമാണ്, ഇവിടം അടക്കി ഭരിക്കുന്ന പുരുഷന്മാരുടേത്. വലത്തേ അരികിൽ നൂലമർന്നു അകത്തേക്കൊരല്പം വലിഞ്ഞിരിക്കുന്നു എന്നതൊഴിച്ചാൽ ഇത് ലക്ഷണമൊത്തൊരടിവസ്ത്രമാകുന്നു. പച്ച മലയാളത്തിൽ പറഞ്ഞാൽ യേ ഷഡ്ഢി ബഹുത് ഖൂബ്‌സൂരത് ഹേ!
This dream could be quite interesting. A straight line from heaven to earth. A ladder perhaps, not made of steel or hardwood. A bamboo ladder with no nails to hold it together. An old, creaky, termite ridden, hollow bamboo ladder. This treacherous creature is the relic of an age well past, you will instantly know. It was rejected to the margins of our household life, at least a decade ago. This place, an unfortunate abode to people like me, has managed to survive for many years without this ladder.
25-05-2019,
Trivandrum.
Can potentially dangerous outcomes of democracy be cited as a reason to prove the inefficacy of Democracy?
Love is like a small sparrow that refuses to die. You can’t starve her. You cannot catch her; you cannot allure her; you cannot mislead her - she’s too smart for your clever tricks. She’s stupid enough at times, yes. And she is ever ready to give up her life (I will get to this later). But if she is hellbent on not-dying, you cannot kill her.
What happens to milestones that are dead?
I ate a bit too much. I knew it, the breakfast has breached the threshold of contentment. There is no going back. There isn’t much that I can do about it now.
When I hear the word “Bharat Mata”, only one face comes to my mind. It is the face of Bilkis Bano, who was brutally attacked, tormented and left to die by a mob fuelled with hatred. 14 members of her family, including her two year old child was killed in front of her. She was the worst victim of a communal riot - a woman, a mother, a piece of meat to those bigots.
We are celebrating the release of a breakthrough image. One of the most shared images on internet already, the ‘unseeable’ black hole is a real sensation. But contrary to popular perception, it is not an instance of path breaking science. Rather, it is the outcome of a concerted scientific campaign, brilliantly supported by a management team that brought about cooperation.
She walked straight into my room. This was strange, not because of the act itself, but the time and place where she chose to do so. I have lived in many rooms. All kinds of rooms. Rooms with or without doors. Rooms with or without furnitures that made noise, which people mistook for lamentation. Dark rooms and well lit, well ventilated rooms. But this room was different. It was a hostel room in the medical college where I was doing my internship.
So here I am, speaking the tongue of my coloniser. A coloniser who would just mimic the polity of that time, albeit improvising a bit - all the while struggling to hide a smirk while he slowly, but steadily, undone the dignity of my so called motherland. The motherland, for certain was divided. And as divided as she was, and her sons certified philanderers, a misled ruling class with grossly misplaced priorities - was a sitting duck for the coloniser ever in a reconnaissance mode.
It is tempting to look at feminism as a social movement based on a social science construct - the feminist theory. But it is much more than that. It has a well defined utility of making science more objective and more inclusive, among other things. I have heard more than once of why such influences may bring in biases to the way we do science. I am inclined to reject this viewpoint.
Passionate warcries to cover up a brother’s death.
In his blood do I see the face of enemy.
But in his face, I see myself - my failure.
Democracy derives its legitimacy from “will of the people”. If the people are deprived of real information, their ability to make suitable decisions is impaired. This renders Democracy meaningless.
I found this excellent article on Aeon.
This thought provoking article by Sameena Dalwai on Indian Express prompted me to write this piece.
Of course, I am not arguing for reserving seats for the most stupid people! This is a very short guide to explaning affirmative action to the most stupid (and unfortunate) beings amongst us. Make use!
Books I read in 2019.
In the morning, they found a song entangled in the barbed wire fence. As she wriggled and jiggled there, a thousand cold tungsten needles pierced her. A red fluid oozed out of her flawless brown skin, as people stood there, watching her struggle with their innocent curiosity.
Farmers constitute ~55% of Indian population. 75% Indians are directly or indirectly dependent on agricultural income. Put together, they constitute the largest population block in terms of socio-economic status. Common sense dictates that their electoral clout should be able to sway policies in their favour. This should almost be a corollary to our popular democracy. But this is not the case and our farmers are reduced to peripheral nobodies whose existence come to fore only when they march to our capitals in large numbers.
It is of great use if History is not written by historians, but anthropologists. If not anthropologists entirely, the service of a few will definitely make the endeavour more productive and the end product acceptable to the wider public.
“ഈ നടപ്പാലം വയി തോട് കടക്കാ. റോഡ്`ഇത് വരൊള്ളു. ആ വരമ്പത്തൂടെ ഒറ്റ പിട്ത്തം പിടിച്ചാല് കോളനിയെത്തും. അയിന്റടുത്ത് തന്നേണ് മാശിന്റെ വീട്. ഇങ്ങള് നടന്നൊളി”
It has been an interesting year. I am not really a bird whose feathers are wound up by an oil spill. But my helplessness is far more insidious. More like a doll which is forced into taking a space trip. My cosy fur turned coarse last winter, aerodynamics is out of the book. Limbs have applied for voluntary retirement. I am a far cry from my youth.
My dearest Ananya,
So here’s the question - “As a non American which party would you vote for if you lived in the US?”
Today marks the 150th birth anniversary of Mahatma Gandhi. The man was killed, his followers confused and his ideals vanquished in an act of violence. But the question remains - what did he stand for? If it was an idea, is it possible to kill an idea?
Intelligence seems to be the principal criterion in defining merit. But how do we define it?
Everytime we hear the Supreme Court of India making a progressive judgement, we are flooded with a bout of celebrations. But I, for that matter, have mixed feelings about this whole business.
In our busy lives, we apparently miss a lot of details that could give us a better understanding of this world around us.
A sadhu - a fakir - was found dead under an old banyan tree. I found this note neatly rolled up under his armpits. Here, I publish it for common good.
Life is important, of course. But what comes after death?
Pertinent question, but why?
Can dangerous outcomes prove the inefficacy of Democracy?
Wisdom is nothing but agony if we are unable to apply it somewhere. Casual ethnocentrism aside, we have legitimate reasons to celebrate the success of Kerala. Our state has scored high in many social indicators. But it is yet safe to say that we have achieved development?
Lust’s passion will be served; it demands, it militates, it tyrannises. ~ Marquis de Sade.
“This is not condescending dude; I am trying to prattle my way out of your agony”. Anastasia whispered in my ears. Before I could say anything, her soft hands were all over my body. When we can’t talk, integument takes over.
Exercise of power has a sole purpose - to create exclusive right over resources. Like it or not - people will monopolise resources to the best of their abilities.
It is natural to get emotional. Hormones and a myriad of chemicals exist for a purpose. They help us blur the lines of banal objectivity. I wish for clinical precision while conducting nuclear fission. But while kissing my beloved, I prefer a lull of subjective uncertainty around it. It is the uncertainty that lends credence to human bonds. Enter tangibility, it isn’t exciting anymore.
My answer to the question of how Islamic world has evolved from ‘yet another’ society to the one we have right now. In the process, you will see that the usuals suspects are not the real villains. Read on!
Pakistani Journalist Khaled Ahmed writes so often in Indian Express. His writings throw deep insights into the nature of his society. He admits that the process of nation building has hit a dead end there. And the credit goes back to the original sin - creating a theocratic state.
Identity politics is a boon as well as a bane. It is divisive by definition. Instead of promoting a strong, unifying identity, emphasis is on old, parochial ones. These identities may have been a vestige of the past. But when mobilisation happen across them, fault lines gets more entrenched.
I don’t have much to say about the movie, but I would like to comment on the director. Critics aren’t allowed to abuse the crew. But I am not a critic. So I take my liberty here - to call Sanjay Leela Bansali (SLB) a sweet SoB!
Abrid Shine created this movie with an agenda. An agenda that isn’t too obvious on the screen. You have to read between the lines. Or rather, see through the shots, to take out the message.
My dead blog has to come to life somehow, here it is! I will be updating this one with new content soon.
As I am writing this, One lakh followers of Dera Sacha Sauda is holed up in the residence of Ram Rahim Singh. Since their violence against society has failed, the next logical step is violence against themselves - through mass suicide or other means of self harm. I can’t see why the state is so callous in dealing this.
A few weeks ago, I told my mom that they are discussing about banning Triple Talaq(TT).
Ishi was a man, a man who was the last of his tribe.
Couple of days ago, I came across a news article describing how over three dozen shanties belonging to daily wage labourers were razed by authorities in Noida alleging that these stood on public land.
I lost my wallet near a mob that was working on a man.
വളവ് തിരിഞ്ഞപ്പോൾ ഷൂസിന്റെയുള്ളിൽ എന്തോ മുളക്കുന്നതു പോലെ. കൈ എത്തിച്ചു നോക്കിയപ്പോൾ ഉപ്പൂറ്റിക്ക് താഴെയായി രണ്ടു പഴുതാരകാലുകൾ മുളച്ചു വന്നിരിക്കുന്നു. ബൂട്ടിന്റെ ഉള്ളിൽ കിടന്ന് അവ അരിക്കുന്നതാണ് ചൊറിച്ചിലായി തോന്നിയത്. ഞാൻ കൈ എടുത്തു മൂക്ക് ചൊറിഞ്ഞു. റോഡിൽ ഒരു സിഗരറ്റ് കുറ്റി കിടക്കുന്നു.
Kids should have values, undisputed truth. But how should you teach them?
I recently came across this collection of songs. No doubt, a fine one at it, but the twist is that you should read the comments!
When my ancestors died, they were buried near the paddy fields. Dare someone to hold a funeral procession, it would be more deaths. The eldest male will carry the dead, wrapped in a “thazha paaya” (Dried grass mat) to some grave a bit far away from home. When he comes back, he will have the thazha paaya folded under his arms.
There is not under heaven so chaste a nation as this. It is the virgin of the world. There are no stews, no dissolute houses, no courtesans, not anything of that kind. Nay they wonder, with detestation, at you in Europe who permit such things. And therefore there are found among you infinite men that marry not, but choose rather a libertine and impure single life that to be yoked in marriage; and many that do marry, marry late, and what is marriage to them but a bargain, wherein is sought alliance or portion or reputation, with some desire (almost indifferent) of issue and not the faithful nuptial union of man and wife that was first instituted.
I am known to re-post xkcd cartoons.
പ്രണയം അസ്തിത്വത്തിന്റെ അവിഭാജ്യഘടകമാണ്. ജാരനരകളിൽ വീണുപോകാതെ, പ്രാണനെ കാർന്നു തിന്നുന്ന വിഷാദത്തിന്റെ കരിനീല സലിലത്തിൽ ആണ്ടുപോകാതെ ജീവനെ പിടിച്ചു നിർത്തുന്ന പിടിവള്ളിയാണ് പ്രണയം.
ആദ്യം കണ്ണുകളിലേക്ക് നോക്കി. പിന്നെ നെറ്റിയിലേക്ക്, പിന്നീട് വീണ്ടും കണ്ണുകളിലേക്ക്.
A lot of macOS is opensource, Apple periodically releases part of its killer OS so that the general public (or a subset of it who happen to understand code) can go through it.
[Republishing after updating some content]
How far is it?
യക്ഷി മരിച്ചു പോയി.
ഒരു സ്ത്രീക്ക് ജീവൻ നഷ്ടമായിരിക്കുന്നു.
We like to believe that genes bring success. It helps us greatly when we are trying to come in terms with the failures in our lives.
ഇന്നലെ കല്യാൺ നഗറിൽ ഭക്ഷണം കഴിക്കാൻ പോയപ്പോൾ പച്ച നിറത്തിലുള്ള ഒരു മനുഷ്യനെ കണ്ടു. തൊട്ടാൽ തുളുന്പുന്ന കറുകറുത്ത കണ്ണുകളിൽ വേറൊന്നും തന്നെ കാണാനില്ലായിരുന്നു. അകത്തേക്ക് പോകുന്നതെന്തും തിരിച്ചു വരാത്ത ആ കണ്ണുകളിൽ തന്നെ നോക്കിയിരുന്നപ്പോൾ ഒരുപാട് ജന്മങ്ങൾ അങ്ങിനെയങ്ങിനെ കടന്നു പോയി.
Today I was reflecting deeply about the way we take things for granted. We cannot take this planet for granted (thanks DiCaprio!), we cannot people around us for granted, we cannot take our beloved ones for granted. Even the ones who have sacrificed a lot of things and have toiled for us - we cannot take them for granted.
നമ്മുടെയൊക്കെ പ്രണയങ്ങൾ എവിടെ വെച്ച് തുടങ്ങി എന്നത് ഒടേതമ്പുരാന് പോലും കൃത്യമായി പറയാൻ സാധിക്കുന്ന ഒന്നാണോ?
The death of Quandeel Baloch comes as a terrible blow to our brothers and sisters in Pakistan who are standing up against an oppressive society that is founded in Islamic fundamentalism.
“ആ നാണയത്തുട്ട് നീ ഭണ്ഡാരത്തിലിട്ടാലും, നേർച്ചപ്പെട്ടിയിലിട്ടാലും, ഇനി കക്കൂസിലിട്ടാലും ഉള്ളുരുകി പ്രാർത്ഥിച്ചിട്ടുണ്ടെങ്കിൽ നടന്നിരിക്കും”.
David is talking about the banalities in our lives that all of us will have to deal with in the later part of our lives.
==Research that throws light into the way neural networks work might change our understanding on how human thought process work. Here is how.==
I met Bhupinder at the Kumbhalgarh fort. He ate on a yellow banana leaf and had the most amazing voice I ever heard. When I asked about the voice, he told me that he inherited it from his great grandfather, who was a peripatetic folk musician and was the farthest traceable point in his family tree.
ഏഴു വീടിനപ്പുറത്തു നിന്ന് വന്ന് തല്ലുണ്ടാക്കുന്നവൻ വരുത്തൻ. അടുത്ത ജില്ലകളിൽ നിന്നാണെങ്കിൽ പരദേശി. സംസ്ഥാനത്തിനു പുറത്തു നിന്നുള്ളവൻ “അന്യസംസ്ഥാനതൊഴിലാളി”. ആരോ മണ്ണിൽ നീട്ടി വരച്ച അതിർത്തിക്കപ്പുറത്ത് നിന്നു വെടിവെക്കുന്നവൻ വിദേശി.
Kammatti paadam is an ode to the past, present and future of an upcoming metropolis that stands tall above the boneyards of the proletariat.
ചിന്തിക്കാൻ അധികം ഒന്നുമില്ലായിരുന്നു. തന്പ്രാന്റെ ദൃഷ്ടി പതിഞ്ഞാൽ പിന്നെ അവളെ അപഹരിക്കാൻ വരുന്ന അയാളുടെ മുന്നിൽ തികച്ചും നിസ്സഹായാനാണ് നീലിയുടെ കെട്ടിയവനായ കോരൻ ചെക്കൻ. പോരണ്ടാ പോരണ്ടാ എന്ന് പറയാനേ അവനറിയൂ. പൂതി കയറിയ നീലിയെ വിലക്കാനും അവന് കഴിയുന്നില്ല.
മണ്ണിലാണ് സൂര്യകാന്തി ചെടികൾ ആദ്യമായി വളർന്നു നിന്നത്. അവ ശ്വസിച്ചു ഭക്ഷണമാക്കിയ വായുവും, കാൽച്ചുവട്ടിലേക്ക് ഒഴുകി വന്ന വെള്ളവും ഒരു തന്പ്രാനും കൊണ്ട് കൊടുത്തതായിരുന്നില്ല.
കാലിലൂടെ തണുപ്പിരച്ചു കയറുന്നതറിഞ്ഞു കൊണ്ടാണ് ശാഹിർ ഞെട്ടിയുണർന്നത്. ഞെട്ടിയുണർന്നു എന്ന് പറഞ്ഞുകൂട, മെല്ലെ മെല്ലെ ഉയർന്നു വരികയായിരുന്നു, എവിടെയോ നിന്ന്. ഇഭ്ഭൂമിയിൽ ഇത്രത്തോളം സുഖത്തിൽ ഉറങ്ങാമെന്ന് ഒട്ടും നിരീച്ചിരുന്നില്ല.
Keralites (Malayalis) have gone berserk over PM Narendra Modi’s remarks comparing the infant mortality rates in Attappady and Somalia.
In the name of god, I am going to write the most extraordinary tales of love.
When disasters happen, we find solace behind the numbers. Numbers assuage the pain and help us to trivialise the suffering of others.
I came across this during my early morning browsing section.
I turned 22 last month. Life as a 21 year old was something I will cherish forever. Out of the 12 months I had in the calendar, I spent two months travelling.
Once I was told to write a synopsis of life. I didn’t know for whom I was writing it for. It wasn’t meant to be personal. It had to be humane as well as indifferent to the vices and virtues of the life at the same time.
A sacred nation state is the last thing our founding fathers like Nehru or Ambedkar wanted India to become.
അവന്റെ ശരീരം രോമാവൃതവും മീശരോമങ്ങൾ കാർബൺ ഫൈബറിനാൽ സമൃദ്ധവും ആകുന്നു. അവന്റെ അധരങ്ങൾക്ക് നെബുലകളുടെ പരിമളവും അവന്റെ മൂക്കിനു മുകളിൽ ഒരു കുഞ്ഞു ബ്ലാക്ക്‌ ഹോളിന്റെ തുടിപ്പും ഉണ്ടാകുന്നു.
A quick story before I go to bed.
I am a ghost house filled with empty words. Too many of them trying hard to escape the biological field that mashes them up in a futile attempt to make sense.
The wrinkles in his skin were much more than his finger tips could sense. The body hair once so manly has mostly withered away. Tiny patches of shiny skin layered around the bends as a poorly knit fabric around a camel rider’s shin guard. He was an old warrior.
Before I begin, let me state that I am not sad about the suicide of Mr. Rohit Vemula [1]. For reference, I didn’t feel sad when the dead body of Aylan Kurdi was washed ashore at Turkish beaches on 2nd September 2015 [2].
അജ്മീറിലെ ദർഗയുടെ പുറത്തുള്ള മിനാരത്തിന്റെ അടിയിൽ വെച്ച് ഞാൻ മുഹ്യുദ്ധീൻ ഷെയ്ഖിന്റെ റൂഹിനെ കണ്ടു.
Okay, let’s think it this way.
Vans in a vile, yu shud rait for yuvarself to reed. I don’t mind if peepil find it difikalt to anderstand. Ayam riting 4 maiself ant has novan to keyar for.
ഇത് പോലെ മനുഷ്യന്റെ മണമുള്ള ഒരു സിനിമ മലയാളത്തിൽ ഞാൻ കണ്ടിട്ടില്ല.
Research says only 40% of all the men who have walked on this planet have reproduced while 80% of the women gave birth to at least one offspring.
Tinder is cruel.
But so is life. Each one of us trying to paint it in the most beautiful of colors. To dab it with the most exquisite filters one can imagine.
To extricate our lives of the material indulgences and to trim it into more presentable ‘cards’.
Only to be swiped off by some unassuming individual who will never grasp the length and breadth of the phenomenon that you are.
Even if someone decides to stay, how many of them know what you truly are?
None.
Life is serendipity to some, contrived connivance to some and an impulsive mash up to some.
I really can’t estimate the depth of the cup I am drinking from. But I do know that the taste depends on the way I perceive it. So I keep on drinking.
I am giving a talk about the Internet of Things for the Barcamp Bangalore Monsoon 2015 session.
==This article is not suitable for the faintest of the hearts because it is not optimised for Homo Sapiens readability. Thank You.==
I recently updated to Ghost 0.6.4 on Openshift. I am currently on the honeymoon period and enjoying the product well. A big thanks to Kiko Beats for providing an amazing theme on which I could build on.
റോഡരുകിൽ കാണുന്ന ആരോ പുകച്ചു തള്ളിയ സിഗരറ്റുകുറ്റികൾ എടുത്തു വലിക്കുന്ന ഒരു സുഹൃത്ത് എനിക്കുണ്ട്.
Software engineering is not much different from any other discipline of engineering. You need to create designs that stand the test of time and performs well in conditions to which it is designed to.
The depth that life can get into is much more than our normal minds can render.
Because I know what solitude is, tonight I am going to sleep with this book close to my heart.
എന്തോ വല്ല്യ സംഭവം ആണെന്നാണ്‌ വെപ്പ്…
We all are going to die. That means that we are alive at this moment. To know its true meaning, we should meet people. People about whom we know nothing, and would never know anything until you travel to their homes.
[You can read this article even if you are not a Malayali. Just make sure that you listen to the song.]
Cry people cry!
##Another (b)rave attempt to the uncharted waters of the Utter Poetry.
മണപ്പുറത്ത് കിടന്നു മുകളിലോട്ട് നോക്കുമ്പോൾ നക്ഷത്രങ്ങൾ തിളങ്ങുന്ന കാൻവാസിന് ചെറിയ മഞ്ഞ കലർന്ന കറുപ്പാണെന്ന് ദിലീപന് തോന്നി. മെല്ലെ തല ചെരിച്ചു നോക്കിയപ്പോൾ ദീപ്തി തന്നെ തന്നെ നോക്കി കിടപ്പാണ്.
എണീറ്റിരിക്കാൻ ശ്രമിച്ചപ്പോൾ കൈകൾ നീട്ടിയവളത് തടഞ്ഞു.എന്നിട്ട് അവന്റെ പളുങ്കു കണ്ണുകളിലേക് നോക്കിയിട്ട് ചോദിച്ചു.
“പ്രണയത്തിന്റെ നിറമെന്താണെന്ന് ദിലീപന് അറിയുമോ?”
“ഇല്ല”
“എനിക്കുമറിയില്ല, പക്ഷേ ഇപ്പോൾ തോന്നുന്നു അതു കറുപ്പാണെന്ന്…”
“അതെന്തു കൊണ്ടാവും?” - ആകാംഷ തോന്നിയില്ലെങ്കിൽ കൂടി ആ വാക്കുകളിൽ അതുണ്ടായിരുന്നു.
“ഈ പ്രപഞ്ചത്തിന്റെ നിറം കറുപ്പാണ്. കത്തി ജ്വലിക്കുന്ന അനന്തകോടി നക്ഷത്രങ്ങൾ ഉണ്ടെങ്കിൽ കൂടി ഈ പ്രപഞ്ചത്തിന്റെ സ്ഥായിയായ നിറം കറുപ്പാണ്. ഈ വളരെ ചെറിയ ഭൂമിയിലെ നല്ലൊരു പങ്കും പ്രണയം കൈമാറുന്നത് ഇരുട്ടിനെ മാത്രം സാക്ഷിയാക്കിയാണ്…”
ഇരുട്ടിൽ മാത്രം ജനിക്കുന്ന പ്രണയങ്ങൾ. ഇരുട്ടിൽ മരിക്കുന്ന പ്രണയങ്ങൾ. ഇരുട്ടിൽ പെറ്റു പെരുകി കിഴക്കെരിഞ്ഞൊടുങ്ങുന്ന പ്രണയങ്ങൾ.
ഇറുക്കിയടക്കുന്ന കണ്ണുകളിൽ ഒരേയൊരു നിമിഷം മാത്രം മിന്നി മറയുന്ന പ്രണയം.
പ്രണയത്തെ അളക്കാനുള്ള അളവു കോല് കയ്യിലില്ലാതെ വിഷമിച്ച ദിലീപന്റെ വിരലുകൾ പോക്കറ്റിലെ ഏക ആയിരം രൂപാ നോട്ടിനെ ഒരിക്കൽ കൂടി ഞെരിച്ചു വിട്ടു…
[ഇനിയും എഴുതപ്പെടാത്ത കഥയിലെ അറിയപ്പെടാത്ത ഒരേടിൽ നിന്ന്….]
സൃഷ്ടിക്കു വേണ്ടുന്ന ഊർജ്ജം അപാരമാണ്. കഥയാകട്ടെ, കവിതയാകട്ടെ, ചിത്രമാകട്ടെ, ഒരു മനുഷ്യനാകട്ടെ, അത് സൃഷ്ടിക്കുന്നവൻ സ്വയം ഉരുകി ഒലിക്കുന്നത് എന്തേ നിന്റെ കണ്ണുകൾ കാണുന്നില്ല?
I need to write about love. Not about sex or lust. I am adamant about sticking to Indian mythology tonight. The sweet rains of summer has graced us and the cold breeze simply refuses to retreat.
This is how Ms. Leslee Udwin describes her interview with 34 year old Gaurav, who is serving his ten year term in Tihar Jail for raping a 5 year old girl.
“He told me in minute detail what he had done. How he had taken off her knickers. How her eyes were wide with fear. How he had done it front and back. I asked him how tall she was. He stood up and put his hand above his knee. I asked him, ‘How could you do something so terrible that would ruin a child’s life?’ He said, ‘She was a beggar girl, her life was of no value.’ “
Video removed.
This speech is getting more and more relevant today. Nothing is comparable to the angst you get when you could relate to the feelings and thoughts of a man who is nothing but long gone from the surface of this planet.
Hundreads of seconds have passed since I last called her. You know, we live in a galaxy where it is next to impossible for a 1 to talk with a 0. For starters, our 1’s and 0’s are concepts similar to your males and females.
#####About the government ad that omitted the words “Secular” and “Socialist” from the preamble of India.
First, look at this word - “Paraphernalia.”
Once in a while you feel that you simply don’t exist. You are so much stupefied by the grand scheme of things that you look at the matter that makes you up and holds all those molecules that defines what you are actually.
Patriotism is just like a threadless kite. You set it free and you never know where it goes. Nationalism is woven around a very thin moral fabric, which no one knows how to handle.
English was there around in India much before I was born. I was exposed to it around the same time I started learning Malayalam.
I think that the main reason behind psychedelic music and art touching our hearts is our own inability to understand our minds.
I have searched spirituality in the hundreds of man hours spend much before I was born.
One of the must reads from The Oatmeal.
It is not everyday that you stumble upon an obscure idiom and start wondering about its connotations. It happens once in while for me with two most possible outcomes - me falling head over heels to it and adopting it, or me disregarding it as naive and ditch it; there are no middle grounds.
Warning: This comic occasionally contains strong language (which may be unsuitable for children), unusual humor (which may be unsuitable for adults), and advanced mathematics (which may be unsuitable for liberal-arts majors).
I just finished setting up my first ghost blog. Thanks to a lot of wonderful people on Internet, I was able to get my blog running on the Openshift Red hat server with a beautiful responsive theme.
Thank you for visiting. I am now switching to Ghost, the blogging platform. You can access my articles now at My old blog.