insearchoftheseaandthesoul

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  • insearchoftheseaandthesoul 17w

    Like day and night
    we waltzed,
    you and me,
    into each other,
    to become the arbor of twilight.

    ©insearchoftheseaandthesoul

  • insearchoftheseaandthesoul 17w

    "There’s something about living
    in a different place that
    allows you to be
    whoever you want to be.”
    ― Josie Silver, 
    One Day in December

  • insearchoftheseaandthesoul 30w

    A place called home #3

    I step out into lush greenness, the foliage thick enough to cover an elephant. The rain has just drenched the brown earth of its sorrows. The smell of mud fills the ether. A praying mantis quietly meditates on a jasmine bush. The mosquitoes are composing their own fugues and canons. The yellow butterflies with fluttering gossamer-wings circle the mauve lilies in the pond. My grandmother is reciting her prayers while still on one of her countless trips between our illam and temple. My grandfather performs his favourite ritual- reading the morning newspapers - Mathrubhumi in the vernacular and the Times in English. The smell of sandalwood wafts through as the incense sticks continue burning. Ripe, yellow mangoes have fallen on the ground and a squirrel scampers to get a bite. A man hurries along to catch the bus to go pay the electricity bill before his life goes unto darkness. Damp from the dip in the pond, a skinny lad heads to the temple to ask for forgiveness and pray for plentiful. Someone is making tea for the house- strong, light, with milk, black, with sugar, without sugar, stirred and beaten. At the corner store, people are drinking lime soda, talking about elections, weather, and football. The different umbrellas passing by forms a rainbow in itself, some use Popy, some Johns, and others plain, black ones. The sky is dark grey, overcast and rumbling. Nila is already flowing over the Pattambi paalam. It will pour a lifetime's worth by the time the Sabari Express pulls into platform 1.
    ©insearchoftheseaandthesoul

  • insearchoftheseaandthesoul 33w

    A place called home #2

    The not-so-light backpack resting on my back, I walk out onto the dusty, uneven road leading to Sitaphal Mandi station from the 3rd gate of the university campus. The crooked road is bumpy, narrow, recently dug up and filled with brown mud. Few cows graze on along the roadside. Crows and flies compete to bother them. A pack of dogs bask in the glorious June sun and rub themselves in the mud. Two other dogs are momentarily locked in a fight which soon becomes amorous. A long line of two-wheelers scurries along the bumpy road. Women wearing cotton saris, sit under temporary tarpaulin sheets selling vegetables - the greeny-bittery kind. Now flaked with dust, with names that sometimes sound like foreign languages or Marvel characters. The heat is too much to bear. Women with children walk by, trying to get their kids to school before the gong sounds. Babies cry. Men prance about wearing tucked up lungis and showing their (not so) bare legs. They stand gazing with a glass of cutting chai or a smoke. A Russian man sits sipping on a hot cup of Irani chai, taking in the surroundings very differently from the gazing men. Construction workers pile reddish-brown bricks and plaster them with grey cement. A manure-like smell wafts in the air from the cow dung. The chortle from the women selling the greens intermingles with the sound of onions being fried in the Chinese fast food shop. The wafting smell of garlic spirals into the cerulean hues of the sky. At the nearby station, the board at the entrance, "Sabari Express delayed by 3 hours...We regret the inconvenience caused."
    ©insearchoftheseaandthesoul

  • insearchoftheseaandthesoul 35w

    "The sea always filled her with longing,
    though for what
    she was never sure.”

    ― Cornelia Funke, Inkheart

  • insearchoftheseaandthesoul 37w

    I like the town on rainy nights
    The wide tree-lined boulevards
    And grand old buildings
    The soft diffuse light
    Picturesque in the fog
    And misty distance
    Bringing out the
    Sheltered cosiness
    That only rain can bring
    Into a daunting teeming town.

    ©insearchoftheseaandthesoul

  • insearchoftheseaandthesoul 38w

    A place called home #1

    The rain has just stopped after pouring for hours together. I step out onto the now clean and neat road, lined with all the vehicles parked along. A row of fiery red Gulmohars and the smell of newly trimmed grass grab my attention. A woman wearing a pink tee and grey tracks is walking a bulldog while chattering incessantly in a high pitched voice on her iPhone. The dog appears bored and probably wants to retire and dream in dog-world. A bare-chested man jogs uphill attempting to lose 200 excessive calories from all the beer and coke he had last night. An old couple walks silently next to each other, he, longing for his younger days and her, lost in thoughts of her cooking and grandchildren. Long years of marriage brings pauses and breaks. The kind where you are together and alone simultaneously. In the distance sat a homeless man holding an umbrella he has managed to fix up.  All he had with him was a tiny suitcase, a cardboard box filled with the tools of a cobbler and the umbrella. He hums Kishore da, "Peetey toh zinda hai.. Na peetey toh mar jaatey.." and eats a kulfi from the dada who is just opening up his business for the day. An IT professional who, mostly is on his way to catch the metro, runs downhill while putting on his blazer holding on to his laptop bag as if he is holding on to life. A school van half-filled with kids screech to a halt behind a rickshaw and a kali-peeli taxi. Few people walk over to the junction. An accident, maybe a head-on collision, or maybe just a dent. My phone rings, and on the screen blinks, "Amma".

    ©insearchoftheseaandthesoul

  • insearchoftheseaandthesoul 50w

    Clearing

  • insearchoftheseaandthesoul 52w

    Is it really possible
    to tell someone else
    what one feels?

    ~ Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina

  • insearchoftheseaandthesoul 52w

    @mirakee @mirakeeworld @writersnetwork @writersparadise #malayalam #pod #brother #life #lifestories #sambhavakadhakal #സംഭവകഥകൾ #ഓർമകൾ #memories #crazystoriesfromchildhood #childhoodmemories #orucrayonmookilpoyakadha

    കുറെ തുമ്മലും ചീറ്റലുമൊക്കെ കഴിഞ്ഞു. ശരം വിട്ടപോലെ എന്തോ ഒന്ന് ചീറിപ്പാഞ്ഞു പോകുന്നത് കണ്ടോ ഇല്യേ എന്ന് അമ്മക്കും എനിക്കും ഒരു സംശയം ഇല്ലാതില്ലാന്നില്ലാ. പിന്നേം ടോർച്ചടിച്ചു നോക്കിയപ്പോൾ മൂക്കിൽ നിന്നും ആ പച്ചക്കറയോൺ ഞങ്ങളെ നോക്കുന്നുമില്യാ. അപ്പൊ ശരിക്കും പേടിക്കണോ അതോ ആശ്വസിക്കണോ എന്നായി. അത് അകത്തേക്ക് കയറിയിപ്പോയതാണോ അതോ പുറത്തേക്കു പോയതാണോ എന്ന് അപ്പോഴും അറിയില്ല. മൂക്കിൽ നിന്ന് അകത്തേക്ക് കയറിയെങ്കിൽ ഇനി എന്ത് ചെയ്യും എന്നായി അമ്മയുടെ പേടി.

    അന്നത്തെ ആ മൊസൈക് ഇട്ട നിലത്തു അതേ നിറപ്പകിട്ടുള്ള ഒരു ക്രയോൺ എങ്ങനെ കാണും? പിന്നെ ആ ടോർച് വാങ്ങി നിലത്തേക്കടിച്ചു തലങ്ങും വിലങ്ങുമായി കുറേ നോക്കിയപ്പോൾ, ദേ , അങ്ങ് സോഫയുടെ അടുത്തായി കിടക്കുന്നു നമ്മുടെ വീരശൂര പരാക്രമിയായ ക്രയോൺതുണ്ട്.

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    ഒരു ക്രയോൺ മൂക്കിൽ പോയ കഥ
    (6-last)

    Please find the story in the caption.

    ©insearchoftheseaandthesoul