The Ballads of Gravity

കണക്ക് , ഈ വിഷയം എന്നെ പഠിപ്പിച്ച അധ്യാപകരെക്കൊണ്ട് ഞാന്‍ വെറുത്തു പോയതാണ് . ഞാന്‍ തോറ്റു പോയ ഒരേ ഒരു വിഷയവും കണക്കു തന്നെ. ഓണ പരീക്ഷക്കാണ് തോറ്റത്. ഞാന്‍ ആദ്യം കണക്കിനു തോറ്റത് ആറാം ക്ലാസ്സില്‍ ആണ് . അന്നെനിക്ക് ഒരു മിഡ്ടേം പരീക്ഷക്ക്‌ 25 ല്‍ വെറും 4 മാര്‍ക്കാണ് കിട്ടിയത്. അതുകഴിഞ്ഞ് ഇങ്ങോട്ട് ഒന്നും പറയേണ്ട (ഊഹിച്ചെടുത് പൂരിപിചോളൂ). അപ്പന്‍റെ കണക്കിലുള്ള ബുദ്ധിയുടെ ഒരംശം എങ്കിലും കിട്ടിയിരുന്നെങ്കില്‍ എന്നുഞാന്‍ ആഗ്രഹിചിട്ടുണ്ടായിരുന്നു , കാരണം അപ്പന്‍ കണക്കില്‍ ഒരു പുലിയും ഞാന്‍ എലിയും ആയിരുന്നു. അപ്പന്‍ ഒരുപാടു എന്നെ നേരെയാക്കാന്‍ നോക്കിയതാ , ഒന്നും നടന്നില്ല. എന്നാല്‍  പത്താം ക്ലാസില്‍ അപ്പനും അമ്മയ്ക്കും എന്നെകുറിചോര്‍ത്തു പെടിതോന്നിയപ്പോള്‍ അവര്‍ എനിക്കൊരു സ്പെഷ്യല്‍ ട്യൂഷന്‍ ഏര്‍പെടുത്തി . കണക്കിന്‍റെ ദേവതയായി എന്നെ അനുഗ്രഹിച്ച ആ MSc ക്കാരി ചേച്ചിയെ ഞാന്‍ നമിക്കുന്നു. ഞാന്‍ അങ്ങനെ പത്താം ക്ലാസ്സ്‌ കണക്കു പരീക്ഷ 50 ല്‍ 36 മാര്‍ക്കോടെ പാസായി. എന്‍റെ കണക്കു ടീച്ചര്‍ക്ക്‌ പോലും വിശ്വാസം വന്നു കാണില്ല ഞാന്‍ ഇതെങ്ങനെ ഒപ്പിച്ചുവെന്നു. ഞാന്‍ എന്‍റെ ജീവിതത്തില്‍ കണക...

Is there something awaits us in our home? A sense of sentimental attachment or a kind of purgatorial self-alienation from the loneliness conceived by the multifaceted façade of our social dramas? It’s always a great relief to be back at home. Everything remains the same; preserved by the radical consistency of time and memory, we realize the treasure preserved by the home from the ruins of the sa me time and memory is nostalgia in subjective correlation. You see the same green Cyprus standing gloriously; hear the swan songs of willow, rhyming and lulling of the brooks, whistling of the bamboos, murmuring of the woods and the fondling of zephyr; there, you smell the same age-old virgin earth. Father, mother, brothers and sisters, cousins and friends and your little secrets come together for a ride with you in the numbness created by your alienation effect; your room is like a newly wedded girl wanting to be loved and cared immensely. The walls want to hear your new stories and ...

Yeah, I know there's already movie name sake for this post's title. But it doesn't matter, I think. Well, something totally strange happened in my life recently, a kind of natural realization out of the vacuum- caliberization of platonic Petrarchanism. I was indiscriminately using the so called Petrarchan conceit in every possible realm of my outward and inward nature, the psyche. History of the malignant Malvolio  I happened to murder in the ethos of my Keatsian legends, haunts me even in the anonymity of the streets and colours. What did I do?

Debauchery, Debauchery, Debauchery! Oh, notorious cyprian, thee debauched conception of thy desires evil, emptied thy holy grail in the deception of Thy nights, too good to be good too evil, fill me with good and evil, poise me with thy poison of Nature, no good, not god- but a man no evil, not a devil- but desires no sin, not a sinner- but nature, in essence god, evil, and sin let me explode into thee, into.

T he greatest question I face, till the date, is how to serve my father? We speak very little! The amount of the words we speak can be easily calculated of collected by any being; it’s that simple. He is the only man I’ve ever seen who made or rather makes his fortune for his family from the toils to palace. He built his family with pride and love. I feel myself very pity that I never gave him anything. I have no memories of hugging him or kissing him or even sharing a bit of time laughing with him. I am a very miserable human being, no doubt. What a human being I am? How miserable I am! He once or twice said that too! (I think we are all miserable sometimes) I need to be sentimental in my attitude towards the people who love me. Certainly, I lost my way in between; I took a turn that was absolutely strange and chaotic. I had to survive and fight well with the nature of my path I chose. I never celebrated my birthday neither my parent’s. I kept myself away from the casual and no...

E very man in his pride wept for his past, and in secret, lamented for the expiring of his time along with the age- the inevitability of his mortality and the worst thing he can’t defend himself. Subtlety of my seductive fallacy, then, towards the vanity of the world allured multitudes of images  ( intellectual and emotional complex in an instant of time ), among which I found the reflections or rather existence of hers perfectly corresponding to the explicate and inplicate orders of my morphic resonace. There, torqued, begins the story of my infinite passion for my amorita; from there, everything began to be a mythical cosmic battle between faith and chance. What voice was that kept me alive in her thoughts and obviated the hiatus of facinorous time? Eloquence of silence in absolute immersion of hers hatched the abundance of her thoughts and divine proportions of unconditional and nonpareil affection, which carved her nonbeing into a dainty being, arrested the entire uni...

"They say when you meet the love of your life, time stops. What they don't tell you is that once time starts again it moves extra fast to catch up."

The eminence of parallel existence and phenomenal synchronization or encountering of my subliminal doppelganger with the cognizance of my ubiquitous existence elevates me unto a state of crazy hyperactivity. The penumbra of my clone is mostly like a phantasmagoria, almost completely foreign to my interests and tastes. I think, I’ve manipulated the possible readings of yin and yang. Hahaha!!!     P.S.:   Yeah! I'm laughing out loud like a 'cocaine sniffed Buddhist' floating on the air under the blue moon!  #She's mine, and as the time witnesses she'll be crowned the queen of  Never Never lands !