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youngishwar

Below are the 3 most recent journal entries.

 

 
  2006.01.29  19.51
Small Ilusions

(iFrom a bright afternoon it changed too quickly into dusk. The metamorphosis came as if time was racing to outwit a bygone era. And to me, as I stood beside a railway track watching an old tiled house, I didn’t notice the transition. All, my mind, was on a house . It seemed that the house was struggling to communicate to me.

(ii) With three doors like three old faces waiting for death facing the entrance gate, the house spoke itself of a golden reminiscence. Its courtyard was covered with small plants, shrubs and bushes. And, dry leaves were scattered all over the place revealing that no human soul had lived in this house at least for the last two years.

(iii) I went to the gate which itself was rusted and I forced my way into the compound. I reached the nearest door. It was unlocked but not ajar. Sensing by the wood and cement used in the construction of the building, I concluded that the house would not be more than 50 years old. I walked inside.

(iv) The room looked like a place where regular poojas had been offered . It had a traditional display of divinity- framed photos of dazzling gods a goddess, illuminations, a Bhagavath Gita and a bronze nilavilakku.

(v) I was wonder struck- the room was clean. As I scanned my eyes all over the area, I saw yet again another door behind a book shelf. I opened and what I had expected was lost in the din of bat hoots and cries of civet cats.

(vi) It was strange to me, the room was neither dark nor lit. The cemented wall enclosing the room had six iron pillars supporting another wooden room- a part of the nalukettu. That room was at a height of just about four feet above the floor and its doors were closed. It could be more than two centuries old for it was built on single solid wood. It smelt of an ancestoral house. I pushed opened the door of the room and stretched myself inside. It was dark.

(vii) In the corner, I saw something glittering. Someone called. I went near the voice. I saw a fragile old
figure of an woman simply staring at me. I asked “who are you? ”
“ I am Unnimaya.” the old woman answered. And continued, “ don’t you remember me?”
“ Yes, ” I resorted. The light from her nose-ring was piercing into my eyes.
(Suddenly it was morning. I lay on my bed only to understand that all was a dream.)

(viii)“ Four hundred and fifty years ago, ” my grandmother began her story, “ there was a great great grandmother who lived in our ancestoral house who committed suicide after her husband was killed in a local battle. Then she was young and beautiful and she was seven months pregnant when her husband went to the battle field. She was buried inside our ancesteral house itself. ”
“ How did you come to know all these stories. They are all a myth, ” I argued.
“ Not at all, ” my grandmother ,getting irritated said and added, “ it was my grandmother who told this to me and the story was passed on from one generation to another until it rechead me. It is said that all the good things we are enjoying now is the blessing from her spirit. It is a pity that – it is two years anyone has gone to gone to the house.”
“ What was her name?” I enquired, “ I can’t believe in all these fairy tales. ” “ It’s true my boy,” began my grandmother getting furious.
“It was unveiled in the prasanam held some months ago during a ritual held under the auspices of our family temple. The chief tantri pointed out an inauspicious event related to the death that happened four and half centuries ago. I’m sure this is it. Her name was Unnimaya, I think or was it Parvathy? No it was Unnimaya.Parvathy was her sister.”

(ix) I was on my daily visits to interview people of my gramapanchayat wards for my research . It was a survey questionnarie on the impact of television advertisements on rural youth after the implementation of the economic liberalisation policy. Interestingly, my own village was taken as the sample.

(x) I went to a house as usual to interview either a boy or a girl. Even before pressing the switch of the calling bell a beautiful girl opened the door. She might have sensed that someone was in the compound of her house. I made a solidary introduction. She welcomed me in and agreed to be a sample respondent.

(xi) I asked, “ what is your name? ” That was the first question taken straight out of the questionnaire.
“ I am Unnimaya , ” she answered. Then only I noticied as I looked into her face- she had the very same nose-ring what the old woman in my dreams wore.
She asked, “ Don’t you remember me?”
“Yes,” I asked. The light from her nose-ring was piercing my eyes. “ Why did you commit suicide? ”
“ Who? Me?” she felt puzzled. “ Don’t you recognise me? We studied in the same college. You were two years senior to me, ” she said.

  
 


 
  2005.11.24  11.15
Confession and Truth

The confession and the truth- Part I ( In 1992 when I was in the II year B.A course.) Vishnu went to college. But t returned home without a degree. He was at the mercy of employers and PSCs just like any other youth. He was my friend for the past seven years and fortunately as friends, he was one more character, perhaps had the taste of my pen. He was a happy-go-lucky type with a lot of friends and could muster every opportunity to make companions lively. At times he was naughty enough to tell stories of inmature love affiars that would take us to certain heights. And his love affairs would not last according to him. He had acquired a nack to frequent houses with his buoyant mannersims. Vishnu was not a person to change so suddenly, and he never did change. He often fooled his mother, pranks that a youth can always do. All his white lies seemed true to everyone. And that was his nature. One day perhaps after a quarrel with one of his friends a change engulfed him. However he was not at all gloomy. He was unnecessarily sentimental. He visted me to make a confession. He looked like an accused facing a trial but he never wanted to let out a big secret- the secret most accused persons do not want to come to light. Vishnu was not at all sorry for an incident that took place. He began in a very submissive tone. There was a sense of pride purified somewhere in his the inner mind. I could feel in a every word he spoke. Perversion is not a strange these days; momentary love from momentary lust and vice versa seems evident. Retna was a thirty eight year old or plus woman but she made herself look not more than thirty. Women grow old to look cheerful, dress up with the times and do make ups to exhibit that age has never bothered them. She was short for her lean looking husband, Murugan, seen every time riding a BSA SLR. She produced two children for him. Was it a wonder? I knew both of them. The couple was in another country or was it in some unknown continent even communications were rarely held. I smiled at Murugan sometimes and never did I go to his house. There was no need to be in that area. I felt afraid of the strange locality there. One has to pass through a graveyard. Retna had an affair with a youth Aji sometime back. Whether it was a rumour or a scandal monger’s trick to insult her and her husband – it was something bad that flushed its dirty smell. I am at a fearful disposal to meet such people. All these youths going after menopause bodies when there were fine chicks gazing at me often in coquettish twists. “ Nobody should known my secret. I have had many a nights with Retna in spite of her husband being around. It was just an happening. I went to her house one day as an errand to get some ice cubs for my cousins evening party. They did not have a fridge then. Retna was giving herself a bath. She smelled me and asked me to wait.” What arousal cold water can make on seeing a fresh juicy youth. His strength could defy any marriage rites. Lust prevails and husbands have been washed off in their acts of procreation.Love cannot satisfy the body when the man is frail but society looks on with yellowed eyes on their prosperity. “ All of a sudden, her full naked body propped out in its half desire- half. Crushing merely against the door. ‘Vishnu , can you just pass on the towel, that is there.’ My good lord! I did not faint. I have made love to many girls but this , my body shivered in its solemn shame. But my presence of mind held me. I passed on the towel. She grabbed the towel and pulled my hand. I resisted. What voluptous body she has! Her breasts crying for a male mouth and their erectness showed unyeilding passion.” Never did I had such an experience. I rushed home. What can make a youth squander his mind over an incident igniting relationship that society forbids? It is not an affair between a damzel and a college youth of vagabond character. This is an experience stretched towards undying time. What evil can do, I thought then? It fuelled my nerves with thoughts a young man can have. My idea of a married woman thus let loose upon a channel blurred with sex –inflicted bodies. Those two lads, ignorant of these live far away.” Vishnu stopped for a smoke. I laughed. I laughed in my mind. He was telling me a truth, plain truth. Yes! An accused hides something that he fears of. He fears about his own slavery, he fears his prediacment. But then, the relationship of Vishnu with Retna, I believed, he was twisting in another direction. He knew I would write his story. As for his relationship with Retna, he never wanted that to be a secret. His secret was his relationship with someone else, whom I knew very dearly. I lit a cigarette to refresh my mind. The next part would be too sexy even for me to listen. I felt relaxed but I tuned myself to reach to his secrets. Vishnu finished his smoke. I just began to enjoy what tobacco can do to an illict story of a 24-year old young man with a 40-old plum. “ I went to her house often. Her sex hunger was vibrant on seeing me. Always. I too wanted to enjoy the success what these opposite bodies hold. I knew there was pleasure, pleasure from a source that stimulated even the Gods. That was my age. And one day it happened.” “ One lonley evening. She gave me some eatbles and I fondly asked fo some milk. She knew it and showered her breasts for me to feed. I did it in a most violent act. That was sex when bodies meet. The animal in us react and can we blame ourselves for our evolution. That was only a beginning; more things went by, more days even nights went by. Murugan-the cuckold knew not. A husband knows not a wife’s secrets but he thinks he knows and what a fool a husband often is.” “ I quarreled with her on one occasion - the day I came to know that she had many paramours. I asked her affairs with one Panicker. She bluntly denied. She did not expect a question point blank. I scolded her as a nymphomaniac. What her husband could not do I did but then even in the corner of my heart I knew she was not a whore. What the body needs – someone fulfils it. She came to know that I was drunk- and that day I had two pegs of Brandy. I thought then I should part with her for good. No more, these sort of games. I want to live, my future was racing ahead even before I knew that it was speeding. Now I am neat and clean.” The ashes subsided. The end he threw off like his secret story. No one cares to pick up a cigarette end. It would be kicked, and crushed until the dirty thing is mixed with dust and dust it will be. Salima is married to Ali Khan. They have two daughters. Vishnu was a friend to Ali Khan and their friendship got me a good company in Ali Khan. Ali Khan works in the Gulf. He comes home after a gap of two years. At times he visits home more often out of nostalgia. These days even Muslim women are immortal but Salima was perfect. What does a woman in her late 20s need- a stong husband to protect and to lead a good life. She lived for that. She does what Koran has interpreted and nothing more or nothing less. What about Ali Khan? He drinks and frequent prostitutes. Salima knew that her husband was indulging in these acivities before their marriage but after their marriage the chasity of a wife never believed in rumours spread against her husband.He was too good to her. When she came to know and was a witness to an act Ali Khan going with a prostitute the idol in her heart of hearts broke. A wife silently wails. She can’t drink and go after fuckers. Feminism has limits and greater limits to a Muslim orthodox woman living in a village. But she had to satisfy her revenge- the revenge against her husband. And the victim, the scapegoat- Vishnu. Society is the tyrant people fear.Then, human beings brood over emotions and act in nonsense. This also echo the truth of absurdity in Man’s nature. Vishnu fell for the beautiful Salima. She called him to her bedroom. They mingled like lovers, they were married for the time being. Only nights enjoy numerous honeymoons and once again the husband is cuckold. Vishnu was brillant enough to fool me but would I be another fool, just to write another story. A lusty 10 o’ clock exploded her desires upon an innocent youth. The power to know these things, both did not know in me. I watched like an enemy, even the friend in me enjoyed their love making. A perfect match in the eyes that knew how to watch their sex game. That night, a first night for Vishnu and Salima , a new night was over. She had her revenge in knowing another body. She realised that another youth that could drive the power of love. Vishnu was a poor fellow and Salima was poor too but she needed more revenge to let her body to be licked by Vishnu. Her revenge was secret but what satsifaction that gave her- the love, the desire, her breasts, her sex organs felt by someone , which she kept exclusively for her husband. What strange fancy woman possess? Salima’s love for Vishnu increased. She called him every night when Ali Khan was out. Vishnu’s white lies were honey drops to his mother’s ear. It could range from friends’weddings to temple festivals. Salima’s hatred for Ali Khan turned to Vishnu’s love. She needed adoration, her lips needed kisses untouched by prostitutes, her breasts needed the warmth of innocent spit and so on her needs are bodily. Even I was afraid, where would it end? Would Ali Khan come to know of this? The village would see an atom bomb. A quarrel ended the case with Retna. The quarrel was inevitable in Saima’s story and it proved to be a blessing for Vishnu. Ali Khan dismissed his friendship with Vishnu and in fact threatened him with blows. Both were drunk it seems. That somehow the story of an illicit love came to an end. By this time Salima’s revenge should have lessened. But did she teach her husband a lesson or would she go in for another man. Calmness prevailed in dirty circumstances. There are many truths society precipitates. What a fool a husband often is ? I did not know why Vishnu kept his secret about Salima? He was afraid of the havoc that might befall on a family or he might have feared the villancy the society would play. The testimony of errors often ends in tragedies but here it goes on undisturbed because there is a disturbed world with disturbed mortals portraying themselves as disturbed. What a strange world, what a strange life with strange feelings. In 2004 Salima and her two daughters committed suicide out of poverty. In 2005 Vishnu left for the Gulf . He got married to a nurse in Dubai and incidently a relative of Retna. The wedding was a big function. The next blog says it all. Wait for December 1, or 2 or 3. But not later than December 7.

  
 


 
  2005.11.24  11.14
Confession and Truth

The confession and the truth- Part I

( In 1992 when I was in the II year B.A course.)

Vishnu went to college. But t returned home without a degree. He was at the mercy of employers and PSCs just like any other youth. He was my friend for the past seven years and fortunately as friends, he was one more character, perhaps had the taste of my pen.

He was a happy-go-lucky type with a lot of friends and could muster every opportunity to make companions lively. At times he was naughty enough to tell stories of inmature love affiars that would take us to certain heights. And his love affairs would not last according to him. He had acquired a nack to frequent houses with his buoyant mannersims.

Vishnu was not a person to change so suddenly, and he never did change. He often fooled his mother, pranks that a youth can always do. All his white lies seemed true to everyone. And that was his nature.

One day perhaps after  a quarrel with one of his friends a change engulfed him.  However he was not at all gloomy. He was unnecessarily sentimental. He visted me to make a confession. He looked like an accused facing a trial but he never wanted to let out a big secret- the secret most accused persons do not want to come to light.

Vishnu was not at all sorry for an incident that took place. He began in a very submissive tone. There was a sense of pride purified somewhere in his the inner mind. I could feel in a every word he spoke. Perversion is not a strange these days; momentary love from momentary lust and vice versa seems evident.

Retna was a thirty eight year old or plus woman but she made herself look not more than thirty. Women grow old to look cheerful, dress up with the times and do make ups to exhibit that age has never bothered them. She was short for her lean looking husband, Murugan, seen every time riding a BSA SLR. She produced two children for him. Was it a wonder?

I knew both of them. The couple was in another country or was it in some unknown  continent even communications were rarely held. I smiled at Murugan sometimes and never did I go to his house. There was no need to be in that area. I felt afraid of the strange locality there. One has to pass through a graveyard.

 Retna had an affair with a youth Aji sometime back. Whether it was a rumour or a scandal monger’s trick to insult her and her husband – it was something bad that flushed its dirty smell. I am at a fearful disposal to meet such people. All these youths going after menopause bodies when there were fine chicks gazing at me often in coquettish twists.

“ Nobody should known my secret. I have had many a nights with Retna  in spite of her husband being around. It was just an happening. I went to her house one day as an errand to get some ice cubs for my cousins evening party. They did not have a fridge then. Retna was giving herself a bath. She smelled me and asked me to wait.”

What arousal cold water can make on seeing a fresh juicy youth. His strength could defy any marriage rites. Lust prevails and husbands have been washed off in their acts of procreation.Love cannot satisfy the body when the man is frail but society looks on with yellowed eyes on their prosperity.

“ All of a sudden, her full naked body propped out in its half desire- half. Crushing merely against the door. ‘Vishnu , can you just pass on the towel, that is there.’ My good lord! I did not faint. I have made love to many girls but this , my body shivered in its solemn shame. But my presence of mind held me. I passed on the towel. She grabbed the towel and pulled my hand. I resisted.  What voluptous body she has!  Her breasts crying for a male mouth and their erectness showed unyeilding passion.”

Never did I had such an experience. I rushed home. What can make a youth squander his mind over an incident igniting relationship that society forbids? It is not an affair between a damzel and a college youth of vagabond character. This is an experience stretched towards undying time. What evil can do, I thought then? It fuelled my nerves with  thoughts a young man can have. My idea of a married woman thus let loose upon a channel blurred with sex –inflicted bodies. Those two lads, ignorant of these live far away.” Vishnu stopped for a smoke.

I laughed. I laughed in my mind. He was telling me a truth, plain truth. Yes! An accused hides something that he fears of. He fears about his own slavery, he fears his prediacment. But then, the relationship of Vishnu with Retna, I believed, he was twisting in another direction. He knew I would write his story.  As for his relationship with Retna, he never wanted that to be a secret. His secret was his relationship with someone else, whom I knew very dearly.

I lit a cigarette to refresh my mind. The next part would be too sexy even for me to listen. I felt relaxed but I tuned myself  to reach to his secrets. Vishnu finished his smoke. I just began to enjoy what tobacco can do to an illict story of a 24-year old young man with a 40-old plum.

“ I went to her house often. Her sex hunger was vibrant on seeing me. Always. I too wanted to enjoy the success what these opposite bodies hold. I knew there was pleasure, pleasure from a source that stimulated even the Gods. That was my age. And one day it happened.”

“ One lonley evening. She gave me some eatbles and I fondly asked fo some milk. She knew it and showered her breasts for me to feed. I did it in a most violent act. That was sex when bodies meet. The animal in us react and can we blame ourselves for our evolution. That was only a beginning; more things went by, more days even nights went by. Murugan-the cuckold knew not. A husband knows not a wife’s secrets but he thinks he knows and what a fool a husband often is.”

“ I quarreled with her on one occasion - the day I came to know that she had many paramours. I asked her affairs with one Panicker. She bluntly denied. She did not expect a question point blank. I scolded her as a nymphomaniac. What her husband could not do I did but then even in the corner of my heart I knew she was not a whore. What the body needs – someone fulfils it. She came to know that I was drunk- and that day I had two pegs of Brandy. I thought then I should part with her for good. No more, these sort of games. I want to live, my future was racing ahead even before I knew that it was speeding. Now I am neat and clean.”

The ashes subsided. The end he threw off like his secret story. No one cares to pick up a cigarette end. It would be kicked, and crushed  until the dirty thing is mixed with dust and dust it will be.

Salima is married to Ali Khan. They have two daughters. Vishnu was a friend to Ali Khan and their friendship got me a good company in Ali Khan.

Ali Khan works in the Gulf. He comes home after a gap of two years. At times he visits home more often out of nostalgia. These days even Muslim women are immortal but Salima was perfect. What does a woman in her late 20s need- a stong husband to protect and  to lead a good life. She lived for that. She does what Koran has interpreted and nothing more or nothing less.

What about Ali Khan? He drinks and frequent prostitutes. Salima knew that her husband was indulging in these acivities before their marriage but after their marriage the chasity of a wife never believed in rumours spread against her husband.He was too good to her.

When she came to know and was a witness to an act Ali Khan going with a prostitute the idol in her heart of hearts broke. A wife silently wails. She can’t drink and go after fuckers.

Feminism has limits and greater limits to a Muslim orthodox woman living in a village. But she had to satisfy her revenge- the revenge against her husband. And the victim, the scapegoat- Vishnu.

Society is the tyrant people fear.Then, human beings brood over emotions and act in nonsense. This also echo the truth of absurdity in Man’s nature. Vishnu fell for the beautiful Salima. She called him to her bedroom. They mingled like lovers, they were married for the time being. Only nights enjoy numerous honeymoons and once again the husband is cuckold.

Vishnu was brillant enough to fool me but would I be another fool, just to write another story. A lusty 10 o’ clock exploded her desires upon an innocent youth. The power to know these things, both did not know in me. I watched like an enemy, even the friend in me enjoyed their love making.  A perfect match in the eyes that knew how to watch their sex game. That night, a first night for Vishnu and Salima , a new night was over.

She had her revenge in knowing another body. She realised that another youth that could drive the power of love. Vishnu was a poor fellow and Salima was poor too but she needed more revenge to let her body to be licked by Vishnu. Her revenge was secret but what satsifaction that gave her- the love, the desire, her breasts, her sex organs felt by someone , which she kept exclusively for her husband. What strange fancy woman possess?

Salima’s love  for Vishnu increased. She called him every night when Ali Khan was out. Vishnu’s white lies were honey drops to his mother’s ear. It could range from friends’weddings to temple festivals. Salima’s hatred for Ali Khan turned to Vishnu’s love. She needed adoration, her lips needed kisses untouched by prostitutes, her breasts needed the warmth of innocent spit and so on her needs are bodily. Even I was afraid, where would it end? Would Ali Khan come to know of this? The village would see an atom bomb.

A quarrel ended the case with Retna. The quarrel was inevitable in Saima’s story and it proved to be a blessing for Vishnu. Ali Khan dismissed his friendship with Vishnu and in fact threatened him with blows. Both were drunk it seems. That somehow the story of an illicit love came to an end. By this time Salima’s revenge should have lessened. But did she teach her husband a lesson or would she go in for another man. Calmness prevailed in dirty circumstances. There are many truths society precipitates. What a fool a husband often is ?

I did not know why Vishnu kept his secret about Salima? He was afraid of the havoc that might befall on a family or he might have feared the villancy the society would play. The testimony of errors often ends in tragedies but here it goes on undisturbed because there is a disturbed  world with disturbed mortals portraying themselves as disturbed.

What a strange world, what a strange life  with strange feelings.

In 2004  Salima and her two daughters committed suicide out of poverty. In 2005 Vishnu left for the Gulf . He  got married to a nurse in Dubai and incidently a relative of Retna. The wedding was a big function. The next blog  says it all. Wait for December 1, or 2 or 3. But not later than December 7.

 



  
 



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