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[ranikrajan]

She lay still bathed in tears!

She lay there. Our dear "Tiger Patti", as fondly known to the youngest ones in the family. Neither did freezing cold bother her nor did the cries of her daughters or her sisters. She was wrapped in her favorite green and maroon silk saree unlike her husband who wore white cotton shirt and dhoti. She adorned her red and white stone earrings, and her heavy gold chain which is an alternate to her Mangal-Sutra that she removed exactly a year back on the same day, both favorite possessions. Her bangles don’t fit her hands anymore. They have been swollen for the last six years. She claimed to all her children and grandchildren that they punctured her nerve everyday and poured in acid to purify. But she can’t speak anymore for they have plastered her mouth in white bandage.

The mouth that often ran wild in anger. And the mouth that other times called out my name. The mouth that said sweet words to her son and her daughters, my father and my aunts. The eyes that saw six generations of her family, the eyes that familiarized the 40km road to her beds—both home and hospital, the eyes that lost its luster as her years came to an end, are now dry and shut. Tears cannot be borrowed from anyone in the crowd. Neither could air be borrowed for the oxygen mask failed and the heart that yearned and mourned for her husband the last one year, said No!

Sons and daughters cried “amma”, grandchildren cried “ayah” with echoes of “appatha”, her sisters and brothers called out “akka” and other distinct terms “athai”, “periyamma”, and “machan”. The cries to awaken her crowded the room but it could not rise her from deep sleep. To which sound would she respond? All intimate relations—although she perished from within, she celebrated our worldly existence. Where were you all when she called you on phones for a conversation? Where were you all when she invited you home? Where were you all when she had the fatal fall? Your cries don’t have the power to wake her up for you gave her void.

And the ones who have the power to shake her back to life will not move because she has suffered enough. An elixir to life would put her on a bed of thorns. Her body that experienced excruciating pain for half a decade. Instead, these cries in the house are the symbol of her potency to be free. To be free from agony, to be free from these cries and to be free to be free, one with nature and God!

We welcomed her in a freezer that day. And many pronounced prayers from her old mates to take them with her for she left early. As she lays still and trapped, she traveled to the worlds that no human can witness. Her husband though brought her the rains that they both loved to watch and enjoy. His very last gift to her. For in this eternal sleep, she joins him alive in our memories.

[ranikrajan]

An Obsessive Manipulating Bitch

A few lessons in becoming an obsessive manipulating bitch (aka OMB). What does it mean to be one? Maybe google could say or Jane Austen’s heroines would know.

How does one become an OMB? Here are the steps*:

#1- Never trust anyone when you are introduced

#2- If anyone loves you, do not let them

#3- Fall in love with anyone, hard and deep

#4- When anyone stops loving you, do not let them go

#5- When anyone breaks up, do not accept it

#6- When anyone does not care anymore, tell them you love them still

#7- and in no time, you realize you are an OMB, when anyone states it

#8- and now anyone tramples upon you constantly, with or without love

#9- In this step, when you cannot stop loving anyone process is successful

#10- the desire to be loved by this anyone burns in your heart

[*follow the steps in the same order. Do not skip any for impressive results]

Can you avoid being OMB? Yes, only if you have the discipline to not fall in love with anyone. OMB is a result of genuine love and respect and yearning for anyone, especially when anyone is bored of it. You should not care for anyone beyond the short phase of being in love. You should not respect anyone, especially, if you love them. You should not look for them or reach out to them, even if anyone sinks. You should not remember them at all. They must not exist in your life, as there is a risk of recollection of the good times. Follow these instructions to stop yourself from being recognized as OMB. Or cross check to with the steps to confirm your identity as an Obsessive Manipulating Bitch.

Is it fun? My heart agrees not!

Yet let us not ask this question to the deviant, warped and twisted aspects of my existence that finds this bizarre phrase attractive, for my Anyone has coined it.

[ranikrajan]

Paddler or Pioneer—to be or not to be?

When my leader is a duck, I don't overlook that I am limping-broken-legged-duck.

My leader locates the sun-bath site. My leader quacks in rhythm with their tread. We comply; so, to endure untouched. My leader knows how to dodge a tolling peril. Hint: cower and close eyes.

When we look for a mightier messiah in a dog, his blaring voice bludgeons the best of us. When we look for an aegis of any human, we are ambushed by "conditions applied" in their patronage agreement. Donate eggs and pledge lives. Affectionate bonds and Binding contracts.

I am a nonconformist and rebellious duck. So here is my untrammeled thinking:

My leader might lead me not to safety but a mound of grains. My leader does not believe in confrontation but illuminates the path to the spring that makes our feathers white.

Oddly enough, what if I am an ugly-adopted member of the Anatidae family? I do demand more than leisure and entertainment from life.

Or, am I just a fraud?!

[ranikrajan]

I think I am a reindeer! Could I?

Yes, I have two legs only and

I live in Southern Asia.

Still, I have migrated.

I have no herd because

I am domesticated

yet, I live among cold predators.

No folk-tales have been written on me.

My body parts are intact as i write this—

No aphrodisiacs, no elixir, all vile.

Nevertheless, I am vulnerable. More importantly,

I too chew and sleep at the same time.

Evidence: cracked wisdom tooth

Apparent causation: stress

and grinding teeth especially while sleeping.

I wonder why? I have no concrete answer.

Pun intended.

I cannot swat away the horrendous idiots.

No Tail. Nope. Shrugging does not help.

[ranikrajan]

Booking tickets?

Go back in time

So, you can return me to your future of the past

So, you can avoid me in that present of the past

So, you can be regret less in the present

And be happy in the future

Let me go back in time

So, I can ignore you in the present of the past

So, I can discount any anticipations of a together in that future

So, I remain alone in this present with no thoughts of the past

And without a sad poem to write here

[A poem to celebrate new year ☹]

[ranikrajan]

Enfin, the pinnacle of ruins.

It is a circus. I am the ring master. I am the lion. And I am the chair. I am also the audience.

It is a zoo. I am the tiger. I am the dead prey. And I am the fence. I am also the sightseer.

It is a museum.  I am the exhibit. I am the curator. And I am the dust in the voids. I am also the patron.

Finis!

[ranikrajan]

Could it be true that life and love catches up?

It was a cold dark winter night. She observed the silhouettes of the hills that competes with the black sky in her vision. She began her hike through the hill. It had been an hour through the well-trodden path and she was panting. She fidgeted with her borrowed tiny purple torch as she charged it with the rotational pulley on its side. The brightness of this torch was irrelevant on that full moon night. Soon, the canopy cleared and she saw the edge of the cliff. She gathered from the piled-up ashes of a tiny fire that someone had been here earlier. With other thoughts running wild in the background, this additional who might it have been joined the race. Should she bother? Definitely, no wild animals are known to roam here but are they the only threat ever? The breeze hushed the tormented screaming in her head. She drank a few sips of water and set up her sleeping bag. She was well aware that she will not freeze to death in this temperature. She was warm from the hike and her jacket was a wind-cheater and it did well. Just like how her heart cheated her. In awe she watched the interaction between the twinkling lights of the city and the stars in the night sky. She was happy that she could enjoy such simple things as she tried to recall the purpose of this trek. She heard the rustling of the dried leaves and turned. A shadow at the mouth of the trail. The moonlight faded as the figure took more steps ahead. She registered the familiar voice as it called out to her. She got up slowly anticipating the consequential events and there, poof.

[ranikrajan]

"For whom is it well, for whom is it well?

There is no one for whom it is well."

"I have no more to say to you"

-Achebe, Chinua. Things Fall Apart. Penguin Modern Classics, 2001, pp. 99.

[ranikrajan]

Forgot to Breathe!

As I wished:

he searched for me.

he traveled for me.

he waited for me.

More I wished:

my sighs were carried in the breeze to him.

my whispers echo in his mind as his in mine.

he sees his reflection in my eyes.

Then I breathed

for a few moments.

As he rushed to me

and strangled my neck!

[ranikrajan]

The sun rays in my heart

We have heard that stars have guided travelers in journeys. Journey on and beyond the earth. Now a days, it is rare to see the stars shine. Yet, they have competition from the city lights. Similarly, I have this celestial manifestation in my life, otherwise known as “Bespangled Joe”. This being sparkles, flickers, radiates and glistens (warmth and lustre) in a cycle. Although never fails to dazzle mere mortals.

On a calm evening, on the terrace of my residence, I attempt to watch the stars. I was told, they watch over us. Is it out of care or is it surveillance? My phone rang and I saw the name. It is the one who shines.

[ranikrajan]

If I could dissipate at the touch of the moonlight, I wish it was that moment!

[ranikrajan]

Does this apply to lovers, friends, adversaries and challenges?

"The frivolity and boredom which unsettle the established order, the vague foreboding of something unknown, these are the heralds of approaching change."

-Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich. (1977). "Preface". In Phenomenology of Spirit, trans. (Miller, A.V.). Oxford University Press.

[ranikrajan]

What does that-look mean?

Quite recently, I have been getting that-look from people, mostly men. It is a certain kind of a gaze that has no explanation yet. The peculiarity of this activity lies upon its intriguing and bizarre nature. The gaze cannot be described as ever-sexual but at times, it is apathetic, communal and shared by the onlookers. I have never earlier in my life received this attention or identified that-look, except in very specific embarrassing situations.

Each time I get that-look, I check myself on the phone camera. Nope, I recognize no blemish. I do know my voice is rough and laugh is loud. Sometimes, obnoxious. Yet, to acknowledge these, the observer requires a few minutes or hours. It does not qualify as a legit reason. As I walk past people on a corridor or a street, as I enter a room or as I aimlessly walk to my room, I get that stare. It is unwelcoming and it comes with a judgement that I do not comprehend. What could be the reason?

To clear your doubts, I do not have an unusual physique. Certainly, I am not tall. My complexion is ubiquitous!?! It shows disproportionate sun tan, common with tropical regions. I have a stereotypical Indian physique who is neither thin nor stout. I consider myself neither pretty nor ugly. I have an average-no-make-up-face that often is unrecognizable among other average faces. I wonder whether it is my spectacles. Once again, nothing unique. It merges with the current trend of huge glasses. I wonder whether it is my frizzy hair. It is neither straight nor curly. It remains as it feels like. Always unkempt, no matter how tight I put my hair in a rubber band. I wonder whether it is my clothes although they are never exceptional. No lace, no hat, no boots, no heels, no belts. I wear simple clothes with solid colors and minimal designs. What could it be?

Definitely, I do not have distinguishing walk or quirky mannerism that gives away in mere seconds. I neither frown nor simply smile. I obviously exchange greetings with people I know and have met. I am no celebrity or a popular person. Sometimes, I wonder whether they are trying to recognize me in a place I have never been before!? Sometimes, I wonder whether I look so common and indistinguishable that I resemble someone each of them knows. Sometimes, I pray I know the purpose of that-look and at other times, I desire to not notice that-look. Sometimes, I want to take a step towards them and shake them out of that-look/stare. Sometimes, I stare back to notice them flinch. Sometimes, I see them trip or lose balance while they are busy giving that-look.

However, I give them a benefit of doubt, the onlookers might have no control over that-look. Now, I am set out to find the logic behind that-look. And must I ignore blindly?

I might start with recording the occasions on which I receive that-look. I persuade myself to find the justification behind that-look to which everyone is accustomed. Moreover, do I give that-look on any pretext? I hope not. What is the incentive to this search? I am not aware YET.

[ranikrajan]

just like the saying "the student becomes the master", can this be appropriate: "the tormented becomes the tease"?

What happens when this shift occurs? Does love become blind then?

[ranikrajan]

diary notes of Janusz Korczak

"I exist not to be loved and admired, but to love and serve. It is not the duty of those around me to love me. rather, it is my duty to be concerned about the world (, about man). "

what is a school?

"a forge where the most sacred slogans are stamped out, where everything which gives life should flow through it, which should issue the loudest call for the rights of man and which should most boldly and relentlessly condemn that which had become muddied in man"

"where children will not be learning dead letters from a life-less page; where, rather, they will learn how people live, why they live , how they can live differently, what they need to learn and do in order to live full of the free spirit"

Kutawiec, E.P., "Introduction", When I am little again and The child's right to respect, Janusz Korczak, (transl. E.R. Kulawiec).

[ranikrajan]

Can you spot them? their size no match for their efforts. tireless. hardworking. sincere. all day. come heat wave or monsoon. and sing along in the evenings before retiring with their loved ones.

If not them, is there any other inspirational being? we don't have to reach out to them. They will talk to you. respond to your whistles. tell us that we are not alone in this huge world.

[ranikrajan]

Follow the light. would it be wise?