സമരം

എഴുത്ത് നിർത്തിയിട്ടില്ലെന്ന് സ്വയം ഉറപ്പിക്കാനായി
അന്നെഴുതിയ കവിത ഇന്ന് വായിക്കുമ്പോൾ
അതിലെ കൃത്രിമത്വം എണ്ണിപ്പറഞ്ഞ് മുഖത്തടിക്കും
മനസ്സിൽ തട്ടാതെ എഴുതിയ വാക്കുകൾ.

പുഴപോലൊഴുകി തിരയായടിക്കാൻ
ഞാനന്ന് കൂട്ടമായെഴുതിയ വാഗ്സമൂഹങ്ങൾ
സ്വയം പിരിഞ്ഞു വന്ന്
ഇങ്ങനെ കൂട്ടിയാൽ ഞങ്ങൾ കൂടില്ലെന്ന്
സമരം ചെയ്യുമ്പോൾ
അവരേ കേൾക്കാതെ കടുമ്പിടിത്തം പിടിച്ച്
ഇല്ലാത്ത ഒഴുക്കുണ്ടെന്ന് അവരോട് പറയുവാൻ
പാടു പെടും ഞാൻ.

ഞാനെന്ന വാക്കെന്നെ നോക്കി
നീ ഞാനല്ലെന്ന് പറയുമ്പോൾ
നിങ്ങളൊക്കെ ഞാനാണെന്നും
ഞാൻ നിങ്ങളൊക്കെയാണെന്നും
മാറി മാറി പറഞ്ഞ്
അവരെ ആശ്വസിപ്പിക്കാനെന്നവണ്ണം
സ്വയം ആശ്വസിപ്പിക്കണം.

അന്നതിന് കഴിയാതെ വന്നാൽ
അന്നെഴുതണം ഇതു വരെ എഴുതാത്ത
ഉള്ളിൽ തട്ടിയ വാക്കുകൾ.

അന്നവരോട് നിങ്ങളില്ലെങ്കിൽ ഞാനില്ലെന്ന്
പരാജയം സമ്മതിച്ച്
അവരോടെനിക്കായി സ്വയമെഴുതാൻ പറയണം.

വാക്കുകളുടെ ഒരു കൂട്ടം മാത്രമാണ്
ഈ എഴുതുന്നയാളെന്ന്
സ്വയം മനസ്സിലാക്കാൻ
വാക്കുകൾ ഉപയോഗിച്ച് ചിന്തിക്കണം.
ആ ചിന്തയതാണെന്ന്
അവരറിഞ്ഞ ശേഷമെഴുതിയാലവർ
സമരം ചെയ്യില്ലായിരിക്കും.

2015

Namakaran

Sun rises.

Sets.

The editor marks the columns.

Printer sets.

They name her.

They need a name.

A name that is unique.

To stand the test of time.

What's there in a name?

A name decides everything.

A name points out whether

we should grieve or look aside.

A name is a proper noun

that separates people.

if Damini dies, it's somebody

we don't know of.

If Nirbhaya dies,

she is from a different belief.

If Amanat dies,

she does not speak

the language I speak.

But she should possess a name.

Nirbhaya shouldn't win.

Who names anyone Amanat?

It's a bad name.

Let them name her Damini.

Let them.

The reader reads, comments.

It shouldn't have happened.

But it did.

It should not happen again.

But it will.

We are imbeciles.

All of us are me.

The reader reads, comments.

It's good that she died

Now we can peacefully hang the motherfuckers

Without changing the motherfucking law

It's good that she died

It would have been difficult to live.

It's good that she died.

It's good that it is her, not me.

It's good that she died.

It's all good.

Somebody brings a graph paper.

Takes a news paper,

plots a graph.

She becomes the new point

in that graph.

We become the lowest point

of the low points.

The Girl's dead body-

A new point

in the rape graph.

Somebody sells that newspaper.

The graph points

wraps peanuts.

The girl's dead body-

A new peanut wrapper.

They draw a new graph.

Of all the peanut wrappers ever.

The big news. The small news.

The Delhi. The Non-Delhi.

The Candle. The Mask.

The Dress code.

The Moral Compass.

The poems.

The critics.

The us.

The others.

THe mothers.

THe motherchods

The Bhaiyyas.

The behens.

The bhenchods.

THe graph paper.

The infograph.

THe graphs of graphs.

The photographs.

The change.

The lack.

The past.

The future.

Sun rises.

Sets.

The editor marks new spaces.

Somebody sets.

Namakaran- Naming ceremony

-------------------------------2012----------------------------------------------------------

Identity (card)

 “Amma, please give my identity card… fast… or else I’ll miss my school bus.” I said. She came running with the card.

Forgetting the identity card was now almost a daily routine. Just like brushing or bathing or reading the news. I forgot it daily.

I disliked my identity card as much as I liked chocolate. It always made me remember of the bad day when that ugly photo was taken. The day was one among the worst. It started with missing of the school bus. The day was not smooth in the class also. I had a fistfight with my classmate. The teacher also caught me singing during the class time. That was a very bad day. To make it worse, the photo was taken.



Everything happened as usual that day. I forgot the identity card. Amma said the same routine bye. I traveled in the same school bus. I reached the same school, which I studied. The same teachers came to teach. The bells rang according to the timetable. We had lunch during lunch break. We talked, we walked, we fought, as usual. Everything was unusually usual, till the last period got over.

The bell rang. We got out of the class to go home. But this was not usual. I was walking alone. My friends had all made me alone. I didn’t know what I had done. Actually I did not do anything special that day. But they had made me alone. I was surprised.

In the bus also nobody came to talk. This was against the daily routine of having the daily review. Even my classmates did not bother to come to me. The surprise gave way to tension.

The bus stopped at my stop. I got down and started walking towards my home. Something was there within my left shoes, other than my leg, which irritated me. That was unusual. That evening everything was unusual. I did not bother to look into my shoe, as I didn’t want more surprises. I continued walking.

My neighbor gave me a weird look as if I was a stranger. I asked, “ Sudev, why are you staring? Haven’t you seen me before?” He did not respond.

I reached my home. I touched the calling bell. It gave its usual Ding-dong. My mother opened the door. I was about to enter when she prevented by asking, “ Hey lad, who are you? Are you Jishnu’s friend?” I thought, “ Is she making fun of me? Why is she talking like this? Or has my face changed?” I looked at the mirror in my bike. I did not have any change. I had the same face, which I had in the morning. The nervousness increased along with misery.

I stood there still waiting for my father to come. I wished to tell him about the day. He came. When he saw me, he said, “Go home child. Your parents will be waiting for you. Are you Jishnu’s friend? If yes tell me where he is.”

I was shocked. No one was identifying me. Even my parents- the people who gave me an identity. They had forgotten me. No… impossible. No parents can ever forget their child.

But they have forgotten me… no… it is just that I have lost my identity! I did not know what to do. I stood there thinking for some time. I got an idea at last. Show my identity card. For my parents to recognize me. To show my identity!

But it was missing. Yes… the card was lost along with my identity. Or is it that I lost my identity along with the card”? I was confused.

The thing that I detested most was of great use if it was there.

But it was missing. So I started walking from my home. I did not know where the next destination was. But I continued walking. The thing inside my left shoe was irritating. I threw away the shoe. It did not go far. It just traveled a few feet distance. A white paper like thing was the irritator. Yes… it was the lost identity card.



The bell rang. We got out of the class to go home. All my friends walked with me towards the school bus. We walked and talked and fought. In the bus, they all talked to me as if we were meeting after years. Nothing irritated my leg. Sudev did not wear that weird look. We talked a lot that day. Mom did not stop me while entering the home. Father asked all about the day. I felt as if they were all caring me a lot. The usual usualness spread all around.

I got back the identity card. The identity was also back. The photo in the card wore the best smile of the world…


-------------------2007--------------------------------

The old man, the kid, the mom, and the sea

The sea is vast. It has too many waves, they said. But he knew. It is just a single wave. Too long. Too vast for a human to understand the simple fact. Look at the sea. Look at those waves. Aren't they joined? Yes, they are. Too many waves reach the shore in a single stretch. Hasn't anybody noticed this yet? The wave is as long as the shore. Longer, for the same wave reaches all the shores in the world.

And some shores are known for the violent high waves they make during high tide and some are pleasant for the people to have fun. They are different part of the same wave. Don't they know that no human is happy, or sad forever. Aren't those the part of the same wave? Why can't they see this? Yeah... they are too busy building boundaries. He smiled that he got to know this at least today while gazing the waves hit his legs. But no. He did not regret those days he spent counting the waves. Well... that was the only thing he had to do in the retired life he selected for himself.

Pran did not know why he had come to the sea. It was the first time in his memories that he had seen the  water continuously moving without him having to throw stones in it. He wondered if the big boat he saw had anything to do with the giant waves getting ready to take him away. But he had heard a father asking his child to stand crossing  the waves so that the wave couldn't take him. He stood that way. and he enjoyed the wave hitting him.

He looked around. No... his mom was not around. His mom had asked him not to go far. He didn't know how far is the far mom had told. He could see the ice-cream man who gave him the ice cream with the money mom had given him to buy it. Mom and Pran sat near him and Mom had asked Pran to come back fast after he bought ice cream. He bought the ice cream and went near the sea.

The old man saw the boy he just saw a bit far away had come a few feet closer to his feet. "The boy must have been left alone by the parents", he thought. His parents too had forgotten him once in the sea. He too had the physique of  the boy he saw. And he guess he was of the same age. about 5. He had heard his father ask his elder brother not to go too far away. He thought that was a warning only for brother and not for him. And he had walked the way the sea had shown him. They had found him after an hour and were afraid about the fact that he was not at all afraid. And it then stroke him that the sea had shown him the way even then. And the decision to travel in the ship and the decision to propose the girl in the same shore were the second and third ways the sea showed him. And he was happy that the sea was right. He wanted his children to learn from the sea and he had taken them to sea at least once a month till they started planning outing for themselves. He did not stop coming to the sea even then. "He was married to the sea, it seems." His wife used to joke about him. He doubted if it was true. It might have been. But sea hadn't provided him with kids anyway. The one who bore his kids wasn't near him anymore.He remembered how sad he was to see her ashes go into the depth of the sea. But that did not bring tears to his eyes. He smiled.

"I thought you were smiling at me." said Pran. "Oh, I was, little boy. Tell me your name." "I'm Pran." "And how old are you?" "Five and a half. But I will be six next month. My birthday is on 25th." "Ohh.. that's great. Where's your dad? Why are you here all alone?" "He did not come here. But my mom is sitting near that ice cream uncle." Pran told the old man. "Are you alone here?" "Yeah boy. Nobody came with me." "Ohh... I forgot to ask. You are not a Muslim, are you?" "No. But is that a problem?" "I don't know. Mom told Muslims are bad and not to speak with them. So you Hindu?" "No. But you should tell me how can you understand a Muslim by looking at them?" "They are bad, right?  They should look cruel. With sharp teeth and red eyes." "Have you seen any Muslims yet?" "No. But Mom say Imran is Muslim. He is my best friend. He gives me his bat to play with. His mom gives me tea to drink. He is not a Muslim. I'm sure." "If he is Muslim, are they bad?" "No. Imran can't be bad. He is my friend. Hari uncle, who give us meat looks like a Muslim. But mom say he is Hindu because he comes to temple" "So you don't know who is Muslim or a Hindu. Or a Christian for that matter. Nothing is written on the face. All look same. Right? Your mom is wrong. Muslims are good. If there are bad Muslims there are too many bad Hindus too. But don't call them Hindus or Muslims. They are bad people. Not bad hindu or bad Muslim." "Okay. But why did you say so?" "I said what I see. You will also see this." "My mom can also see. But she told me something else." "Did you see the boat?" "Yes." "Did you see it when you were far from the shore?" "No. I didn't look there at that time." "If your Mom didn't look at the boat and say that there is no boat will you believe?" "No. I can see it." "Precisely. You know what to do now. Tell her that Muslims are good and that people are bad. Will you?" "No. Mom said she is always right." "That is a different right. She is right as in left-right-left. we are right as in right or wrong."

They saw his mom approaching them. "Pran, where did you just go? Shouldn't you tell me before you go anywhere?" "You won't allow me mama. I didn't know I was moving. I saw this Grandpa and was talking to him." "Oh. Good." "Thank you uncle.", Pran's mom told the old man. And she told Pran, "Won't you tell Grandpa bye? We are going." "See you tomorrow, Grandpa.I like you. You know too many things."

The old man smiled. He knew the boy was not to return anytime soon. He had seen it all.

"Mom," Pran asked mom, "can I go back and ask that Grandpa one more doubt?" "What is your doubt?" "You told the God we saw in the tv ad was a model, right?" "Yeah. He too had a long beard like this granda. Is this grandpa the original of the model God?" "No. He is also human. Like you and me." "Yeah I forgot to tell you. He said you are wrong. Muslims are also humans. Like you and me. Cruel people are not Muslims. They are just cruel people. Is he right, mom?" "He is right." "Mom... how does God really look, then?" "We have photos in our Pooja room. God looks like them." "So are there too many gods?" "No. Just one. They are different forms of the same God." "Ok Mom. You sure Grandpa is not a form of God like them?" "I don't know. Ask him when you see him next time."

The old man looked at the waves. He named one a Hindu wave, another a Muslim wave, another a Christian wave and so on. He saw them clash individually. He then saw them join together. All waves were one and he smiled at how he saw them as individual waves. He failed to recognize which was which. The sun was ready to set and the old man got ready to go. Waves kept on hitting the shore. He saw people count the waves. He walked away to his home.


----2009----