My Son

Shantha was a government employee and a loving mother of an 18-year-old boy, Ranjith. Shantha’s husband succumbed to cancer a few years back. Those days Shantha’s full attention was on the care of her husband, she was fully aware that she was not able to attend to her son. She was confident that her little prince would understand her situation. But, for the past year, her confidence in the little boy that she knew, that she cared for was weaning. She found cigarette packets in his pant pockets, his friends were not good-mannered. It was worrying her, as she walked toward her house; she believed that her son would not go on the wrong path. That day when she opened her house door, she knew she was wrong, she saw a monster, and her prince was lost. She saw him force himself on a semi-naked girl whose mouth and hands were tied with Shantha’s saree. Tears rolled from her eyes while blood flowed from the Aruvamanai (Vegetable cutter) that she had bought on her way back home.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Where are you?

Image
Are you the only resort? Why does it happen? Where did you go? When troubles tortured me? When I cried out of pain? Where were you? Why should I seek you? Why? When like a butterfly Bubbling with joy of colours Flying spreading my joy You admired me Even gave me some colours A bright smile Like the sun shine Where are you now? When like a dew drop Shining with the utmost pleasure On a little blade of grass A small corner of mine Disseminating a smile On every face that came across Delight of mine own Where are you now? When like the white waves Sparkling bubbles Snow white with azure blue Touching every one who come near Delightful bliss all around You played with me Full of joy Where are you now? When like a nymph Sitting on a little purple flower My fragrance along with yours Gracing on beautiful nature Ever green beauteous Thou enjoy with me Pleasurable memories Where are you now? When like the little drop of rain I touched everyone Played around with all Ambrosia for many of them A
Read more

Her Dance

Image
Young moon shining cool and bright, Hypnos singing lullaby with his harp, Form of my partner’s loud snores, Chill breeze from my air conditioner, And my soft feather bed, Thus, are my comfort to slumber.   As I rest and dream, Like a princess with glass shoes, And beautiful gowns, There she stands like a beast, As a hassle uninvited, But prompt.   Nay! not a smothering snake or a ghoul, It’s mine own, Without which a women’s beauty is lost, Like wine, ages with time, Long or short, brown or black, rough or smooth, Always a thing of pride, for a woman.   My mane, when all sleeps blissfully with me, One bunch stands, And dances its heart out to my fan’s tunes, Though her stage is always fixed, She lands on my temple or nose, Tickles me to watch her dance. My relentless attempts to stop her, Always a failure and poof! vanishes my sleep, And along with it my glass shoes and gowns, Alas! Wish I could stop her!
Read more
Image
  Merciless World Delicious and flavourful Biriyanis, Chinese noodles to Italian pizzas, South Indian vada to meals, Malabar pulav to north Indian Panner Labadar, Sweet jeelabi or mouth-watering gulab jamuns, Tall ice creams in glasses or cool milk shakes.   I have it all, All flavours and flagrances, To tease my gastronomic indulgence, And check my level of patience.   Like Indian rishis, I resist temptation, Day in and day out, it’s the same, I sigh and smell the aroma before I hand it.   My imagination runs wild, How would they enjoy it! May be uncover delicately, like virgin’s clothes, Who unfurls all the world’s pleasure, In just a bowl or two.   Like a betrayed lover, Sighing over the culmination of his beloved, I long and part with all that I have, Day in and day out, Not minding my rumbling stomach, Mercilessly pick it away, not even a morsel to offer me, They call me the FOOD DELIVERY MAN .
Read more