Juhu, November 2007

The depths of sin
And your desires
Are beckoning-
Like the sunset of Juhu

The waves which lost their charm
Kisses on my feet
And asking
"Are you alive?"

The shadow
On the dirty sand
Asks “Are you feared
Of taking a boat ride”

Your last laugh
Is teasing me
Like the crabs
Peeping out from the small holes

My love
Rushed to the sea
Like a stray dog
To come out with the dying tides!

Juhu, like all shores
Like all sunsets
Nothing except waves
For me to count !

Neither you nor me
Can jump and drown
Let us walk up to there
Where the lights are on.
Where the lights are on.

*Remembering an evening walk at Juhu beach, Mumbai

Reinventing Relationships....

Reinvention of relationships is quite thrilling.

Be it a friend meeting you after years of distance, or a relative coming to you from long decades of silence. Pretty surprising are such moments for its punch of warmth and the scent of life.

Unluckily, such things are not too often in life. As, we prefer to live to meet our needs or ever-expanding demands of life, rather than satisfying our longing for liveliness!!

Although it came as a surprise, I could experience the ‘pleasure of reinventing’ last week!!

Again, the quest for liveliness in life has something to do with it, as the quest had taken me, living in Delhi, to the beautiful, cool southern city of Bangalore in the weekend.

There, on the lazy morning of Sunday, I received a call from Kannan, my relative – he comes as my younger brother – that he is coming to meet me. I, although being elder to him just missed to enquire whether he and his spouse are well or not, even as a formality!

As we met, his affection made me visiting his home. After relaxing some time in his house, Kannan & Rashmi took me to visit the famous Lalbagh gardens. They left only after enthralling me with the delicious Mysore Masala Dosai and droping me at my freind's house, which is far away from the main city.

In between, we discussed about our parents, about music - ya, Kannan is a good singer too – and many other things!!! I could also give him something, which are precious to me – Ghazals of Mehdi Hassan, Ghulam Ali and Jagjit Singh.

I realize that it is the quest to rediscover and reinvent relationships is the key to pleasure. A phone call from someone I met almost six years before was instrumental in reaffirming my belief in this aspect.

So friends, try to reinvent, rediscover yourself and your relationships.

Let us hope for the warmth of relationships coming back to us!!!

To My Life...

A painful smile,
And a smiling pain.
Drags me to life,
Dying in my heart

The last leaf of the spring is you?
Are you, the last drop my blood too?

Dreams are still alive,
Like the saddening old man, luring death.
In the parched land,
Where I lived and flourished.

The tress of life,
You breezed is-
Eaten away by the time,
And your wounds are my pain,
The pain of togetherness,
That we hate to wed and own.

Waiting for moon,
The darkness and we,
The silence of love,
The fragrance of love,
That you hated to share,
And the ashes of desire.

Lean, are your hands,
Pale, is your face,
Parched, are your lips,
Yet, glaring is your love,
That we left in wilderness…
We left for distrustfulness

The ghost of desires,
Liberated from us,
Are mating -
Under the burning sun.

Together in soul,
Unto the last drop of light,
Let's cry and eat the pains,
That we left to ripe,
That we left to ripe.

What..if I wish...?

What.. if I wish…?
The soil is no more!
Now the sea
Might expect me too!

What.. if I wish…?
The birds have to be
In the nest.
Let my mind sing!

The silence, the curse
Says, you the greedy
What if you drowns?
And perish!

Did you hear…?
That I cried for
Some more drops
Of togetherness

The darkness,
The madness,
My thirst and me-
Are orphans!

The blood stains
In my hand
And the corpse
Of desires,

The wind and
The pain of the last candle
The deadly beats
Of my remains!

Ask, what.. if u wishes…?
To see one more dream!!

To my friend who is learning to write......

Writing is a painful task, at least for me. It eats out a lot of calories!!!

But often it end up as a mechanical exercise when it is official!

Once,a legendary poet was asked about the craft of writing….

...the ‘code’ of a moving peace of work,
...the art of converting of imagination into a set of words…
...his reply was a single word……."life”.

Try to understand life…
It is the unending source of creativity…
Understand instincts, emotions, longings, disillusionments, agonies, dreams within you...
And open your eyes to see that of others…
Apply it in the life situations of others…
See your life through the eyes of those who likes you the most. .or hates you the most.
Think about the nature…
About birth and death….
Now you will see the colours in hundreds….
Like the unending currents of sea.
Assume you as a mirror... a looking glass,
Change the angles… you will find different images in it…
Totally different from each others…
You are a looking glass…
Now experiment the craft of changing angles and reflecting the light comes to you…
If you can do it..you will learn the code of creativity
The code of writing…The code of painting…and many many great things…

Rimjhim Gire Sawan

A day before, I was alone in my room and it was raining, heavly. For me, sitting inside, during rains is too tough.

I believe that a walk in the rain, especially along with some one as crazy as you is really rejuevenating.

Just try a rain-walk or atleast a rain-watch along with someone close to you, your mind will defenitely start singing….

Rimjhim Gire Sawan...
Sulag Sulag Jaaye Mann ...
Bheege Aaj Is Mausam Mein ...
Lagi Kaisi Yeh Agan ...
Rimjhim Gire Sawan.....................

The rhythm, the music and the magical touch of rain fascinates me like any thing.

But the beauty of rain differs from season to season.

Monsoon...
Summer-rain...
Rain which hints the beginning of winter...
The icy winter pour and many more…

Some times gentle ...
Some times down pour…
Rain at a fullmoon light….
Rain which screams from the darkness along with wind...
The thunder and lightening during rain…many many more…

The rain impact depends upon the mood and life situations….during child hood, I used to run to experience the first drops of every rain…now with the changed times…I started controlling my self...still my mind runs out whenever it rains….

Often I recite a ghazal sung by Jagjit Singh..when the rain is calm and in feels like pat by some one close to me.

Ye Daulat Bhi Le Lo,
Ye Shohrat Bhi Le Lo
Bhale Cheen Lo
Mujhse Meri Jawaani
Magar Mujhko Lauta Do
Bachchpan Ka Saawan
Wo Kaagaz Ki Kasthi
Wo Baarish Ka Paani....
Wo Baarish Ka Paani....

But often rain brings a lot of pain to me...because I remember many of my dear ones departed during rains…my father, his elder brother, his younger brother and his wife..many. Rain brings the funeral pyres of them before me again....the fire, which makes their physical remains into just a handful of ashes!!! As the great poet Anand Bakhi wrote…

Chingari koi bhadakey ..
Toh sawan usey bujhaye …
Sawan jo agan lagaye…
Usey kaun bujhaye…

Still I love rain..it has something which makes me more humane!!!

Ideas for Teachers Day!!

How many of you celebrate Teachers' Day?

Book Affair !!!

A few days before, when I was about to pack my bag before stepping out of my workplace (or work corner!) in my office, my colleagues asked me, a funny question,...“why ?....so early today..?

I told them that “it is 7 ‘o’ clock now and someone is waiting for me in my residence.” Then came their curious and quick “whoisit?!!!.” Just to add some more fun into the evening-chat I told them that “my beloved is waiting at my residence and I am so eager to meet her.” But by hearing this my friends had become more curious! They decided to accompany me to my house, to see by “beloved.”

While driving me to my “beloved” one of my colleagues asked “Is she a south Indian?” The other colleague wanted to know whether she is working some where or studying.

We cannot impose “south Indian tag to any; she is now living here as a Delhite,” I answered, adding more flavour to the car-chat.

At my door step, seeing that the door is closed, my colleagues said, “Jay, the door is locked from outside” I told them the lock can be closed or opened from both sides. She might me in a nap. So “Let us not disturb her, I will open it” I told my friends.

“Is it Fair to go without even a knock at the door?” another query from my colleague. I asked them to ignore knocking as we can give surprise (or get surprised).

After stepping into the house, my friends started enthusiastically searching here and there, for my “beloved”!!

Not much time they took for the combing operation in the entire small flat. “Now, what? Where is your beloved, they asked me?”

I led them towards my bed; I pulled a book which had kept beneath the pillow. It was a complied volume of popular Urdu poetry and ghazals. I showed it to them. “OK, nice book, but where is your beloved?”, my friends where loosing patience by then.

I took a deep breath and said, "this is my present beloved…"

"What?” – my anxious colleague…..."this book.., your beloved?”

I replied, “I have many more beloveds, fiancées, which lures me back to my residence…"

Come, I told them. I showed my small collection of books to them.

Then I spoke them about the journeys that I did along with my beloveds….........
....to the fragile mind of emperor-poet, Bahadur Shah Zafar…
....to the sadism and sarcasm of Dostoevsky-the gambler…
....to the pain of Sahir-the lover…
....Gandhi-the truth seeker…
....Fritjof Capra-the meta-physicist and many more…

At last, I could convince my friends that….there are beloveds waiting for me in my residence...and I am deeply in love with them!!!

Yesterday, when was leaving little early than the usual time from office, my colleagues asked, “Which beloved is given appointment today?”

My reply was “Dostoevsky” ..I am on my second reading of his master piece ‘Crime and Punishment.’

For your info: another beloved is in waiting, ‘Five Point Someone’ (by Chetan Bagawat) !!!!

I hope to meet her soon!!!!!!!!!!

"Mujh se pehli si mohabbat meray mehbub na maang."

One song, a ghazal hummed by one of my dear and most respected colleagues, kept my mind fertile over the last two weeks.

It was a famous ghazal by the great poet from Pakistan, Faiz Ahmad Faiz, "Mujh se pehli si mohabbat meray mehbub na maang." The ghazal is about the meaning of love, humanity and progression of our personal affections towards more wider and responsive relationships. Let me use Faiz's own couplets to protray it....

“…mein ne samjha tha kay tu hai to darakhshaan hai hayaat
tera gham hai to gham-e-dahar ka jhagdra kya hai
teri surat se hai aalam mein bahaaron ko sabaat
teri aankhon ke sivaa duniya mein rakkha kya hai…”

(“…I had thought if I had you, life would shine eternally on me
If I had your sorrows, those of the universe would mean nothing
Your face would bring permanence to every spring
What is there but your eyes to see in the world anyway…”)

Yet, Faiz, the humanist, painfully realises that there are grater worries in the world, which he also is supposed to own, address and solve. Please see the following lines -

“…jaa-ba-jaa bikate huye kuuchaa-o-baazaar mein jism
khaak mein lithade huye khuun mein nahalaaye huye…
…jism nikale huye amaraaz ke tannuuron se
piip bahatii hu_ii galate huye naasuuron se
laut jaati hai udhar ko bhi nazar kyaa kije
ab bhi dilkash hai tera husn magar kya kije….”

(“…In every corner are bodies sold in the market
Covered in dust, bathed in blood…
…Bodies retrieved from the cauldrons of disease
Discharge flowing from their rotten ulcers
Still returns my gaze in that direction, what can be done
Even now your beauty is tantalizing, but what can be done…”)

Faiz is well known as a Communist (eventhough Communist Party was banned in Pakistan) and his compassion for the exploited and the oppressed gave a distinct uniqueness and melody to his poetry.

It was a deviation from the much romanticised tradition of conservative shayari and ghazals. Faiz in Pakistan along with Sahir Ludhianvi, Kaifi Aazmi and Majrooh Sultanpuri in India opened this proletarian path of shayari and ghazals in the Indian subcontinent.

The ghazal ends with following couplets -

“…aur bhii dukh hain zamaane mein mohabbat ke sivaa
raahaten aur bhi vasl ki raahat ke sivaa…”

("…There are other heartaches in the world than those of love
There is happiness other than the joy of union…”)

There is another poem by Pablo Neruda, the poet among revolutionaries and the revolutionary among the poets, which conveys some what the similar thought. I wish to share it with you in one of my coming posts.

So, "Mujh se pehli si mohabbat meray mehbub na maang."

My heartfelt gratitude for my colleague for humming the ghazal.

Ab to hum bichde......

Ab ke hum bichDe

to shaayad.... kabhi khwaaboN meiN mile...

Jis tarah.. sookhe huye....

phool kitaaboN meiN mile...

Ab ke hum bichDe....

Separation is inevitable in life…the biggest pain is death when it grabs our loved ones.
But pain of separation is a tantamount feature of life.. . Someone close to us leaving for better life…leaving our friends … knowing that the chances to meet again are nil…. yet hoping that all will meet soon…it is life. Separation is inevitable and what we can do is to wish the best for our departed loved ones.

For me, moments of separation are excruciating. I can’t control the agony of some one close to me saying bye to me. I hate to say good bye especially to some one with whom I have the absolute liberty to speak anything. Yet as in the case of many of you, I also had to struggle through several moments of separation.

The couplets I mentioned in the beginning ….Ab ke hum bichDe to shaayad kabhi khwaaboN meiN mile……..Jis tarah sookhe huye phool kitaaboN meiN mile…is a perfect ode about the pain of separation.

The living legend of Urdu shayari, Ahmad Faraz wraps the hope, hopelessness, anxiety, pain...every thing in these couplets with his magical command over words.

The ghazal had become well known with great rendering of it by shehanshah-e-ghazal*, Mehdi Hassan.

I am reproducing the rest of the lines for you....

ab ke hum bichDe to shaayad kabhi khwaaboN meiN mile
jis tarah sookhe huye phool kitaaboN meiN mile

dhoonD uJde huye logon meiN wafa ke moti

ye khazane tuJhe mumkin hai kharaboN meiN mile

tu khuda hai na mera ishq faristoN jaisa

dono insaaN haiN to inum itne hijaaboN mein mile

gham-e-duniya bhi gham-e-yaar meiN shaamil kar lo

nasha behta hai sharaaboN meiN to sharaboN meiN mile

ab laboN meiN hooN na tu hai na wo maaji hai faraaq

jaise do saaye tamaana ke saraabOn meiN mile

* Emperor of ghazal

Dil main ek leher si.....

Dil main ek leher si uthi hai abhi...
Koi taja hawa chali hai abhi..
Dil main ek leher si uthi hai abhi...

Late Nazir Kazmi, wrote this and it was imortalised by the legend of ghazal, Ghulam Ali...by taking it to thousands of Mehfils all over the world.

Nazir a noted journalist as well, was the mentor and one of the Ustads of Ali..who helped him to understand the secret of rendering musical touch to shers without lossing the emotional trivia.

For me the ghazal is some thing precious. Whenever I hum this or listen to this in Ali's voice..it brings a lot of pain and happyness to me. I loved this sher eversince I heard it for the first time before three years.

And when I started playing Harmonium, the first thing I tried was this song, and it's humming..which is partly sung and partly palyed in harmonium!!! I failed to play it initially but of late, I learned it and I enjoy singing it by playing harmonium.

And I used to sing it for my friends..in our Mehfils. I also I intensly longed to sing it for my father who was very fond of songs..of this kind. I dreamed about playing harmonium and singing Dil main ek leher si uthi hai abhi...for my father in a quiet evening at my nice-calm village house at Poyya, Kerala.

My dream never came true..as my father passed away in July 2007. I feel guilty for not giving him the opportunity to hear the ghazal.

I remember my father had sung many many precious bits of good music and shayari for me in my child hood, now I am able to search and understand Nazir's sad and sweet shers because of culture of music imbibed during my childhood. As Nazir wrote..music is leher..the un ending current..which make life bearable in earth...let the leher go on...

Dil main ek leher si uthi hai abhi...Koi taja hawa chali hai abhi..Dil main ek leher si uthi hai abhi...

Nightmarish Sundays

A Sunday, is some thing special for those who stay with family and for those who are alone it is often a nightmare. Being a bachlor staying in Delhi (Dilli is not so dil-lee), I had numberless Nightmarish Sundays during the last seven years.

One way to overcome these Nightmarish Sundays is to dip ourselves in official work on holidays too! Preparing for Monday's work through reading or refering Internet is the other way. But there is a limit. After that, you feel, even writing, as a job, as a mechnical excercise, which adds no thrill to life.

Going to freinds, at this stage (or age) is too difficult. Becasue, it will well be an intrusion into the small paradises created by married friends. Of course, there are exceptions as well!! I have a freind who prefers to roam around with friends on Sundays (not girl friends), rather than romancing with wife!!

But in most of the cases, marriage become the last bell for freindship with unmarried friends!!!

In this regard, once Com. Sunit Chopra, writer and trade union leader, suggested that we have to form a Commune of Keralite bachlors in this area. The Keralite families in the area (Janpath where I used to stay) should also be a part of the commune to ensure that bachlers are getting the warmth of family.

We did manage to form (not formally) a commune as well!! We named it 'Primitive Commune'

We had several 'bachlor' and 'bachlor in effect' friends in that commune. We, the commue-ists used to eat, chat and sing together often - preferably Sundays, then!!

But off late, many bachlors officially got married and several others left the commune due to some other reasons!! And our 'Primitive Commune' was desolved naturally.

Looking back, I found it was a wonderful example of overcoming bachlors' nightmare. Recently I shared the idea with one of my Grhastha (married) friends as well. His answer was quite surprising for me..he told me that "some thing like 'Primitive Commune' is very much needed, because I would like to over come the Nightmarish Sundays of my family life"!!!!!

I was looking towards overcoming bachler's nightmare!!! and he..."a married man's nightmare.' Later many of my Grhastha (married) freinds shared the nightmare with me.

So friends, in case if any one thinks that marraige will be the end of Bachlors' Sunday Nightmare, then you are wrong. It is the beginning of totally different Sunday Nightmares.

So be prepared!!!!!!!!!!

Foot Note: We are about to revive the 'Primitive Commune' . Bachlors & especially Grhasthas welcome!!!!!!

A song from the past....

Songs, some times even a single line, many times a word from a song invoke a lot of memories in you. The lighter moments of life, the fragrance friendship, the colours of affection, pains, tears…..many many things flows from the past whenever you hear some songs.

I have one such memory. I have a song which brings some of the good moments of life back to me. You might also have heard the song..it is…..Huzur is kadar tumna itrake chaliye……….Khula aam aachal na lehrake chaliye…

I had a colleague, about three year before. She was very fond of music, art and fashion?

Being a national organization normally we had busy schedules almost all days. But in the evenings, before leaving the office we – we were four at that time - used to stay for some time to analyse what has achieved and what not during the day.

We used to discuss about many things which are beyond our official tasks such as the society, contemporary issues and of course about music during the evenings. She used to recite ……..Huzur is kadar tumna itrake chaliye……….Khula aam aachal na lehrake chaliye….often.

I also had a tendency of humming, sometimes singing the song during the small gaps between our regular works, some times a line or two, that’s it. But my friend had never allowed me to sing it beyond a line!!!!

She used to say that my sound is terrible….in her own words mine is “besura aavaz”!!!!

Her strong but affectionate “Jay please stop it” echoes in by ears whenever I hear ……..Huzur is kadar tumna itrake chaliye……….Khula aam aachal na lehrake chaliye….often.
!!!

The...rain

Rain wakes mixed feelings in me. Because, as a Keralite, my rain memories are very very rich. Some times, rather most of the times, the feelings are just beyond words!!

One pleasant memory of rain is of Francis, whom we friends most often call Panchi. This rain story goes back to my school days at Edappally, then a village like part of the Kochi city.
Myself and Panchi were studying in class five. The school was just reopened in June after vacations amid heavy rains.

In the morning I was eaagerly waiting for Panchi. Because we had many monsoon-entertainments like rain walking, boating (in the near by pond) etc...

It was almost ten 'o' clock and going to be the bell to begin another year (as I saw peon coming with a hammer to ring, rather beat the bell).

I saw Panchi coming by daring the heavy rains, no umbrella not even no school bag. He looked as if he was swimming in school dress.

Being a government school there were many friends who belong poor families and did not have a bag, umbrella or uniform! But Panchi was from a economically well off family.

In the afternoon, I could find the reason for Panchi's 'poor avtar.' His younger sister was in hospital. His mother had to attend his sister and was not at home. I suprised to hear it as the reason for him to come drowning in rain, without bag and lunch?!

He had two elder sisters, brother and relatives staying nearby only! It was revealation for me. The sudden temporary absense of his mother made him totally chaotic. Because he was under her caring shadow till that date.

And many days later I noticed he started coming smart again. Later I came to know that his sister got relieved and his mother is back at home.

Is it a rain story? Ya, it is story happend in a rainy June...I can still see Panchi ..coming ..as if he had a dip in the near by pond!!!

Julias.....I wish you peace

It was a rainy evening..almost eight years ago..I had been working, at that time with a content developer at Rohini, West Delhi in his office cum residence. I used to change bus at Wazirpur to Munirka..my nest then.

It was the post metro era!!

Once in an almost empty DTC bus in which I happily steped in from Wazirpur..I found a drinker...almost 55 years old staring at me. After taking his tickets he came to me and stared a bit before sitting besides me in the same seat.

Sooner..he asked me whether I belong to Kerala..on hearing my "yes," I saw his boozer-cheek turing pleasent ..he told me that he is also from Kerala..!!!it was quite surprising for me...He hardly looked like a 'Madrasi' (@ Dilli all beyond Nagpur are Madrasies..although now it is better).

To my more surprise he told me that he is from the same city where I born, brought up and dreamed - Kochi!!

He picked small pieces of memory to make me convinced that he is from Kochi!! He is a Kochi wala for name-sake..because he was forced to leave the city at the tender age of 10 after his mother's death and his father's re-marraige. His step mother used to beat him a lot.

The journey for the next 30 minutes where so touching that he told me that he now loves his father whom he once hated for re-marrying. With tears in in his eyes, he told me that "I returned once to Kerala but my father was no more then. I came back to Delhi by painfully seeing my stepmother residing in our house with her second husband and children."

You should have kick them out I said. He laughed a bit... "I was not just there for a piece of land." He never fought for that.

"Now my son is doing his small business and settled..my daughter was married off last year" he told me. But now I am alone as my wife who is a Delhite passed away..last month.

I am now alone in the city which gave me "life, ....thikhana." He cried to me beta "Main Keral vapas jana chahta hoon. Mujh ko vahaan ke mitti main marna hain."

I asked him why did you wish to leave the city where you built up your life, where your children live and your wife rests? The answer was silence..I could hear him mincing for words.."main..main kya jawab dedoom beta"

I remember I asked the same question to my uncle when he, who built up his own successful life in Mumbai, decided to come back after he turned 65. He answered, "the soil in which we born has some thing...which we can not find elsewhere".

But my uncle has his wife and we all, the realtives to care him. And he was a famous playwright...and he wanted to write a lot (that he did also).

But the man whom I met had no one in Kerala to lookafter him...nor he a writer!!!! Still he want to go back to the roots!!

Yes, he was drunk ..but it was not a drinker's..worry..I am sure. I could hear his heart.

After eight years..now..in 2008 I do not know whether he could go back to Kochi and stay there peacefully..nor I never met him again!!

Hohhh..I missed to tell you all his name..he was Julias.

I wish you peace Julias..whereever you may me....

Delhi Routes (Roots!)

Traveling is my hobby, it can be local, to near by towns, interstate or some times international as well. But nothing like traveling is refreshing and rejuvenating for me. Being in Delhi for nearly a decade, i have now a quest to travel through the walled city's hisoric roots..through time and also in reality!!! Some times both!!!!!!!

You might be wondering what is my reference...I'll say it. Wait and see!!...........

സ്റ്റോറി.....

A king was determined to find a beautiful wife. Finally, he sent a trustworthy servant to search for him. One day, he passed a tiny cottage, which held two sisters, one eighty and the other ninety. He saw their small, delicate hands, which had kept white and soft through spinning. He thought they must belong to a beautiful woman, and told the king. The king sent him to try to see her.
One of them lied, claiming to be fifteen and her sister twenty, and the king decided to marry her. She said that she had never seen a ray of sun since she was born, and being touched would turn her black; the king had to send a carriage. He did, she went, heavily veiled, and they married. Their wedding night, he saw the old woman he had married and threw her out the window, where she caught on a hook. Four fairies saw her there and mischievously gave her youth, beauty, wisdom, and a tender heart. The king saw her the next morning, thought he must have been blind, and had her rescued.
Her sister came to her and plagued her for how she had become young again, until the queen said that she had had her head cut off, or, in other variants, that she had had herself skinned, and a new one had grown in its place. The sister went to get the same treatment from a barber, and died.

Life has no ‘rehearsals’

Before a few years I and my good friend Nitin (Ohh…..we call him Ayyappan and Raghu for different reasons!) for a Russian film. The film is about a middle aged man who continues his love for departed sweetheart although she left him a decade before!!! What was the most interesting thing for me in the film was a dialogue (I don’t remember the exact wordings) “Always we think that the incidents in our lives are something like rehearsal and the good part is yet to come, but you know in life there is no rehearsal and the good part that we expect for seldom comes”

Children's Theatre Portrays Social Exclusion Caused by AIDS

The Children's Theater group in the Golemarket area, New Delhi has come with a play called Munna, which is against the social exclusion caused by AIDS and the irresponsible as well as inhuman attitude towards the victims of AIDS. The play is based on real incident happened to the children of a couple died due to AIDS. A child ousted from the school and their relatives and society, reched New Delhi and meets a group of children who were enjoying their vacation. The child stays in a park in residential areas where Malayalees are staying. Out of wisdom of innocence, the child gets warm friendship from the children in the area. He become one among them. But some of the residents in the areas come to know that the child’s background that “his parents had died of AIDS.” Once again he is getting ousted from his friends, happiness and solace. He is getting alienated. He painfully says good bye to his friends and goes away!!!!

The play is written and directed by Jayakumar Panathittayil

Kesariya Balam

Kesariya Balam aavoni, Padharoni mare des re, Padharoni mare DesKesariya Balam aavoni, Padharoni mare DesPadharoni mare Des, O Kesariya, Padharoni mare Des ReKesariya Balam aavoni, Padharoni mare DesSajan Sajan me karu ane sajan hiyen jadit,Sajan lakhu hamare chundle ane vanchu ghadi ghadi rePadharoni Mare DesKesariya Balam aavoni, Padharoni mare DesO pacharo ni mare des, O kesariya, O pacharoni mare desKesariya, Kesariya Balam Aavoni, Padharoni mare des re, Padharoni mare Des

Race, Tashan to Thrash

The much skyped Rac and Tashan, the prince and his charms dust the ground!!!!

Fair Cricket is needed

As we pass tro the animated fun of the IPL, jus for info I would like to recall the days of the devils created by the Indian team not team India as now so says, at the then Mecca of cricket, Lords! Who from the IPL kids in our homes klilling deliveries of Malcom Marshal and Joel Garner and the likes!!!!!! Any one joins thions boat?