Really really short story #2 Vengeance (fiction horror)

He stared,  trembling with terror at the vengeful eyes of the child he raped and murdered three years ago.

Really really short story #1 Narcolepsy (fiction horror)

As the snake reared it's Diamond shaped head to strike, he prayed hard " God, please don't let my narcolepsy come bac..........

Human sacrifice (poetry)

This one came and hit me from nowhere  when I saw a man, dressed in smart formals, walk the walk of a Zombie. His gait caught my eye, he was almost robotic and did not seem to have any particular interest in anything around him. His feet were taking him wherever he was going. I walked a bit faster to catch up with him, to see his face. His face bore no emotion. Oblivious to the crowd, the vehicles and the commotion of city life, he walked on, an automaton.

Don’t stop him, let him grow old

On to believe the lies that he’s been told

Old boots scrape on the way to the precipice,

To his foretold end, Human sacrifice.

Shoulders sagging in the damn weight

Pockets empty filling the coffers

Of the leeches that run down his world,

Automaton goes on minus a billfold.

Dusk wraps landscape in its dark claws,

Orange lights on the streets from lampposts

Lumbering carcass moves on to the next bar,

To drown away his burgeoning numbness.

Cycle vicious, harmful it never ends,

Every day, whole day till the last day.

On that day when the power is switched off,

Truly dead he’ll be but till then…

Don’t stop him, let him grow old

On to believe the lies that he’s been told

Old boots scrape on the way to the precipice,

To his foretold end, Human sacrifice.

And we talk about empowering women !! (discourse on life / daughter / religion / corporeal punishment)

This is the apple of my eye. She made me a believer in love at first sight. I was present in the labor room where her mother and I held hands and prayed together for the arrival of our first born. When the tiny bundle was handed to me, I peeked inside to see a face that was, still is and forever will be to me, the epitome of the word innocence. 

She is a confident and cheerful ten year old now. That is partly due to the fact that she is a bundle of confidant energy and partly to the fact that we, her parents try our best to instill a sense of individuality in her.

That is why I was shocked to hear on a fine Sunday morning that my daughter was made to stand in a corner in her class for wearing a SLEEVELESS dress to Sunday school (a once a week class given to Catholic children to introduce them to the religion) !!! 

My wife knows my anti-establishment ways and was trying to sneak out of the house without me to avoid a confrontation with authorities but I tagged along anyway – in my Sleeveless T-Shirt. Now, no self respecting Achaayan (Malayali Christian from the Kottayam/Pala/Kanjirappally side) will be caught dead or alive in the premises of a religious institution in a sleeveless T. Ever. Period. Full stop. finito. Then why did I adorn my lack of musculature and flabby stomach in a T-Shirt ? To borrow a phrase from a comedian, ‘Just for a horror’ – that’s why. If the powers that be wanted to punish my child for wearing a dress her educated parents deemed fit, If the religious sensibilities of Malayali Christians will be shaken when my ten year old shows her little arms, then I thought they should well know that her oaf of a father too wears similar cloths in all his bald headed resplendence.

So off we went in our trusty chariot to the residence of religious studies; this odd couple, a beautiful demurely clad lady (the wife) with her mustachioed, skin headed, fuming hairy ape in tow. All the while the poor wife was trying her level best to placate my mood but my sensible wife was also shocked at the events.

We reached the second floor class and we could see our child standing near the door while all the other kids were sitting down. She must have been standing for more than half an hour because that is how much time it took my wife to negotiate the Sunday traffic amidst my rants. I peeked inside and saw a tiny nun holding fort inside the class. 

A sudden flashback took me back 30 years to another class back in Pala where an ogre clad in much the same cloths terrorized me in class till I was forced to evacuate my bladder in protest. The innocuous uniform always triggered a chain reaction of the fear of authority in me from that day. 

The lady turned towards me because the kids in the class started making a commotion seeing me at the door. Poor things must have been scared at the arrival of this apparition at the door! I tried to smile at the children to show my solidarity at them. It had the same effect of a 450 know Gorilla raising a menacing fist at the class. A wail erupted from inside and I scooted out of sight as soon as I faintly hearing some really scared kid who watches one too many Malayalam dishoom dishoom movies shout “Goonda”. 

By now, I had pulled out my daughter from the class and turned to the teacher – none other than the Nun. A ball of fear pulled itself on high gear and rolled itself on to my throat when she turned around to meet me. My bladder sent a battery low beep into my head as the uniform swished to her movement. The old fear had come back … This time to haunt the second generation as well. This I could not let through, I decided. I will put my foot down. “Never fear” said the coward in me in his trembling voice. 

On our way to the school, I had listed down all that I wanted to say –

1.       Look at the message you are sending to the children, especially boys who are going to think from this young age that there is something undeniably wicked about the naked shoulders and arms of a girl. Turning their preferences much  later in to getting their just desserts from watching arms and shoulders instead of the regular body parts like every other male (well, maybe not all..)

2.       To even think that this unsuspecting nun and her parish scriptures could have made my little girl a part of a lot of little boy’s fantasy is revolting. 

3.        Why should there be a code for young children who are at the age of innocence? Why now? let them roam free and happy in this world sans inhibitions for a little bit more.

4.        What about the child’s confidence? When I was small, a teacher caught a little boy who flicked a pen or a pencil from some other boy’s bag and made him stand in front of the class, while calling him a thief. My daughter had to go through more – she was pinched, shouted at and paraded in front of several other parents and ridiculed for her choice of dress apart from being made to stand in front of the class for all to see.

5.        If the dress was not fit for her to wear to the institution, why was she put on a pedestal of shame for all to see ?

6.       Why am I not being punished? After all, I too was wearing the same sleeveless cloth which was unfit for a Catholic and dared to set foot inside the hallowed grounds of strict dressing codes. !! Why weren’t the clergymen baying for a pound of my meat too? I was fully expecting them to lynch me and tie me to the top of the building for all to see..  (Shudder shudder….)

7.        Why do we even talk about women empowerment?

None of these points came to my mind at all as the lady came to a stop near me and inquired what my business was. I gulped and averted my eyes. Before she could raise an alarm for kidnapping, my fast thinking better half introduced us as parents. 

My senses returned, albeit slowly and I told her through clenched teeth, half in fear, half in anger that I am here to take my child from the class. To my surprise, I saw fear in her eyes when she sensed that her student may never come back to class again. I guess for someone in her profession, sending someone away from faith will gain her notable mention in grounds less hallowed. She tried to stop me at first, but that was thwarted by a torrent of outpouring straight from my heart. All the points I had stored for release and then some poured out in a fit of verbal diarrhea. I didn’t understand half of it; bet she didn't understand anything either. 

It was not rage which was guiding the flow, no. It wasn’t calculated common sense either for sure – never possessed it in the first place. It was an emotional outpouring (My wife later informed me later that it was more like a donkey braying) after this onslaught of nothing less than a full five minutes, the Nun was sufficiently confused to allow us to leave. 

At the Principal’s office, I was greeted by the same uniform. But kind eyes, understanding and a willingness to listen to reason greeted me there. Perhaps finding kindness at quarters least expected might release emotions faster than expected, We broke down, all three of us when we talked about the treatment meted out to a young girl, lack of equality for the girl child, the hypocrisy of it all where the same people who condone the practice of confining womanhood under a veil would allow strict code of dressing for these beautiful little butterflies. 

I was about to spontaneously combust when a young priest offered his opinion – The people of Kerala are not a tolerant lot, they will find offense to this type of dressing and that is why we have this sort of dress code here unlike churches in other metros. 

SIR !! Sir !! sir !! One minute I said. Took a few deep breaths and told him very squarely that there is nothing wrong with the people of Kerala. Now, you have to know something about this bitter gourd shaped land situated at the bottom of the Indian Peninsula. They don’t call this place Gods own country just because it looks beautiful with its cool mountains, plentiful water bodies and a million billion shades of green greeting the eyes of the beholder from every inch of the land. No Sir no. It is called Gods own country because the people are unlike any you find in the world. Affable, educated, tolerant as well as being kind, helpful and witty. We have a rich culture that goes back a few thousand years, yet we are not rigid. We are as flexible and as colorful as the lungi we wear. So I told my dear white frocked young friend without batting an eyelid that the problem is not with the people of Kerala, the problem is with those who think we should have a problem. The problem is not with god either who welcomes young minds and their divine innocence; it lies with those who occupy golden thrones inside places of worship and dictate to the flock what when and where. 

I scowled all the way back to the car through a melee of believers thronging the church for their morning prayer. Feeling the disapproving stares at my sleeveless T shirted behind and not caring a bit. One more link weakened in the chain that attached me to the church and its powerful people, as another link grew stronger in my faith.

Song for my brothers (poetry on life, brothers and friendship)

I was the eldest of three boys born three years apart. Don't remember anything about my life as a solitary child. But as a big brother who used to (and still do) get my siblings in trouble,  there are volumes to write.  This is a song I wrote for my two brothers Johan and Jake Vadayatt.

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Wanna sing a lil song out loud?
Come and sit right here by me,
Sing it full and sing it true,
Of happy days filled with glee.

All of three I was a young boy,
Happy times they were I thought.
But the day you showed your silly face
I gained a friend for a life time.

All the games in the world we played,
So so happy in our childhood.
Climbing so many guava trees,
Falling off from half of them.

Secret missions raiding all the sweets
Mama hid from you and I
Cowboys chasing villains were we,
Always Njaadaabachhan & nee Jayan *.

Oh so carefree went the days,
Happiness a tattoo on our face
Till the day he showed his silly face,
And we gained a friend for a life time.

Wanna sing a lil song out loud?
Come and sit right here by us ,
Sing it full and sing it true,
Of happy days filled with glee.


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*I am Amitabh Bachchan (Hindi movie hero) you are Jayan (Malayalam movie hero) Both wanted to be  Amitabh :-p while we played.

Bloody Badaun tree (poetry - life politics and atrocities)

I weep at the bloody Badaun tree,

Adorned by violated innocence

Dirty seed of a gang of scoundrels

Dripping off the hanging cadavers

Here we see no red red flower,

No scented leaves, nor a flirty bee

I only hear the rasp of doom

And the scraping of grim reaper's staff

Sniggering cowards hang around

To take pride in their life's work

And showcase their deeds for all to see

Hanging from the bloody Badaun tree

Stones abound but I hesitate

Target's near but I'm incapacitate

To strike them down and bleed out

Their malice off the bloody Badaun tree

To no avail I dream of vindication,

While in fear, in terror I cower for ever

Hateful my eyes as they watch the hyenas

Frolic in search for their next amusement.

Impotent rage fills up my innards,

Hands hanging flaccid in years of submission

Symphony of the wind rustling cold bodies though,

Is sending fresh rageblood into my limp hands.

For those who think WTF is he moaning about, read   http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/india/Horrific-Badaun-gang-rape-and-murder-case-highlights-social-strains-in-Akhileshs-UP/articleshow/35955664.cms