Your poems are mine

It has always been a forbidden topic to discuss in the family . But Ammai* was somehow felt everywhere. Achan used to talk about Ammai sometimes, the topic was never Ammai but some reference to her seemed inevitable. I remember my cousins say that all my vellichans, all seven of them, were the same. They would talk about Ammai but if asked for details , the conversation always bumped against a fullstop.

Ammai came after my third vellichan*. I have heard some on my vellimas say
she looked like Sulochana chechi. Sulochana chechi* is a beauty, even now with a fifteen year old son. A typical malayali beauty. Long curly haired, fair , tall and a pleasant personality to complete the picture. The only difference, Ammai it is said didnt smile much.

During every summer vacation when the Tharavad used to be filled, me and my cousins used to compare tidbits about Ammai. Ammai used to wear half saris, Ammai used to sleep in the Thekke Muri * , Achan used to sometimes flick ammai’s sari to use as a blanket..and so on and so forth... But now when I look back , I am surprised even with our childish disregard for
the forbidden, talking about how Ammai left, was taboo by mutual consent ...

It was not till later years that I came to know the actual details ...That happened by accident too. The supplement in Hindu used to publish book reviews every Tuesdays which I never missed and once I came acrossone on a collection of Malayalam poems by a famous poet. As was my usual practice I read it aloud to amma while she was ironing clothes., I asked her if she has read any of his and she didnt reply ..I asked her again and this time she said she has. She said his house is near our Tharavad, I giggled and said I didnt know our small village was home to some celebrities too .

Amma didnt notice the joke.. She went on 'He was Ammai's classmate ' . I looked up at her , surprised. I didn’t want to ram against another stonewall , so i stopped the question even before it spilled out of my lips. Amma turned around and came and sat at the edge of the bed I was lounging on . She looked at me and probably decided I was a grownup now. She continued ' He was Ammai's classmate and also her friend. and after a while Ammai found that she wanted him to be more than a friend '.

Amma still couldn’t say that Ammai had fallen in love with him. I helped her by
asking what happened then . Amma said she didn’t know much about what happend next only that Ammai snapped sometime in her late teens. By then she had stopped going to college and after school the poet and Ammai had drifted apart.

But not yet, not in Ammai's lost mind.
Ammai pinned away in some far away place of her own..7 years passed by. These were very tough years .. My grandparents and Achan and Vellichans bore the brunt of Ammai's lost love and finally one day Ammai left in search of her secret place, alone.. I would not say it was
alone , my grandparents died within an year of her death.

I listened silently. I still had not got the answer for what I was looking for and this time I asked ' But what had happened?' . Amma looked at me and said, ' Velliye vellichan* and Ananda Vellichan decided it was not a good match and told ammai' .

'And what about the poet , why did he not do something?' Amma replied with a pause ' He never knew' . 'But howcan he not know ?' Amma , ' She was just a friend in college and later before he could find out they drifted away'.
'But did he ever come to know?' Amma takes the newspaper from me and points out a poem listed in the review . 'That was for her '


Ammai – Father’s sister
Vellichan – Uncle , Father’s elder brother
Velliye Vellichan – sometimes used to address the eldest uncle.
Vellima – Vellichan’s wife.
Chechi – elder sister
Theke Muri – the room facing east.
Tharavad – Ancestral home

Red for Ashu

Its Friday. Rohan peeps out of the window of the bus, to get his first glance of Ashu for the day. She is wearng a very indian looking kurta over her jeans .As always , the colours are bright. She always does wear bright colours whether its her kurtas or her shirts ... and her trademark long ear rings...

Rohan tries to look at them while she climbs the steps into the bus.. He stifles a smile when he sees her bag... The gunny bag was what he called it. It was a huge bag, he had tried to think of all the things that she carries in it. He looks at her as she crosses him... The designer bindi on her forehead.. the kohl lined eyes .. and the unbraided hair... She looked fresh... Thru the corner of his eyes he senses her sit down a seat just across his ..

She smiles at the short guy she talks to in the bus ... The cheeky looking guy who somehow makes her smile all the time... Rohan turns and looks at her one last time before he closes his eyes... he could hear her,,, talk about the buses her books... her friends .. the shops.. just about everything ...and she finds reasons to smile about almost all of them ...

He smiles with his eyes closed.. It soothes him... her voice ... her easy smile..The bus stops and Rohan opens his eyes to look at the decorative lake in front of his office... Time to get down.. He waits till Ashu gets down ... watches her search for her ID tag in her bag... She flips it over her hair ,,... and walks away smiling at no one in partiular..Rohan smiles at her fading back and turns towards his gate...
He wonders if she would wear red on Monday....

Time to start working....

We won!!

and Kiran Desai does a Arundhati Roy.Inheritance of Loss wins the Pulitzer.The list is endless. Salman Rushdie, Chandrashekhar, Khurana, Amartya Sennot to forget Kiran Desai's mother, Anitha Desai.
We as indians are so starved of Indian celebrities on the owrld stage that we clutch the tails of Indian born Americans in their moments of glory.Achievers should have been a better word though.I am sure Khurana wouldnt forgive me for placing him on the same stage as a Paris Hilton.
No, whatever people say , I still do not agree to the argument that even though they are Americans, they do have Indian roots. They flowered in America.Surely that amounts to something.Why not celebrate some real desis for once . Is there a dearth of them ? I do not think so ... why not make them a celebrity ..Reminds me of proverb in malayalam. 'Muthatha Mullakyu manam illa'[the jasmine that blooms in your courtyard is not fragnant enough ... :)