'Criti....que not Criti....cize'

Rain lashes outside the windows Washing away the mud people scurried over a while back Freshly made bed, pillows fluffed up Sprawled upon it a thousand memories, Time ticks away. It was 11.26 just three minutes ago. Or 23.26. Charlatan thoughts they are Fastidious care, theirs. Washing away the hours she scurried over a while back. Time ticks away. Doesn't it, always? The blueprint in the making, Do they go back to it After buildings have fallen, without grace? Time ticks away, like it never cared. Rubble. People. Rubble. Trapped, beyond rescue. Gracefully frozen beneath the din For time ticks away... like it must. Wrapped in six yards of silk, she thought this was it. She walked with a large brass plate towards the altar, Carrying the garlands that would seal the loose ends -- bit by bit. The bridal gait, the overflowing love, some jealous looks -- she now looked at it from afar. Who knew the walk was towards her own end? A bright, young lady walking towards her own doom?  Vismaya...

It probably started with the weeklong 10.30am -4.30pm Faculty Development Programme that I enrolled in. Attentively being part of it by setting up the phone in an angle so as to best suit my professional seating arrangement to avoid any backaches later, came with its varied troubles. But more on it later. So from a Monday to another Monday later, Tuesday night brought with it a mild pain on my left hand. It traversed to the shoulder. Thanks to being Papa's girl, I doubted for a second whether it was a heart attack, but shushed my overworking brain and went back to reading the Hangwoman.  Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday later, on Friday, after mom finally took me to task, I decided I may as well pay a visit to a doctor. The thought that it was a government hospital and the charges are Rs. 5 further fascinated me (I have been tremendously happy about the services at Kerala on a previous visit and swear by them).    The sight that greeted me was of a clean hospital with a fi...

Papa's school friend was laid to rest today. After spending quite some time in the hospital fighting varied illnesses, he breathed his last. Peacefully, I hope. Because I remember him saying around this time last year that he was fed up of medicines and treatment and would rather prefer to leave. While the world mourns someone's passing almost every day, it's when people whom we have known (however small a period) leave, that it usually hits or nudges some corner of our heart to reminisce. Surendran uncle   Surendran, or 'Papa's classmate' as I fondly called him, and papa reconnected last year. Papa used to tell us how uncle's mother used to tell him that while it was my grandmother who gave birth to him, it was she who took care of him. She loved him like her own son.   While we counted days post the lockdown, here was a friendship that rekindled over chats while watching the sunset, sitting on an almost collapsing bridge (it's been like tha...

“Ma’am, I am back home!” It was music to my ears. Then came the description. One of my students united with his family after recovering from Covid this evening. While his father is making good progress and will be home in another two or three days, he wonders why he hasn’t joined them yet.  “There was a man about 30-32-year-old in our ward. He was talking to another man on the nearby bed. And suddenly, he started breathing heavily. His chest was heaving. The nurses came running. Oxygen mask was put. He struggled to breathe and within minutes, he was no more.” His words… It seemed like he was narrating an episode from some daily soap. The difference, however, was that it was the stark reality. The reality much of India is dealing with right now. Call it dramatic, heartbreaking, miserable or what not, the Covid wave has rendered us handicapped.  What also awaited him at home was news of his uncle's passing away because they couldn't find a Plasma donor on time. The tone ...

How many of us have thought about why transgenders in local trains and buses clap? Is there a reason? Why do they, seemingly pitiable people (considering the general society’s lens) always seem to be celebrating by clapping hands? That’s their way of venting out the pent-up negative energy, frustration and desperation and smiling at yet another person. Nishtha Nishant was the one who made the audience think in that direction. She made everyone sit straight and get it all into place. A transwoman, Nishtha caught attention of the participants of the session by mentioning how she could not enter the women’s washroom due to documents which ascertained her as male (prior to her surgery). She is a scientific researcher, educator, TEDx Speaker and counsellor but funny how ‘trans woman’ topped the list. There’s a man and woman in all of us,” said Dr. B.S. Ajitkumar, Principal, VPM’s R Z Shah College of Arts, Science and Commerce, Mumbai, which proved to be the perfect start to the session on...

There are talks about how the lockdown might be extended further (which, by now for most of us in India does not seem new) and it makes one think about how to be more self- reliant.  Being in Kerala during this period (for about four months) has shown how it can be a great option to grow your own vegetables and fruits, have your own water source, recharging wells in order to maintain and improve groundwater levels, making use of a compost pit, using the compost thus obtained as manure for your own vegetables and fruits. Life comes a full circle! Or does it? I look around. But all around I see huge palatial structures. One seems to be bigger than the other. Another seems to be more spacious than yet another. Fancy lights, huge walls, pictures of demons in front (to ward off the evil eye) stare back at me.  But all I do is stare. I am wondering how people manage to clean their houses. They may keep servants. But on a daily basis, isn't maintenance a pain? And that's when a thoug...

A Death in the Himalayas: A Neville Wadia Mystery by Udayan Mukherjee My rating: 4 of 5 stars Name of the book: A Death in the Himalayas Name of the Author: Udayan Mukherjee Publisher: Picador India Price: Rs. 499 Genre: Fiction Pages: 274 ISBN: 978-93-89109-18-4 This review appeared in the Free Press Journal newspaper: https://www.freepressjournal.in/book-... A celebrity author-activist, Clare Watson, is found battered in a Himalayan forest spring. While it resounds internationally and puts pressure on the investigating officer, it also disrupts the peace of the inhabitants of the picturesque Birtola village. The author with a two-decade-long career as a television anchor and editor, an occasional commentator and newspaper columnist, fluidly expresses both sides of a seemingly idyllic village and about the fangs of brusque urban concretization plans. Also worth noting is the perspective of the villagers and the city dwellers towards each other and th...