A Lullaby for the Baby in Me

my twelve year old rushed to me enthusiastically with a pencil sketch roughly made in his sketch book.the sketch had two sections neatly separated by his own style of dancing vertical lines.
.one section was under the label,'heaven' in which lots of interesting figures were made expressing his personal concept of it..tiny angel babies peeping down thru floating clouds, trees with hanging laptops and cell phones,i phones...PSP,PS2..whatever it is...and a' wish reservoir' with taps to collect his wishes from...then he had all his favourite mc donalds and starbucks and pizza hut stalls in every junction of his heaven..it was perfectly cutefully imaginative and my motherhood gleamed with the rushes of waves of some sweet fluid which i could feel myself washing and curing my severely maliced heart...
the section 2 was of hell...classrooms without aircondition in a temperature of 1000 degrees...teachers with horrible faces(he had made it as horrible and terrorsome as he can),with forever- shutdown pizzahuts and mcdonalds and children crying out PIZZA...PIZZA...(lemme tell u he s an extremist in the topic of food and unlike the boys of his age he fills 'the hobby column' proudly ....cooking and baking...)and of course his hell had several flames of fire but i d to tell u... shut down food courts occuppied the majority of his sketch!!!
then...then...i noticed something in the sketch ...a tomb in which it is inscibed a birth date fify years ago and a death date which seemed very recent and an initial-M.J.
when asked curiously he replied bluntly...its that musician, mother...he s surely in the hell...
my motherhood crumbled.it ached. .the alarm sirens noised the atmosphere.the gleam which lighted my whole being disappeared instantly to replace it with a darkness of startled curiosity...
he smiled and declared with his declared wisdom...mother, u only taught music is antireligious.u only fight with father when he plans for a loan.this guy,mother, he had a debt of so and so amount! u only preached that drug addiction turns a person to animal.and i know that any man who turns an animal goes to hell...
i sat down defeated with a head of twisting twirling brain matter inside it supported by a trembling set of hands.i could feel my weak heart fiercing with a noisy tic tac beat enough to break out my panting chest...
where ve i gone wrong, darling.... how can i explain him what exactly i wanted to convey him...
i dont want my darling to be prejudiced, narrow minded, to get stuck in a well of ideologies, to limit himself in a framework of religion...i want him to fly fly fly as high as his cute imagination and explore this beautiful earth with his tiny wings of freedom and get the right perspective... not my perspective or someone else's perspective...
even if he leaves me for a while to explore and experiment for himself i should train my mind not to mind..
.because i m demanded to be more responsible than merely injecting my own inherited ideologies..
.i m demanded to be more responsible and sacrificing enough to face the temperory vacuum he s likely to push me into when he sets out for his journey in his quest of TRUTH.
im demanded to be more patient enough to wait for his return to the TRUTH which is already shining inside me but which im incompetent to convey it to him in the right way...
.yes he should set for a Travel some day when his wings are matured enough..
and ive to pray for it to happen and make him ready for it...
i ve to weave his travel dress....prepare the food to eat in between.....
my mother hood should mature enough to survive the vacuum....
and patiently wait for his return sitting with prayers to keep him safe throughouto the journey...
and strengthen him, rejunevate him... whenever he s weakened by its weariness...
yes, my darling, i shall wait for you in my backyard without a tear of impatience...
where i can hide myself when i fail to dam the tears in some weak moments of missing you...
now at present.... im defeated, my darling...but i know from my Grant Wisdom, that every defeat is a stairway to a grant success...
and im confident that someday you ll make me successful by your own wisdom and knowledge u re likely to acquire when you twist your vehicle in some hairpin curve amidst your journey and return to me with The Book of Truth...
then you ll be amazed to discover that the Book i m holding close to my chest is the same you ve mined out from some valley unknown to me...
then both of us would lose ourselves in a hug and drown in an ocean of tears...
then i d be listed in printed golden letters in the List of Mothers who had finally come out with flying colours...
now... sleep, baby sleep...
listening to my lullaby
resting in my arms
earing the drums of my pounding heart...

Shape and Colour of my Planet of Memory

My Planet of Memory is undoubtedly round
Coz u see,standing on the Pole,
Im unable to spot the other Pole
So the certainity of its spherical shape is profound.

Whilst the siren is heard of a passenger ship
I rush to the shore to spot its hull
As in the geography lessons awfully dull
I fail to view the body of the ship

Enchanted by its spell, decieved by the awe it spread,
I fooled myself in the shore
On a trial of picking its colourful bits scattered around
Losing myself unaware of my actual loss...

But alas...im not lost...
Some fairy godmother waved her magic band
To rescue me from the fairy land of myth
And showed me the harsh reality around


I scare away myself the next moment
Just coz of the longing and fear of reaching a Shore
Aware of my ultimate Destination
I frighten away from the shore

I sigh out a sigh enough to evaporate the oceans
And spray out a tear enough to drown down the land
Now i know the colour of my Memory Planet
Its blue-the Blue Planet of oceans

Can u spot a green?
No, no greeneries of oasis of obsession
Can you spot a brown
No, no browns of deserts of abandantment

I m in a blissful Blue and Blue alone
In a planet of memory tsunamised with the waves of repentance
To offer Him proudly
During our Final Reunion in some far far away safe shores

how to sow seeds of reading habit in your children

mother raised a malayalam novel and declared to the daughter,"mol, u should never read this filthy book when u re grown up some day. its about an insane she-writer". the daughter absorbed the details of the book and the crazy she writer with the ever confused curious eight year old eyes and brain... ...the eyes longed for the day it d be able to savour the insides of the prohibited ...
cursing its choice of 2nd language as hindi in her school

.later, after a couple of years,the eyes matured enough for a self study of her mother tongue enough to savour the ALLOWED and the PROHIBITED. the ever curious eyes and brain explored the family- banned writers and books...
that s how i discovered there are people who re able to pen the feelings and mumblings of minds totally alien to their physical self...

crowding with the crowd

u laugh with the crowd
u cry with the croud
u shout with the crowd
u silence with the crowd
even nonsense make sense
still u ll ve to
coz u ve to crowd with the crowd
but shsh...
listen here, friend...


above a ghost town of memories
t here s a floating cloud...
it smells like
optimism and pristine hope.
like a miraculous backdoor from a house of crude reality
I visit here once in a while...
and stand at its boundary
teased by its strange comfort
for here ive left something...
just something of the real ME....