It is that time

It is that time of the night

where you have to retire

for better or worst

I ever so silently shiver;

I dread sleep for it is part death,

sleeplessness frightens me even more

need strength to see what a new day bequeath,

It is time today yet I linger on the shore

hoping to do one more chore,

there are days where I hit the bed promptly

for there was nothing to do, all bore,

there I roll till sleep comes ever so gently,

for many fortunate hard workers sleep is just a ritual,

while for a thought worker like me it is an ordeal.

 

I tremble

I tremble with the pen in my hands,

will the words be worthy of my name,

or spill rubbish in these sacred lands,

yet I can’t stop as inside rages a flame;

where went that hallowed gift

that created wonders without a par,

in my inner self there is a rift

if I need stop for can’t raise the bar;

can’t find my inner voice I am mute

at least not deaf yet, for others’ words enthral,

yet I prod on gaining infamy and disrepute,

spitting nuggets in an unfathomable scrawl;

I scribble without rest for I am diseased,

and this shall rest only when I am deceased.

 

 

 

I went to the fields

I went to the fields where the birds chirp,

then wondered why suddenly did they stop,

I went to the streets where the builders work,

and why at me did they all bark,

is it because I am lazy and idle

or that I don’t follow Gita, Quran or Bible,

is it because I am too proud and shy

or because my emotions have went dry,

Wherever I go I am a discordant note,

so standing alone in anguish I just wrote

yet none saw it but my tired eyes

for I can’t compete with the working wise,

I didn’t worry for the world will one day see

that I was easily the busiest bee.

Delicacies I Prefer and My Venture

My hometown Tuticorin is famous for a kind of sweets called Macaroons. It is a white sweet made from cashews I think and it will melt in the mouths of people.

Parottas are normally cooked like dosas but our town is famous for its fried crispy parottas that are deep fried in vessels of oil just like a pappad. A cousin of mine in Chennai has people coming from my town to Chennai bring these and eats a day old parottas.

I usually go out for supper outside. I have my breakfast at home. I miss the Ven pongal and Vada and puris and masala that I can have when dining out.

There is a fast-food place Loyola Fast Foods near Loyola college where I was introduced to non-vegetarian food. I was a vegetarian before that. I have tasted Pork, Chilly beef, Beef 65, Chicken Manchurian etc. To this day I don’t relish non-vegetarian anywhere else. My standard order is for Egg Noodles and Chilly Chicken fully dry wherever I go, learnt from my Loyola fast food days.

There is a curry called Sodhi that is had mixed with rice, I love it too much and it is prepared by my mom at home too.

I am opening a non-veg restaurant ‘Samurai’ in my hometown shortly. Most of the work is over. Yet I have no culinary control in it as I have zero experience. I really hope to contribute my inputs and get it to the level that I like the food in it and ensure everyone else does so too.

I intend to do the following but am not sure if I can get these implemented since I am a pushover. I intend to make all things spicier since I like it that way. I intend to have all meat pieces be it chicken or mutton to be very small and tinily cut. I intend to have all the dry items really dry as to just fried with chillies with just a sprinkling of the gravy. I don’t know how to do the last part which is to have all meat melt in one’s mouth. May be it has something to do with marination or may be not. But thinking them and doing them are different things. Wish me luck.

She sat there

She sat there with her clothes torn scorning the world with a steely gaze,

little scoundrels with all innocence threw stones at her shabby self,

insane spooky lady go away they yelled yet she sat on as if in a daze,

she floated several galaxies away as though not a human but an elf;

the morn dawns for all they say yet why was it all misty and dark for her,

the sun’s rays refuse to penetrate her grime filled bloodied skin,

the uncaring world didn’t ditch her but she who shunned it all wiser,

an epithet insane was not given easily she had to wrestle to win;

it seemed that she was mocking all the busy men in their myriad errands,

with her steely composition strangely calm in a mad max world,

was beyond joy or grief now, yet I wonder where were her family and friends,

what incident did happen to make her lose all and turn so cold;

little did I realise that I was staring at a former beauty queen

that betrayal of the ones she loved had made her build this screen.

 

A Shop Keeper

[ kajalwriterblog.wordpress.com has a poem from the POV of death and was good. So I was inspired to write this piece about a shopkeeper.]

Wake up when the sun is still sleeping,

daily ablutions in the dark and freezing cold,

off to the market in the moped leaping,

haggling, shouting, roaring, for you got to be bold;

flying back to open the sacred shop in time,

arranging things in part chaotic part orderly fashion,

careful in dealing, so as to not let loose a dime,

for though shop abundant, home has a meagre ration;

stay sharp as a fox, smile, be funny, be stubborn,

for customers come in all shapes and moods

cunning, clever, angry, sad, crazy men and women,

deal with suppliers watchful for any broken goods;

a quickly had limited breakfast and lunch in the shop

all the while apologising to the folks for the delay,

have to trust people to sell on credit on top,

never able to sit running an endless relay;

Close shop very late in the night when even owls rested,

have a quick dinner and lie as sleep comes quickly,

here I sat thinking I was given a raw deal and was being tested,

time now to enjoy all I have and stop being fickly.