Mercedes' Mind Mirror

I built a house of cards on a windy day Played in twos and fours. How it mocked,How it jeered The evening breeze at the window peered. Still I built my house of cards with a quivering hand and a steady heart Built four walls and one around, built one floor with more to go. Just once I heard an evil screech through the window pane within my reach. I built my house of cards, feeling proud at every third I dared not reach the window glass for it might cost my house of cards. At this once the top floor fell, The wicked rustle had done well. Yet I built my house of cards So close to a palace now. In flew the wicked wind and the uninvited beasts of the evening. They played around my house of cards, buzzed in circles around my head, played tunes of little melody, bit me, itched and irked me so. I edged to the window to push it close but my house of cards warned to fall So I let go and picked a spade started my house of cards again I built a room, I built two I bu

Two weeks ago I thought I should start some serious drawing and have been going through a lot of online tutorials. Reading some theory and all. So I started off with the hand. Learned a few simple techniques like foreshortening, block drawing and stick n circle. I planned to learn the head next but ended up looking up horse anatomy :P

The chilly air wrapped around me,sending a cold shudder through my frail little body.I kept glancing over my shoulder expecting someone to pounce any instant.Ten o'clock. Dusk was coming around and the sky was erased of light and life and a terrible screechy wind had sprung out of the other end of the high pine-specked horizon, whistling of ill fortune. I pulled my light coat tightly around me and rubbing my shoulders for the fear of being frozen in this god forsaken estate.I tried to remember when I had got here but the persistent howling of the wind wouldn't allow me to think! Just as I thought I was about to die of the cold, the thick heavy black doors before me opened with a thorough bickering of bolts.I could see little of the hall except it was washed in yellow ochre- a fire,warmth! "Come!" I saw the woman only a second after she barked the order in an icy voice.A face, bone white.  But for the wicked wind I wouldn't have for the death of me stepped into

Image courtesy : www.josephinewall.co.uk Dreams are a wonderful gift The light, cushioned sensation, as we sink into bed and gently begin to fall and then awaken to new world so real yet so magical, is indeed wonderful!  Sadly I don't have dreams so often, nightmares too evade me most times.And I begin to think it's something wrong with me- maybe I'm not creative in my active mind,maybe I'm much too a realist. Maybe I'm not in sync with my environment and am probably a mere juxtaposition in such a happening world and have numbed senses. Or maybe I'm a heavy sleeper.  Unfortunate really, when I hear of highly animated fantasy-like  dreams of others. My sister is most blessed with such midnight matinees. The weird, the wicked and the heroic seize her unconscious world and spin full length fairy tales , some of them really scary too,adorned with elaborate detail. Whether it is her charming narration or simply my longing for such dreams it's tremendously

Somehow I feel he must be called Eugene. :P

The tale of the two-headed bird from the Panchatantra stuck with me. Iruthalapakshi :)

iT''s been some time since I picked up a brush. Not the most impressionist, but for the love of oil pastels,here is a ballroom couple!  Tried to stick to Red,Blue and White in this one. Intended to be Katrina Kaif but turned out a hybrid of Katrina and Penelope? or some man? Originally a pencil sketch that the scanner cast a spell on. So this is what you get.

It has been some years since we've been living together I can't quite recall how we met One thing is certain, I wasn't a little girl anymore. It wasn't at a party, I seldom socialise. Now that I'm trying hard I remember,  it was at Nowhere,at Nothing. both of us masked,deception in vain however. Not the most pleasant of encounters,the Stranger scared me the enigmatic smile and the distant eyes. I had kept quiet and walked away. Next morning I awoke dripping in sweat- the Stranger's face flashed first on my empty mind Couple of moments later I regained reason, filled my barren hall of thought,made some decisions. I would go out to meet the World today. Lost at a busy bus stop I wondered,Where. And there again the wretched face! He strode across, his gait so elegant that vexed me more. I leapt onto the bus that stopped first, before the mysterious man could follow,before he called out. The day sped forth,poured people cars sights and sounds.

Magda was a girl I knew Though I doubt she did me She was better than the rest thought I,twelve year old I always wanted to talk to Magda But I was scared my "hello" wouldn't sound right She was kind to others and let me play Not like the rest of them They called her Maggie I wanted to too But may I? No,just play rather,what's in a name Magda was pretty I thought Big new teeth,yes But pretty I thought I wished Magda and I were best friends I stopped going to Magda's street Her friends scared me How could she like them! No matter,Magda probably did not even know me I stopped going to Magda's street One Christmas later I went to Magda's street Not to see Magda of course Simply on an errand at the corner shop Ran into Rosie her old friend I could talk to Rosie She had been playing hide and seek she said With Maggie! Oh yes, I pretended,Maggie They had been playing when... Her eyes widened to break sad news She slowed down

On the longest of days  she spent only half in the sun She stepped into the shade, rather her own shadow, foolish to fear herself getting burned. On even the longest of days, did sparkles dim, and Dusk drew in deep, shadows grew darker, her flickering smile went out, Wisps of a far,happy past faded into nothing, as did the old laugh lines. At the end of the longest of days, A single white hair against a deep blue sky Said, a new dawn was near Spend in peace the last few hours The last one only in happiness.

Bringing her lips to a full pout she would carefully dab on her mauve lip gloss.Then she would wipe clean any extra around the corners while examining herself in the mirror.Then she'd put on her kajal or Kohl,whatever that is.Meticulously. Her kurtie is purple today. She rummaged her numerous little boxes for a pair of studs that would go with her top. She  is my sister. I always find it fascinating to watch her fuss over the minute details. She would throw a huge tantrum if she couldn't find her white and gold, enamelled bangle that would go perfectly with her bag or if her wristwatch looked out of place. On those mornings you can find me at the table ,eyebrow raised and sometimes trying hard not to laugh. What is with girls and make-up and jewellery! Maybe my opinion is in accordance with my poor sense of style. I'm sorry if you think big flat strap-on sandals are unwomanly and a trusty digital watch is an ugly bit of junk to be on a girl's wrist.But that's wha

We waited at the bus stop for the 9 o'clock Volvo that would take my parents to Calicut. It was half past 8 and night had just set in. There were still a good many vehicles on the road.But the crowd was thinning as the sky grew darker. I leaned on the dirty,greasy pole of the shed and watched the people on the street. There were men with satchels slung over tired shoulders,women with infants and hand baggages,worn out and sleepy-eyed boys and girls going home late after their night classes.Out on the road there were those heroes on their Apaches and Bullets who never missed a second glimpse at the pretty girl on the footpath.After a while I began to categorize them---the lean,average build men with satchels had to be construction workers, saree-clad stout women with spectacles and an old fashioned leather handbag had to be a middle-class clerk,an office employee of some sort or teacher, bike boys with backpacks (and sometimes a girlfriend) were the techies. The "fancy-sto

"Goodbye!"" Cya!""au revoir"---everyday phrases chucked about like candy wrappers.So hollow,so impotent. Do we really care if  we meet them again or not? How many people do you really really care to see the next day.How many are important to you that you can't pass a "goodbye" without feeling? The University has been one of my favourite haunts since last year. I love the 19th century palatial college with huge magnificent halls of wood and giant windows and walkways adorned with very old banyan and tamarind with a thousand golden blossoms that sail down helically in the afternoon breeze.So I found myself wandering into the English department last Thursday and sat down at my mother's desk with absolute authority.Often I watched her students come up to her and talking in a very friendly manner but with due respect. She would often tell me how some of the most unassuming of her class would ask her to correct a piece of translation they att

What started out like the most boring chapter of  my life, about as interesting as the obituary page Year 2010 had one too many surprise packages for me. I started out with a couple of resolutions (hah!)and tried to get a mental makeover.One of the first things I did,however, was crop short(and incredibly short) my hair inviting month-long jeering and gasping. People! If I were the Queen of Hearts it'd have been "Off with their Heads!!" Then came along YENTHA! One helluva place! Some time in February I took up my first Job.(no pay of course.too bad eh?..I thought I'd spend them on oils and photography). Well who cares 'cause once You're at Yentha you're at home,that is if  you are crazy like us. By the way, Yentha is an online web portal/online newspaper whatever you wanna call it exclusively for Trivandrum,one of the very few of its likes and we were off the charts in a couple of months since its inauguration in Feb.The two months I worked for Yentha wa