Mercedes' Mind Mirror

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...

Let me get there straight. Yesterday was the last day of school.Photographs,goodbyes,girls and slam books,hugging each other Merry Christmas and new year..I'm not the hugging-kissing kind but I made it a point to wish everyone. So I walk up to one of my teachers and wished her a merry Christmas.She gave a displeased snort and muttered something. I took a moment to comprehend her reaction.I was first confused and when I understood the slightly repulsed expression on her face I was taken aback.I was left in utter disgust after the incident. Christianity is not her religion, which was why she refused shake hands or return the greetings. Apparently she thinks I follow her religion.I follow it only on application forms,purely an official blank filled.Religious intolerance-it was not something you'd expect of a person of this age,and particularly a person of her profession. I felt the sudden urge to tell her my mother is a Christian. She would be appalled to know I'm a c...

Sleepy town woke up to dusty dawn To deafening rumble an roar,not a sign of fear But indeed War had come Men were paid to pave Paths to pestilence an' pain thick with stench of the slain There lay in ruthless neglect upon a soaked red earth the dying limbs of green friends As they grew black of death Man's monster machines played on,their game of destroy The tree of  thousand years lay in a mangled heap no one to mourn or weep Of love,war and peace it had had many stories to tell but for the blade of man whom it once let breathe