Tales from a Keralite Aquarius

My father is an ardent football lover. It doesn’t matter to him if it’s the Manchester Derby or if Sheffield United is playing West Bromwich. It does not matter if he’s trying to complete pending work on a Saturday afternoon, or half heartedly attempting to listen to my mother talk. His face remains almost stoic as it stays glued to the television; his eyes moving with the ball, as it travels from one end of the pitch to the other. My father is a Liverpool fan. A loyal one- but the word I’ve always preferred is optimistic. He’s supported the club for over two decades and it’s safe to say that he’s seen them through some of their worst times. The Roy Hodgson stint, Gerrard’s slip and the rough couple of years before their resurrection of sorts by Jürgen Klopp. Throughout this entire fiasco- after every humiliating defeat and forgettable match they’ve played, I’ve seen my father shake his head, and then look at us, smile and say- “It’s just one game. We’ll be back.” I’ve often wonder...

I see the old man Every single day. Before the sun arrives; While the street lights in faded yellow He's always in that same place Alone. Under that one white light, That fights the realm of darkness; Like the lone strong warrior to A once glorious kingdom. I'd walk by him every morning, And even if it is just a glance I see It seems like I know him; More than what he seems to be It's the smell that attracts. The magic Of fresh boiling tea, The aroma tries and fights Like a loyal page in battle. Oft I'd pass by him in the afternoon And I peek into his life. The powder begins to settle Boiling for long in the kettle It starts to mix in well; Like the bond between the buyers, As the sugar gets dissolved The laughter and crowd shows A win of approval To a well blend of perfection. I catch a glimpse of him in the evenings, The powder has settled for long. And the tea is stronger, Much like the company around. The old men from the ancient sho...

I lost her yesterday, Through loud silences, And unspoken sentences. I said what I felt the need to say But she wasn't willing to make way I lost her yesterday but, I found my voice today. I lost her yesterday, Through changed opinions And conflicting perceptions I stood for what I felt was right, She didn't think that was very bright. I lost her yesterday but, I found my confidence today. I lost her yesterday, Through forced smiles, And formal conversations, I missed the spark we used to create, She simply reignited it, elsewhere. I lost her yesterday but, I found my inner self today. I lost her yesterday, When I couldn't find her place, Amongst a swarm of unknown faces. We ignored the charm that we had made at a snap; Our powers lay forgotten, in reality's trap. I lost her yesterday but, I found my magic today. I will forever hold her dear, No matter how it may appear, So did I lose her yesterday, Or simply find myself again? - t.k.a

For as long as I can remember I've had a few companions Some have stayed from the start Or have joined on the way. Like did I tell you about that time When I was called fat The term was pumpkin face Chubby and round say them Tears and sorrow say mine. I made a friend that day Meet insecurity. It's been a steady partner since, Forever with me. Or about that other time, of lost thoughts and raging hormones, pimples, and blurred focus. I made a friend then too, Say, have you met self-doubt? It's existence the only thing it didn't have doubt of. Adamant chap that; trust me, you'd rather not know. Oh, and along comes the third one, stronger than your soul this, and friends with one and all. It is like a mathematical object; it's sound and all that, You may think its two face, but look close and you'll see three. Round and round, slippery and hard. You probably spelt it wrong, its not with an s and p; Meet fear. Might seem small, but you really woul...

When I speak of home, I speak not of that concrete structure. Nor of the tiles, or the marbles, or the rooms in between. It isn't about the TV or the AC or the table. Nor is it of the stuff that you call your own. Home is a feeling. Of belongingness. Of peace. Home is where I belong. The significant sense of uneasiness, at walking into a house; devoid of your moms voice. The living room, dead, minus the laughter and jokes that you have exchanged with your dad. The bedrooms, silent of the secrets it doesn't gather from the exchanges with your siblings. The kitchen, which spreads more warmth from the love of the food than from the flames of the stove. The balcony has more intimate moments, than the deepest romantic novels. Home is a feeling. Of belongingness. Of love. Home is where I belong. At the familiar rays of sunshine, that salute you by the window. The accustomed feeling of all things inanimate. The touch so familiar as if it greets you right back. Every little thing, a s...

Family. I have had quite a few friends who have had rotten relationships with their family members; mother, father, siblings, grandparents etc. And despite trying to understand their point of view, and empathise with them, I have always ended up having a sense of sympathy for them. For the complete void that they don't even realize they have. My parents haven't exactly pampered me. But I have had almost everything I needed, and more often than not, also what I wanted. I was taught the value of things, and they have made sure to help us every time we fell down, whether we were one or twenty. I wouldn't calls ours a very very rich family, but we have been wealthy in terms of love, memories, good experiences and joy. We nag each other to no end and drive each other nuts; we team up against others, and pull each others leg, and there might have been more than a single instance when the neighbours may have questioned our sanity. We have screamed out lungs out, criticized, and...