Chakyaar Chants !!!

It was morning and the beast of winter was roaming wild in Delhi.   Clothed in multiple layer, I streamed through the crowded and clouded New Delhi railway station. Sun was hiding, rather hidden. I hurried to the Metro station, only crowded though. Beast is yet another animal, afraid of crowd. Exiting the burrows of Delhi Metro, I was yet again in the territory of the beast. I boarded a rickshaw. Teethed with wind, her claws tore apart me hunting for my warmth. I fought, my clothes fought. I thought I won. Then as I talked with the rickshaw wala, I saw my mouth ejaculating unfamiliar vapors. It was her exhausts. The beast was breathing through me. She didn’t get my warmth, but she took my breath. I looked at the sky for the yellow emperor. But the unwilling emperor had chosen to hide beneath the clouds.                                                 ...

The tyranny of the summer continued across the Indian Capital.Its been a few weeks in Delhi .The Summer was in no mood to ease down his might. The hopes of a lighter summer vanished into the season's steam. To ice the steam beneath my inside and Delhi Air, I craved for the holy arrival of the monsoon gods. A desperate lover of rain resurfaced on me as I longed for her presence. Living a monotonous life can be extremely boring. And on yet one of those ordinary days, I woke up at 10:00 AM. Monotonicity broken. Not a good reason to reach office late though.But light creaking through the window panes appeared weak,dim and blunt. Frail and weak, it could hardly bounce back from the marble floor.Walking above the semi-corpses of light lying astray on the floor, I opened the door. I heard her dance. I heard her sing. There she was , beyond the gates , a feet away. She hopped through the streets with her anklet kissing rickshaws, roads and trees. Trapped inside her dark long hair...

Multitudes throng the seaside pathways left moist by the unquiet growling of the Arabian Sea. Peeping into the sea, proudly stands on the shores Chinese fishing nets, memoirs of city’s glorious past.  Over every building, including communist offices and Hindu Temples, clings on a star echoing the festive spirit of Kochiites. Over the streets are scattered Christmas Cribs and twinkling lights aligning in beautiful patterns. On either sides of streets, plastic glitters creep into the ropes welcoming everyone to the biggest celebration of Kochiites. The remnants of the Christmas celebration have not yet sublimed, yet the air was smelling of the New Year celebration. Walking through the pathways clogged by street vendors, I sailed through the crowd loosing myself into the celebration. The brine scented wind breezed through the streets smoked up with automobile exhausts. To free myself from the clamor of urban life, I set out for the celebrating New Year in the soul o...

After the rain patters the fields , the drowsy sun awakes from his deep slumber. He peeps into the land through the creaks of cloud flocks.  Awaiting him, lies endless plain sky, fleece of clouds emptying  themselves, giving sun his chance to gleam on his land. Finding open endless sky, promiscuous sun romances the trees, roads and sky. The white sky was his favorite. She was dungeoned by the warriors from the Oceans (monsoon). Sun had lost the battles, but won the war, sending them back to the oceans. When they romance, they blind the world, by calling angels of sky , the seven maids of her. They let loose their robe ends and stand showing their bosom curves.  Drugged by the beauty of the angels, their romance always remains unseen, uncaught by any light. A sight of the mighty sun shall send away the angels to unknown lands. Humans call them rainbow. They came whenever sun won his battles and visited their mistress. Once the king returns winning the war, it will b...

W hen she arrives, the smell of raw earth streams into my olfactory senses. Whenever  that enticing aroma fills my room, I push back my chair and leap out to catch the wonderful sight of sky. She would have conquered the sky and fenced it with her robes. The robes she wears fluttering all around the sky, even denying sun to peek into the land. She dove into the land awakening the soul within. The soul of the land revelled itself in the return of its soulmate. She ran unclothed snaking across bushes, trees, roads and soil. Small streamlets and our fields brimmed with water. !! Welcome to monsoon Kerala !! Every year monsoon arrived in the midst of our vacation. May end. Thanks to KVS (Kendriya Vidyalaya Sangathan), whenever I got holidays my friends in our place went to schools and vice versa. Change of seasons also changed the game we played. The flooded fields won’t allow ball to bounce , hence eroding our cricket pitch. Thus it was the time of football. Slipping and ...

Sitting in my hostel room , a couple of thousands of kilometres from my home, I always envy my friends who stay in kerala. Locked up in the name of privileged higher education and denied the right to feel the soul of a land lush with monsoon, trees and serenity. Well they say, you have to live it up. Whenever I ponder over  this fate of mine, my beautiful childhood  flashbacks in my mind. It was not just the wonderful days at my most loved KV NAD, but my childhood streaming across a handful of seasons. Those seasons that painted heavens in our playgrounds, school vans and open fields.  Those seasons that filled our air with laughter, joy and fragrance of innocence. Seasons that breezed through grassy fields, monsoon streams , classroom window panes and roof tiles.  Lungi clad footballers  Early 2000s were the times when globalization redrew the landscapes of Indian cities. It was the times when outskirt villages where swallowed into the city. Well, I ...

Well you people may be wondering what is Chakyaar . And why does it chants? What does it have to do with a blog? Chakyaar in his attire Chakyaar Koothu is an ancient and traditional satirical art form of  Kerala. Unlike ‘Kathakali’ and ‘Mohiniyattam’ , Chakyaar Koothu was not an art form of learned and sanskritic pundits. It was performed in common man’s language. And the artist was called Chakyaar. During the play, Chakyaar could make fun of anyone in the audience cutting across class and caste barriers. There were lot of instances when chakyaar used his humour to expose the king of his own mistakes. Chakyaar was the only one who could remind the king. But his freedom was beneath the cosmetics and make ups. Only when the drums played the music to the art.The freedom was only on the stage. Without these makeups and decorations, he was a common man facing the tyranny of the king. Here Iam the Chakyaar . I chant. I have the freedom to speak out. But outside this s...