തെരുവ് നായ എന്നുള്ളത് വളരെ ശക്തിയുള്ള ഒരു പദമാണ്. തെരുവ് നായ്ക്കളോ, ബലഹീനതയുടെ അടയാളവും.

എനിക്കിഷ്ടമല്ല എന്ന് പറഞ്ഞപ്പോൾ, ദേഷ്യവും പുച്ഛവും കലർത്തി എന്നെ നോക്കിയ കണ്ണുകളിലെ യുക്‌തി എന്താണെന്ന് മനസ്സിലായില്ല. പരിണാമസിദ്ധാന്തം കൊണ്ടോ, അല്ലെങ്കിൽ ദൈവത്തിന്റെ കുസൃതി കൊണ്ടോ, മനുഷ്യൻ മുകളിലും, നായ കീഴിലുമാണെന്നു എല്ലാ മനുഷ്യർക്കും അറിയാം. ഇതിനെ കുറിച്ചുള്ള നായ്ക്കളുടെ അഭിപ്രായം അറിയില്ല.

വീട്ടിൽ ബാക്കി വരുന്ന ഭക്ഷണം നായക്കൾക്ക് കൊടുക്കാത്ത സമൂഹത്തിനോട്, ലജ്ജ പ്രകടിപ്പിച്ച് പ്രസംഗിക്കുന്ന ഒരാളും, നായ്ക്ക് ഇഷ്ടപ്പെട്ട ഭക്ഷണം പാചകം ചെയ്‌തതായി കേട്ടിട്ടില്ല. മിച്ചകരുണയല്ലേ? സ്നേഹമല്ലല്ലോ നായയോട്.

ഭക്ഷണം ബാക്കി വരാത്ത ദിവസം നേരിട്ട് കണ്ട് നായയോട് ക്ഷമ ചോദിക്കുന്നുണ്ടോ? മഴയുള്ള ദിവസം നായയ്ക്ക് നീണ്ടുനിവർന്ന് കിടക്കാൻ പടി തുറന്ന് കൊടുക്കുന്നുണ്ടോ? വിഷുവിനും, ദീപാവലിക്കും, തിരഞ്ഞെടുപ്പ്‌ ഫലപ്രഖ്യാപനത്തിന്റെ അന്നും പടക്കം പൊട്ടിക്കാതിരിക്കുന്നുണ്ടോ? രാത്രിയുടെ മദ്ധ്യത്തിൽ, ഉറക്കത്തിന് ഭംഗം വരുത്തി നായക്കൾ തങ്ങളുടെ സുഹൃത്തിന്റെ കല്ല്യാണത്തിന് കൂട്ടകുരവയിടുമ്പോൾ, നായിന്റെ മോന്റെ വായിൽ തുണി കുത്തികേറ്റണമെന്ന് അഭിപ്രായപെട്ടിട്ടില്ലേ?

മിച്ചകരുണയല്ലേ? പിന്നെ എന്തിനീ മുഖംമൂടി പ്രസംഗം?

I recently read an article about hypocognition. It is the state where a feeling, a concept, or a phenomenon cannot be put into words. For example, what's the word for the vague uncomfortable feeling of sitting on a seat that is still radiating warmth from someone else’s bottom? It is called Shoeburyness. I had such an experience, not shoeburyness, that I have had in many a wonderful occasions. Hypocognition happened.

I think, therefore I am sometimes able to enjoy certain moments of exquisite intellectual pleasure of becoming aware that a completely unrelated person in the world, dead or alive, has resonated with my thoughts. Once in a bed I thought: "There are certain things in the world which will not bend to force. Things that cannot be acquired by power, but are presented by faith and happiness. Love! I strongly believe that love is for those who deserve it. The wealthiest human cannot find an ounce of love any of the shops in the world. The strongest human can never feel love through arm wrestling. Love cannot be snatched, bought or bartered. That's where the satisfaction of giving takes birth.

Books are wonderful objects. My friend might think me queer to call it an object. People think books have feelings. So do I. Currently, I am reading Siddhartha by Herman Hesse. Today, I read this:

Siddhartha : "Oh, he's strong, the Samana, and he isn't afraid of anything. He could force you, beautiful girl. He could kidnap you. He could hurt you."

Kamala : "No, Samana, I am not afraid of this. Did any Samana or Brahman ever fear, someone might come and grab him and steal his learning, and his religious devotion, and his depth of thought? No, for they are his very own, and he would only give away from those whatever he is willing to give and to whomever he is willing to give. Like this it is, precisely like this it is also with Kamala and with pleasures o love. Beautiful and red is Kamala's mouth, but just try to kiss it against Kamala's will, and you will not obtain a single drop of sweetness from it, which knows how to give so many sweet things! You are learning easily, Siddhartha, thus you should also learn this: love can be obtained by begging, buying, receiving it as a gift, finding it in the street, but it cannot be stolen. In this, you have come up with the wrong path. No, it would be a pity, if a pretty young man like you would want to tackle it in such a wrong manner."

What do we call it? Herman Hesse and I thinking about same topic? I don't have a word for it, so I am going with…

Resonating thoughts!

എന്താണ് നഷ്ടപ്പെട്ടതെന്ന് എനിക്കറിയില്ല. നഷ്ടങ്ങളെ ചിട്ടപ്പെടുത്തുവാൻ നമുക്കാവില്ല. നഷ്ടത്തിന് കനമുണ്ടെന്ന് മാത്രം അറിയാം, ആ കനമാണ് നമ്മൾ താങ്ങുന്നത്. നഷ്ടത്തിന് ഒരു രൂപസങ്കല്പം നൽകാമെങ്കിൽ അത് ഒരു ബുദ്ധിമാനായ വേതാളത്തിന്റേതാവണം. തോളിലിന്നുരുന്ന് അത് നമ്മുടെ ചെവിയിൽ കുസൃതികഥകൾ പറയുന്നു. അതിന്റെ ഉത്തരം ആലോചിച്ചു നമ്മൾ തല പുകയ്ക്കുന്നു.

എന്തിനും ഏതിനും അതിന്റേതായ ഒരു കാരണമുണ്ടെന്നു യുക്തിവാദികൾ പറയും. അവർക്ക് അത് മറ്റുള്ളവരെ കുറിച്ച് മാത്രമേ പറയാനാവൂ. സ്വന്തം കാര്യം വരുമ്പോൾ, കാരണം കണ്ണുകളിൽ തെളിഞ്ഞാലും, ഉൾമനസ്സിൽ മൂടൽമഞ്ഞാണ്. ലോകം അർത്ഥശൂന്യമാണെന്ന് അവർ അപ്പോൾ ഉറച്ചു വിശ്വസിക്കുന്നു.

നഷ്ടബോധം, ഐക്യൂ കുറഞ്ഞ ഒരു നല്ല നായാട്ടുകാരനെ പോലെയാണ്. എത്ര വട്ടം ആവർത്തിച്ച് പറഞ്ഞാലും ഉണ്മ തലയിൽ കേറില്ല, പക്ഷെ ഒരിക്കലും തെറ്റാത്ത ഉന്നത്തോടെ അയാൾ സമനിലയെ നിരന്തരം വേട്ടയാടുന്നു.

Liverpool FC is my football club. Palakkad is my beautiful home town in Kerala, India.

I had a dream.

Liverpool FC came to Palakkad to play a football game. Sadio Mane started the game on bench, but he chose to stand with the fans. A confident young boy was standing next to him in the stadium. Naturally, they became friends. Unforeseen, as is usually the case with nature, the game was cancelled few minutes into it. I asked Sadio, “Will you play football with us in my school?“ He said yes. So I took him to Navodaya Vidyalaya, Palakkad, the best school in the world. I introduced Sadio to my friends and they all were ready for a game.

Sadio fell in love with the ground the moment he saw it. Western ghats in the backdrop and the amazing Palakkadan wind made him whisper: “This is where I want to play day in day out”. Sadio played in my team's attack and I played in the midfield. When my goalkeeper played a simple ball to me, I looked up the field and saw Sadio making the run. With my barefoot, I sliced the ball and it was airborne. Seconds later, that touch by Sadio, and the finish, the ball was in the back of the net. The trend continued, he made those runs, and I sent him through on the goal. We won!

After the post match handshake and hug, Sadio asked me: “Why don’t you come to Melwood some day?” in French obviously. I smiled, and said “Oui, I will try. Merci beaucoup”. Sadio flew back to England. On the plane, he spoke to a man called Jurgen Klopp and a week later, I got a call from Liverpool FC, the best football club in the world.

I landed in John Lennon airport. Imagine all the people, waiting for my arrival. I reached Melwood, Liverpool FC's training ground. Sadio introduced me to his friends. Virgil was taller than me. Trent is younger than me. Robbo warned me about Millie's humour sense. Mo's English was better than mine. I gave Ali a chocolate and he kept it. I told Bobby he is my favourite player. The boss gave me hug and said welcome. I was home.

I wore boots for evening's training session. Sadio told the boss that he wanted me to play in his side. I scored one, assisted twice, made a goal saving tackle and broke my ankle.

Hendo lifted the ball onto Mo's path, who cut it back to Bobby, who nonchalantly flicked it into the space behind Virgil. I was too quick for the big man. Blink of an eye, I slotted the ball past Adrian and copied a Bobby celebration. Then Allison played a simple ball to me, I looked up the field and saw Sadio making the run. I sliced the ball and it was airborne. Seconds later, that touch by Sadio and the finish, the ball was in the back of the net. The second assist followed a neat link up play between Bobby, Mo, Sadio and Me. Bobby's no look finish met my cross at the far post. Jurgen's celebration to that was wild.

I might have kicked the wall too hard. That's how I woke up with a broken ankle, but it was definitely worth the dream.

YNWA!

Mighty mountains,
I saw its curves and peaks yonder,
White clouds and blue skies surrounded.
Usual voices inside, as I climb to the top,
Iffy paths or dicey end, I shall not stop.

First came the rain, making my feet wet,
Then came the sun, making my brow sweat.
Pain feasting on my body, but I couldn't care less,
There, I crossed a line, that made the trees jealous.

Slippery stones and bottomless slope, flanking.
Clinging mud and flatulent shoes, wringing.
Looking back, a rucksack, reluctant,
Looking ahead, a view, so magnificent.

And my mind must decide quick,
For each step in this trek is a trick.
A clumsy choice could be fatal,
As a life without a tale to retell.

Alas, I reached the snow capped summit,
Oh, the joy you get when you truly commit.
White clouds and blue skies, singing sweet welcome,
Jolly wind, like your pet, dancing as you get home.

Sat by a yellow tent, I surveyed far and wide,
Leaving its nest was a waterfall to my side,
Chasing its petulant river-child running away,
Is when the poet in me awoke to have a say.

Twilight now flirted with day and night,
Sky blushed as it turned orange, bright.
Adios, I am done for the day, said the setting Sun.
'See you on the other side', was Earth's cunning pun.

The river carried mountain's letter to the sea.
The poem rhymed words of passionate love to me.
Fate, they cannot unite; kept apart by an invisible wall.
Faith! the mountain always awaited the next rainfall.

I looked up, now the canvas was painted black,
A full moon and a thousand splendid suns smiled back.
I walked for long, forlorn, mind full of peace.
Mighty mountains, I loved its curves and peaks.

poem by O. S. Toelyn

What happened?

I was reading a book and suddenly heard a loud noise from outside.

Can you please elaborate?

That's what sir, BANG!, and seconds later, a second BANG.

Will you be able to recreate your evening till the incident?

Yes, sir. Yesterday I came back late from work to attend two more late evening meetings. Ms. Elusive Luck's birthday, both meetings got cancelled at my arrival. So, I practised music for what I thought was an hour. Sir, It was a good workout, and by the end I was sweating and shivering from forehead to heels. I wrapped the set, and was hungrily wandering indoors. That's when i saw the most beautiful thing on my study table. A banana! Who keeps a banana on a study table, sir? Well, I did. Yesterday morning. Sync sir, Unbelievable.

Alright, then what?

Sir, I thought of cooking dinner. Dosa in my mind, I found couple of duck eggs in the fridge. 'Egg Dosa' creeped, sorry, crept into my head. I fetched Dosa batter and eggs to the warmth outside. Roasted some curry leaves, and ground them with chillies into a lush green paste. Fried some Coin Pappads as well.

An eerie silence lurked in the kitchen while I was chopping onions. I added salt and a pinch of turmeric to the onions. Then I introduced our dear eggs to Madame la Guillotine, CRACK! its viscous yellow head crashed into the bowl. I stirred a motley mixture with all that. When the pan on the stove started whispering to the winds I threw a water blanket over it. The pan hissed and shot sodium-in-water tantrums at me. I calmly slid the hot bubbling bubbles into the sink. Then I painted a solar system on the pan with batter. The system had to be perfect. A subtle press in the center followed by concentric Sufi whirling. It must spread into a round Gaussian distribution and scatter a Brownian motion of batter pores. The pores would channel the steam upwards, cooking the layers above en route its itinerary. Then, I sprayed oil, and smeared the lush green paste on top of the maturing Dosa. Few seconds later, I massaged the duck egg mash on the green pasture. Juxtaposition, hitherto unrealistic, was accomplished.

Sir, I flipped the Dosa, and waited for the other side to get cooked, flipped it again, and kept the Dosa aside. Made one more Dosa like that, sir. Later, I ate both Dosas with Maple syrup, Chammanthi Podi, and Coin pappads sir. Sync sir, Unbelievable.

What is a Chammanthi podi?
Sir, this is not the appropriate time sir. Maybe later.

Then?

I had a pear, drank 350ml of water, brushed my teeth, wrote a blog post, washed my legs, and went to bed. I continued reading the book "To kill a mockingbird", when suddenly heard a loud noise from outside sir.

Is that it?
Yes sir.

Well, write down your address and phone number. You will have to come to the police station when called upon, to give your statement about yesterday's incident.

Done deal sir. Many peace.

The sky was clear and the occasion was auspicious, all set to witness the unwitnessed.

The Misogynist-Feminist wedding!

The cool breeze from the east moved her jet black hair to his teeth. He stopped grinning at once. No one was invited to their wedding, yet they were facing a sea of willing crowd to this fictional reality. When the news was whispered to them on a hot summer day, they were all thunderstruck, and screamed in unison, "What the"!

The ceremony began with frowns. The crowd murmured incessantly. They argued the male was feminist, and female misogynist; said it was a marriage made in paradox not paradise. When the couple vowed to make each other successful, old women in the crowd lifted their hands to mouth in pure shock. Maybe, the crowd was not ready for this, it was way ahead of their time.

Meanwhile, the Cardinals of language convened in a brand new library. Grammar goons waited outside with safety pins and clown hats. They were angry at the innate irony of the scheme, thought it to be a joke; their honor and semantics being dragged through mud. A lesson must be taught. The infidels should be ostracized from dictionaries at the least. At last, the convention decided to punish them with the punishment-that-shall-never-be-given.

A huge drama followed, and the couple lived happily ever-after.

> I sit?
< Sure.
.
.
> This is good.
< Is that water?
> Yes.
.
.
> I'm from the future.
< Right.
.
.
< Your people visit a lot these days. Are you a tourist?
> No, I am a Zogerlog.
< New kind?
> No, one of the oldest.
< Is it true that future is not time bound?
> Future is place.
< Well present is time.
< So what brings you here?
> Sex.
< Does sex has a different meaning in future?
> Sex is void in future.
< Right. What kind of sex?
> Find out. Suggestions?
< Go by the books.
> No good. Confuse.
< Really? When did you land?
> land?
< When did you try sex?
> Tomorrow
< You mean yesterday.
> No, tomorrow.
< Alright. What happened?
> The power go off. Internet loss.
< So?
> Stream interrupt at 78.
< Interesting. Why didn't you download it upfront ?
> Space waste.
< Did you finish it then?
> No. Reschedule. Suggestions?
< Well, how can I send you a link? Do you have a cellphone?
> No cellphone. If you browse, I copy history.
.
.
> Copy. Thanks.
< Wait. Not that.
> Copy.
< Not that either.
> That?
< That.
> Copy. Thanks.
< Peace.