Thirty years ago today my brother (who was only 14) decided to send a message to his teacher he could never forget. He hanged himself to death. Could he teach his teacher the lesson he wanted to teach? His brother reports from home (This story was first published at yentha.com 4 years ago). The run-up to a revolt There were signs all over the home. On the rose plant you did not water for a whole week, on the crumbled … Continue reading
Despite all the pressure, I had to wait for four years before I could bring myself to write something about my father.It was as difficult as to take a handful of water from an ocean. What to choose and what to leave out. What I leave behind seems to be of Tsunamic proportion. Still I bring to you this handful. My father, Kilimanoor Remakanthan, as I know. It was a time when a boy with a spark of poetry could … Continue reading
Part 2 of the story: Baptism by Fire The butcher shredded my father’s poetry book page by page, wrapped his blood-dripping ware in them and sold them. My father never complained. He had no complaints even when those well wishers visited us mourning about the way he was ignored. It’s all about pulling the right strings, they advised him. He smiled. Some came with inside stories; they would tell him in whispers how his name was dropped at the last … Continue reading
A girl desperate to get back to her home tried to wave me down on a hartal day as I was roaming around my city giving away free lifts. One part in me wanted to stop for her, another wanted to speed off. This is an apology to that girl for whom I could not stop that day. I have also got a lot of women who found a meek opponent in me in pitched fights marching through my mind when … Continue reading
