firefly

firefly! how come
you blink inside my blanket
this cold monsoon night?
***** 

haiku

in my dim attic
dad's old easy chair -- spotlit
in skylight, dust haze

***** 

ushas

new day dawns, my dear!
listen to the rooster's call--
cock-a-doodle-doo!

***** 

Writing tip

After putting together my first book late in life, I realize there can be something of an overall theme in anything one may come to record in a diary kind of blog without the thought of a script.

Amidst the trash you shoot randomly on camera, you find the footage you need to tell your story. What you have to do is to put the bits in the proper order on the editing desk when you feel the theme is fully developed.

***** 

Return of Sherlock Holmes

Dear friends,
I am reviving this blog, asleep since April 2015.
Between then and now, I self-published a slender volume of poems Blow Again, North Wind, which is a collage of lines taken from this blog.

The book was launched at a meeting of my friends at the Thiruvananthapuram Press Club last month (June 19, 2016).

It is a kind of book you can read without any strain during a two-hour train journey. I am sure you will like it. There were two television interviews, in which I tried to describe what it was all about, perhaps unsuccessfully. The theme is just as elusive as the dissipating mist.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L-RiJceyf30

venu hangs up his boots

i was pleasantly surprised the other day being called to receive a memento at a function hosted by the trivandrum press club at the conclusion of this year's jpl (journalists' premier league) cricket tournament in tvm. this is a tournament in which press clubs from all districts in kerala field teams. the competition is intense. this time hosts trivandrum press club won the trophy, beating ernakulam press club in the finals.

i did not play since, during the days of practice prior to the tournament, my old archille's heel injury showed signs of coming back. also, there was this issue of age...at 58, i find the coordination of movements and overall orientation not what it used to be once upon a time. a little rickety, or wobbly, if you know what i mean. to put it simply, it has become difficult to take a simple catch in the deep. i got painfully hit on the ribs, missing the looping trejectory of a ball that was hit deep into the midwicket area by a batsman during one of our practice matches. so, i thought time has finally come for me to hang up the boots. despite pressure from the team management to play because of my still considerable batting and bowling abilities, i, therefore, opted out of the team. they all say my decision to focus entirely on strategies for the team contributed to its victory in the tournament.

i.m. vijayan and v.p. shaji, on my either side, you surely must know. they are former indian footballers. vijayan is credited with one of the fastest goals in international football (in the 12th second of the match against bhutan in the 1999 saf games). the man in the blue shirt is chandrasenan, a former ranji player and very old friend, with whom i had played in the kerala south zone cricket team in 1977. the friend at the extreme left, with only his nose visible, is jayan menon, tvm press club secretary...

i am retiring from all forms of cricket, including the backyard premier league (bpl) with the boys in our mudavanmugal colony...i am also hereby announcing the closure of this blog, as part of an experiment to see how it would be to let oneself slip into total anonymity. you can no longer see me at the crease.

no longer
wanting to do
this
       that
this thing that
thing
hither then thither
then
i
a ping pong ball
on bounce

the ball has rolled to a corner and has come to rest...just sitting...to let the world move on its own, without my help!!! thanks every one who has been in this journey from time to time.

*****

William Carlos Williams

TO A POOR OLD WOMAN 

munching a plum on
the street a paper bag
of them in her hand 

They taste good to her
They taste good
to her. They taste
good to her

You can see it by
the way she gives herself
to the one half
sucked out in her hand 

Comforted
a solace of ripe plums
seeming to fill the air 

They taste good to her

(last night sitting on the steps of my home eating a fresh orange moon shining high i remembered reading this poem a long time back but could not remember neither the poet's name nor the title of the poem but i knew there was this poem which said the thing about eating a plum the way i was eating the orange. i then went in and switched on the machine and by the time i logged in to my blog i forgot what it was i wanted to write!...it all comes back 20 hours later...)

******