CHIMI

 A rather humid Monday morning, and there she was reclining in her favourite armchair. A wavering wind stroked the strands of her unusually entangled braids. She had woken up more tired than usual. The blazing equatorial sun that made its way through the half-open window left her feeling even more exhausted.  Skimming through an article about lost friendships and enmeshed relationships, made her think about her own long-lost friends. With every other misfortune, she also had the tainted honour of being the ‘estranged friend’ within her friend circle. This she thought was the inevitable consequence of a virtually detached Gen Z life, for the lack of possessing the good old Instagram deprives you of forging and maintaining relationships.  She got hold of the telephone, which had been redundant for the past few years and could hold the position of a rare antiquity in the next few to come. She’d somehow managed her mother from giving it away for the uncanny fancy she possesse...

 As sorrowful as deaths are, we live in a part of the world, where there is an impending urgency to let the world know of your dear one’s parting. Local newspapers report the death and the very next morning, voracious readers of the obituary columns discover it. This long-standing legacy of local newspapers devoting a full-fledged page to obituary has often got me contemplating how relevant the news of ‘death’ is.  Even after leaving the wretched material world, it would be immodestly innocent to be under the fallacy that the obituary is a random montage put together by the whims and fancies of the editor. It was a rather late discovery that figures (of money) have to be paid for these lifeless figures to figure in your local daily.  As the social prestige meter goes higher, you will be assigned a fairly large space; a mid-life picture of the expired duly placed, a verbally loaded ad-nauseam line with expensive flowers wreathing the matter. The lucky ones will have the sp...

The ominous influx of terrorism cloaking the streets of Kerala is seemingly no more than a mere instance of propaganda for the champions of free speech today as ‘The Kerala Story’ embarks its release on May 5. The trailer depicts the protagonist ‘Shalini Unnikrishnan’ who is manipulated, converted and further identifies herself as an ISIS terrorist. The central concern of the movie, terrorism is well-established within the first twelve seconds of the trailer. With a constitution that enshrines free speech as a fundamental right and a democracy that has been the harbinger to ushering the same, the state has defended on legal and moral grounds its strong anathema to partisan censorship of creative works. The movie has stirred widespread debate within the country, with certain political parties and organizations even demanding a ban on the movie. Certain factions claim the number (32000) of women having been recruited in the ISIS is a highly inflated value, while others seem to be dee...

 Suspended animation; it all began there. Despite several revival attempts made numerous times by people in several areas of expertise, the verdict finally came from the expert himself. It was a sudden and unmistakable case of massive cardiac arrest. The death was proclaimed after one fortnight of relentless hard work. It was merely a year and should have perhaps lived many more for that was how ‘it’ was taken care of. Yes, the deceased was a brand new mobile phone of a well-reputed manufacturer and most importantly indigenous in production. The unaccepted beacon of human existence comes at a huge price. More than the economic value, one would be possibly more concerned about the precious memories, priceless information, and a million other intricate life details that this lifeless confidante, man’s ingenious creation bears. A simple device that was once considered a priceless possession and only owned by a ‘wealthy few’ has now transmogrified itself into a basic necessity of a soc...

  Just another midnight and she saw the moon in its fullness and the earth feeling like the abode of heaven and sensed the world resting in the arms of Morpheus. And there she was feeling the tension in her nerves, the influx of the morbid fantasies of life crushing her once tender heart. Yes, a heart that had withstood the tempests she had encountered the past year and a half had definitely taken it away from the ambit of ‘tender’. She genuinely missed the tenderness though, how knowingly and playfully naive it had been, the subtle games of foolish childishness that she liked playing with herself and others. The year and a half that had passed was rather not-so-cool for an eighteen-year-old Gen Z. She obviously did not belong to the cool squad and her hard-earned wisdom had already absorbed the truth. She knew exactly where life was headed and had decided without a doubt that obsequious and unparalleled submission to the well-laid ‘plan’ that she had etched, burning the midnight o...

To abandon a reputed institution that millions in the country or the world aspire to be in is akin to cocking a snook at the long-established system of education in the country, to take for granted the invaluable, the treasured wisdom and intelligence you have been bestowed with by the big centres of specific training that religiously make headlines after every national exam in the country. More so if you are one of those individuals who barely managed to get into a mediocre institution and still chose to discontinue you are sure to be labeled a thankless lunatic.  A man of reasonable prudence would definitely find the above statements ridiculously false.  The harsh reality is in fact worse than one could possibly imagine.  One would even go far enough to agree that any establishment of thought that promotes the idea of discontinuing a stream of studies that one cannot acquaint himself or herself to, for want of a better career opportunity awaits a dystopian future. There...

  Reality defied trust and her extremely subjective sense of logic that she misunderstood as superior for the umpteenth time today. She knew somewhere deep down inside her mind that what happened today, a few minutes ago was bound to happen. But she had chosen to avoid the reality which now lay in broad daylight, dazzling this time in fact that she would not be able to overlook even though every atom in her body chose otherwise. She knew today was the time to recall the hardest night which she wished in vain was a nightmare.  She headed towards the neglected room with no windows. People found it suffocating, but every time she stepped foot inside it she experienced a sense of liberation and heaved a sigh of relief and each time it was different; the rhythm, the tension, and a million other emotions that she knew were beyond expression through a mere couple of words that she had stated for what she could not decipher yet in spite of encountering it, trying to escape it and even...

It was 2:22 in the morning, precisely the time she was born. It took her eighteen years to know that it was an angel number. And just as she had started believing that the supreme had blessed her with the life of an angel intellectually if not materially, everything began to change. The change struck her hard, broke her down, and shattered the intellect that she said she owned. The girl who was once proud of her supremely sorted personality had settled in her soul that she, her mind, and her intellect was the bane of her existence at the precise, rather ungrateful moment of her birth.    She never wished for death but the past eight months put her in a position where she started questioning her birth which was in fact a bazillion times worse than wishing for death.   Things that she said were her proud possessions were nowhere to be found within her and she knew why. The game of survival that she had been playing and the pretentiously hopeful face that she was try...