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radhika: means the essence of fragrance ... that's how a loving father pacified his heart-broken daughter, when a school bully teased that she would never marry her lover, just like radha never did. according to the myth though, the name radhika is derived from aradhana (worship), and is associated with krishna as his 'forever' love and greatest servitor. me? nah, i'm just a simple little girl with a biiiig smile, because the bully had been wrong all along... yesterday... don't take that road at night a stitch in time... all dressed up and nowhere to go someone owes us an explanation. right? flavours of the month beautiful people why happy buddays should remain happy a minor-surgery-break, and a tube journey (c)all for a surprise another diwali, another lesson food blog yoghurt-rice (thairchadam) easy to make, tasty and refreshing anytime...no wonder it's the top favourite of south-indians worldwide. inside are some alternative ingredients to the same recipe too... more... why i am reading the namesake "do i remind you of that night?" "not at all," his father says eventually, one hand going to his ribs, a habitual gesture that has baffled gogol until now. "you remind me of everything that followed." more... bookmarks praveen mahesh nidhi savio deepu acchan amma hari ratheesh bbc south asia bbc uk around 999 words...  archives February 2005 January 2005 December 2004 November 2004 October 2004 September 2004 August 2004 July 2004 June 2004 May 2004 April 2004 January 2004 August 2003 July 2003 May 2003 April 2003 March 2003 February 2003 January 2003 November 2002 October 2002 September 2002 August 2002 July 2002 June 2002 May 2002 April 2002 February 2002 January 2002 December 2001 November 2001 October 2001 September 2001 August 2001 July 2001 June 2001 May 2001 April 2001 March 2001 February 2001 January 2001 December 2000 November 2000 October 2000 September 2000 August 2000 July 2000 June 2000 May 2000 |
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© praveen.radhika |
March 11, 2003
dear mayu,
...i enjoyed writing to you. i hope we continue to keep in touch, and that too only through this old tradition of 'writing' a letter.
take care :-)
there. sealed and waiting for the postman. a little over seven pages.
'writing' letters can be such a cathartic experience. especially if it is to someone who's known you for almost all your growing life.
i think i'm going to *buy* an ink-pen one of these days, and save it along with my letterpads for my grandchildren.
how else will i explain to them what it feels like to collect your thoughts in a writing (-on-paper-) instrument, for a loved one miles away? i wonder if they will ever know what it is like to feel butterfly wings in their stomachs, when waiting for the postman, or experience the quiet magic... around a letter that is on its way to a dear old friend.
----------------------------------------
highlight of the week: my five-minute poem.
i still cannot get over it. perhaps this qualifies me for a creative writing course after all?
i was chatting with my mother and she asked me to try writing a poem for her innerwheel-club event.
the subject, female foeticide...
my first reaction: "i'm not a writer amma! this is such a serious topic"
hers: "at least try na baba".
well, with no brief or outline of what was expected in the poem, and for a creative five-minute outburst, mine slightly missed the mark. i've been asked to try again. but anyways, i thought there was nothing wrong in posting it on my journal. so here it is, my first attempt...
cry of the foetus
amma
i could have
made you smile
wipe the tear
of joy
running down your cheek.
i could
tug at your chain
play with your hair
hide in your bosom
a place only for me
where no one could reach
drink your milk
your strength
make you feel proud...
that you let me be.
i could crawl and play
for as long as you wanted me to
make you dream
of things for me.
i could walk
on your toes
feel your skin
warm and soft
so much better
than floating in
the water here
inside you.
i can't wait...
to hear
you laugh
when i giggle.
...to see you
see me
hear me talk
make me make
your dreams come true
when you stopped...
amma
give me your little finger
so i can curl all of mine
around yours.
tomorrow
when you're alone
you'll still find me
holding your hand
by your side.
i'll let you dress me
even leave you
to go to school
so i can wear big shoes
one day
and make you proud
that you let me be...
i could marry
the man you choose
and one day
carry
in me
another me
for you.
i could share your secrets
your laughter and your fears
i could bring you
happiness
in whatever form...
at least i could try
if only
at first,
you would
let me cry.
ps: this was intended to be a pattern poem. in my word document it is. too bad i couldn't get the tabs and spaces in here. i guess i'll have to wait for praveen to have a look...
