Mother
Poetry by Raja Jaikrishnan
Lullabies buried in her lip corners,
scrawny anemic mother in pallid
light rocked me round the clock.
She tore me off from embrace
gum and packed me to the front.
In trench at midnight light beam
looks for you in no man’s land.
Getting pricked by wild grasses,
my bums ask moon about you
at the spinning wheel.
Moon: “She spins yarns for
blankets to plug holes of pain.
2
Eager to see medals, colors
On sons broad shoulders,
A widow paces cold floor,
crossed a while ago by
black cat chasing a rat .
She says rosary to swear
desert storms on safety
of her son turned soldier
returning from a short war .
3
I sit for dinner
with beef salami,
bite into it with yellow teeth,
wash it down with coffee.
In the Mother’s picture hanging overhead
sari palu frays,
smudges her vermilion parting;
Henna seeps out of her anemic hands.
She catches my glimpses
in potato peels,
wash tub bubbles.
With sleeping tablets
she gulps down Papa’s jibes.
She adds to her wrinkles by
fussing about unpaid bills.
Carrying the pain
of my birth in her bones.
She watches me step on
the just-mopped floor.
Leaves her knitting to
save me from a slip.
I burst into a cry.
She pulls me to mat
ties me to her apron strings.
Milk curdles in her breasts.
zari sari wraps her scrawny self.
paces up and down with
flour ball for abandoned cow.
Papa breaks years of silence
Laying her on pyre for final rest.
The mantras ride on leaping flames
Of his small eyes, oblong shoulders.
4
In a town razed by fire and fright,
older than yesterday, a mother
removes last night’s food bits
from creaky dining table.
Unsure of next breath,
She counsels her man for 30 years
On food ,health and faith;
while he peers into stale newspaper.
Sipping tea with shaking hand, she
resumes fretting about next EMI.
He drowns her drone in TV news.
The newsreader, sporting bloodline
On parting of hair dyed black, reads
Out their son’s name among the dead
In blast that turned valley’s hair gray.
Inclined to his dourness he waits beside
Mother, widow and orphans
In front of the window, full of dust,
for the body to be brought home.
Mother’s rustling silk sari folds mingle
With piled up incense soot in corridor
Arthritic limbs strike a goddess’ pose;
Make-up flakes rain blessings on son.
Picture Credit: Nivethitha Kumar(Artwork in iPhone)
A Love Note
You are
the answer to my prayers
the reply to my questions
the smile on my face
the sparkle in my eyes
the happiness in my heart
the peace in my spirit
the fizz in my actions
the sweetness in my words
the cheer in my ways
the love the dwells inside me!
- Sophia Carmalin
A Little More Love
Open your heart and get the feel of it
blossomed through the time,
the radiance, the content, the peace
What else can I ask for…?
A lil more…
Â
Hugs and kisses flowing all through…
Laughter, fun, joy streaming all through
Roses, teddy, chocolates pouring all through
What else can I ask for…?
A lil more…
Â
Tears rolling down, a shoulder to cry on,
A stranger to depend on, any moment, any second…
The feeling is so strong, not forgetting any rhythm…
Â
For a second I was carried away
For a minute I lost it
For a lifetime I learnt it
–Kala Pillai
Dec 2009
We are back with our second issue in the month of December.
December is the month when we recap the good and the great moments that left us by.TheBanyanTrees keeping in tradition has made “Reflection” the theme for this month.
Happy Reading! You can read the magazine by clicking on the issuu link below or by clicking on the article links that are listed .
Buy the print version from here
Short Stories
Some Salt,Some Lime, A Song and A Wedding.
What is a wedding without some innocent pranks? Sirpy Jayaprakasam weaves a funny story amidst the backdrop of a good old south Indian wedding
Downcast
The rains bring memories, and Asha walks home drenching in the rain ,carrying the rain drops that seem to grow heavier with each drop.
I watch
A short story by Dhivya Arasappan about the life of a woman as seen by the most unusual member in her life.
Upon Reflection
A short story by filarial about a student, his teacher and his dangerous quest to find the ultimate truth!
Series
Draupadi
“Manasa starts episode 1 of her running series Draupadi. She leaves you gasping for more,yearning to know the secret that Draupadi learns on her death bed.”
Sports
Twenty…on to thirty
Karthik Krishna reminisces about God’s incarnation in the cricket field, Sachin Tendulkar, on his twentieth year in International Cricket.
Poetry
Yet Another Monsoon Rain
Anuradha Chandrasekaran looks back at the wonderful memories she created during the monsoons through this poem
A day that approaches…
Raghuram Godavarthi in this poem ponders about the inevitable
Travel
A Path to Heaven
Prajakta Bhasale describes her trip to the beautiful, serene and unblemished northeastern states of India
Columns
Dude! Where is my coffee?
It is all about finding your prince/swan among the sea of frogs and ducks. Dreamvendor talks about wading
through dozens of frogs and ducks before you find your prize catch in his column
Entertainment
Pearls Among Swine
Aditya Srikrishna evaluates the 5 movies that have been the most underrated in bollywood in 2009
Book Review
Divya Ramachandran reviews the book “The case of the missing servant by Vish Puri”.
Science
Scientifically Literate
Dhivya Arasappan talks about the 5 most intriguing discoveries of this year in the world of science
Refreshing Rendezvous
Students recounting their once in a lifetime meeting with India’s former president. Dr.A.P.J Abdul Khalam
To check out our photography section, check out the web version by clicking on the magazine link above.
Yet Another Monsoon Rain
Art and Poetry by Anuradha Chandrasekaran
The raindrops fell down one by one
Drenching me as it came down upon the ground
As I stood there transfixed
My thoughts wandered across a time long gone
I remembered rushing through these rains
Both of us clinging to the handle of that one umbrella
Did we want to stay dry or get wet in the downpour?
I wonder if we even the noticed those drops of water
Another time, another monsoon day
I remember waking up and not wanting to get out of bed
I remember the piping hot bed coffee
And a voice, a hand, replete with comfort and warmth
Ah! Those beautiful rainy days, How I have cursed them
When they were the cause for traffic on the road
And all those tremors my mind went through
Just because you came home an hour late
Some joys, some fights
Some smiles, some tears
A raindrop sometimes personifies them all
A raindrop sometimes takes you back
Today I stand, without an umbrella
Without a shield to protect me
All I have, to give these raindrops are my own memories
All that remains are few tiny drops of water
A day that approaches… approaches the past
Indeed I was a youngster then, indeed am no wiser now
Sure, you were the smart one, no doubt, the more adapted
But perhaps I understood you then, and not so much now
or perhaps it is the other way around
either way, the lion will never catch it’s tail
the circle will never cease at a certain point
the unfortunate misunderstandings of Friendship’s past
will perhaps come back to the limelight
as a future content to share nothing but what was
The years between us were an unshakeable truth
the memories between us oases in a desert
the space between us, the emptiness between the stars
sooner ignored, safer forgotten, best unremembered
and yet there were these far-flung innuendoes
the embers of a fire that burnt itself
and it that burning, consumed universes
fragments of these now lurk in distant minds
occasionally do they meet, upon the cross roads of time
the same paths that we never chose to walk on
now, angered (cross), offer us no room to pass
A day approaches, and brings another floating charcoal piece
the companion of which was flung upon me post-haste, early
that vanguard sleeps for a momentary eternity, safely defeated
yet the unuttered noises of the coming fleet crowd my mind
they refuse to offer a fight, nor do they volunteer to walk swiftly past
they shall be the guests of the winter perhaps, hibernating, snoring
until the freshness of an as-yet-unsprung spring time leaf shall sweep them away
and going forward, forward, forward… they shall once more approach the past
Picture Credit :
