The Life-River

     

‘Kaimal Sir' – everyone called him so. That name carried sure respect from villagers. Mohana Kaimal is a known figure with a helping attitude, and he has scored some grades in his behaviour collection. If any financial crunch occurred for anyone in the village, he/she would approach Kaimal Sir and return with a gratitude-filled heart. If any fair or festival takes place in that village, Kaimal Sir will be there in the forefront, giving cash and kinds. The villagers keep a special chair for him in their hearts. Approval is his watchword, as he listens to words spoken by even an ordinary man.  

Prakash Kaimal is regular in going to the office. He attends domestic needs; he is a loving father and a faithful husband for his spouse. And he takes leave regularly every month for his official tour on a regular basis.The third week of every month he has to go  to the Chennai branch of his company. Mostly on returning from Chennai, his bag carries toys for children and garments for his spouse. He creates a lovely atmosphere for his parents too. The life-river in that residence was flowing smoothly. 

Holidays: the kids eagerly wait for him to go to the park and for movies intermittently. They have sumptuous food of their choice. He is a person who possesses no shady side in the character.

One day, a phone call from Chennai alerted Kaimal’s father, "Hello, where are you speaking from?”

“from Kerala."

“I am from the Tamil Nadu police. Here is an accident: I found your number in a phone I found here.”

“God! It is my son’s number. What happened?”

A car with four members had a collision with a lorry. Immediately we took them to the hospital.  

His father, Bhaskara Kaimal with his brother reached the hospital. Prakash Kaimal has a family hiding in Chennai. He is the father of  two toddlers there. His Chennai visit is to stay with his family covertly.  All four fainted in the car. The timely action of the police and the dearest kin of Kaimal rendered to them brought back them to sense; they underwent troubles a lot, though. 

None looked at him through doubtful glasses.

 

 

A Sacred Gift of God

 

 

'Gardens are not made by singing ‘Oh, how beautiful' and sitting in the shade. ' Rudyard Kipling.

(A free verse on the basis of the aforesaid piece)

 

Gardens, the family of lovely plants, are

the sacred gifts of God, the abode of beauty.

How arid will our mother Earth look,

had she been barren with no green offspring?

Bald-headed, with injuries by flying dust,

and torrential rains, carting her parted parts away.

The sun on his oven cooks her figure,

burning hard, all that bears life.

Gardens fill the hearts of all beings,

providing food, shelter, and shade.

Orchards, the heavens of birds and animals,

bees and winged beings, how lovely!

The friend, Breeze, shakes hands with twigs.

The wind cuddles wildly, giving a subtle twist.

But though our gardens sedate our eyes,

with their beauty, they cannot enchant us,

unless we grow them joyfully, with pampering,

cooling baths, feeding manure, and grooming to look cute.

Yes, life is a symbiosis, holding hands hand in hand.

 

 

 

 

April Last Year and April Now!

April last year and April this year

 

April is heat-bitten, with no lovable warmth and chill,

full of anguish and agony and anxiety;

war, a word, spreading ruins and evils only,

 is the commander and ruler of the time.

Wickedness of all kinds, fury, scares,

ill-omen, murders, cruelty, with no droplets of

sympathy, empathy or clemency, fills

each letter’s core with mock at the loss of beings.

 

Barefoot are now the inmates of mansions,

empty-bellied, thirst-attacked, having no roof to protect,

from the rage of calamities and axes of 

two-legged beasts, may have sense.

Nature gave words of sense to man

who often gets dipped in dirt,

tearing apart the glory that cheers lives,

turning useless, wicked and harmful

causing utter chaos all around.

Little silky legs run on hard spheres;

tender mouths lament pop and mom,

 food, water, cloth and shelter.

 

The humanity, possessing a mother’s heart,

creates a flood in its owners' eyes and

cannot bear this hapless, helpless stage of

mourning by the innocent faces,

demise and deformity triumph

And the escaping ones be orphans; no aid.

 

April was hot last year, warm and chill;

minds found connections and affections,

enjoying travels and laughter,

friendships with less foes, adding spice to life.

This vast world keeps paths open abundant for

journeys through peace and love, 

and let us pray for the nations to shake hands, 

 and let the avoidance of enmity be the word of the day.